This Guy Not That Guy

I get teased a fair amount about my love for all things U2.  Some have even pushed the line a little bit and suggested I have a mad celebrity crush on Bono.  I laugh.  I laugh because I am blissfully married to the man of my dreams!  I love him more and more every day.  We have a love story that is unrivaled and over 20 years after our first meeting he still makes me weak in the knees.  I am so incredibly in LOVE with this man!  and will be until my dying day.  He is and forever will be the only one for me.

In a couple weeks we will celebrate our 7th wedding anniversary!  So many jokes about the seven year itch, but not here.  I am hopelessly in love with this man!

Yeah, I know it’s an old picture, but isn’t he just an all out 80’s masterpiece!  He is F.I.N.E. fine, in my book!  Funny how about the time I was falling head over heals IN LOVE with this guy, I was listening to this guy…

Now, at the time, this guywas not being mistaken for this guy

And this guy with this car

was not being mistaken for this guy with this car

They may look a little alike

But something isn’t quite right

Yes, I know that’s not Bono!  It’s U2’s Adam Clayton, silly!

But then a funny thing happened last year.  I posted this picture of this man on my facebook page.

and people, people that knew him “back in the day” thought the man in this picture was actually, this man…

I mean, I could see some similarities,

They are both quite dramatic sometimes, both talented musicians, both handsome.

But, I was a total goner the first time I laid eyes on this man…

I can’t take my eyes off of him!

This man could never be enough.

Because I have this man and he is everything to me.

As he has been.  For a very, very long time.

And my heart has found it’s home.

As for the photos, obviously I have not taken all of these.  They come from a collection a U2 geek like me has amassed on her computer hard drive.  I would be happy to credit the photographers who deserve the credit!  Photo of my husband and saxophone, courtesy of Karl Hutchinson.  Also sorry some are so small!  I’ll work on that! 🙂

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Rock On Hubby!

So- last night my husband did a really sweet thing… He knows that I’ve been trying to publicize my blog a little bit more, so he linked it with his website.  Under the links tab, listed with musicians, composers, thinkers and writers who are true legitimate contributors to their respective crafts and individuals that I respect very much there now resides a link to little ole’ me.   And, I should also point out, that he did this without my ever mentioning he should do it!  Pretty impressive, huh?  Him, not me… Yes, I did marry the best man I have ever met, and I am extremely proud to be his wife!

So, I thought now would be a good time to repay the sweet favor with some shameless publicity and repost an old, but not terribly outdated, entry from my Facebook notes along with some other information on his recent recordings and a link to his website- because after all, MY HUSBAND ROCKS!  I love you, Randy!

The following is a review of my husband’s latest CD release. It was reviewed by Julian Cowley of, “The Wire,” a British music publication. I am BURSTING WITH PRIDE!!! Rock on Hubby!!!

The Wire- Julian Cowley

The passage between

One of the most significant classical saxophone discs for years.

Despite his training, this composer-player is free of that tight assed “French Classical sax” sound that still hampers new writing for the instrument. This music could also convincingly appear under an Improv rubric. It has fire and teeth. The latter gnash on Carnivore, a roaring thing for sax and electronics. Christian Lauba’s Neuf Etudes for various saxophones has become a contemporary test piece, negotiated with utter confidence. Three Reflections on Eternity is for bari sax and interactive computer, made with collaborator Jonathon Kirk, It’s similar in profile to the opening piece, but Hall’s huge sound on the big horn eddies about impressively in the playback. The mood softens with the title piece, inspired by two paintings of doors and punctuated by Hall’s son’s pre-natal heartbeat and early vocalizations. And then, there’s the unexpectedly tough beauty of Quelue chose que mon pere a tunu a ses mains, inspired by a rough note found several years after his father’s death. The music is neither defensive, pretentious, its quiet progress full of unexpected hard edges. One of the most significant classical saxophone discs for years.

Chris Campbell

Operations Manager

innova recordings

innova.mu

651.251.2820

ccampbell@composersforum.org

Recordings by Randall Hall:

neither proud nor ashamed

The passage between

pendulum

Check his music out at http://www.randallhall.net/, and on youtube and itunes!

