Musing About Muses

The assignment generated a bit of anxiety. Write about your muse, the guiding light in your life.  Hmm.  I’m torn by many characters throughout this sojourn.  So, dear Reader, bear with me while I take you on that journey.  Feel free to skim or jump around if this gets boring.  I know I would.  Anyway, I’ve invited these would be muses to assemble in a little group to hear me out and comment.  Most are dead but they look pretty good considering that misfortune.  Sit right down everybody.

 

Hi Mom. You pushed me along, encouraging a love for the fine arts.  Perhaps years of useless piano lessons wasn’t the way to go.  You imagined you would be the proud mother of the next Van Cliburn.  Thanks to you, we actually met this fine young man after his famous prize winning performance in Moscow when I was a mere pup.  The talents of this huge (literally and figuratively) man did not magically transfer, as you hoped, to me as he shook my tiny hand warmly.  But, alas, at least my interests in music and the arts have pushed me towards jazz, painting, and writing- though far from classical music fame.

 

Then there was my father, the polar opposite. Sit down Dad. Stop pacing around and looking at your watch.  Do you remember how you would run through museums as if there would be some kind of infection or plague if we lingered?  Your love was fishing.  I am lucky to avoid impaling myself in a cast.  All fish are safe in my presence.  But, I will say, I did acquire an interest in scuba diving in my later years.  Staring sharks in the eyes is pretty cool, though I didn’t actually catch them.

 

Then there is the love of my life, my wife and life companion. Hi, Pat.  She is sitting over there to make sure I stay on topic.  You have been the moral compass for the family and kept us all more or less on the road.  Your practical voice of reason, has kept this ship afloat over the years.  But here too, there have been a few ventures off course as I have pursued a bit of adventure.  She’s motioning for me to speed it up.

 

OK. Then there are those beyond the immediate circle. Uncle Dick has mysteriously constantly praised and lauded me for some strange reason. He long marveled at my actions, predicting a good outcome at every turn.  I’m not sure about how that one played out, but I do claim some success in academics and work.  Everybody needs a cheer leader.  Uncle Dick, I’m sorry I couldn’t really get excited about the Red Sox.  I could never admit that to you for fear of incurring your disappointment.

 

On the other hand, it falls to Mr. Reynolds to bring reality to the picture. He’s over there in the corner- the one with a big barrel chest and biceps the size of a tree trunk.  Your arms are folded and you are shaking your head, no doubt wondering why you are here. You don’t remember me in shop class, but let me refresh your memory. You had the presence of mind to make me spend the entire semester creating a sanding block which was to be impervious to any shaft of light that dared to pass between it and a T Square.  I think it was called a T square, but I’m not sure.  Alas, light crashed through my uneven sanding block surface at every attempt. While others moved along to make bookcases and furniture, my sanding block refused to stop that light no matter how many times I planed and sanded it.  It looked much like a pencil by semester’s end.  You were wise enough to dissuade me from wasting any time trying to pursue work with my hands so that makes you a pretty big influence in my life.

 

Then there was the comment of my first professor in psychology graduate school. Stand up Dr. Rabin.  For some strange reason you took me aside after only a few weeks in your class and stated clearly with confidence, “You will be among the half of this group that finishes the doctorate program”.  I suspect Uncle Dick gave you a call.  Anyway, you were right- I did finish the doctorate so I guess you were a part of that moving force pushing me along.

 

I shouldn’t leave out Steven Allen. He was the most influential in terms of a distant figure I aspired to follow.  Here was a super bright man with enormous talent, in addition to a skill in social satire.  Hi ho to you, Stevie!  I sent away for your picture which arrived, signed.  It graced my wall for years.  I never did develop the acting and musical skills you had, but I would say I did score pretty well on the social satire side.

 

Speaking of the arts, I give a tip of the hat to Judy who arrived late in my life. She encouraged and supported my writing. Take a bow Judy.  Having never attempted to write anything beyond technical work, it has been a great journey into the unknown, pushed along by your relentless praise and support.  I would add similar tips of the hat to the entire writers’ group but they couldn’t come because they knew I would exceed my allotted time limit.

 

Of course there are many random chance encounters with nameless people that actually do have an impact. I’ll single out only one for now or I would have to rent a ballroom.  The little old lady at Walmart comes to mind.  Hi there.  I see you have pushed your cart perfectly centered between Dr. Rabin and Mr. Reynolds.  I recall a couple of years ago that you expertly spotted this hapless Walmart traveler, and wordlessly guided my cart through the masses to the checkout, pulling it forward to prevent intruders from jumping ahead.  You gently placed your granddaughter’s new dress on the belt, making room for my few purchases.  You alerted me to focus and move along quickly and efficiently. You are the Sergeant in the trenches who knows what to do in a hostile land.  You will survive the next meteor strike while I wander about taking soil samples.

 

Now, I don’t want to keep you all any longer. You all are very busy, even the dead ones.  So I would simply ask you to write a brief note or comment, depositing it in the box at the door.  Thanks for coming.

 

…..Let’s review these comments….

 

Mom writes, “I’m sitting up here in Heaven with Van and we still expect you to buckle down and play that piano. Get moving!”  Dad writes, “It’s cool to look at sharks, but they are not fish; they are mammals.  Try the short kiddie rod and reel before you move up to the big stuff”.   Dick writes, “You did go to school forever.  I assumed you would get a real job engineering something, not thinking about what’s in peoples’ heads”.  Mr. Reynolds didn’t write anything, but I did spot a proper sanding block and T Square in the box.  Dr. Rabin writes, “You were supposed to go into teaching and research, not waste your time and talents on people; I have failed”.  Steve Allen just left another picture of himself, signed.  I noted at the bottom “Don’t try humor, you’re not that funny”.  And then, Judy writes, “You are a passionate, sensitive writer.  Too bad you can’t sit down long enough to write a real story.  I agree with you too … forget the poetry”.  Oh yes, this one is from the little old lady at Walmart, “Don’t come back.  You can’t handle Walmart”.  True words.

 

After reviewing the above, I conclude that the musing about muses has been a useful exercise. Everything and everybody are all my muses and contribute to my journey, wherever it goes.  Thanks to all.