My Most Important Holidays, In Order

When I was a kid, there were eleven basic holidays. By basic, I mean that somebody had the day off, sometimes us, sometimes Dad. Or there were presents. Or we had a special dinner. Or there was a parade. Or there was candy. Here they were, all lined up: New Year’s Day, Lincoln’s Birthday, Washington’s Birthday, Easter, Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Columbus Day, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, and Christmas Day. Obviously, America has changed since the 1950s, and the presidents’ birthdays have been combined, while Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Birthday has come along, as has Earth Day and Black Friday. Columbus Day will soon disappear or morph into Indigenous Peoples Day. Other celebratory days were potentially in the running as important, although they lacked time off. Halloween, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and even Arbor Day were all noted in school, with our grade school classroom transformed by decorations for the occasion. On Long Island, we also recognized Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Passover, and Hanukkah, since lots of kids were Jewish, and they usually got to leave school early. Of course, we got the afternoon for Good Friday.

The most important holidays to me back then were Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter, in that order. If I added a fourth, it would be Halloween. The reason is simple: we got stuff. Presents, turkey dinner, and candy, in that order. The fact that we often saw relatives on those days too was okay, but less important, unless, of course, they also had one of the three important ingredients. Clearly, this marks me as a greedy, self-centered child. Turkey leg in one hand, Easter basket in the other, trying to tear the wrapping off Christmas gifts. That’s me in the corner.

So, I recently asked myself, what are my most important holidays now that I’m in my sixties and retired? It’s a different list: Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day. How did that happen? The clear answer is changing priorities. I no longer care so much about my old favorites, since presents are not nearly so exciting as they once were, I dare not overeat, and candy doesn’t appeal the way it used to. On top of that, so many relatives are gone, or widely dispersed, that get togethers don’t get, except for dinners with my wife’s family, who live nearby. And the reason I like the holidays I like now is quite different from most people’s reasons. While I have a sense of patriotism, I don’t go to the parades or shoot off fireworks, and while celebrating labor is a good thing, I generally pass. What is the common denominator here? Flea markets. 

Depending on where one lives, flea markets run at various times of the year, but in Ohio, the season officially begins on Memorial Day, and ends on Labor Day. These are huge flea market days, along with the 4th of July, and include not just the day, but the whole weekend. I have become quite attached to flea markets. This affection started during a period of unemployment, when we needed to make some money, but I wasn’t bringing anything in. My wife’s father sometimes went with his buddy, Bud, to a large flea market, and we had the bright idea that I could sell things too. I had books, comics, record albums, unwanted wedding gifts, extra stuff we didn’t need, and my father-in-laws tools that he didn’t use anymore. I sold things at various flea markets until I found a job, and then continued intermittently for years, for as long as I had a truck to haul stuff. After the truck died, I slowed down. After all, a Subaru wagon doesn’t hold as much. But when I wasn’t selling, I was going to look around. I am a collector of things, and flea markets are a fine place to indulge in the search for cheap and fascinating items. My own obsessions have changed over time, but have included old sheet music, photo cabinet cards, books, and music CDs. Small items that only take up a lot of room when you own them in large quantities. Which I have done. 

I should slow down on the acquisition of things. Eventually, we will have to downsize, and my carefully constructed collections will need to be disbursed in some fashion. But the flea markets are all around me, beckoning. Sometimes I don’t buy much, but just use the opportunity for exercise. Walking every aisle of a large outdoor flea market is certainly a workout, and on that basis alone, I should go every day I can. There are lots of older folks out there, and I fit right in. 

A Conversation Between a Master and a Former Pupil

Former Pupil: Master?

Master: Ah! It is good to see you. It has been a long time since you visited me.

FP: I am sorry. I should have come regularly.

M: You are here because you have a problem that you cannot solve.

FP: How did you know?

M: Because I am your Master, and I know you. Besides, why else would you come?

FP: Yes, you know me.

M: So, tell me the problem. It must be a great one, because you yourself have become an elder, and should be able to solve your own problems.

FP: It is not a great problem, rather, one I could ignore if I chose. But it eats at me nonetheless.

M: And?

FP: A great Storyteller has died. You have probably heard the news.

M: Yes, I have. It is sad. However, he had a long and successful life.

FP: This Storyteller told great tales, and gave me many hours of enjoyment as a child, before you became my Master, and even as an adult. Many mourn the Teller’s loss.

M: Yes, I know. 

FP: But some have told me the Teller has also done harm. 

M: I have heard that too. Did the Teller do you harm?

FP: No. I never met the Teller personally, but only saw at a distance. The stories shall stay with me forever.

M: Do you know those whom the Teller has harmed?

FP: No, but others have testified to such, and many believe the accusations to be true.

M: Do you believe them?

FP: Yes. And these people are dear to me and I do not wish to hurt them.

M: But you wish to mourn the Teller?

FP: Yes. But I am torn. How do I mourn without harming those who believe the Teller to have done more harm than good?

