RIP Larry Greenawalt

Oh God, how many times am I going to have to go to the beach and cry? I wouldn't give up the fact that there are so many people I know and love, but when they die it's excruciating. Larry Greenawalt was the accompanist at Trinity United Methodist in Central City when I attended there. His exuberance is hard to convey in writing. He died a few days ago when a blood clot in his leg went to his heart, killing him instantly and without any pain. He was not quite 55 years old. I will miss how he called me "darlin". I will miss him as "Mr. G" with his children's music business. He was a total kid magnet. I will miss his extraordinary keyboarding skills and funny music. If only you could have heard his "My Grandpa Is the Santa Claus at Wal-Mart" which ended, "Now this is funny. Uncle Fred's the EASTER BUNNY!" Then there were his performances with his sidekick Karen Kohler in their show Das Kabarett. He loved an audience and we were happy to provide one. As I write this I'm listening to his Das Kabarett song "It's All a Swindle" first written in 1931 by Marcellus Schiffer and called Alles Schwindel. Excerpt from song:

Papa swindles

Mama swindles

Grandmama's a lying thief

We're perfectly shameless

But we are blameless

After all it's our belief

Nowadays the world is rotten

Honesty has been forgotten

Fall in love, but after kissing

Check your purse to see what's missing!

Everyone swindles some

My son's a mooch

And so's the pooch!

*****************************************

Politicians, they're magicians

They make swindles disappear

The bribes they are taking

The deals they are making

Never reach the public's ear

The Left betrays, the Right dismays

The country's broke, and guess who pays?

But tax each swindle in the making

Profits will be record-breaking!

Everyone swindles some,

So vote for who

Will steal for you!

Maybe this is a song about the world Bernie Madoff grew up in.

Nobody did it all better than you, Larry. I know you're bringing love and laughter wherever you are. I'll see you again someday.

Love, Ann

Fighting Over Pink Floyd

Myra MacDonald gave me a hard time, in a good way, about the Pink Floyd Total Art blog post. She and her son Eddie used to fight bitterly about Pink Floyd when Eddie was a teenager. I was not surprised to hear that Eddie is about my age. We had our share of Pink Floyd fights in my house back then too. They were one of the ultimate rebel bands and parents in those days hated them. It was delightful.

"Eddie," Myra remonstrated, "We are country-western people." Eddie shot back that Pink Floyd had transformed the universe. "You and your Purple Floyd," she would sigh. Eddie would widen his eyes in horror. "Pink Floyd, Mother! Pink! PINK!" Meanwhile, I was softly singing somewhere in Ohio, "All in all you're just another brick in The Wall." The Wall was another of those bestselling-albums-of-all-time creations that Pink Floyd generated. And here they were in the 1990s still playing. The Pink Floyd Grandfathers. I invite you to go with me through their song "Time." I've heard that the basis for all religion is the fact that human beings live and one day we will die. I've never heard that fact conveyed in more powerful or poignant terms than it is here. This video has had more than five million views. I scrolled down through the comments on the video. One writer admitted, "This song scares me to death."

How to Grieve

Even in this usually lighthearted blog, the blogger has her somber moments. It was my sister's birthday last week, if she had lived. I would like to have given her a party. But she died 15 years ago. Sister Lisa and I did not always get along, but blood is thicker than water as they say and there is something about a sibling that isn't replaceable. I've been thinking about her and about my father who died last year and my aunt who died a couple of months ago. The hardest thing about getting older may be all the losses.

But I have a way to deal with this. A little way past Sea City is my favorite stretch of beach where, if I go in the late afternoon, very few people are there. If I walk a half mile or so it's just me, the foaming waves, and the seagulls. With the crashing water to drown me out, I stand on the sandy shore and have discussions with Dad, Aunt Jean, and Lisa. I ask them how they're doing up there and if they're playing cards like we used to down here. I urge them to think of us now and then and stress that I haven't stopped thinking about them. I tell them I'll see them before long. And the waves keep rolling in. There's something eternal about it all.