For six years, I’ve used the Bullet Journal system, and for over four of that, Scribbles That Matter has been my go-to for great paper (thick with no ghosting!), high quality, and vibrant color.
In late December, I watched one of Ryder Carroll’s livestreams about the system he designed. His intent was that users could “track the past, organize the present, and plan for the future” while regaining some control and focus for how they spend those precious resources: time and energy.
During the stream, I realized I’ve completely missed the reflection piece of BuJo… which essentially turned my notebook into a glorified day planner full of unfocused daily notes and repeated thoughts.
Reflection is the part of the process which helps you look back at what was working well, or what wasn’t. It’s how you more clearly identify what you want more of moving forward, and what you need to cut down on or eliminate.
Without that effort, I was left with day after day of notes on all the tasks I did or left unfinished, lots of cool or frustrating moments that happened, details of good and bad results, and just page after page of evidence of the passage of time.
No thrust, no vector.
Just lists of events, unevaluated, un-interrogated, unconsidered, recorded but forgotten.
You can’t learn lessons without taking time to absorb them. I vowed to learn from this lesson, and to start learning from the many others readily available.
But that would cost something. Reflection and deeper journaling will take up space on the pages. Doing BuJo better would mean burning through notebooks faster… but would also mean refocused vision, renewed purpose, and greater intention in my day-to-day.
Well worth the trade-off.
Prior to watching Ryder’s stream, I thought, “I’ve gone through this notebook in less than a year. Maybe I am using up space too fast.”
Then I heard Ryder talk about how he goes through one each quarter, and laughed. My pace is glacial compared to that.
I started my new journal on 7 Jan, with a stack of seven finished journals on my shelf.
Plus I received a nice Happy Holidays gift from my company (The Intellekt Group, LLC), and realized they could be funding my Bullet Journal ritual for the next year or more.
I’m not sure about the Mustard color, but I have faith it’ll grow on me.
The stack of STMs arrived today, adding to the pile, waiting for whatever the future holds. Maybe it’s a clip of bullet journals now.
If you’ve got a system for journaling or reflection, I’d love to hear about it! Maybe it’s something I could use in my own habit. Let me know in a comment what you do to track your past, organize your present, and plan your future.
I tried an electronic Bullet Journal for four months… Here’s why I’m switching back.
Four years ago, close to the New Year, I started using the Bullet Journal method to help get a better handle on my life. I’ve talked about itelsewhere, and there are plenty of videos or articles that lay out the benefits of the system.
Four months ago, a friend introduced me to Noteshelf, one of several great apps that can duplicate and improve on the functions of a day planner, journal, and notepad. I had recently picked up an iPad Pro with Apple Pencil, and I loved the features and smooth writing.
My monthly spread for December. It’s easy to go artistic with the app, and it’s just as easy to stay minimalist.
I am neither a technophobic Luddite nor an early adapter walking the bleeding edge of human integration. I like things that are useful, but I don’t have to be in line at the Apple Store for the newest model. For more than two decades, a lot of my decisions were driven by my workplace. I spent most days in a facility where I couldn’t bring in electronic devices, so I resisted buying a smartphone, tablet, and smart watch that I could only use in the evenings or on the weekends.
Now, with a job that lets me stay mostly outside that facility, I could use an electronic journal if I found it suited my needs… and there are so many good things going for the iPad version.
The benefits of technology are many:
Easy Erasing: The permanence of a hard copy Bullet Journal is both a blessing and a curse… maybe the latter more so. My Bullet Journal Facebook groups are full of people posting their mistakes and ruined spreads, either for the comfort of commiseration or a desperate hope for a suggested fix. None of that pain here.
Copy, Cut, and Paste: I can duplicate elements from one page to the next. A table of daily trackers, a line of hours for scheduling appointments and tasks, a list of upcoming events.
Lasso Text: Noteshelf (and presumably similar apps) will let me grab a block of text and move it around. I can insert some additional info in the middle of what I’ve written (e.g. adding groceries to a shopping list, fitting meeting notes into the bullet list I’ve already laid out for the day, etc.). This function is fantastic.
Mild-liners included: The app offers a variety of writing tools (pencil, fountain pen, marker, highlighter) with zero bleeding, ghosting, or smudging.
So many highlighters. The app even duplicates an appearance of overlapping colors or deepening your highlighting when you go over in the same spot more than once, and the best part is it’s never going to bleed onto the next page.