M: You have brought me a difficult question.

FP: If it were easy, I would have solved it myself. I look to you for greater wisdom than I have.

M: Hmmm. 

FP: Have I come to you in error?

M: No. I simply ponder the dilemma. You loved the Storyteller, and wish to mourn. Others mourn in public, but pay no heed to those who have been harmed by the Teller and those who take up their cause. You wish to publicly mourn, or at least acknowledge the Teller’s passing, but also give respect to those who feel differently. 

FP: Yes, Master. That is the dilemma.

M: Let me ask you this. Have you done good in the world?

FP: I believe that I have. I have spent much of my life in service to others.

M: Yes, I know. Have you ever done harm?

FP: Yes, I realize that I have done harm to some people at some time.

M: Did you attempt to make amends?

FP: Sometimes. Not always.

M: So, you are not perfect?

FP: I never thought I was. But I think the good I have done is greater than the bad.

M: Do you think the Teller felt the same way?

FP: I don’t know, but it seems likely.

M: Did the Teller make amends with those pained?

FP: I don’t know. It seems unlikely.

M: Is there some difference between you and the Teller?

FP: Well, perhaps in some ways. I remember causing harm to a few and never made amends. I have never admitted this to anyone before.

M: Like most, you harbor secrets. Are there other differences?

FP: Oh, many. The Teller was famous and rich, and could sweep away accusations with money or threats. I cannot. I can only hope that those whom I have harmed either never come forward or never find out.

M: So, the Teller is a dragon, who uses power to push aside the weak accusers. You are a rat, who slinks under the floorboards and hopes no one notices or cares enough to find you.

FP: I do not wish to think of myself as a rat, but I accept that the analogy is an apt one.

M: Those in power often do great things and horrible things at the same time. Those without power do smaller things, both good and bad. It is the nature of people. Sometimes our transgressions are intentional, other times not.

FP: You have succeeded in making me aware of my own faults and contradictions, but not answered my question.

M: I think I have. It is too late for the Teller to make amends. It is not too late for you.

FP: This may require more fortitude than I think I have.

M: It usually does. Otherwise you would have already done it.

FP: But shall I mourn the Teller?

M: How would you make amends to those whom you have wronged? In public or in private?

FP: I would prefer in private.

M: So, mourn the Teller in private and do not disturb those who have been wronged by the Teller. You would only cause more pain. And consider what good might come of making your own amends.

FP: You are wise. I shall mourn in private, and I shall ponder who I have wronged and how I might make amends.

M: This seems like a wise path.

FP: You are also famous and powerful. Have you ever done wrong to some and not made amends?

M: None of your business.

It's Nice to Be Back

I have been retired from my position at Hiram College for six months. Turning 65, doing my regular job plus substituting as the cataloger, and the decreasing presence of the library as I know it in the life of the college convinced me that it was time to say my goodbyes. I left, but didn’t quite, as I still had one leftover advisee, who finished up in May, and now I have volunteered to be on the Board of the Friends of the Library. Perhaps I’m a damned fool for agreeing to it. However, as a non-employee of the institution I may be able to allow my inner rebel to flourish. 

Retirement is an odd thing, especially if you don’t quite give up the lifestyle. I’m still, for want of a better word, an academic. I think about colleges and their future a lot, wonder if I would survive in one as a student (things have changed radically since the early 1970s), and consider the impact the library had on my early life as opposed to that of a contemporary student. I still think about doing research. I still write book reviews. I ain’t done yet, although the paperwork says something quite different. So far, I have read more than 50 books since the beginning of the year, a pace that I haven’t maintained since the summer before I started working as a high school student. But reading 50 books means sitting for 50 books, and I need to strike a better balance in my newly available free time, between reading getting some exercise. 

And writing. I’ve been doing some “creative” writing of the memoir variety. I’m not sure where it’s going yet, but I plan to do a public reading of a couple of essays in the fall. They’re based on some old photos I have of me as a kid, using the images as jumping off points for segments of my life as I reconstruct them in memory and spill them on the page. This is very different writing from anything I’ve ever done before, and it might just end in dismal failure. For my entire career I have written technical reports, academic papers, policies and procedures, reviews, and other materials that require stilted and formal prose. Now, I can do anything, but what does that mean? Will I write essays about my life that sound like technical reports? Results have yet to come in.

Aside from the lack of going to work in the morning and sitting in front of a computer for seven hours each day, I noticed a few immediate changes in my world. More dishes, less laundry, for example. Since I’m eating lunch at home more of the time, there’s more to clean up. But I don’t have to use quite as much clothing if I’m just kicking around the house. Normally, I changed clothes after work, slipping into something more comfortable for the evening. Now I start with the more comfortable clothes and stay there, changing to something presentable if we go out. My sleep schedule hasn’t quite changed to match my wife’s, but I’m getting up an hour later in the morning. I sometimes take an afternoon nap. My goodness, what decadence.

