Alan C. Fox

One of my favorite musicians is Gordon Lightfoot. Last Friday evening Sprite and I attended his concert at the Rose, a dinner theater in Pasadena.  I typically object to being required to arrive by 7:00 pm for a 9:00 pm concert, but I’m happy to report that both dinner and the show were excellent.  We were seated about twenty feet from the stage. I have found over the years that my enjoyment of a performance often depends on how close I am to the stage.  After all, none of us would enjoy a conversation if we were seated two hundred feet apart.

Gordon and his band appeared on schedule, and I was delighted that he performed well even though he is a year older than I am. When I was thirty I started paying attention to the age at which writers were first published.  I was happy to find that most were older than me.  At age sixty I stopped that foolish comparison.  My first book, People Tools, was published when I was seventy-four.

One benefit of aging is that you don’t care quite so much about what other people think of you. Gordon, who suffers from allergies, used nasal spray, followed by Kleenex, several times during his performance.

He shared stories from his life. Early in his career, he was hired to appear on a Square Dance show that was televised live.

“I never could learn the difference between an ‘Allemande Left’ and a ‘Dos-e-do.’  And it was a live show.”  He did not last long on that job.

Gordon also shared that Elvis Presley sang one of his songs, “Early Morning Rain,” at a concert in New York.  Gordon and his friends crossed the border from Canada to attend the concert.  They were invited to meet Elvis, but after the show it was difficult for them to make headway through the tide of people exiting.  When Gordon and his group finally arrived backstage at Elvis’s dressing room they were told the now proverbial, “Elvis has left the building.”

“I never did meet Mr. Presley,” Gordon said, a bit wistfully.

I was reminded of a charity performance I attended years ago hosted by Paul McCartney.  Major Hollywood stars, including Tom Hanks, seemed thrilled to be performing with Paul.  We all have our heroes.

Our Friday evening at the Rose included many of my Gordon Lightfoot favorites, including “Rainy Day People,” “If You Could Read My Mind,” and “Sundown,” which was his only song to reach No. 1 on Billboard’s all-genre pop chart.  The audience responded to many songs with a standing ovation.

Gordon and I and perhaps you, either now or in the future, share a fate in which our lives move from having only a few accomplishments and a dollar in our hand to a great deal more success and, hopefully, money.  But when we do it’s no longer so early in our lives.

Welcome to the fulfillment of Late Morning Rain.

Alan

I’m remembering my mom today. Though she died more than twenty-five years ago, her influence on my life was enormous.

When I was young, every day after school I would enjoy a snack and a two-hour conversation with my mom. Our conversations would last until she served dinner at 5:30 pm sharp (unless Dad arrived home later). This continued through my early teens. The value of that time I spent with her is immeasurable.

1. I learned how to cook. Food has always been important to me. I realized when I was very young that if I knew how to shop for groceries and how to cook with the right ingredients I would be the master of my own food destiny.  I especially enjoyed cooking cheese blintzes with my mom. She prepared the cheese stuffing. I had the fun of frying the skins. And, of course, I most enjoyed the dinners created by our joint efforts:  Cheese blintzes with sour cream.
2. My mother was a great cook, but the best food was always for “the company.” Fortunately, mom knew to always prepare more food than “the company” could eat. I used to wake up early the next morning, before my little brother, so I could finish off most of the leftovers. To this day, I follow my mom’s lead and make a little more than I expect “the company” to finish.
3. From my mom I not only learned the value of taking good care of myself, I learned the importance of following good advice. For example, she stressed that I should brush my teeth at least twice a day. But because I didn’t always follow her advice when I was younger I now have a number of tooth implants, She also taught me to shower every day and not only do I follow that advice (thankfully), I find that is where I do my best thinking.
4. My mom taught me to drive carefully. She hated driving. She couldn’t wait until I turned sixteen and had my own driver’s license so I could drive her around. Alas, when I was fifteen and a half I “borrowed” my mother’s car without permission. A friend with a license drove us to the beach. My father discovered my illicit trip (sand in the car?) and postponed my driver’s license until I was sixteen and a half. Poor Mom. But to this day I always pay strict attention when I drive.
5. My mother instilled in me the value of being generous to others. She always offered a kind word or helping hand to anyone who needed it. To carry on her legacy, I founded a philanthropic organization to help children in need fulfill their potential.
6. My mother taught me how to garden. She also taught me to dream big and have patience. As a kid I grew a twenty-four pound banana squash (see the photo above). Later this year, my publisher, Clavis Publishing (an international publishing house based in Belgium), is publishing my children’s book Benji and the Twenty-Four Pound Banana Squash.
7. My mom taught me that I should value everyone no matter their gender. Specifically she insisted I should have a few boys as friends. When I was ten I wanted to invite only girls to my birthday party.  “No,” Mom said, “you have to invite at least one boy.”  So I invited one boy.  And a dozen girls.  In my twenties I began to make friends with men.  Now, some of my closest friends are men (though I still prefer women).