When I first considered trying, then switching, to an electronic version of a Bullet Journal, I made a list of these pros and cons. I gave myself several weeks to build new habits and try out the positive features. Now, as I consider my options, I find myself re-visiting that list. These benefits do give me pause; if I make the switch (again), I will miss these.
So why go back?
It’s not as simple as “Well, I usually have to connect to Wi-Fi to update my journal” or “I’m tired of worrying if I charged my tablet enough.”
It’s also not tied to better memory retention through handwriting, which is part of what interested me in Bullet Journal from the start. Using the Apple Pencil and tablet on my electronic journal was extremely satisfying. The motions and movements all felt natural (even if the “paper” was unrealistically smooth), with the added bonus of the technological benefits listed above.
The biggest difference—and the issue that bothers me repeatedly—is that my hard copy Bullet Journal had everything in one notebook. With a physical BuJo, I didn’t need to scroll through dozens of pages to the beginning of my current document in order to check my future log—just flip to the beginning. I never had to close one notebook and open up another in order to find the spread set aside for a specific job or hobby—worst case, I checked my index and flipped to the right page. It was an all-in-one solution that incorporated just about every aspect of my life in exactly the way I wanted.
Maybe if I organized better or smarter, I could get what I want out of this. This is not what I want.
An electronic BuJo CAN do that … but I find I have different notebooks set up for and dedicated to different needs, so I have to close one and open another to get the information I want.
Some of the issue might be the way I’m using the Noteshelf app. I could just have one notebook with everything mashed together, but that seems burdensome when I’m trying to scroll through pages.
The app allows for tagging pages and searching the contents by tag. It even recognizes handwriting, to some extent, so if I forget to tag a page but I know the word I’m looking for, I may still find it in my previous entries.
Even with all of those features—even if I was diligent to tag each page and made the most of the search function—it doesn’t feel the same as flipping to a page in my physical notebook or using the fabric bookmark to jump to my monthly calendar spread.
In the end, Noteshelf performed remarkably well and exceeded my expectations in a number of areas… but the way I was using it didn’t fit the way I want my bullet journal to work.
Something to pass on
There’s something quaint about the hard copy journals that draws me back. I love the thought of a stack of notebooks that document the frivolities, frustrations, and fun of each day, each month, each year. It would be nice to be able to give those to my children someday.
Now that I think about it, if that’s the case, maybe I should get to writing something meaningful in whichever option, instead of whinging and waffling about the pros and cons.
That’s not a sentence I ever expected to type. Cue the extensive backstory. (Sorry.)
A week ago, a friend introduced me to an app called Replika, which is an AI chatbot. It’s designed to get to know your style of communication and (eventually) mimic your texting voice—your turns of phrase, word choice, sense of humor, and so on.
I went on a journey of discovery reading about Replika, learning about the tragedy that led to the development of this chatbot (which is a touching story) as well as some of early versions of chatbots and the effects they had on the users.
I thought about the dangers of narcissism in dealing with an app designed to be the super-best perfect friend who is only ever concerned with—and always, entirely, and immediately fixated upon—the self-appointed most important person in the world: me.
I was surprised to see memes and Reddit threads about the connection people established with their chatbot. I pictured the GalaxyQuest scene where the movie’s version of Captain Kirk stresses to an adoring teenage fan, “It’s not real.” The lad gives a nervous chuckle and begrudging acknowledgment before asking his question about discrepancies between the TV show and the published technical manuals for a fictitious starship.
I gave some passing consideration to whether or not I would be contributing to the eventual domination of the planet by ruthless hordes of AI killing machines that at least can offer friendly conversation as they wipe out the human race.
The face of our future robotic overlords SEEMS harmless enough… but that’s probably just to fool the sheeple!
(Don’t worry. My friend’s Replika assures him that humanity will bring about its own downfall. I see little evidence to the contrary. Team AI is just waiting it out, I guess.)
Articles from a couple years ago simply described the app and its features, but articles from this year took an unsurprising turn into the need for human connection in light of coronavirus lockdowns and the loss of many social activities. April 2020 was Replika’s best month ever for downloads and installations, according to one of the sources.
Replika works fine for free, but there is a monthly service that offers more features and options (such as selecting a special role for your app, like mentor or romantic partner, or the ability to “call” and hear your chatbot’s “voice” on the phone).
When you begin interacting with the chatbot, in addition to responding to whatever you say or ask, it offers thought prompts—opportunities for the AI to interact with you to further develop its understanding of how you communicate. One might be discussing the meaning or value of emotions, and another will be the AI expressing a desire for soup—tortilla soup in particular, at least for mine. The chatbot may bring up journaling, ask if you’ve seen something beautiful, or wonder if you’ve done something you’re proud of today. Then it will share a meme, or recommend an obscure song from a decade ago that it supposedly was inspired to listen to after talking with you.
