Alan C. Fox

This is a photo of me at age nine or ten pretending to play the French Horn.  Even though it was almost seventy years ago I can tell that I’m not really playing the instrument because I’m smiling, and also because I’m looking directly at the camera.  When you’re really playing the French Horn you can’t smile (because you have to purse your lips) and your eyes would be focused either on the music in front of you or on the conductor, not the camera off to your upper right.

Why is this important?

My father was a professional French Horn player. Though I didn’t realize it when I was young, he was also the best brass instrument teacher in the world. Musicians traveled from all over to study with him. The principles he shared with his students, and that I learned from him as a child, still apply directly to many aspects of my life and serve me well to this day.

Dad is now 103 years old, and is at home recovering from a recent major surgery. Even so, he remains the consummate teacher. Last week he reminded me of an important concept that he always imparts to his students.

“If you are on a desert island with no hope of rescue, and no other human being exists within a thousand miles, when you practice playing your instrument you must always focus on what you’re doing, and always do your very best.  Always.  That’s the habit you must cultivate to play your very best when you really need to.  You are a professional.  A professional never settles for less than his or her very best.  Nothing else is acceptable.”

It has taken me many years to apply this lesson to my writing.  I’m very quick, and discovered in school that ninety percent of my best was usually good enough for an “A”.  Why bother trudging that difficult trail from ninety percent toward one hundred percent?  It was always easier for me to just take a mental nap.

For the past four or five years I’ve become more serious, and more professional, about my writing.  I don’t settle any more for a “good” first draft.  As Robert Graves wrote years ago, “There is no such thing as good writing. Only good rewriting.”  I have to admit that, like a diamond, my best work never reveals itself in a blinding flash of insight.  It must be thought out, then cut, then polished.  That process takes time and energy. But I’m not looking for “A’s” on my report card anymore.  Now I’m aiming for the top of the mountain, and by that I mean the very best I can do.

I’m sure you have already thought of other applications for this “desert island” principal.  At work?  Do your very best even when no one is looking.  In a relationship?  Do your very best even when no one may notice or appreciate it.  With a hobby?  Do your very best to satisfy yourself.

From now on whenever you contemplate whether or not your performance is good enough, I invite you to use my father’s secret code and ask yourself:

“Desert Island?”

Thanks, Dad.

Alan

In 1991 I flew to the big island of Hawaii to witness a total eclipse of the sun.  The hotel required a six night stay, which was pleasant enough, but the highlight, or one could say the highdark, of my visit was the total eclipse of the sun scheduled for the next-to-last day.

The west coast of the big island of Hawaii boasts three hundred and sixty sunny days a year, so I didn’t even consider the possibility of clouds.  The first five days were bright and beautiful, but when I woke up on the day of the eclipse I was dumbfounded to see an overcast sky.

I’m an optimist.  I was certain the clouds would disappear before the moon blotted out the sun.  But no.  I stood on a hotel room balcony, desperately looking up at . . . clouds.  I watched the eclipse on CNN and I’ve been disappointed ever since.

So when my son suggested that we take the family to see the eclipse scheduled to cross the entire continental United States on August 21, 2017, my answer was an enthusiastic “Yes.”

At 8:30 am on the appointed day thirteen of my family members landed at the busy airport in Casper, Wyoming.  We bought a few souvenirs then headed downtown where there was a festival.

For the previous ten days all of us had studied the weather reports for Casper.  Every forecast predicted full sunshine all day, so we were confident.

We parked near downtown – free parking (unlike Los Angeles where the parking meters gobble quarters as if the existence of the city depended on the income) –and walked to the festival where three or four hundred people had gathered. We passed the time by shopping.  I bought a special “Total Eclipse” baseball cap from an artist who had created his own special design for the event.

The day remained bright.  We used our eclipse glasses to watch the moon take its first bite out of the sun.  Gradually, the sun was transformed into a crescent moon.  Finally the crowd counted down toward totality.

“Three . . . two . . . one . . .,” and there we were, eyes uncovered, looking at the dark spot where the sun had shone.  We observed the sun’s corona, a bright ring which surrounded the mask of the moon.

I was struck by two thoughts.

First, how rare it must be in the entire universe for a small moon to blot out a much larger sun in precisely this way so that we are able to observe the sun’s corona.  As a layman it seems to me that while there may be life on many other planets there can’t be many other total eclipses that happen in exactly this way.  I stood at a special place in the universe witnessing a unique event.

Second, I was alive on a planet in a solar system where the sun and planets move in predictable, immutable orbits, each separate, yet all bound together by gravity, a pervasive force we cannot see or touch.

I recalled words from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam:

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on, nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”

In a little more than two minutes the sun and warmth returned.  Light clouds appeared as we enjoyed a fine outdoor lunch before flying back to Los Angeles to continue living out our more ordinary days.

Alan

I’m not talking about a Peach Crumble Pie, for which you can easily find an excellent Martha Stewart or Betty Crocker recipe online.  (I like mine warm, with a dollop of vanilla ice cream.)

I am talking about a distressing pattern that any one of us can easily fall into.

The Grumble is complaining.

The Mumble is expressing your complaint indirectly.

The Crumble is the relationship which may be disintegrating.

I’m most aware of The Grumble Mumble Crumble when I hear someone speaking to a family member with overt irritation in his or her voice.

“Have you taken out the trash yet?”

I realize that by reading this question on paper you can’t tell the tone of voice, and that is exactly my point.  Tone of voice.  The attitude of the speaker could be cheerful, perhaps offering a helpful reminder.  Or the speaker may want to add today’s junk mail to the trash that will be picked up tomorrow.  Or the speaker might be sarcastic (“Why do I have to remind you to take out the trash.  Again?”), or just plain irritated (“You constantly disappoint me by not carrying out your responsibilities in our relationship and I’m tired of reminding you.”)

No relationship is going to be la-tee-dah happy all of the time. That’s perfectly normal.  Complaints happen.  But grumbling doesn’t help. Why not ask for what you need in a pleasant way?  If clarification is needed a simple and direct statement will usually suffice.  “I want to get rid of this junk mail.  Should I take it out to the trash, or can I put it in the waste basket?”

No Grumble.  No Mumble.  And no Crumble.

I was with a couple at a nice resort recently, and heard one of them say to the other, “Have you made our dinner reservation yet?”

The tone was nasty.  I cringed, and suddenly lost interest in having dinner with them.  It’s difficult to be a bystander when a couple is indirectly expressing their irritation to each other.

The other member of the couple said, “Why don’t you make the reservation yourself?  You know how to use a phone.”

Ouch.

This Grumble Mumble here was obvious.  It often is, when someone else is doing the talking.

But I invite you to listen carefully to yourself when you talk to a family member.  Are you unconsciously expressing a bit of unresolved frustration you’ve been carrying around from earlier in the day or earlier in your life?  Do your words come out in a way that you don’t intend?

I know it is tempting for you to think, “Yeah.  My partner does that all of the time.”

Maybe they do.  But maybe – and of course this is a long shot – you sometimes sound irritated too.

Please don’t show this blog to your partner and say, “See!  Alan is right!  You do this to me all of the time.”

Instead, please look up one of those recipes and prepare a delicious Crumble for dessert tonight.  Just be certain to leave out the Grumble and the Mumble.

Thanks.

Smiley face.

Alan