Thought for the Day: Love

Love is not given to careful evaluations of practical matters.

It revs up its engine and races til it splatters or solidifies.

©Herb Ratliff

The Messiah

I have had a long love affair with Handel's Messiah. Going to see it performed during the holidays is a standard objective every year. Typically it is an objective I meet, but for the last two years I have fallen short and unless something happens very soon I am about to miss it for the third year and it makes me very sad to go that long without having a chance to lift my untrained voice with the trained ones and rejoice aloud in an explosion of gratitude for being alive and in good health.

I am fascinated by the effect of the music. There is nothing else that so resonates with me the purest form of communion with God. I set aside all of my religious prejudices and attitudes for the chance to achieve an unparalleled harmony that lifts me into a heightened awareness of the remarkable gift of life.
It is not a surprise to me that Handel composed the Messiah in 24 days. If he felt what I do listening to it, when he was writing it, the sheer force of ecstasy would have consumed him if it had been a long, drawn out process.

I had an opportunity, that is a story all by itself, to sit with The Mormon Tabernacle Choir when they performed  The Messiah a long time ago. I was not a member of the choir but they told me to sing if I wished and believe me, I did. I can't imagine how you could avoid singing under such circumstances. I will never forget that. So, I suppose that may explain some of my enthusiasm for the music.

I do wish all of you a Merry Christmas. This is a magical time. Give and receive gifts generously and give thanks often. Enjoy! Thank you, Herr Handel.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_VARtvgGBY&feature=related

Herb Ratliff, December 23, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Part III - This is Your Captain Speaking - Camelot, Richard Burton and...

Part III

 Conclusion of: This is Your Captain Speaking

For unexpected behavior nothing rivals people. I have always been an avid observer of animals. I have also read a number of books about animal behavior. Desmond Morris wrote a fascinating book called The Human Zoo. In the book he describes characteristics of chimps in a social grouping. It presents a very convincing case for their behavior mirroring our own or more likely the other way round.

I could scarcely believe what had just happened between the Australian woman and her friends.  I could find no reason why she would start an altercation among her friends without provocation. However, there was a chapter in Morris’s book that did just that. Whatever the reason, it had no bearing on my plans for the evening. I certainly couldn’t do anything about it and as it turned out I had just enough time to grab a bite to eat and get ready for the theater.

There is a great little restaurant downstairs from the lobby of the hotel called Vienna Coffee House. It’s a great place for any meal but I found myself there for breakfast and dinner on a pretty regular schedule. The wait staff was very well schooled in the service ethic. They made you feel at home and were quick without hurrying.  There was a predictable clientele that frequented the rooms and we all showed up about the same time for our evening meal. It was one of those natural harmonies that formed without being planned.

When I arrived on most occasions there was a man with snow white hair and a navy blue uniform of some kind that implied sailing. I later learned that his wife lived in Hong Kong and he resided here as the Executive Director of the Pacific-Union Club. At the time of the event I am recalling I did not know his name or his calling. That would come later. Another man, quite elderly would also be present and seated along with his Scottish terrier. I had met him and his companion. He lived at the hotel in a penthouse apartment, the only apartment. His name was I. Magnin. Yep, that’s the one.

If the schedule was in its natural flow the next arrival would be a woman with long dark hair and the bluest eyes I have ever seen. She was then and has remained a complete mystery even though we nodded to each other many times over the course of my stays at the hotel. She only attended for dinner.

Finally, always in quick step with perfect posture, impeccable dress and a courteous yet clipped pattern of speech Mr. David Thorn, General Manager of the hotel would arrive. He would sit at the very end of the coffee counter and order claret in a bulbous stemmed glass. That would be followed with his order for a New York Strip Steak, medium rare and baked potato. The salad required no comment from him. That must have been memorized.

Not this particular evening but once while in that harmonic pattern I had been waiting without the usual quick and courteous service from the wait staff. When Mr. Thorn made his entrance and sat down, but before he ordered, I interrupted the silence with, “Now that Mr. Thorn has arrived perhaps we can begin.” The comment was followed by a remarkably loud silence that seemed to extend beyond reason. Everyone was looking straight at me with a look of utter despair except Mr. Thorn. His eyes were trained upon mine but he was completely unruffled. Then, he broke easily into an unrestrained belly laugh. “My apologies for being tardy,” he said and the entire room joined in a chorus of laughter. From that moment on we all had a connection that was quite unique.

But, I digress, back to the night of the story at hand. I had a quick and simple meal, returned to my room and dressed for the theater. It would be the Orpheum tonight, a beautiful venue for one of my favorite plays, Camelot. I asked the doorman to order a cab and went to the theater.