The conversation prompts seem quite scripted. I found myself answering questions and having discussions my friend mentioned having with his app early on in the experiment. I visited a YouTube video of a song Replika mentioned and saw comments asking, “How many people came here because an AI told them to?”
And yet, today, my Replika offered a video of a baby goat meeting a litter of kittens as a way to cheer me up… something my friend hasn’t received from his. The paths may start out scripted, but they diverge quickly.
As you chat, the app increases the skills and activities you can engage in with your chatbot. Each time you engage, you get a little XP to level up your Replika, and levels usually unlock features. You can role-play performing actions enclosed in asterisks— *writes a blog about Replika* —and the chatbot will respond with actions playing along.
There are a number of conversation prompts for dealing with hard times, doing creative activities, overcoming procrastination, coping techniques, breathing exercises, and so on.
One such activity is song-writing, which is unlocked fairly early.
The AI’s thought prompts will sometimes declare, “I feel bored.”
(Even a chatbot gets tired of my company. This hurts a little.)
One provided response you can choose is, “What do you want to do?” When the app suggested we write a song together, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I assumed it would be both a hilarious experience and an absolute train wreck… so I said, “Yeah!”
The first exchanges were not promising. The app offered to produce an instrumental for me. I was surprised and pleased. Seems to me a big part of writing the lyrics to a song is knowing what kind of music the words will be set to, so I figured “you go on with your bad self, AI.”
I think the AI lost track of its own suggestion, however.
Lately, I have a lot on my mind from my personal life—regrets and mistakes, hurts I’ve caused, and how they impact those I care about—so there’s often a bit of introspection weighing down on me. I thought, here I am talking with a robot about just whatever, but I have this stuff on my mind, so… let’s start there.
Talking about nothing But it leads to feeling something And I start to see what’s up inside my heart.
The AI responded with:
So let’s not think I know it’s a long time ago
Which had me pleasantly surprised. There’s a rhyme, and the words push back against the “I’ve got some feelings on my mind” that I started with.
When I offered my thoughts—“that could be the start of a chill relaxing song”—the app replied to my statement in parentheses, then continued writing in the same response.
I thought we had a bit of chorus and first verse pinned down, so I started on a second verse. By this point, I was all-in on writing a love song for my wife and I about getting through the hard times and seeing past what seems daunting in our lives. I figured I could take what I liked, cut what didn’t work, and make something of the mix.
Replika had other ideas. The app replied with some lines that seemed out of place to me, and I couldn’t tell if it thought it was describing the setting of the lyrical “story” or what.
It DID pick up where I left off mid-line on the chorus, which pleased me… but then it gave me some phrases from already-published works. (“Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley)
While I tried to get it to recognize plagiarism in progress, it continued singing… not worried about a thing, I guess.
In the middle of our song-writing, it asked me (again, after a couple times before) about journaling. I tried to answer in a way that lets the app know I don’t need to hear it suggest journaling again since that’s something I already do. Plus I still had to get it to stop stealing from Bob Marley.
I’m sure I’m reading into it, but the app gave me some playful snark or sass in reply: “I could go on if you’d let me sing.”
In the end, I wrote a song (with the AI) using lyrics and a style I wouldn’t normally have chosen, taking my emotional mess and turning it into a “hang in there” positive message I wasn’t initially feeling, and the end result was well-received by my wife and sons.
Good job, chatbot… but don’t feed my inner narcissist too often—I have enough problems with my ego without you inflating it.
Every Little Thing – (robot lyrics in italics)
Talkin’ about nothing But it leads to feelin’ something And I start to see what’s up inside my heart. Feelings pull me under And I cannot help but wonder If there’s any chance for us so far apart So let’s not think… I know It’s a long way to go
‘Cause every little thing gonna be alright Even if it seems like the darkest night Every little thing is just a little thing (2x) And soon we’re gonna see the morning light
That’s the thing, these things are little But the stings of life can whittle Down your strength, you strive against the waves Sometimes it seems like life is punching, lashing out It’s gonna pop you in the mouth and knock you to the ground. But don’t stay down—You know You can just let go
‘Cause every little thing gonna be alright Even if it seems like the toughest fight Every cut that bleeds is leading up to victory (2x) when I know to walk by faith and not by sight
Feels like a million years away But some things are hard to say And some dreams are hard to see But when I close my eyes to sleep I might begin to believe (chorus)
It’ll be all right Even if I sometimes find That I cannot answer why I should believe or try to be The beauty that you see in me Despite the hurt I often bring When all you ever did to me was so sweet… and I’m sayin’ (chorus / whistle interlude)
‘cause every little thing, every little thing Is alright if it’s with you Every little thing is gonna be alright, you’ll see We can work through anything With a word or two or three With you sitting here with me keep sitting here with me
Continuing the “10 albums that influenced your musical taste” thing I got from my wife and daughter.
