"The nature of people demands that most of them be engaged in the most frivolous possible activities-like making money."
Marshall McLuhan
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Tom Hodge Revisited
His family held a celebration of life last Saturday at the church Tom and Ronda attended. It was streamed live on facebook.
Carol and I watched it; it lasted about an hour and a half.
First of all it seemed like a very cool church. Not your typical church. No organ. Instead there was guitar, a drum kit and keyboards. It was founded in 2000, and has churches located around the U.S. and outside the U.S.
Under "mission" on their website it says, in part: "Our vision is to establish Global Pervasive Hope; every street and every person." I can dig that. They believe that God's word as laid out in the Bible is true, they believe in the Trinity, and that humans need to believe, repent and follow Jesus. That gets a little heavy for me. But overall I get a good vibe from this place.
The clincher as far as coolness goes is that on their website there is a big window with rotating messages, one of which is "No 6PM service, Super Bowl Sunday, February 3."
I knew Jesus was a football fan.
Faith is a powerful thing.
One of Tom's brothers spoke, his son spoke. It hit me that there was no suffocating feeling of sorrow in the room.
They told stories of Tom that rang so true; Carol and I kept saying "Yeah, that was definitely Tom."
Stories with laughter, stories of love.
My opinion of religious people has evolved over the years. Early on I thought of them as zealots. Over the top. Preachy. A little further on I began to accept the fact that people needed religion, but I still felt it a bit silly to put all your eggs in the basket of an afterlife.
Last Saturday I watched in awe at this assemblage of people, who felt with all their hearts and all their souls that Tom had died and gone to heaven. That he was with God, who would accept him and love him unconditionally. They believe that Tom is happy.
Belief like that takes the sting out of death. That is a huge relief, the most amazing elixir anyone could ever mix up. And whether or not it is true, it just cannot be a bad thing to soften the blow of the death of a loved one.
I will never have that kind of faith. Can't happen. I have cast my lot with the sinners and unbelievers in the world.
But I feel good about Tom's family, knowing their sorrow is sweetened by faith.
If you can have that strong a belief and not get in my face about it I have enormous respect for you.
And maybe a little jealousy.
Carol and I watched it; it lasted about an hour and a half.
First of all it seemed like a very cool church. Not your typical church. No organ. Instead there was guitar, a drum kit and keyboards. It was founded in 2000, and has churches located around the U.S. and outside the U.S.
Under "mission" on their website it says, in part: "Our vision is to establish Global Pervasive Hope; every street and every person." I can dig that. They believe that God's word as laid out in the Bible is true, they believe in the Trinity, and that humans need to believe, repent and follow Jesus. That gets a little heavy for me. But overall I get a good vibe from this place.
The clincher as far as coolness goes is that on their website there is a big window with rotating messages, one of which is "No 6PM service, Super Bowl Sunday, February 3."
I knew Jesus was a football fan.
Faith is a powerful thing.
One of Tom's brothers spoke, his son spoke. It hit me that there was no suffocating feeling of sorrow in the room.
They told stories of Tom that rang so true; Carol and I kept saying "Yeah, that was definitely Tom."
Stories with laughter, stories of love.
My opinion of religious people has evolved over the years. Early on I thought of them as zealots. Over the top. Preachy. A little further on I began to accept the fact that people needed religion, but I still felt it a bit silly to put all your eggs in the basket of an afterlife.
Last Saturday I watched in awe at this assemblage of people, who felt with all their hearts and all their souls that Tom had died and gone to heaven. That he was with God, who would accept him and love him unconditionally. They believe that Tom is happy.
Belief like that takes the sting out of death. That is a huge relief, the most amazing elixir anyone could ever mix up. And whether or not it is true, it just cannot be a bad thing to soften the blow of the death of a loved one.
I will never have that kind of faith. Can't happen. I have cast my lot with the sinners and unbelievers in the world.
But I feel good about Tom's family, knowing their sorrow is sweetened by faith.