Saying Goodbye

As I made my way past the crowded waiting room, I hoped that I was first to catch the door when the privacy curtain receded.  I had enlisted my husband in my plan.  He would guard the door while I was inside, so that I could steal time alone with her.  Getting time alone with everybody’s favorite patient was challenging, there were always people visiting!  As much as I was thankful for their tangible support, I was growing weary of their constant presence.  I wanted some of those precious and few moments for myself and I didn’t want to have to shoo someone away so that I could get it.

Precious and few.  Those words rang in my head with the urgency of the obnoxious beep a 4 am alarm clock, all too early, and imploring my immediate attention, even in my disoriented state.  There was no way of knowing how long we had with her, but we all must have sensed the critical timing because the visitors were always there.  They came to her bedside in steady stream, like the flow unconscious thought, one blending seamlessly into the next.  Unaware of when they arrived, where they would be on their way to, how long they planned to stay, many with the stunned blank faces of grief.   Friends from church and from her neighborhood, friends who shared her hobbies, friends from work, friends who were like family and friends who were also family.  On the way home from work, after church, before heading to the store, just because they were in the neighborhood… each one stopping for “just a minute.”

I understood why they came.  They were drawn to her light.  They were drawn to her strength and peace.  They were drawn to her hopeful anticipation of heaven.

So many visitors came to see her while she was sick that she was rarely alone.  I was happy that so many people were expressing their love and support of her and the rest of our family, but I would be lying if said I loved having them around all the time.  The truth is, I needed some time alone with her, some time to say our goodbyes, because when all of this was over, all of the visitors would go home to their mother, daughter, son, husband or wife and I would not.  Even though I had my own family, as a daughter, I would be going it alone.  As the clock marched on at merciless pace, I grew anxious. These were my precious and few.

The door opened and as I stepped into her room my husband assumed his post on the other side.  I drew a deep breath.  My mind was full of questions that I had come to attempt to answer.  How do I tell my mother I love her in a way that will satisfy my soul when she is gone?  How do I thank her “from the bottom of my heart?”  How do I say goodbye?

Inside her room it was finally quiet, nothing to distract us, nothing to intrude.

“Hi Mama,” I said, “Hope you don’t mind, I’m stealin’ some alone time.”  She smiled at me with tired eyes, and looking so small and fragile in her hospital bed, as she raised it to a sitting position.  It somehow seemed inappropriate when she spoke with such care for me.

“Sure, honey.  How are you getting along with all of this?” she asked.  “Are you doing all right?  Randy? The kids?  I know this has got to be such a hard time for you…”  Her voice softened with emotion.

With a plan, I pulled a chair away from the side of the bed.

I asked, “Mama, do you think you’d be able to sit up for a little bit, or if you need to you can lie down?”

“I’m fine sitting just like this,” she replied.  “What are we doin’?”

As she patiently waited for my reply, I took the pink basin from her bedside table and walked to the sink in silence.  Standing at the sink, I filled the little pink basin with warm water and I looked at her reflection in the mirror as she lay in the bed behind me.  The woman in the bed, though battle damaged with IV’s, catheters, and bags, was still my beautiful mother.  Her head on the pillow, still capped with wonderfully thick short brown hair, her eyes still blue as sapphires.  A smile was wide on her face and brimming with hope, and I wondered how she sustained it.  Even in her weary body, she sat with poise, straight, with the same beautiful broad shoulders of a swimmer and her hands folded in her lap.   A plush pale blue robe draped over her shoulders and one delicately shaped ankle and stockinged foot extended from under the crisp hospital bed sheet providing her famous “vent” to keep her from getting “bed hot.”  A trait I have also inherited.  With my now full basin of water and a towel, I rejoined her sitting next to her on the bed.  The spicy sweet fragrance that came from her, the mother of my childhood, was the smell of her perfume Youth Dew.  All the essential elements of “her” were still there.

“Vicki,” she said, “are you going to wash my feet?”  How did she know?  It seemed the only fitting way to express the love and gratitude I felt for her presence in my life.