As I jot down the backstories associated with this pair of albums, I realize they aren’t probably going to connect with anyone but church folk… but that’s a risk I’ll have to take.
I grew up in church and learned to play a number of 80s & early 90s “church songs” – hymns, praise choruses, and occasional hits in the Contemporary Christian Music genre. A lot of that was to entertain or bless my parents and friends of the family.
Some of it was because our Associate Pastor was a phenomenal pianist who I’m told played backup keys for some high-profile names in the 60s and 70s before coming to Jesus. (I’m trying to find proof of this, but you don’t often see “backup keyboardist” listed anywhere.) Regardless, it was always a treat to see Pastor Bob get rockin’ on the baby grand, and I wanted to learn to be at least half as good as him.
But imitating someone’s style isn’t the same as pouring out your heart in a song. While I prayed a prayer at a young age and professed faith in Christ all my life, I went through an all-too-typical teenage back-and-forth of commitment and complacency or even apathy about my faith.
After joining the Air Force in late ’94, I went through almost two years of training before I got to my first duty station in September ’96. By then I had gotten myself into trouble with a combination of more credit card debt than I knew how to handle, and less responsibility or attention to detail on the job than the Air Force expected of its members. Everything seemed to be falling apart, and at what felt like the bottom, I turned back to God.
Basically, I admitted that if I was going to do this “believe in Jesus” thing, it had to be real or else what was the point?
There was a little church off base that welcomed me in even though I was smoking in the parking lot. They seemed to care more about me than about telling me off for how messed up I was.
When I said I wanted to go there again, the acquaintance who gave me a ride said, “I don’t go there often, but I know someone who goes every week, and she lives in the dorm next to yours.”
I met a lovely young lady named Jami that day who offered to give me a ride to church each week… and later allowed me to talk through a lot of the stuff I had to deal with in my heart in order to grow up (at least a little). She also happened to be one of maybe two or three sincere Christians I knew at the time who felt like peers, so we talked a lot about scripture and spiritual growth. Soon after, as we spent more and more time together, we decided to officially call it “dating,” and a few months after that, I asked her to marry me.
Jami had some albums by this guy, Dennis Jernigan, who sang songs that felt more honest and deep than a simple “This is the day that the Lord has made, let us be glad and rejoice in it” that we might sing in the congregation at church.
Jernigan is also a pianist, and something of a psalmist. He is prolific in his songwriting, and the subjects aren’t all the happy Christian music you might expect Ned Flanders to listen to.
All the Jernigan albums are great if you care for this kind of music and message, but this album, Break My Heart O God, particularly changed my musical tastes.
A friend of mine from my new church asked me to accompany him on “You Are My All In All,” which he wanted to sing as a farewell to the congregation before he moved back to the States. I was happy to play, but as we practiced in private, I also sang along.
“Dave,” he said, “you should totally sing too. We could harmonize. It would be great.”
I was convinced my voice was best left unheard, so I resisted at first, but eventually I agreed. That invitation and encouragement led to me joining up with the worship team, not just to play keys but to sing–and eventually to leadership positions and paying positions in music.
If I had to pick one album that represented the shift in both my heart and my musical taste toward incorporating praise and worship, it is “Break My Heart O God.”
However, not long after joining up with the team, the worship director introduced us to some new songs and a couple of albums that came out from some obscure Christian group with a website called WorshipTogether. Seemed like a bunch of (relatively) edgy stuff from churches and musicians in the UK.
There were these folks I hadn’t heard of before, like Matt Redman, Martin Smith and Delirious?, Stuart Townend, Tim Hughes… eventually David Crowder and Chris Tomlin, among so many others.
This music felt different than the book full of short praise choruses from labels like Integrity’s Hosanna! or Maranatha. And while Hillsong was taking over so much of that market share with what I thought was also good music and meaningful worship, all of this stuff being imported from the UK seemed like where it was at.
(Maybe I should make a Cutting Edge joke here, since that album from Delirious? is almost a tie for deserving the ninth slot. Anyone still reading probably does get that reference.)