If you can have that strong a belief and not get in my face about it I have enormous respect for you.
And maybe a little jealousy.
Heart Breaking Lyrics
"Ribbons of love
Please keep me true sane
Until I reach home on the morrow
Never never to wander again
I'm weak and I'm weary of sorrow
London to Dublin
Australia to Perth
I gazed at your sky
I tasted your earth
Sung out my heart
For what it was worth
Never again will I ramble
There's nowhere left
In this world for to go
My arms, my legs, they're a-tremblin'
Thoughts both clouded and blue as the sky
Not even worth the rememberin'
Now as I stumble
And reel to my bed
All that I've done
All that I've said
Means nothin' to me
I'd soon as be dead
All of this world be forgotten
No words of comfort
No words of advice
Nothin' to offer a stranger
Gone the love, gone the spite
It just doesn't matter no longer
My sky's getting far
The ground's getting close
My self goin' crazy
The way that it does
I'll lie on my pillow
And sleep if I must
Too late to wish I'd been stronger
Too late to wish I'd been stronger"
"A Song For", by Townes Van Zandt
Please keep me true sane
Until I reach home on the morrow
Never never to wander again
I'm weak and I'm weary of sorrow
London to Dublin
Australia to Perth
I gazed at your sky
I tasted your earth
Sung out my heart
For what it was worth
Never again will I ramble
There's nowhere left
In this world for to go
My arms, my legs, they're a-tremblin'
Thoughts both clouded and blue as the sky
Not even worth the rememberin'
Now as I stumble
And reel to my bed
All that I've done
All that I've said
Means nothin' to me
I'd soon as be dead
All of this world be forgotten
No words of comfort
No words of advice
Nothin' to offer a stranger
Gone the love, gone the spite
It just doesn't matter no longer
My sky's getting far
The ground's getting close
My self goin' crazy
The way that it does
I'll lie on my pillow
And sleep if I must
Too late to wish I'd been stronger
Too late to wish I'd been stronger"
"A Song For", by Townes Van Zandt
Thursday, January 24, 2019
One More Game
"From Dallas to Los Angeles, Cleveland to Baltimore, New York City to Kansas City, modern American men found a truth and beauty in pro football that was more reliable, more sharply defined, than almost any other aspect of their lives."
I am reading a book titled "America's Game" by Michael MacCambridge. It is a history of professional football stretching from the time that football was a mere afterthought in the world of professional sports, to what it is now - King of All Sports.
That quote is from the book and echoes what I have been saying all my life. Football gives you what life does not. Intensity. You sleep walk through your boring, disappointing life, When you tune in a football game your head explodes. You realize you are actually alive.
As a football fan you get to scrape yourself up out of the torturous and boring grind of daily survival to watch a game with huge implications. If your team loses one game it feels like death. Of course we all know one regular season loss does not kill a season, but it feels like it does.
16 fucking games. That's all you get if you don't make the playoffs. The maximum number of games you can play in one season is 20. This is why football is so much more intense than the other three major sports. This is why football makes you feel alive.
Baseball - 162 games
Basketball - 82 games
Hockey - 82 games
Football. 20. MAX!
This football season brought me an enormous amount of joy. And THE PATS are going back to the Super Bowl. Unfuckingbelievable. Three years in a row. Eleventh appearance overall. It just does not get any better than that.
I watched a lot of football this year. A LOT. So many good games, a few epic games, so many great players, young and old. In fact it was super cool to see young players tearing up the league at the same time the old folks were killing it - especially in the QB position.
The four top rated offensive teams made it to the Conference Championship round. Are you fucking kidding me? And both games went into OT.
I watched a lot of coverage, a lot of analysis. I felt football smart for the first time in a long time.
One game left.
Hunter S. Thompson was a huge football fan. He killed himself on February 20, 2005 a couple of weeks after Super Bowl XXXIX. He did not kill himself because football season was over, but it was in his head and in his suicide note. He actually titled his suicide note "Football Season Is Over." The first three words of the note were "No more games."
