The Historical Resonance of Turning Two

With a baby...Sentimentality runs thick in my family. It has always been that way, carrying on that tradition from my parents to me. And when a holiday or family event arrives at our door, the past always arrives with it, shaking the snow off its boots, an escapable addition at the table.

Every Christmas tree is compared to a past tree, every gathering being a moment to remember those no longer there, and birthdays are always tainted with the feeling of a time gone that will never return.

This is not a bad thing.

In a way it adds to my family’s experiences along this mortal coil, since we view time and moments in such a special light. So at any event, look for me with the video camera trying to chase something down that can’t be chased down; the elusive kernel of a pure, real instant.

Every giggle, every dance, every story of my kids, I want to capture it, knowing that someday, with my sentimentality sitting beside me on the couch I will want to view it again… and again… and again…

That time that is just about to slip away. Continue reading

The Nat King Cole Inside My Head

I am obsessed with The Beatles, I adore Belle and Sebastian, I’ve seen They Might Be Giants five times in concert, and I can’t stop playing the new Fiona Apple CD… but Nat King Cole is the musical comfort food for my soul.

I have read a few biographies about him over the years, and as amazing of a life he had, it’s always hard for me to connect him to his voice. Frankly, his voice is so engrained into my own life, it is hard to think that it once even belonged to someone else, as strangely as that sounds. I don’t feel his struggles against racism in his career and his growth from jazz pianist to just a singer fronting a band in a studio, lost in the business of just singing singles hoping for a hit, when I listen to his music.

I hear my own life in his voice, in his performing, making each recording I adore something akin to a special gift. Continue reading

Writing My First Obituary

Last night I had to write my first obituary, and it was for someone still living. See, my grandfather, Charles D. Southard, has always wanted to see what I would say about him.

It’s not like it was initially a morbid request or fascination (my grandfather is not known for wearing all black all the time if that is what you are thinking, Goth Senior Citizen), I’m sure it began as a real point of curiosity built out of a joke. He wanted to see my reaction to the request, and I’m sure it was funny. The problem is that this desire has stuck with him, and for twenty years, I would hear about this from time to time; if anything this interest has grown into something more, both for him and for myself.

I admit I avoided doing it. I’m not a superstitious man, I didn’t think he would just drop dead the second I did it; honestly, I just didn’t think as a writer I was capable of doing it. How do you sum up a person, a life, in only a few sentences? Continue reading