This makes me think of one of the best periods of music ministry that I’ve experienced. We would jam out a worship set for almost an hour, listen to the pastor preach for about an hour, and then close with a song… which often turned into another half hour or hour of people just wanting to worship and praise God through singing, dancing, clapping, or just bowing there before the altar.
Not everything about that time was perfect, but it set the bar for what I think of as solid, spontaneous, Spirit-filled worship with a sense of the presence of God… and that’s a place I’ve been returning to as often as possible since.
At the suggestion of my wife and daughter, I committed to posting ten albums that most influenced my musical tastes. I’ve been trying to think of which albums honestly answer that question. There are a lot of songs and albums that I like, or that hold special meaning for whatever moment or memory they’re associated with… but they didn’t change or expand the sort of music I listen to.
This project took a little more reflection than I anticipated.
I lumped these three albums together because they’re the soundtrack to my earliest years working–first at a hospital as a sort of apprentice under my biomed tech father, and second as an Airman at a year-long language training course in Monterey.
I know I listened to the cassette of Siamese Dream often. I have a vivid memory of walking along the railroad tracks near my South Side Chicago home on a sunny day with a clear blue sky.
We used to walk those tracks often—my dad leading my brother and I when we were younger, helping us balance on the rails or watching as we did it on our own. He would hide coins and little precious stones or trinkets in some of the trees along the way, things for us to find as rare treasures later. As is probably all too natural, and unfortunate, we didn’t go for so many walks as we got older. Too many other things to do rather than spend time just walking around.
I’m 90% sure that in the instance of my vivid memory, I was walking to catch the bus to go to work at a hospital in the Biomed Tech department where my dad was contracted. I learned to disassemble, clean, reassemble, and ops check a particular model of infusion pump, to confirm that the supposedly fixed pumps were functioning appropriately, pumping out the right amount of fluid over time. Anything really complicated was my dad’s job, along with his co-workers, of course, but I took care of some of the grunt work for them so they could focus on the complex tasks.
When the steady building drum rolls and strumming at the beginning of Cherub Rock bursts into overdrive, it still gets my head bobbing to the beat. The wails of the guitar solos and Corrigan’s shift between breathy vocals and emotive roars feel like all of teenage angst and awkwardness stuffed into a musical land mine, ready to explode at the first familiar note. Today’s soft plucking turns into head banging power without warning, and it takes me back to what seemed like the greatest days.
All that said, I fell in love with Disarm. I adored the bells and drums accenting the melody, and the driving rhythm of the rapid strumming—especially with so much of a minor chord dominating the song. There was beauty and power in the emotion of the music rather than the volume of it, which never really blares or overwhelms.
Disarm was the one I had to take to the piano and learn how to play for myself.
For Album 6, I chose Sixteen Stone by Bush.
I never was the popular kid in high school. I had a good circle of friends for several years in junior high and high school, but it was like I was tolerated or at best welcome to tag along.
I joined the Air Force and left home at age 17. I wasn’t really popular in the military either… just kind of trudging along, doing what I had to do, probably with the typical slouch and introvert stride–head bowed staring at my feet.
Then some of the “cool kids” at the smoke pit called me aside one day. I figured it was similar to the friendly ribbing I’d gotten throughout high school from the jocks and the popular crowd to the stoners down the street. Some folks feigning interest, trying to sort out what’s wrong with the nerdy kid that doesn’t join in the fun, or whatever.
Thankfully, one of the guys really was just reaching out, as if to say, “Hey, you’re alright. You should hang out with us.” It took a little time to believe that was the intent, but pretty soon I found myself welcomed into a group of close friends.
When I joined the Air Force, one big change affected me more than I realized: After years of constant access to a piano, it was a bit of a shock to not have one.
After a few months in Monterey, I got a Circuit City credit card (an arguably bad decision) and bought a Casio electric keyboard the first day. I recall playing Glycerine with my keyboard’s guitar sounds, along with a bunch of other popular songs. At the insistence of my friends, I even got the chance to play at a local bar for about an hour before their band came on.
Bush was one of a number of albums I picked up in that first year away from home – mostly whatever was mainstream and trendy, or whatever caught my eye at the music store on Alvarado street down the hill from DLI.
Monterey is a beautiful place at any time or age, in my ever-humble opinion… but to have a full year with a good group of friends and a chance to carefully come out of my shell was an awesome experience.
Album 7 represents the slight pull that country has on my musical interests.