This makes perfect sense to me.
To my family and friends, NO I am not contemplating suicide. Strangely enough I still have a tiny diseased corner of my brain that still believes I can make my life and Carol's life better. I am making the point in my own unique way that football is so intense a sport that when the season is over a fan feels the abyss. Nothingness. Empty. How the fuck am I going to juice up my life now?
I need this game this year. I realized how badly I want it as I watched THE PATS play the chiefs. I was in agony in the 4th quarter of that game. I would have jumped through the fucking picture window if they lost.
Now we got the rams in Super Bowl LIII.
I need this. I need this more than I have in a very long time. I need THE PATS to win.
My emotions about this are all tied up in Carol's health challenges in ways I cannot explain. There is a lot going on in my head, some of which I don't even understand. My emotions are tied up in my love of football and my love for THE PATS. In the fact that THE PATS lost Super Bowl LII.
One more game.
I am reading a book titled "America's Game" by Michael MacCambridge. It is a history of professional football stretching from the time that football was a mere afterthought in the world of professional sports, to what it is now - King of All Sports.
That quote is from the book and echoes what I have been saying all my life. Football gives you what life does not. Intensity. You sleep walk through your boring, disappointing life, When you tune in a football game your head explodes. You realize you are actually alive.
As a football fan you get to scrape yourself up out of the torturous and boring grind of daily survival to watch a game with huge implications. If your team loses one game it feels like death. Of course we all know one regular season loss does not kill a season, but it feels like it does.
16 fucking games. That's all you get if you don't make the playoffs. The maximum number of games you can play in one season is 20. This is why football is so much more intense than the other three major sports. This is why football makes you feel alive.
Baseball - 162 games
Basketball - 82 games
Hockey - 82 games
Football. 20. MAX!
This football season brought me an enormous amount of joy. And THE PATS are going back to the Super Bowl. Unfuckingbelievable. Three years in a row. Eleventh appearance overall. It just does not get any better than that.
I watched a lot of football this year. A LOT. So many good games, a few epic games, so many great players, young and old. In fact it was super cool to see young players tearing up the league at the same time the old folks were killing it - especially in the QB position.
The four top rated offensive teams made it to the Conference Championship round. Are you fucking kidding me? And both games went into OT.
I watched a lot of coverage, a lot of analysis. I felt football smart for the first time in a long time.
One game left.
Hunter S. Thompson was a huge football fan. He killed himself on February 20, 2005 a couple of weeks after Super Bowl XXXIX. He did not kill himself because football season was over, but it was in his head and in his suicide note. He actually titled his suicide note "Football Season Is Over." The first three words of the note were "No more games."
This makes perfect sense to me.
To my family and friends, NO I am not contemplating suicide. Strangely enough I still have a tiny diseased corner of my brain that still believes I can make my life and Carol's life better. I am making the point in my own unique way that football is so intense a sport that when the season is over a fan feels the abyss. Nothingness. Empty. How the fuck am I going to juice up my life now?
I need this game this year. I realized how badly I want it as I watched THE PATS play the chiefs. I was in agony in the 4th quarter of that game. I would have jumped through the fucking picture window if they lost.
Now we got the rams in Super Bowl LIII.
I need this. I need this more than I have in a very long time. I need THE PATS to win.
My emotions about this are all tied up in Carol's health challenges in ways I cannot explain. There is a lot going on in my head, some of which I don't even understand. My emotions are tied up in my love of football and my love for THE PATS. In the fact that THE PATS lost Super Bowl LII.
One more game.
Wednesday, January 23, 2019
Tom Hodge
Sometimes people are in your life even when they are not in your life.
Tom Hodge died last Saturday. Cancer. Fucking cancer. He was 70 years old.
