Eighty and One Half at the 250th

I suppose it’s time I let everyone in on how old I am. About one third of the history of the United States. 80 years before me – end of the Civil War and the discovery of oil in Pennsylvania. 80 before that - 1786, freedom of religion in Virginia and the Annapolis Convention that preceded the US Constitution in Philadelphia the next year and first president the next. (That’s 11 years after the Declaration of Independence). So, 3 of Me’s and we’re at the beginning of America.

It’s July 4th but let me ignore the travesty our 250th Independence Day anniversary has become and stay with the personal passage of time. Here at the half year mark beyond 80, at least I’m still big for my age. I am the onset of the Baby Boom, January 1, 1946, according to NPR, I think I’ve mentioned before. My age is I guess no secret, especially to anyone with access to a Unitarian Universalist Hymnbook. Those academics take joy in exposing everything.

And while we’re into statistics (science of collecting and analyzing numerical data in large quantities, especially for the purpose of inferring proportions in a whole from those in a representative sample) I am six and a half feet tall – still. It was about 50 years ago at age 30 I realized I lived in a kindergarten world. Chairs not built for me, had me exerting the effort to assume a standing position from knees bent more than 90 degrees. That either results in greater fitness or greater aggravation. In those charming little coffee shops with exposed brick, little tables under hanging plants threatening my head, you’d be surprised how many times I’ve heard “You’re too tall.” - I’m too tall? – I began to hear that phrase about 65 years ago when I was 15 and at this height, assured that I’d get even taller. I didn’t.

My brother Tom, just about a year and a half older is also among the few normal-sized people there are (there are a few of us). Two years ago, with amusement he let me know, “Now I can say ‘Hi, Matey!’” (Maybe you have to say it out loud to get it). A year and a half later, this past January 1, he reminded me that I can now say “Hi Matey!” and I countered that in a half year, he’ll be able to say “Hi, Matey, too.” That has come about. At least I have a brother with a sense of humor. We inherited it. We took Math in high school with our dad.

He (our dad) was taller than either of us got to be, and had a deep voice. He was the biggest person around, which could be scary to kids who didn’t know him, but he was infinitely patient and could laugh at challenging things. I was used to other students, some much older, telling me he was the best teacher they ever had. He was born in Sri Lanka, child of two doctors who started a hospital there, came to Boston at age 12, was a History Major and then an engineer. He was a great explainer and took a joy in making complicated things simple. He wasn’t the most evolved in current political correctness. He confided in us once, “You can’t call the dumb kid dumb, you can say it to the smart ones, but the dumb one will go to the principal.” I guess that was a lesson he learned that he thought warranted explanation.

He also, when a black family’s house burned down, took on with a few friends to build them a new house. When Jimmy Carter was doing the same years later Dad said, “Oh I tried that long ago, you don’t get much thanks for it.” I think it was meant as a joke. I’ve learned that some people think I’m too big to be funny, so take pains to try not to appear arrogant.

But I digress. I have in mind to talk about life at retirement age with no plans to do such a thing. My practice for at least 30 years has been to get on a plane many Fridays, go somewhere, play several gigs, and get right home again. That, an improvement on the “on-the-road driving months at a time” behavior I had for 20 years before I smartened up. So now, about 50 years of travels as mostly a solo act, which I never intended, have me in a new base of operations and contemplating how to manage.

The travel logistics have taken a hit, as my default airline Southwest has gone over to the dark side. The “Two free bags,” and being on their A-list so I’d almost always get a seat with extra legroom are gone away. Luggage and legroom now cost a good deal more. That, along with the fact that LPs, then cassettes, then CDs have been replaced by “Are you on Spotify?” The sales of merch sustained my playing gigs for years for not enough money. Now I need to ask for more money, or I’ll never get to retire to Costa Rica or Scotland.

My last post was an appeal, that moving across the country and various other happenings had left me in a money crunch. So, I want to profoundly express my gratitude for the friends who have come through for me and supported this campaign. It’s not too late, you can still buy a songbook or anything else on my website www.jimscottmusic.com.

In order to do what I love to do, I have wondering how I was going to make it. I’m planning to make an Amtrack tour - one month and ten trips on the train all for $500 - it’s slower for sure, but the seats are big and the luggage allowance is generous. We’ll see how it goes.

I’ll mention again, that the moving truck with all my stuff (beyond what I drove across the country with) is still nowhere to be found. I did, this week, get two phone calls from the office in Texas that say call them back and “Discuss the delivery of your truck.” Since Wednesday, calls back get only the answering device, now a holiday weekend, and so I guess I just take a breath and say, I’m actually OK. I’ll let my thoughts on handheld devices and my grown-up son Lou’s sharing the house with me for the time being wait until the next post. He’s a great housemate, really, and good influence despite my resistance.

I’m devoted to taking my “Year to Save the Earth” multimedia concert everywhere I can before this compromised election comes up. We know what we have to do – do more. The law is going to catch up with the criminals if we are strong together. Give money if you have it to campaigns for the right people, or get in there and help with phone banks, postcard mailings, door knocking, and engaging. We’ve saved democracy before and we can do it again.

And the one saving grace to this relentless passage of time is – you’re getting older too.

Ha -ha -ha.

In peace, Jim

Gettin’ Older With You                                 © 2002-2012  Jim Scott
(available on my album, "Heart In Another Land" on Bandcamp)
Got so tall, wish the wind would stop blowin’;
Got so wide, wish the toenails would stop growin’.
Feet so slow, like they’re stuck in molasses,
Eyes so dim, wondering where I put my glasses.
Only good thing about gettin’ old
is you’re getting’ older too.
Only good thing about gettin’ old
is getting’ old with you.
Got so hairy, want to hibernate in winter;
Got so scary to little dogs and little children.
Got so bald on top, blinding people with the reflection,
Belly looks like Brazil in the Mercator projection.
Only good thing about gettin’ old
is you’re getting’ older too.
Only good thing about gettin’ old
is getting’ old with you.
Got so stiff, coins on the floor can stay there;
Got so crabby, don’t know why I should still play fair.
Got so forgetful, don’t know what I came to do here
Don’t know who you all are, but I’m sure happy to see you here.
Only good thing about gettin’ old
is you’re getting’ older too.
Only good thing about gettin’ old
is getting’ old with you.