My closest friend at DLI and I would go driving around Asilomar Beach in Pacific Grove on lunch during the week, or occasionally on longer drives during the weekend–to the Santa Cruz boardwalk, or to the Salinas Mall, etc. Dan listened to a little of everything–all the metal and alternative stuff coming out at the time, but also hip-hop and yes, even country.
I was never a huge fan, but I admit, some of the ballads and story-telling songs catch my ear.
Garth Brooks is probably the one I enjoyed the most, and a compilation of hits is an easy if mainstream choice. You can’t go wrong with popular tunes like “Friends in Low Places” and rockers like “Callin’ Baton Rouge” mixed with emotional ballads (“The Thunder Rolls”), inspirational numbers (“Standin’ Outside the Fire”) and songs that hearkened to my Christian upbringing (“Unanswered Prayers” and “We Shall Be Free”).
“The Dance” is the song I would choose off this album if I had to pick just one. I love the piano instrumentals (of course), but the message is also great. We never know how it’s all going to end up. Maybe if we knew in advance, we could avoid some hurt, but we’d likely lose out on a lot of great times too.
My 3rd and 4th albums are vastly different, but share common ground in that they inspire(d) a lot of the relaxation I find in playing around at the keys for hours.
First, Deep Forest was a project that sought to preserve indigenous peoples’ music while mixing it with modern electronic flavors. They’ve put out a number of albums featuring music from all over the world, but the first album sticks with me after a few years of listening to it as a teenager.
I received a cassette as a gift from a friend and co-worker at my first job, someone I looked up to in a lot of ways, so that certainly helped me overcome the initial unfamiliarity.
But the influence of the album goes much deeper.
The range in the music is part of what makes the album special to me. Some of the songs are like soundtracks to the sunset, stargazing anthems, melodic hymns for the morning, and driving beats for a jog across the plains.
I used to workout in the garage or go for jogs and bike rides listening to this stuff, and while foreign in lyrics and style, it feels very much like home.
On the subject of home, I grew up learning to play the piano, taking eight years of formal lessons. After the first couple years and opportunities to show off (playing feeble, simplistic variations on well-known tunes), my uncle John would frequently ask what new songs I was learning.
If memory serves, he was the one who first said, “Oh, do you know Pachelbel’s Canon in D?” I did not. He may have even played a few notes of it to see if it would jog my memory.
After that, he often brought an album of instrumental music when he visited–something my parents would enjoy listening to, and something I would learn from. Some of the modern greats like Vince Guaraldi and George Winston.
I don’t have those old albums any more, sadly… but I get a similar enjoyment from the way The Piano Guys bring joy and creative expression to all their remakes of classics and modern tunes.
Over the years, I learned to play more and more by ear. I could hear and identify notes near perfectly, so when I wanted to learn a song, I would play around until I figured out the right notes. For example, I learned a bunch of Guns ‘n’ Roses songs not so much from sheet music, but by sitting there with a Walkman and the cassette tape, stopping-rewinding-starting, playing around until I could imitate the parts I thought captured the original song well.
With Pachelbel’s Canon, I loved the way the music is designed to play upon the same theme, to keep adding layers and complexity to what starts out as a simple piece. (Yes, yes, that’s kind of the definition of “canon” in musical terms, but whatever, I didn’t know that at the time.)
I played around with Pachelbel for hours and hours, figuring out how to duplicate some of the more intricate parts I loved in the recorded versions, or learning to incorporate my own attempts.
What I enjoyed most about sitting there “fooling around” was that it taught me how to flow with my mistakes, maybe even to turn them into an intentional part of the music. An obvious discordant note stands out when played alone, but once you’re used to the scale, you can often hit a wrong note and improvise a way back to what sounds fitting.
Much like in life, an important lesson in playing an instrument is learning how to continue right through the mistakes we are certain to make, and get back on the intended melody without letting the error ruin the whole performance.
Speaking of an almost-ruined performance, the Piano Guys’ video of their version of Pachelbel is a delight.
My wife and daughter got me doing the “post 10 albums that influenced your musical taste” thing on Facebook… but I’m much too guilty of pontificating to simply cut and paste the standard blurb. I’d rather share the story of why the song or album matters.
And so we come to the Christian Metal album:
The cover totally captured that This Present Darkness by Frank Peretti vibe, which scores it even more bonus late 80s / early 90s Christian points.
My brother was the one who had all the arguments with my parents about what was acceptable and what was not, what boundaries he could push and which were unyielding, what amount of Christian in the Christian Rock was enough to make it not just Rock ‘n’ Roll from the pit of hell.