“Yes, if that’s all right with you.” I said in a near whisper, and she bowed her head to say yes.  She moved both of her feet from under the sheet and I slid off her socks.

On my knees before her I began.   The litany of praise for her as my mother, mentor and friend poured from my heart and out my mouth.

The litany of thankfulness for the sacrifices she made to be a stay at home mom instead of putting a career first, to go without a something for her self so that I could have anything from braces to a prom dress.  For all the times she would have liked to spend a week away with my Dad and instead sent me on a school or youth group trip.  I thanked her for sending me to college and seeing to it that I lived in the dorms even though I could have lived at home.  The water and the cloth were now a channel of respect and admiration.

The litany of humility and gratitude for her forgiveness even when I was too stubborn to ask for it, for the times I didn’t respect her as my mother or even as someone who had traveled the road before me, when I was insensitive and selfish.  Even for the time that an 18 year old me I told her I wasn’t going to waste my life staying home with my kids like she did, the cleansing and warm restorative water carried the pain between us away and was replaced with a river of peace.

The litany of praise for the wonderful example she was to me as a mother and grandmother, the beautiful example of what a good marriage can be like, the way she strove to live with Christ as her example.  All gifts that cannot be given without intention and vision, and I wanted her to know, with my basin beside me, that I was aware of that.  I wanted her to know that I admired her authentic faith and her extravagant love.  With my water I wanted to honor her and I knew she understood.

It was a gift to be able to, in my own way, get to say goodbye to her in that sacred moment  that day, even though she was still with us for more than a month.   Watching Cancer scavenge the life out of her physical body was excruciating, but more bearable knowing that nothing between us was left undone.  When the night came for us to sing to her heaven’s lullaby, as she stepped to the other side, I knew that there was nothing left incomplete, nothing that had not been washed clean.

Excuse Me While I Rant! On Being and Doing

Last night Parent-Teacher Conferences were held at the Junior High where my daughters both attend school.  Both of my girls earned great grades, all A’s and one B for both, and are reportedly “a joy to have in class, helpful, ask great questions, and are dependable and hard working.”  Both of my girls were also lightly teased by their teachers for talking “just a little” too much.  Hmmmm… imagine that?  It was one of those nights where I was so proud to be their mom!   All in all it was a great night, but despite their glowing reports I didn’t leave the school without heavy concern.

The order of the night was to meet each teacher and discuss the progress and concerns of our students.  Teachers were seated at their own tables and in typical arena style parents took turns having their individual meetings.  Since there are few concerns about the girls’ academic progress, I decided to take the time to ask each teacher for more specifics about the content of the classes that my daughters take from them.  It was an interesting view into the world of today’s 7th and 8th graders.

It was at one of these tables, with a teacher that was new to our school this year, and seemingly new to her teaching career, that all of my internal sirens started wailing.  It wasn’t her fault.  The phrase “Don’t shoot the messenger” comes to mind here.  She teaches my oldest in a class called Framework for 21st Century Learning.  This class title has intrigued me and I have been curious about what content the teacher is going cover.  As I learned last night, the class covers a lot of basic life skills like balancing a budget, how to manage debt, and write a resume.  It was when she began talking about writing resumes with 8th graders that my “lizard brain” began twitching.  The earnest young teacher began explaining about the variety of aptitude tests that my daughter was taking in class and how after taking all of these tests my 14 year old daughter would be prepared to enter high school with a very good sense of what classes she should be taking to prepare her for her future career or further education.  It was all I could do to keep my emotions from totally popping on this well-intentioned teacher.  Ahhh, she had no idea who she was talking to!  Let me give you a little back-story…

I grew up in a very traditional (even though it was “blended”) family in an age where the times for women, well, they were a-changin’.    My mom went to a year of community college until she married my father, whom she had met the first week of school.  I was born literally 9 months after their wedding, and my brother almost 2 years after that.  On occasion she took jobs to supplement the family income, but they were certainly not considered a career.  My parents divorced, and for the brief time mom was single she worked a J-O-B to put food on the table.  After she married my dad she was a full time stay at home mom until I was a senior in high school.  My dad was a 3rd generation paper mill worker.  He was a faithful and reliable union employee who put in a very respectable 40 sum years.  He once corrected me when I referred to his job as a career.   It was a job, and nothing more.

