Grasping at Grace (and Growth)

Irv Leavitt, Sui Generis

Thirteen years ago last month, one of my closest colleagues and dear friend Nick Katz died. This past Saturday, on the 13th, Irv Leavitt, another of my colleagues and someone I should have been a closer friend to, died in hospice after more than two years fighting Multiple Sclerosis and cancer. 

Like Nick, Irv was an excellent reporter and an even better writer. One of his friends talked about how much he liked Jimmy Breslin, and aspired to be that kind of writer. He succeeded, but he put his own imprimatur on everything he wrote. Breslin may have inspired him, but he never copied Breslin. He had his own style. This is where you can find some of his pieces, which he wrote after leaving Pioneer Press. They are worth reading, and I'm only sorry that I didn't tell him so more often.  

Irv was brilliant, in that way people who think from A to Q to 9 to # are. Sometimes it made him impossible to follow in conversation, and thus often frustrating - even infuriating, because his brilliance came with a heaping helping of stubbornness. Over the years, though, I learned that I needed to take an active role in any of our discussions; ask him what he meant by this or that, then ask follow-up questions - just like a good reporter should. And like any good reporter, I had to listen. It made our discussions so much more wonderful. 

That came in handy during our time as union officers at Pioneer Press dealing with the generally soulless people who bought PP; the Chicago Sun-Times and ultimately The Chicago Tribune, which has succeeded in turning what was once a proud network of suburban Chicago community newspapers into a set of zombie entities. When we were with the company, we were among many who fought the good fight against those bastards; he was more than occasionally on negotiating committees with me, and I am so glad he was. He was a union man, and his thoughts and ideas helped make us a stronger union. 

He was pure Chicago. Along with being a reporter, he drove cab and even had his own cab company for a while. That allowed him to see the best and worst of Chicago and people in general. He liked all kinds of food; I remember him introducing me to a particular Indian restaurant, which was a joy to eat at. But he also liked hot dogs, and pizza too. He loved baseball, and although he was a Mets fan, I'm ready to forgive him; after all, he took Bob and I to a Cubs game with him and his gifted daughter several years ago. 

That gifted daughter? He raised her by himself after his wife died when their little girl was nine. He was so proud of his daughter, her art and her determination to not blend in, to stand out and become an amazing person. 

Irv was kindness itself behind all his mannerisms. He was kind to Bob and I during an unimaginably difficult time of our lives. He didn't have to be, but he was. And I think the reason he was a fine reporter and an excellent writer was that kindness. He often sounded like he didn't believe in people, but the truth was that he did. Always. I learned from one of his closer friends that he walked in a Black Lives Matter march despite being in great pain at the time. Her memory of him says so much about how good he was, and how much he believed in humanity, or at least humanity's potential. 

He was sui generis.

I last saw him in February, when a bunch of us old reporters got together in his rehab room to watch the draft of one of our number's documentary efforts. His voice was so weak that we had to stop talking and lean in to hear him. I was glad to be there; many months previously, I'd spoken to him over the phone and asked if he wanted a visit - at that time he was in the hospital, at the beginning of a nonstop unmerry-go-round of hospital ICUs, rehab places and assisted living institutions. He told me no. I didn't push it and I didn't call him again, and I regret that. 

Over the years since Nick died, another friend who truly was sui generis, I have missed him and hoped that I might see him again, if there's an afterlife that hews at least a bit to Western ideas thereabout, rather than fuzzy ideas of personality-free nirvana. Now I have a second colleague that I hope to see again. 

Goodbye Irv. I miss you, and I hate that there's an Irv-sized hole in the world now.

Big Sky Country

Andy called this morning while on the road. They were, at the time, heading for Billings, Montana. Based on the things he didn't say, the drive hasn't been as smooth they hoped for, but that didn't surprise me. This was never going to be nearly the easy journey I know they hoped for. But they haven't been in a crash, and they haven't defenestrated each other out of a moving car. 

And there were positive things. They spent an hour at Glacier National Park, and Andy took pictures of the sky as they traveled east. "It really is big sky country," he said, and I could hear just a bit of wonder in his voice as he said that. I predict that this time next year, when most of the boxes have been opened and their home looks and feels like a home, he and Emily will remember the wonder of Montana's sky, and consider the rest of first 36 hours worthy of being in anecdotes rather than giving them headaches. 