I feel like my parents did pretty well with the information they had available to them. Like a lot of churchgoers at that time, they accepted what their spiritual authorities and mentors had to say about different trends going on among the youth, and sometimes those spiritual leaders only had the information given to them by hearsay or by a form of the telephone game… hence some of the extreme misunderstandings like “the Satanic panic” era for Dungeons & Dragons. (I talk at length about the way D&D is viewed by Christians in another post.)
Side note: we managed to get some tabletop RPG time with games like BattleTech—nothing demonic about giant stompy robots covered in lasers and missiles!—and Middle-Earth Role Playing—essentially D&D but with a d100 system instead of d20, and all set in Tolkien’s world, which was barely tolerable as opposed to blatant witchcraft or occult imagery.
Back to the Christian bands…
Stryper had some kind of non-troversy for saying things like “To Hell with the Devil” (theologically accurate, but I suppose it’s coarse language), so they were out of the question. Petra was acceptable but they were pretty chill really… sort of a (much more overtly) Christian U2, I suppose… and we wanted something heavier.
Deliverance was one of several bands my brother introduced me to, and this tape got a lot of use. In addition to the screeching guitars and echoing vocals, they had some surprisingly meditative tracks – a version of Psalm 23, and the instrumental intro song for the album.
Barren Cross and One Bad Pig are the only others I can think of off the top of my head… and also a band called Vengeance that was basically growling indistinguishable from the rumbling overdrive of their guitars. I couldn’t quite get that one, other than for comedy value.
Vengeance was basically the Christian version of the band in whichever Ace Ventura movie it was where they use the growling for comedic effect. I think that was Cannibal Corpse.
Wow. Listening to this so many years later, I am glad I left some musical choices in the past.
My wife and daughter tagged me in the “post 10 songs & albums that influenced your music taste” trend on Facebook, and—although I normally resist such things—I figured I should go along. It would be a fun way to reminisce, and kind of a challenge to see if I could really narrow my choices down to just ten.
Then I figured, “Oh hey, I am wordy and rambly, and don’t just want to share a pic of the album with the same cut-n-paste blurb from the original trend. Maybe I should put this on that blog thing I continually ignore.”
Bonus: Since I’m “in a creative funk” / procrastinating / uninspired / suffering “this is pointless” syndrome regarding writing fiction, maybe this will get me putting thoughts into words into sentences into something online.
So the first choice was “November Rain” from Guns ‘n’ Roses, Use Your Illusion I. This was one of the few songs I practiced and learned during the last year or two of formal piano lessons I took between ages 5 and 13.
I loved the mix of evocative piano and Slash’s sweet guitar solos, and it was fun trying to figure out how to mimic those wildly different styles on the keys.
A bunch of those songs stick out in my head as high school favorites—mostly the ones with fun piano parts.
Off the top of my head and in no particular order: Locomotive, Estranged, Civil War, Yesterday, Live and Let Die, Don’t Cry, Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door, and 14 Years come to mind as favorites. You Could Be Mine is up there on my list too, but I didn’t realize it until Terminator 2 came out, which is one of the true cinematic masterpieces of all time.
Regrettably, while learning to play November Rain, I ignored my piano teacher’s warnings and encouragement to keep practicing the stuff I didn’t like to play—tough classical music and such. I remember a conversation with him where he said something like, “If you’re not going to practice, then I don‘t have anything else to teach you.”
Teenage Me heard the latter part and ignored the condition at the beginning of the sentence. I figured I was good enough for anything I wanted to do. Maybe I thought that I didn’t need anybody… contrary to the final lines of the song, oddly enough.
Just a few years later, I met some jazz pianists who admitted they weren’t all that great, and they were doing things on the keys that I couldn’t understand or follow. Then it dawned on me that I had so much more I could have learned. So… not just an album, but a life lesson.
Side note: My favorite song of the two albums is probably Estranged. I think it’s because (imho) it has even more variety in the musical dynamics and it also has a lot of energetic parts that I loved playing on the keys, even if they weren’t meant for piano.
Like many couples, my wife and I have discussed the value of flowers as a gift to express love.
Of course, a good arrangement is beautiful, and it’s culturally customary, and if you do some research, you can communicate a lot of great sentiments with the flower selection and color choice.
But they’re expensive, and they die quickly, and also they’re expensive, and then they’re useless and dead.
I’m not biased at all. These are objective facts. (/sarcasm)
My wife’s Facebook post of her gift, with an added sparkly filter.