I was a young girl coming of age in the 1980s, an era when women were entering the work force in record number.  The opportunities that a college education could afford me were exciting and I had dreams of  ‘having it all’.   Title 9, Rowe Vs Wade, the Feminist Movement, like it or not ladies, we were the children born of that labor.   Despite this, it wasn’t all ‘Woman Power’ on the home front.  Now, I want to be clear that the home I grew up in was not an oppressive environment for women, there were just not a lot of opportunities for exposure to what was really out there.  As I prepared to enter college I was excited to one day pursue a career and I think my parents, particularly my mom, were excited too.  Although they never said such a thing, it felt like the acceptable career choices were for a woman to be either a nurse or a teacher.

Since I was the weak stomach type, I was forever being encouraged to become a teacher.  I have great respect and admiration for teachers.  In many ways I see myself as a teacher.   I loved the coursework for my Human Development degree, but being a teacher of little children in the formal sense of the word was a career I quickly ruled out once I became a student at Warner Pacific College.  It took me at least a year to divulge that information to my parents.  They handled it well, but I was constantly being asked what I was going to “do” with my Human Development degree, and honestly I didn’t have a clue.

I was discovering that College was a perplexing environment!  On the one hand I was attending a Liberal Arts College exploring Human Development through the lens of an institution that heavily engaged the Humanities.  This was an environment where I was discovering and exploring all sorts of things about people and life in general, the Human Condition and the correlations between all disciplines.  On the other hand I was learning that College is not Vocational School.   I was learning to be a thinker and not do a specific skill.  This was confusing to me.   I had come to College with the preconceived notion that much more of the latter would be happening. The focus was about who I would be, not what I would do.   I have come to understand and believe this is so much more important.   I am forever grateful for that experience because it has irrevocably changed who I am.  It now really bothers me on a guttural level that as a society we place such a high value on doing and not being.

So this is the place I was coming from when I met my daughter’s fresh-faced teacher across that table.  As we spoke I could see the chasm of differing opinion opening up between us.  She began to explain to me that after each student had taken all 6 of these aptitude tests they would have a direction on which to plan their high school career.  Seriously.  From the tests of 13 to 14 year old 8th graders.  Don’t get me wrong.  I think aptitude testing can be a valuable tool for identifying interests and talents in specific areas for people who have had a wide exposure to various experiences.  When I was the same age as my daughter I was certainly not prepared to take tests that would gage talent and ability, and future success in specific areas.   These test that are being taken while she is still in Junior High could affect the trajectory of her educational career!  Furthermore, I would have to say that I don’t think aptitude testing should be the focus of educating kids this age anyway!  Shouldn’t they be allowed to explore, discover, and (dare I say) mature a little bit before they are shoved into the press that will sieve out any creativity, or desires to experiment with something new?

I guess this is what happens when society has a system in place where it is of utmost importance for each one of us to become the sharpest cogs in the wheel, when it is most important to be very knowledgeable and smart about one certain thing in a very quantifiable way.  Science is like that, math is like that, philosophy, character, and thoughtfulness are not, but it does not make their discipline any less valuable.  I shudder to think of our community, our nation, and our world without all of those things.  All of those things work together to bring out the best in all of us.

Somewhere along the way I once heard someone described as being “An inch wide and a mile deep.”   When we become so focused on only the things that we are good at or have a natural aptitude for we loose creative problem solving skills, we loose patience for those who don’t think the same way we do, and we become myopic and ego centric in our views.  We become an inch wide and a mile deep. That’s not the hope I have for my children’s education.  Quite frankly it isn’t the hope I have for anyone’s child.  When we put kids into a funnel that drains into a specific bottle we limit their exposure to so many things and we change who they can become.  I see this as such a colossal tragedy.  It’s a big world out there, shouldn’t they have more than a short 14 or so years to find their place in it?  Shouldn’t we be more concerned about who they will be than what they will do?  I sure think so.