I'm looking forward to more calls - at least two, before they hit Illinois. We'll see if my estimate is correct in a while. 

I don't believe I've shared recent pictures of Harlan and Julian. Since Andy put this one up on Facebook recently, I'm happy to put it up here. Andy is a really good photographer of children, and it shows in this image. 

The Trek Begins

Andy and Emily, Harlan and Julian, and their good friend Dave are only hours away from the beginning of their trip east from Seattle to Chicago. They may even have started, if they wanted to get a very early start. 

I called Andy last night and BB was beside me; when he answered the whole gang was in the car, probably going for one last meal in the city Andy and Em have called home for eight years (at least I think it's eight years. My memory can't decide between late 2018 and early 2020). We told them we loved them - and when Dave, who is a perfectly Dad kind of guy started making jokes, we told him we liked him, too - and reminded them to drive safely, a mantra we hew to in this house. 

I will, of course, worry about them the whole time they're on the road. Spare a thought or a good wish for their passage. 

Good People and Good Causes

As the weekend beckons, I am looking for positive things to take with me into the Friday-Sunday period. Right now, I think spreading the word about these two very good causes is a positive. Both of these requests for help come from lovely and memorable people. If you haven't heard about their needs and their plans, perhaps I can direct you to their GoFundMe pages. 

beccadg  is a determined and practical voice online. She provides fannish offerings, as well as incisive comments about the state of our world. Right now, she really needs help to make it through another health challenge and the fiscal burdens it causes. Here's the link to her GoFundMe page. 

ljgeoff  is one of those remarkable people who can plan for the future while living in the moment. She's kind, quirky, pretty brilliant, and dedicated to creating a safe and productive space where she can work the land in a restorative manner. That takes planning, but she's totally up for the challenge. One of her first steps is to take a course in permaculture design. Help create her vision for the future - here's her GoFundMe page. 

My little Dreamwidth community is chock full of kind and generous people, some of whom may have already helped out these two wonderful people, but if you haven't, but want to help, here you go! 

Outlines: Threat or Menace?

Today, I took a walk to my local hipster coffee shop (any coffee shop within walking distance apparently falls under that designation, I suppose, but this was the one closest to me), armed with nothing but my phone and a yellow notepad. And in between drinking a passable cup of coffee with a reasonable amount of oatmilk and some fake sugar, wrestling with my phone, I actually got to work on an outline for the story I've already written more than 50,000 words in. 

My type of outline, which is my outline. I want my outline, Nurse Ratched -  

Pay no attention to that. 

It doesn't look like a classic outline of any type, more like "and then this happens, and then this happens." But I did preface it by asking two questions: What are my characters' goals? And, more importantly, what is my goal? With those two questions asked and answered, I felt a little more sure of where I want the story to go. 

Yes, I wrote a novel's worth of words with nary an idea of what the hell it was doing or where it was going. Moving on ....

I still have some more outlining to do, but I declare my time at the hipster coffee shop a success. 

Regarding the coffee shop, I got a kick out of the fact that the music they had playing was the best of 1980s new wave. If they didn't know it was roughly 40 years old - frankly, if they did know and were being all hipster retro - all I could think was "They are such children." Heh. 

And with that, it's time to retire, but not before I wish thisbluespirit  a belated happy birthday. I hope it went well. 

Nibbled to Death by Ducks

Little tiny things that nonetheless bother one. Or at least they bother me. 

I decided to post two or three of my poems over at originalkaffy_r  because it's the last day of National Poetry Month. I've put up two, thus far. That's not the duck nibbling part. It's just that I tried to set up the coding to make all the entries show up in my preferred dark blue, using the coding advice that the delightful muccamukk gave me back in January, and it's not working. I'm pretty sure I'm missing something. But I haven't yet figured it out. 

So I'm just listening to the couch's music chill flow over on twitch, and it's making me feel like a human being again. 


ETA: I fixed it!

Music Meme, Day 29

A song that you downloaded: 

That would be damn near every bit of music that I've lately enjoyed, which amuses me.

I mean, I still have a large number of CDs out in the living room, music that I used to play all the time. And of course, prior to CDs, I used to play LPs all the time. Musical evolution, or at least musical tech evolution. I'm still not a Spotify type of person, which appears to be the way things roll these days. I'm old enough that I want to actually own the music I play. So even though I may own it in a way that the RIAA doesn't approve of, I still own it. 