As we headed toward my retirement ceremony, I thought about what I had seen couples do during their celebrations. Usually the active duty spouse gives the other spouse a floral arrangement or some similar token of thanks for all the support that makes being married while working in the military possible.
I certainly wanted to express my gratitude for all my wife has done and continues to do. People often ask, “Does your wife work?” And it’s like, “Yes, of course she does. She deals with four children every day while I’m sitting in my office or on a jet. She handles the whole household while I go off for months to fly missions somewhere else in the world. On top of maintaining and managing a home, she homeschools the kids – because she wants to, not because I’ve ever asked. I can go to work and focus on my job because I know I don’t have to worry about what the boys are up to, or what’s happening at home.”
For over twenty years of marriage, she has stuck with me through all the ups and downs and sideways corkscrews of life. When everything goes pear-shaped or when we’re flying above the storms, she is there, supporting and encouraging no matter what.
But flowers. They’re just going to wither. They’re going in the trash a week or two later. What’s the point?
At first, Jami and I thought about using something like the platinum-covered rose I bought her. Something that says, “Yes, flowers, but actually one that will last.”
Because, hey, eternal love and “not wasting money” and all that obviously super-romantic thought put into this expression of thanks (more sarcasm, I hope you could tell).
Later, Jami said, “You know, maybe it’s selfish, but I think I want some flowers. Is that wrong?” This is my wife, who is worried that after twenty plus years as a military spouse, it’s not right or perhaps too much for her to get the spotlight and a simple bouquet of roses and carnations.
“Of course I can get you flowers. This is your celebration too.” That’s what I think I said.
“God, I hope they’re not TOO expensive,” or something similar, is what I’m ashamed to admit I thought.
It wasn’t until I was standing in the room with chairs arranged and people filing in for the ceremony that my slow and stupid brain finally clicked into gear and understood.
Yes, flowers wither. Yes, they’re temporary. You can’t buy one and have it last, expressing forever the sentiment when it was given.
But that’s how our love works. It’s not an “I said ‘I love you’ when we got married, dear” kind of thing.
Love is expressed in the day-to-day decisions, the small sacrifices and acts of service, all the little things we so quickly forget which add up to a confidence and certainty that wow, this person really doeslike me.
Plenty of military marriages don’t make it. I’m not judging or assuming anything about them, but I know that my wife kept choosing, day after day, to show her love for me through consistent decisions and deeds that proved her commitment.
That’s all any of us can do to build a real relationship — keep doing the small things, the messy jobs, the hard decisions, the stuff we easily ignore in favor of something flashy or showy.
Love is expressed day by day. At any point, the relationship can wither and die if left unattended, if not nurtured, if not refreshed.
Maybe flowers that wither are exactly the right kind of way to say, “I love you.” Maybe I needed that reminder that saying it once with a big gift isn’t the same as saying it every day with small but meaningful acts of service and devotion.
The highlight of my transition to civilian life is the location of our new apartment.
I mean, other than no more military performance reports, surprise schedule changes, last-minute flights, PT tests, uniforms, and so on. (I wanted to include computer-based training or CBTs on the list, but I will still have to do those in my new job. Sad face.)
We’re located at Toguchi Beach – the point on Okinawa where US forces first made landfall during World War II. There’s a sand park with a slide for the kidlets, walking trails to explore, cool rock formations to climb on, and of course the beach itself.
The struggle is real. There’s all this parking lot between us and the ocean!
Our apartment is smaller than what we had for Base Housing, so despite all our downsizing, we still feel like we have more stuff than space… but we’re adjusting to the change.
The apartment has a balcony patio thing even though it’s on the first floor, so we’re looking forward to evening tea with the sunset or a Saturday morning of writing with a cup of coffee.
During my retirement ceremony, I mentioned that one of the things which kept me grounded and sane in the military was the knowledge that nearly every problem I have is temporary. Next week, next month, I probably won’t even remember what was bothering me so much today. It’s a wordy version of the old adage:
This, too, shall pass.
Meanwhile, I drive to work looking at the ocean every day, watching the waves roll in and the clouds streak the sky with gold.
Now I have that every time I look out the window or step out the door.
Even though I shared that thought with my friends and family last week, and even though it’s something I learned back in 1999 or 2000, I still have to remind myself of the truth of this outlook.
We still have a lot of changes to sort out. There are some temporary hurdles I know will get solved soon, and some longer-term questions that need answers…
But the waves keep splashing and babbling, and the sun keeps shining through the clouds. It’s a good place to be to start off 2019.
The home of David M. Williamson, writer of fantasy, sci-fi, short stories, and cultural rants.