The Price is Right and U2

I went to a small Christian Liberal Arts College in Portland, OR.  Warner Pacific College was a great place to go to school.  I loved it there, got a great education, made life long friends and totally enjoyed myself!  I have no regrets about my college years, for the most part…

It was my sophomore year in college and the meeting I was attending took place in the small auditorium known as CCM 1.   A dozen or so of us had gathered for a meeting with the class officers to discuss what we were going to plan as class activities for the year.  We had a small budget to fund our scheming and scheming was what I had come to do!  I remember faces in the room, but not really who said what, and that doesn’t really matter anyway.  What I do clearly remember is thinking that this was a meeting of fun suckers! (Sorry to all my fun loving WPC friends, but that’s what I remember!)

The person in charge of the meeting opened the floor to brainstorm for suggestions of what we should do as a class social activity.   The usual offerings were made, “How ‘bout a pizza party?”  “We could rent some videos!”  “Let’s go Ice Skating at Lloyd Center…” Blah, blah, blah, is what I thought.   I was thinking this is College people!  It seemed to me like a stodgy list, so that’s when I sent out my offering to the collective brainstorm…  I blurted out, “What about if we used the money to go and try and to get on ‘The Price is Right’?”  Visions my friends and I decorating our ‘I LOVE BOB’ tee shirts, of carpools of giddy college kids making the pilgrimage from Portland to Burbank with the high hopes of landing on Contestants Row, and winning Free Cars and Trips to Hawaii, were where my mind was at!  Wasn’t college supposed to be about being spontaneous and a little crazy?

The room fell silent as every eye fell upon me.  My off beat and whimsical idea was met with deadpan faces.  Someone in the room asked me how I thought we could get everyone there, someone else was worried about how much money a trip like that would take.  In short, nobody was in. Who were these college student imposters, I wondered?  My idea had been shot down faster than the dreams of an over bidder in the ‘Show Case Showdown’!  As I sat through the rest of the meeting, the words in Bob Barker’s voice, “Vicki, Vicki! Come on down!” were quickly circling the drain.  There would be no trips to Burbank, no yellow nametags shaped like price tags glued to our chests and no Plinko winners.  In the end, I don’t even remember what our class activity ended up being.

Had my hair-brained idea been well received it may very well have been a disaster.  My idea was unconventional, but we weren’t going to be downing beer bongs, or performing for the producers of a Gone Wild video.  I was just a girl in college wanting to do something spirited and out of the ordinary.  That’s an impulse that the realities of life have done a pretty good job of suppressing in the adult me.  I’m not usually like that 19 years old girl in my story anymore.  Somewhere along the way the grown up version of her lost that spirit of spontaneity and good clean fun silliness, but I’m working on it!

This past weekend my husband and I made another pilgrimage of sorts.  We took a trip to Chicago’s Soldier Field to watch my all time favorite band, play the opening concert on their North American tour.   I have loved the band U2 since the mid 80s.  When they did their Joshua Tree tour in 1987 I was a full fledged fan!  (As I remember it, the closest they came to my hometown was Vancouver BC and I knew there would be no way I was getting there!) In all these years that they have been touring I have never managed to get to one of their shows.  You know how these things go… a bill to pay, a baby to find a sitter for, a job you can’t get the time off from, you pick the excuse, I had it and made it… but this time I just went for it!

It was as if I was as free and as spontaneous as the girl who wanted to see U2 over 20 years ago.  We waited like groupies for the band to arrive to the stadium and bought concert tee shirts and programs, and took lots of goofy self-portrait style pictures of ourselves to document the occasion.  From the moment the drumbeat of Breathe came pounding out from the center of the massively erected stage I was a wildly excited fan!  I didn’t sit down the entire show!  When it was over my voice was raspy from all of my cheering and singing to the top of my lungs!  It was great to be so care free and I had a BLAST!  All moments of pure youthful spontaneity that I will surely never forget!

My husband Randy and I at U2 in Chicago!

My husband Randy and I at U2 in Chicago!

Our view of the Magnificent U2 Stage!

Our view of the Magnificent U2 Stage!