Tom Hodge was a close friend of Carol's and a friend of mine. Carol met him in the late sixties/early seventies when she went to work for The MITRE Corporation in Bedford, MA. She worked closely with Tom for many years; their friendship was a deep one.
I met him when I began working a co-op job from Northeastern University in 1973. I was in and out of there because of the way the co-op program worked, so my contact with Tom was somewhat limited. But I grew to love him.
That means we have known Tom for over forty years.
Time spans take on a dual meaning when you are 65 years old. On the one hand they serve as a stark harbinger of mortality. On the other they serve as a celebration of the people in your life who have been around forever. Longevity counts.
The crew at MITRE was a social one and we had a goddamn blast. Ski trips to Waterville Valley stand out in my mind, but there were a lot of other activities and parties and dinners - we were a close knit, fun loving group. You don't see that anymore.
Carol left MITRE in 1980 when Keith was born. I left in 1977 when I graduated college. Although I went back and worked full time from 1979 to 1983 after a failed stint with my father's business.
Here's the catch. Over the last 35 or so years we have only seen Tom a handful of times. Carol always stayed in contact with him but we rarely saw each other.
And yet when I got the news yesterday it brought tears to my eyes. It also blind sided me with a disquieting and overwhelming sense of emptiness. Which surprised me.
So I thought about it and realized the emptiness came from knowing who Tom was and what he brought to our life.
He was one of those guys who knew exactly who he was. He was completely comfortable in his own skin. He loved sports and played everything he could. Basketball, softball, volleyball. He ran, he biked, he hiked. He did not drink he did not smoke. He was deeply religious. He was easy going but could be quietly intimidating when he had to be.
One of the things I loved about him was that he came across as mild mannered Clark Kent because he was always nice to everyone. And then he would make a subtle comment, wise-ass in nature, that would just crack me up. And prove that there were many layers to the man.
He genuinely cared about people.
Sixteen months ago he was out hiking or mountain climbing with his family when he was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. So much so that he could not go on. They had to call in emergency people to fly him out of there to a hospital.
Where he was diagnosed with a nasty strain of cancer.
He had been fighting back ever since. The usual tortures - chemo, radiation, whatever other weapons the medical community has in its arsenal. Tom had his faith. And he held a positive attitude.
I know that because during that time he found out about Carol's health problems. He called us last year.
He was so positive about his own war and so encouraging to Carol and me. We could just hear the empathy in his voice; feel the genuine emotion. He sounded great. We talked seriously, we laughed, we reminisced.
At the end of the conversation he asked if he could pray with us. I think I heard "for" instead of "with" so I reflexively said yes assuming he would do it after he hung up. Instead he immediately jumped in and began praying.
If anyone else had done that I would have hung up. I didn't mind with Tom. In fact I liked it. Because I knew it came from the heart. I knew he sincerely wished Carol good health and both of us happiness in our life.
We had seen Tom maybe five times in the last thirty years. But it doesn't matter. I miss him as if he lived right down the street. I hurt and I am empty.
Because of what he gave to us. He was fun and funny. He was loving. He cared. He made you feel like a human being. He was genuine. He lived his life exactly in accordance with what he believed.
And we have so many great memories from the short time that we all spent together at MITRE. At this stage in our life, great memories are gold.
I am always looking for genuine human interaction. I crave it because it is rare. We all play a part, and that tends to get in the way of honesty. Tom was the real deal.
This emptiness I feel makes a powerful statement about how the quality of a human being can impact your life even if you are rarely with them. That gets to the core of what it means to be a human being; what it means to truly live a life.
Requiescat in pace, Tom Hodge.
I know you will.
Tom Hodge died last Saturday. Cancer. Fucking cancer. He was 70 years old.
Tom Hodge was a close friend of Carol's and a friend of mine. Carol met him in the late sixties/early seventies when she went to work for The MITRE Corporation in Bedford, MA. She worked closely with Tom for many years; their friendship was a deep one.
