Volume 13 – #3 – March 2010

Here’s the deal, or at least one of them. Music gets to me too easily. My mother, Emma Finch, had a stroke recently; a bad one. She’s in pretty terrible shape right now. Everything in my life has changed somewhat because of this, but it seriously sucks for her. She’s 84 years old (and wouldn’t mind me telling you that) and imagining her recovering much is difficult, but we’re all trying, especially her. I know this is not an uncommon tragedy these days and everyone who deals with it goes through his own version of despair, but this is something that Jane and I specifically hoped wouldn’t happen to Mother, but it did. We went through this with her mother about ten years ago. Unpleasant deja-vu, yes, but at least we sorta know what to expect. Anyway, I keep late hours and can drop in on her at the rehab hospital in the middle of the night. If she’s awake, which she is about 40% of the time, I talk to her (she can’t talk now) and just try to entertain her for a few minutes. After all, entertainment is my profession. I’m glad to be there and I’m working on being patient with the situation, but it’s a big drag and leaving is the worst part. After a visit I don’t want to be at the hospital anymore, but I don’t want to leave either, because then she’ll be alone in that funky, funky place. She usually falls asleep before I go and on occasion I turn off the TV and put on music, which I should stop doing. Mother likes music; always did. She joined the Columbia Record Club or something like that when I was little. Then my father built a gigantic stereo, but that’s another story. Back to my original point, I should stop putting on music when I’m leaving my mother because, no matter what I play, as I’m walking out looking back at her, especially when it’s late, the music makes it all feel much worse or deeper. Granted, most of her music collection is syrupy stuff and sort of geared to pushing emotional buttons, but I don’t think it would matter much what CD was playing. And her hearing seems to be fine, so the music must be a pleasant thing for her. I hope it is. She nods in approval when I ask if she’s enjoying it. One night I put on one of her Richard Clayderman CDs, which started with the main theme from PHANTOM OF THE OPERA, and suddenly my eyes welled-up. I exited quickly and was relieved that I didn’t have to talk to any of the nurses or aids on the way out. Nothing was okay about the moment and the music was the salt in the wound. And, for what it’s worth, Henry Mancini’s “Baby Elephant Walk” had about the same effect. My mother has had an okay life. She’s generally been in very good health until she had a valve replaced in her heart about ten years ago. She was on a “heart/lung” machine for a short while during the surgery and something about the machine’s effect on the oxygen in her brain left her with mild ataxia. Her ability to balance was compromised. My father died about five years ago and we eventually moved Mother to Denton. By this time dementia and early Alzheimer’s were setting in, but she was still pretty much her same ol’ self. About eight months ago the dementia had progressed to the point that she needed 24 hour care and we decided she should move to an assisted-living home. The move was surprisingly easy. Even her cat, Moushie, adjusted quickly. Everything seemed secure and stable. Emma and Moushie were happy with the fresh digs. The new bird feeder we put outside her living room window was kicking ass. Every color imaginable was stopping by several times a day. She bought a giant TV with all the trimmings and everyone at the home really liked her. I guess all this peace of mind should have been a warning of things to come. One morning in early February it happened; a massive stroke that blanked out the left side of her brain, leaving the right side of her body rendered useless. This kind of stroke also affects speech and swallowing, both of which she’s lost. While she was in intensive care her neurologist kept looking at us saying, “It was a very bad stroke,” as if we didn’t hear it the first few times. Anyway, once again, back to my original point, the effect her music has had on me is something to ponder and might give insight into the role music plays in my life. To me it’s been a cloak, a shield, a reflector, a distraction, a weapon and more; often times, an escape, of course, but sometimes it’s everything or the only thing, so thick that I can almost see it. I guess I’ve always been super sensitive to notes and chords. I’ll buy into a lot of stuff that many people would think is too musically shallow or manipulative and usually not mind being so easily persuaded, cause I’m also easily transported. It’s a cheap way to travel. Mother is now somewhat stable and in a routine of rehab, including physical, occupational and speech therapies, that will last about two more months. She’s on a feeding tube, which may or may not be permanent and we’re learning to communicate with her. For good or bad, she does seem to understand almost everything that is said to her and around her and tries to respond appropriately, but also gets frustrated when her words always come out garbled. So that’s where we are. I must say that life is just full of big and little experiences. That’s what it’s all about, huh? Hokey Pokey on!

The sky over Denton was blanketed in criss-crossed chem-trails a few days ago, turning a beautiful blue sky into a gray mesh-like cloudy mist. Thought you might want to know. I continue to wonder why we’re not hearing anything about this sinister activity. These were some of the longest most dramatic ones I’ve seen anywhere in the country. I encourage you, again, to Google “chem-trails” and start looking up more. I was in the parking lot at an office supply store when the trails were at their peak and the jets spewing out the aluminum compound were completely evident. People were coming and going out of the store and I felt like quickly making a sandwich board warning of the end of time, but my hair and beard weren’t long enough. Seriously, start looking up.

MORE FUN NEWS. Brave Combo’s playing schedule is about to hit full swing. Check our itinerary often, as dates are being added right and left. Many of the performances during the next two months are festivals, appropriate for the whole family. We don’t work blue outside in the sunlight.

POSITIVE LIFE FORCE. Our good polka buddy from Oshkosh, Wisconsin, Danny Jerabek, will be hanging with us for a couple of weeks in the middle of April. We’ll be recording and playing and singing and fighting and spitting and eating and drinking and puking and wallowing in it. Having Danny join us at the big Brave Combo Denton Family Reunion on Sunday evening during the Arts and Jazz Festival has become a tradition, so we just added a bunch of time on either side of that and suggested he stay around a while. Lots of “don’t miss” events coming up!

Brave Combo’s big “30 Years of Polka Love” Celebration winds down next month and I hope to have the BC 30-year timeline of exciting dates mapped out by then. Tim Walsh, our first woodwind player (who will be joining us at the Kerrville Folk Festival in May) wrote a detailed diary throughout the years he was in the band and his contributions are critical to the hilarity of all this. It’s been a bizarre ride so far and looking at it now from this perspective cracks me up and freaks me out. Here’s hoping you, as well, get cracked up and freaked out soon.