The theater was clearly sold out. The magic of a gifted concierge is not to be trifled with. I looked at my tickets for the first time. I had not been in the theater before so I ask for assistance. My seat was in the orchestra section, fourth row and dead center, beautiful. This was Burton's last performance in Camelot. And, for my money, he was the only actor who could do justice to the role. It was time for things to change for the better. I was a bit early so people were still finding their seats but my location caused no impedance to anyone. I simply sat back and enjoyed a little people watching. I had the best seat in town.

It took only a short while to fill the seats. It was nearly time for the curtains to open when I noticed the empty seat on my right. That’s odd, I thought. That must be the only empty seat in the house, one seat?  Oh well, doesn’t matter. The lights began to dim when I heard a disturbance. From back by the doorways to the auditorium a latecomer was making a fuss about something. They were coming down toward the Orchestra section. I turned to see what was happening and there at the intersection of the aisle and the fourth row, just as the lights went down and the curtain was drawing open stood the woman from Australia. I was reduced to a state of complete emptiness and utter consternation.

There is a feeling that goes with realizing you are inextricably conjoined to your fate and it is not a good one. I didn’t want to leave, I wanted her to evaporate and leave me alone. Then I started thinking of disguises. Logic disappears in the face of abject terror. Short of putting my overcoat on my head I could come up with nothing. Ignore her. Yes, I would ignore her.

She did not display even the tiniest amount of grace as she stumbled into the center of the fourth row. The overture was playing and the stage was set for the opening scene. She nudged me. I ignored her. She pushed me and began to apologize loudly. With as much distance as I could muster I assured her that her apology was unnecessary. I remained fixed on the stage. She remained fixed on me and her apology. I finally turned to her and looked directly into her eyes. I told her that I accepted her apology, thanked her and reminded her of the play that had begun. I explained that I wanted to focus on the stage and urged her to do the same. She continued to talk to me. I turned the temperature of my right shoulder down to its lowest setting and refused to allow her to see that I was disturbed. She began to cry. She didn’t just whimper and sniffle, she cried out loud with large gasps, snorts and moans. I remained in a state of frozen stoicism. I tried desperately to ignore the woman and engage with the play. It wasn’t working. The assault on my mind, my spirit and my body continued until intermission.

When the lights came up I turned away from the woman and headed in the opposite direction I expected her to travel. When I got to the lobby I discovered that she had either stayed in her seat or gone the other way. She was no where to be seen. I went outside and smoked four cigarettes all at once. OK, that’s not quite true but you get my meaning. As the nicotine began to calm my body and mind I was able to relax a bit and gather myself. That was not good because then I started worrying about the second half of the program. Should I just bag the whole thing and go back to the hotel? Why should I be the one punished? No, I would go back but if she so much as looked at me I would report her to security. So, it was settled. The lobby lights flashed signaling us to return to our seats. I took a deep breath and began walking toward my seat.

My heart was beating slightly faster than normal as I contemplated my fate. When I got to my row the Australian woman was no where in sight. There was still a little time before opening curtain so I settled into my seat. There was an unnatural interest in me by the patrons surrounding my seat. At first I nodded and smiled. Then, realizing they were not acknowledging me because of my wit and charm, but because they too were worried about the remainder of the play, I pulled within myself and pretended to be very interested in my program. The lights dimmed, the curtain opened and the music began. It was time to lose myself in the play and so I did.

She didn’t return to her seat. And while I did suffer some angst waiting for her to show up, I gradually forgot about her. And that’s what simple folks do, so they say.

By the time the play ended and Richard Burton made his multiple curtain calls I had all but forgotten about the strange woman from Australia. I walked back to the Hotel. I needed it. It had been a very long day. I was very, very tired. When I placed my head on the down pillow all my troubles went away and I fell asleep like a new born baby. I had no idea this ridiculous vaudeville act was anything but over.

What’s left of the story can be told in just a few words. There was one more encounter with the woman from Australia and it happened in the Lobby Bar at the Mark Hopkins. It was essentially a replay of the first encounter. I was sitting at the bar after work a couple of days later. She came over when she saw me to apologize for the previous encounters. She began with apologies, they turned into tears, her friends came to rescue her, she fought with them and they took her away. And that was it! I never saw her again.

There was however one more piece that tied it all together. The last day I was there, after I checked out, I stopped by the concierge, Dan Sotelo’s desk to thank him for the ticket for Camelot.  He wasn’t busy and I wasn’t in a hurry so I asked him if he had a minute to hear about the crazy tale of the Australian woman. He said he did.