Enjoy your Mother’s Day on Sunday, hopefully with a lunch or dinner, surrounded by relatives, friends, and good conversation. Maybe even include a few male relatives or friends. if your mother insists.

Alan

I’ve always lived in a haunted house.

I’m not talking about a house with ghosts that pass through walls, or rattle chains in the basement or the attic. I’m talking about all of those ghosts that live in the shelter of my own mind.

When I was thirty-one years old, single and dating, I always asked one question on a first date; “How did you get along with your father?” I believe that all of us project our father’s or mother’s face onto each man or woman we meet later in life.  Sprite, for example, adored her father. That’s a ghost I can happily live with. And yes, when I was young, I thought my mother was a Saint. I still do.

Some of my ghosts are helpful. They inspire me by murmuring words of encouragement. “You can do this.”  “Express your love.”  “This too will pass.” I will always have a cozy nook in my mind for those phantoms that care about me

But what about the wicked goblins who, all too often, spring from their hiding places deep in my mind to taunt me with memories I’ve long ago transformed into enduring expectations of rejection and failure?  Those spooks are nasty to live with and difficult, if not impossible, to evict.

When I was two or three years old, I woke up screaming every night with a recurring nightmare of being chased by “The Big Bad Wolf” who was going to eat me alive.  My father always raced into my room to sit on the side of my bed.  He patiently suggested that, in my dream, I should stand my ground. He told me that instead of running away, I should turn around, face the Big Bad Wolf, and tell him “I’m not scared of you. Go away Mr. Wolf.”

I tried to follow my dad’s advice, but running away felt safer. But finally, after many months, I did what my dad suggested.

In my dream I stopped running, turned around, and said to the slobbering Wolf, “Mr. Wolf, I’m not afraid of you. Go away.” To my surprise, the Wolf looked startled.  Then the Wolf stopped, turned around himself, and slunk away.

“Daddy, daddy, the wolf ran away!” I ran into their bedroom and woke up both of my parents to spread the good news.

That wolf has never returned. Nor has the dream which haunted me after I graduated from college. Maybe you know that one, in which you haven’t attended class, never read the text book, and have to take the final exam in two hours?

Most of the internal ghosts which I struggle with today visit me while I’m entirely awake. They whisper to me, “That person won’t like you.”  “You’re too fat.”  “Sprite doesn’t want you anymore.  She didn’t greet you as ardently today as she did yesterday.”

These whispers are rooted in my past, not my present, and I don’t expect to ever dislodge them all.  But I’m making progress. Some of my ghosts, such as “You have to work all the time,” or “Sprite will emotionally abandon you one day,” have begun to pack.

It has taken determination, reassurance from others, and the passage of time for me to reduce the influence of those voices. It also helps when I talk or write about them, exposing my ghosts-in-residence to the light of today.

I’ve always lived in a haunted house. How about you?

Alan