Unlikely Sources

Yesterday was George Harrison's birthday.

I am embarrassed to admit that I didn't know that. Actually, I knew it - I have to know it - but I always forget it.

Makes no sense. His birthday is the day before my brother's birthday.

Everything is making more of an impression in my mind this year. My brain and heart and soul have been badly bruised. I seem to be humming like a tuning fork in some ways.

I know that as of yesterday I will never forget that George Harrison's birthday is the day before my brother's birthday.

George would have been 72.

He could quite possibly be my favorite Beatle. Notice how I can't quite commit to that. There is some strange barrier in my brain that prevents me from outright admitting a favorite Beatle or favorite moment or favorite song. Seems like it would be sacrilegious.

I am naturally drawn to John. So sarcastic, so witty, so uniquely creative, so twisted emotionally.

But I love Ringo too. Easy going sense of humor, devil may care attitude, undersized ego.

Paul can never be in the running for favorite Beatle. I have my reasons. But I can't quite dismiss him completely as a Beatle God.

But George, man - he had a wicked sense of humor. He did it quietly. He did everything quietly. They called him "The Quiet Beatle" and he was.

Not from choice, though. Paul and John kept him down. They treated him like a little brother because he was so much younger. Only allowed him two songs per album, if that.

When he went solo after the breakup, George put out a triple album. "All Things Must Pass."

Talk about pent up creativity.

George was a major financial backer for Monty Python projects. You could not possibly be associated with those guys without a finely tuned sense of humor and absurdity.

Check out early Beatles press conferences. They were all quick and unafraid, but George's comments were always sharper and wickedly funny.

He was cerebral. He was spiritual. He was creative. And he was a guitar player's guitar player. Others looked up to him.

I was disappointed to get caught off guard when I was reminded that it was George's birthday yesterday. And I had to be told by Garrison Keillor, of all people.

Motoring home from The Asylum last night, listening to NPR. Keillor does a five minute segment at 6:30 called The Writer's Almanac.

I love it.

He gives you interesting facts ranging far and wide related to the specific date, and reminds you of birthdays, and then he reads a poem.

A poem a day, man. I can't think of anything more therapeutic than that.

Last night Keillor talked about Queen Elizabeth I, who was excommunicated from the church in 1570 on 2/25, and he talked about the backlash from the English parliament at the time.

He remembered Anthony Burgess's birthday. He wrote "A Clockwork Orange", amongst many other books. If you have a taste for the bizarre, read the book, see the movie. It will rearrange your life.

Keillor noted that on 2/25/19, the state of Oregon levied the first gas tax.

He remembered the birthday of Larry Gelbart. He was a writer for the TV series M*A*S*H, and also wrote the screen play for Tootsie.

He remembered the birthday of Frank Chin, author of "The Chickencoop Chinaman", amongst other books.

He remembered the birthday of George Harrison, born on February 25, 1943. Harrison wrote a memoir in 1980 titled "I Me Mine" and dedicated it to gardeners everywhere. He was proud of the garden he maintained and would have gotten along beautifully with Carol.

Then Keillor read "Dawn Revisited" by Rita Dove.

Very tasty.

Last night I celebrated George Harrrison's birthday in my mind, alone in my car, in the dark, on my way home from a place I despise.

It was a momentary bright spot.

I also realized intuitively, down deep in my soul, that I would never again forget George Harrison's birthday.

It falls on the day before my brother's birthday.