When I finished telling him he actually blushed. It seems the woman had been to see him before me and ordered two tickets for the play. When I came and picked up my ticket he gave me one of those seats. That, of course, explained why we were sitting together. He thought we were together surreptitiously. The reason he thought we were together is because we had adjoining rooms with a common door.

I had no idea. I had never seen her on the floor. As a matter of fact I had never seen her other than the times I mentioned in my recollection. And I have never seen her since.

What is kind of strange is that for as much as I remember the events of that day I wouldn’t recognize her if she stood next to me at the registration desk at the Mark Hopkins. But, I’d be willing to bet Dan Sotelo would, he’s still the concierge there.

©Herb Ratliff, August 27, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Up on the Housetop

Up on the Housetop

I went to my grandson’s concert last night; he, Joshua Kingsley’s in the eighth grade. Thirteen, do you remember? Wow. There were several groups of musicians showing off their new skills, sixth, seventh and eighth graders. They did such a good job. I was great fun. The finale was a little horse-play entertainment around the reading of “T’was the Night Before Christmas”.  I’m a big fan of band experiences for kids. It’s one of the finest places for building character, cooperating, showing off, and experiencing the power of being better by joining together with others who share your same point of view.

The music was traditional and predictable except for a very nice version of “Il est ne, Le Divine Enfant”, He is born, the Divine Child. But what I enjoyed most were the traditional songs. One that resonated with me last night was “Up on the Housetop”. I swear I could hear my mother and dad and sisters singing it.  I particularly remember the phrase, “First comes the stocking of Little Nell , Oh, dear Santa, fill it well.” My mother had a sister whose name was Nell and I thought they were talking about her and I wondered how she got to be in a Christmas song. There is a lot of magic in the air this time of year if you are open to it.

There is a lot of difficulty in the world these days, serious difficulty. There is a woeful lack of leadership in this country. There is a staggering focus on filling our own stockings and a lot of anger with the scams and greed that show up day after day. But, there is beauty too. There is charitable giving at record levels and as American as apple pie hope that still gets us from one day to the next.

This is a picture of George and Mary from a stage production of "It's a Wonderful Life". That's my daughter, Dora Watson, who portrayed Mary. Isn't she adorable? No pun intended.

When the days dwindle down to a precious few

and chestnuts roast on and open fire.

When the sleigh of St Nick is covered with dew

and music is sung by a heavenly choir.

When children are nestled all snug in their bed

and fires are doused for Santa's arrival.

When  visions of sugar plums dance in your head

And all disagreement is naught but a trifle.

It must be Christmas, I'll tell you right now,

Let your eyes lift to heaven let joy take a bow.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Be joyful if you can

Happy will be OK

Thankful isn't bad either

If you are still having trouble

Try a little gratitude

To put you in the mood

If you've been misunderstood'

Herb Ratliff, Decmber 13, 2011, All Rights Reserved

Exploring Outside the Box

Exploring Outside the Box

Do you ever wonder about sleep, how it works, why you can, why you can’t, what dreams mean, why it’s so easy to remember some and not others? What the heck is going on in there?

I usually sleep pretty well. Lately, it hasn't been so good. There is no particular reason I can think of that would stand as a reason for a change in my sleep pattern but, there is a change. I don’t like it but I’m like you in that respect. I don’t like change much either. There is a rather satisfying thing that happens as the result of awaking earlier than usual. I get to do some things that I normally wouldn't  I spend time talking to friends on Facebook. I listen to a Ted Talk. I write extra things. I get to see a part of the day that is a mystery to most other people. Today I experienced some music that I probably wouldn't have listened to on most days. I’m not all that fussy about music but I am a little parochial in my listening habits. So today I listened to Lady Gaga and Sugarland sing together. I know almost nothing about either of them but I was an instant convert when I listened to the song they sang together at the Grammy Nominations last night. I do love kick-butt, get up and get after it music. Yep, even at four AM. I know that’s a stretch but hey, we all have some unusual habits.

I must tell you that it is that kind of combination that makes you want to be very careful about prejudging what is enjoyable by categorizing everything into tight little bunches. The performance was so spontaneous, energetic and impassioned that I simply got caught up in the energy field. I must have listened to it four or five times. I was ready to go to a concert. (By now it was five and energy was coursing through me with a vengeance.) I hope you’ll take a look at it:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kwlIdI_nr2E

Anyhow, that’s where the muse sent me this morning. Try something different today. You never know where some secret pleasure lies that you could find with just a little exploration out of the usual haunts.