Now, all my mail comes to the house. I used to have packages come to the library, so that I could recycle the cardboard without adding to the pile at home to take to the recycle bins in town, or reuse the boxes if they were big, for book sale storage. I have also cut down on the number of packages, which is to say the number of CDs and books I buy. Not completely, but significantly. Our town doesn’t have drone delivery yet, but UPS delivers on Sundays, and that’s quite sufficient.

I continue to resist some technologies. We remodeled our kitchen and it has neither microwave nor dishwasher. We don’t like them. I do not have a smartphone, but I suppose that will change eventually, as vital functions will not happen without them. Hell, I don’t even answer the phone at home if I can avoid it. It’s never for me anyway, except the robocalls from our friendly politicians. Screw them all, the rat bastards. Do I sound retired yet?

Opera, Anyone?

My wife and I frequent a small town in Michigan where there is a fine theater and good restaurants; a relaxing weekend away from everything. I won't mention the name of the place, not because they shouldn't get the publicity, but because we don't want any more competition than we already have. As it turns out, the local public library has a wonderful book sale every month during the theater season, and we time our trips to the theater to coincide with this additional event. Clever, we are.

This last trip turned out to be beyond expectations. While the play was excellent, and the food at one restaurant was accompanied by a performance by a delightful local folksinger, the highlight was the book sale. Normally, at $5 per bag, it's hard to beat. However, we encountered an unusual happenstance (can you tell I've been reading British mysteries lately?). The library had obtained the sound recordings from an estate. Sadly, and elderly someone had passed in the community, and the library was on the receiving end of the castoffs, including hundreds of CDs, mostly opera, but some old-fashioned jazz and other music as well. After culling what they wanted for the collection, the rest ended up in the book sale. Hundreds. They didn't think the stuff would move very fast, and so they priced the discs at 25 cents each.

Now I'm not greedy (hah!), but I proceeded to fill two paper shopping bags with CDs. Most of the material was older, historic operas reissued on CD and sets of arias by older artists--Renata Tebaldi, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, Maria Callas. I know my library had virtually none of these, and so the stuffing of bags began. After I got home, I estimated that the cost of the booty at their prices was in the ballpark of $50, and at any reasonable sale, the 180 or so recordings would have cost around that figure in dollars.

But wait, there's more! The elderly gentleman (I use the terms to indicate that he was older than me, and also very nice) at the checkout counter did not care to be bothered to count up the CDs. Just too much work. So he simply said, "Two bags of CDs and a bag of books? How about $10?" My wife and I were aghast. We told him that that figure was unacceptable, and handed him a $20 bill, saying that "Here. It's for the Friends of the Library." Then we got the hell out of there as fast as we could, like thieves in the night, even though it was 11 AM. I didn't have space to count up all the CDs until I got home late the next day, when I discovered what a bargain I had.

Now I am listening to opera singers at home, comparing their voices, and discovering that I prefer Schwarzkopf to Tebaldi, but Kirsten Flagstad is also very fine. After a listen or two, they go off to the library for cataloging, as we continue to build a monstrously large CD collection for a small college library. Oh, there was some old jazz too.

Tough business.

On to Buzzard Tracks

This page, while not exactly dead, is sort of in limbo right now, as I try to figure out what to do with it.  I've been putting most of my blog time into another page, Buzzard Tracks (http://buzzardtracks.blogspot.com/), which is now listing monthly additions to the Hiram College Library's Northeast Ohio Music Collection, along with reviews of new CDs by Northeast Ohio musicians.

Sooner or later, I'll get back here.

Jeff

Tomorrow is a brighter day

After my recent foiled efforts at good scrounging, I am somewhat more hopeful about tomorrow. I'll be heading to Half-Price Books to see what treasures await my wary eye. It's been a few months since I've been to this particular store, and the stock changes fairly quickly there. Will if find dozens of delightful items, or only a sad bare handful of mediocrity? I'll keep the universe posted.

Downhill for Goodwill
   Having gone to several Goodwill stores over the last few weeks in search of interesting CDs, I noticed a remarkable drop in the stock available.  Very few of the stores have much to look through, and at this point the number of CD-ROMs for gaming outnumber the music CDs.

   I asked the security guard about this at one of the stores (he was just standing around, and the clerks were busy at the checkout).  He said that Goodwill just hasn't been getting the CD donations lately that they used to get.  He attributes it partly to the growing number of consignment shops and the ability to sell online rather than donate.  On the other hand, he also pointed out that they were doing well with furniture and housewares.  CDs, when they got them, were being evenly distributed across several stores, so they all had something.

   He also pointed to the overflowing shelves of cassette tapes and 8-tracks.  Apparently the folks who are dying off these days (from where Goodwill gets a lot of their donations) are of the generation that bought their music technology from that 1970s window in time that I remember far better than I wish I did.

   It's odd that the last two flea markets that I went to also had relatively slim pickings.  What's going on?