Downloading: threat or menace? Discuss. 

But I'm still enjoying this meme (good lord, I'm almost done with it. Whatever shall I do with myself once Day 30 is done and dusted?) and I've completed a few downloads from YouTube lately, so I can at least show you one or more of my most recent musical acquisitions. 

Let's try this one. "NASA" by Ateez came out not all that far before Artemis II took off. As a NASA fan, I loved the performance video, and once Artemis II blasted off, I kept going back to the video and grinning.  It doesn't hurt that Seonghwa, the group member who is the main singer in the MV is my bias wrecker. (That's simply saying that he's my second favorite in the group. He's really sweet and unsure of himself, unless he's got his makeup on and he's onstage ... but you didn't need to know that, did you?)

Without further ado, here's Ateez, doing "NASA"







And here's my previous meme day, which has links to all my answers. Because of course you'd be interested in those. 

Music Meme, Day 28 

A song that you used to hate but love today

I think the very first song that blasted into my mind when I read this came from Led Zeppelin. When I was a teenager, and for years thereafter, I disliked the band. In large part that was because I didn't like Robert Plant's voice. I thought it was whiny. 

In the decades since. I learned to really enjoy Plant's voice. His solo work stuck with me first and I thought, "Well, I may not like how he sang in Led Zep, but I do like his voice now." 

And then something odd happened; I started looking back at Led Zeppelin's earliest stuff and listening to it, and I realized that Plant wasn't whining. He was wailing. And that wail worked beautifully for the work the band was presenting at the time. 

And once I got over disliking Plant's voice during his Led Zeppelin days, I was free to appreciate the other members of the band. Jimmy Page was obviously in a class by himself when it came to the guitar; John Bonham may have played ever so slightly behind the beat, making his drums sound like brontosaurus lumberings, but it worked. And John Paul Jones knew how to work with Bonham. 

Today I can honestly say that the first song I ever disliked performed by Led Zeppelin is now a song I think truly rocks. As in, when I hear it, my head starts to bang. Not healthy, perhaps, but understandable, I think at least some of you might agree. 

Here it is. 





I hasten to add that Chicago bluesman Willie Dixon successfully sued the band over its use of his song, "You Need Love" in their hit. The suit was settled out of court and Dixon's name was subsequently listed as a co-writer of the Led Zeppelin song. Here's his original:

Music Meme, Day 26

A song that helps you fall asleep at night:

I've been away from my journal, and the music meme for a while, and part of that was because I was initially stymied by this. I don't use music to help me go to sleep, although there are times I think about how nice it would be to fall asleep to the sounds of one of my favorite ambient stations. I can't do that, not without keeping Bob awake, or wearing my earbuds until they're completely drained. 

But back when Andy was quite young, Bob had a job as a doorman down in one of the ritzier condominium buildings in Chicago's Near North neighborhood; not quite the Gold Coast, but as close as makes no difference. He had a night shift, which meant that I went to sleep alone, which was lonely. After I got Andy to bed, and once I was tired, I would put the Discman that Bob got for me, and I'd put the second CD of Kitaro's* two CD album "Silk Road" on. I'd put the headphones on, and I would listen to the album until my eyes were just about ready to close. I would reluctantly take off the headphones, and fall asleep. 


I particularly liked two of the pieces: "Eternal Spring" and "Silver Moon." I'm sharing both of them with you now. 



Before I forget, here's a link that will help you catch up with my earlier meme posts, should you be interested.



*I discovered Kitaro through an NPR radio show that our local public radio station played either really late at night, or far too early in the morning. At the time, Bob and I were both young and arrogant about the music we liked, and we made fun of a lot of the ambient pieces this show played, but when the host played some pieces from the Silk Road album, I really liked it, and Bob got me the CDs for Christmas or my birthday. He also later got me some more of Kitaro's work. I haven't listened to Kitaro in a while, but in hunting these pieces down I think I may have rekindled my interest in him. 

... But Not Precisely Lively, Either

It's been too long since I last posted, or checked in with other folks' journals. My energy levels have been up and down like a yoyo, and even the ups aren't where I'd like them to be. It means that there are some days when I'm happy at having completed one or two things, and there are other days when I can't even get those one or two things done. 