I met him when I began working a co-op job from Northeastern University in 1973. I was in and out of there because of the way the co-op program worked, so my contact with Tom was somewhat limited. But I grew to love him.
That means we have known Tom for over forty years.
Time spans take on a dual meaning when you are 65 years old. On the one hand they serve as a stark harbinger of mortality. On the other they serve as a celebration of the people in your life who have been around forever. Longevity counts.
The crew at MITRE was a social one and we had a goddamn blast. Ski trips to Waterville Valley stand out in my mind, but there were a lot of other activities and parties and dinners - we were a close knit, fun loving group. You don't see that anymore.
Carol left MITRE in 1980 when Keith was born. I left in 1977 when I graduated college. Although I went back and worked full time from 1979 to 1983 after a failed stint with my father's business.
Here's the catch. Over the last 35 or so years we have only seen Tom a handful of times. Carol always stayed in contact with him but we rarely saw each other.
And yet when I got the news yesterday it brought tears to my eyes. It also blind sided me with a disquieting and overwhelming sense of emptiness. Which surprised me.
So I thought about it and realized the emptiness came from knowing who Tom was and what he brought to our life.
He was one of those guys who knew exactly who he was. He was completely comfortable in his own skin. He loved sports and played everything he could. Basketball, softball, volleyball. He ran, he biked, he hiked. He did not drink he did not smoke. He was deeply religious. He was easy going but could be quietly intimidating when he had to be.
One of the things I loved about him was that he came across as mild mannered Clark Kent because he was always nice to everyone. And then he would make a subtle comment, wise-ass in nature, that would just crack me up. And prove that there were many layers to the man.
He genuinely cared about people.
Sixteen months ago he was out hiking or mountain climbing with his family when he was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. So much so that he could not go on. They had to call in emergency people to fly him out of there to a hospital.
Where he was diagnosed with a nasty strain of cancer.
He had been fighting back ever since. The usual tortures - chemo, radiation, whatever other weapons the medical community has in its arsenal. Tom had his faith. And he held a positive attitude.
I know that because during that time he found out about Carol's health problems. He called us last year.
He was so positive about his own war and so encouraging to Carol and me. We could just hear the empathy in his voice; feel the genuine emotion. He sounded great. We talked seriously, we laughed, we reminisced.
At the end of the conversation he asked if he could pray with us. I think I heard "for" instead of "with" so I reflexively said yes assuming he would do it after he hung up. Instead he immediately jumped in and began praying.
If anyone else had done that I would have hung up. I didn't mind with Tom. In fact I liked it. Because I knew it came from the heart. I knew he sincerely wished Carol good health and both of us happiness in our life.
We had seen Tom maybe five times in the last thirty years. But it doesn't matter. I miss him as if he lived right down the street. I hurt and I am empty.
Because of what he gave to us. He was fun and funny. He was loving. He cared. He made you feel like a human being. He was genuine. He lived his life exactly in accordance with what he believed.
And we have so many great memories from the short time that we all spent together at MITRE. At this stage in our life, great memories are gold.
I am always looking for genuine human interaction. I crave it because it is rare. We all play a part, and that tends to get in the way of honesty. Tom was the real deal.
This emptiness I feel makes a powerful statement about how the quality of a human being can impact your life even if you are rarely with them. That gets to the core of what it means to be a human being; what it means to truly live a life.
Requiescat in pace, Tom Hodge.
I know you will.
Tuesday, January 1, 2019
January 1, 2019
"This year I will be more thoughtful of my fellow man, exert more effort in each of my endeavors, professionally as well as personally. Take love wherever I find it, and offer it to everyone who will take it.
In this coming year I will seek knowledge from those wiser than me and try to teach those who wish to learn from me. I love being alive and I will be the best man I possibly can."
From Duane Allman's diary, January 1, 1969
In this coming year I will seek knowledge from those wiser than me and try to teach those who wish to learn from me. I love being alive and I will be the best man I possibly can."
From Duane Allman's diary, January 1, 1969
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