I've been active on Discord, but I don't want to hang there all the time, or certainly not hang there to the detriment of some of my other spaces. I'm trying to find and keep friends and friendly acquaintances in different places. You'd think that that kind of adulting wouldn't be difficult. You would be wrong. 

I've managed to push through a bit on my writing. I've managed (ihopeihopeihope) to have prevented more mouse incursions. I'm thinking of putting some more of my old poetry up on originalkaffy_r , but who knows if I'll actually do it. I've gotten some reading done away from the laptop as well. 

I bought the new BTS album and, once again, can't say why I did that. I'd been listening to the album even before buying it (the first actual music purchase I've made in a long time) thanks to all the songs being on YouTube, and I really like it. But I don't understand ... well, much of what's going on in my head these days. 

I imagine I'll figure it out. 

Persistence and Promise

Bob and I attended the No Kings 3.0 rally closest to us, in Evanston's lakeside Dawes Park. Estimates later put the attendance at 2,000, a respectable number, given the lack of parking that the park offered (previous No Kings rallies were held in downtown Evanston). We left before the march, since our aging backs weren't up for it, but it was good to be there. One of the things that hit hardest for me were an incredibly long line of stakes with pictures of people attached to them, every one of them someone who died at the hands of ICE or CBP, either directly or indirectly. All those faces reminded me of one of the things we're fighting for as we try to remain a representational democracy; an end to murder, at home and abroad. 

( More under here )

Mice. More Mice, Damnit.

The headline says it all. 

I got up at 5:15 a.m. in order to watch the first BTS concert since all seven of the members got out of the military.  Their last concert was four years ago, and they played this free event at Gwanghwamun Square in central Seoul, which is seen as the city's spiritual heart and most prominent gathering space. Thousands of fans watched in person, and millions more watched via Netflix, which is what I did. 

The concert was short, just an hour long; they performed every song on their new album "Arirang" and about four of their earlier most popular songs. They really are a mesmerizing group to watch in full flight, although I was forced to wonder about bad omens; their leader, Kim Nam Joon (stage name RM) badly hurt an ankle during rehearsals, and had to spend much of the concert performing on a stool. 

ARMY didn't mind, and perhaps the joy I saw reflected in the faces of fans watching did, as the young men told those fans, power everything that was happening on stage. With that kind of support, perhaps an injured ankle will be of little import. 

I enjoyed the concert and was about to get up and get my second cup of coffee when I discovered that, having successfully mouse-proofed the south larder closet in our office, the  little monsters fellas had decided that they could come in from the north side larder, closest to our furnace room (which isn't really a room, it's a tiny closet where the furnace is placed, but we call it a room, so there you go).

How do I know? Carter, who's been acting very "I know there are mousies there" for the past day or so, abruptly tried to push his head under the base of one of the northern larders shelving units. As I prepared to look under the shelving unit myself, a tiny grey blur shot out between Carter and me, and disappeared somewhere in the wilds of the office, or perhaps out the office door and into the rest of the house.

At this point, after the initial confrontation, during which I shrieked almost loud and high enough to crack glass, all I could do was shake my head and laugh. Just a tiny laugh, mind you, but what else could I do? Beyond the inevitable cleaning job, I mean.

It's frustrating. Nearly every foodstuff we have in both the north and south larders has been stored in hard plastic bins now, but they will apparently try to feast on anything I hadn't yet gotten into said bins. They also tried to feed on the plastic surrounding some artwork that's in the north larder because there's no room for them elsewhere.

They haven't made too much of a mess, so I can only assume they just discovered the new route over the past couple of days. Cue tremendous sighs, and a wish that I could wave a wand and keep them out for good. I keep a clean place, people, and yet here they are. 

By the end of today, Bob and I had visited one of our favorite hardware stores to get mouse shield foam and yet more steel wool. We've been there so often, at least a few of cashiers can kibbutz with us as they ring us up.

While I was out getting some more plastic storage containers at yet another of our favorite hardware stores, Bob deployed the foam and steel wool all around the furnace, after I'd vacuumed out far too much dust in the cubby. I really do keep a clean house; the problem is that I forget about the furnace cubby. So at least I can thank the mice for reminding me that I need to regularly vacuum around the furnace. 

Positivity, that's the name of the game.

But I'm still looking around for that little grey blur; I just know he or she is lurking somewhere, preparing to scare the living bejesus out of me again.