37 Years of Christmas Poems: Christmas 2014

As you might have read in a blog post that I wrote just after New Year 2014, my father suffered a fall in his home in Florida and transitioned  from mortal form. It was ironic that I had spoken with him two of the previous three days and then, no longer. Life is like that and I understand that there is nothing given day to day, moment to moment.

This also left me alone in the sense that out of my nuclear family, I became "last man standing," so to speak. To me, this is not quite as big of a deal as it might be to many because I believe that no one really ever leaves. As long as one desires to keep the connection alive, those that have passed can reach us in different ways than we might be used to.

This also serves as a reminder to cherish and retain the best of your shared story and let all the rest go. Holding on to anything other than memories that bring about a smile to the lips and warmth to the heart does one doing the remembering no good at all. If those who remains will not nurture and love the memories, who will? This to me is what keeps the light alive.

That is the core of this year's poem. The end of the year can be stressful and yet beautiful at the same time. It is exercising the power of choice to focus on the good and turn away from that which feels bad. Simple yet not necessarily easy to do, I know. However it is a suitable way of honoring those who have gone before; worthwhile and life affirming. To me, that is something worth doing and certainly worth remembering.

Christmas 2014

By Richard Perrotti

December can seem relentless

as the days speed swiftly by.

It's like hitting the end of a ski jump

all wrong yet expecting to fly.

Shopping and planning, trimming the tree

all demand much of your time.

And scheduling visits with all you hold dear

Just seems an impossible climb.

So what can you say as the time slips away

and you try but cannot connect?

When despite all of your best intentions

Your calendar's hopelessly wrecked.

A saying of yore might save the day,

Plucked out of dusty old files.

When you can’t be there to express it yourself,

Send them greetings “Across the Miles.”

Across the miles to show them you care

And that you can spare a good thought.

Sending sentiments, any way, shape or form,

To save you from being overwrought.

Cookies and cards, Skyping and phone calls

Any method that we can contrive

To just stay in touch, maintain the balance

And keep the connection alive.

One tradition observed at all family tables

Before the feasting has started-

All will join hands, heads bowed in prayer

And recall all the dearly departed.

And yet when they're gone, they're not really gone

For their light still remains in your heart.

Let Their light shine and illumine your mind

To bid them come forth and take part.

Recall all the good, rekindle the love;

That's now where they truly reside.

The gifts that they bring will be precious

As the holiday Spirit abides.

Live Music & a "Top Ten" Experience: Jen Chapin in Concert

We all know that the marching order of life and subsequently the world is change; constant, unending, mostly uncontrollable change. It impacts who we are, how we define ourselves, the way the world constructs and reveals itself to our senses as well as the channels and technology that carry said change. As my life advances, I look back at a plethora of experiences; I find myself appreciating live music and concert performances more than ever.

It is a casual observation that life is becoming increasingly "digital," with people who can visit or call one another often resorting to text and IM's to communicate. Hard media is going away as we gravitate towards an "on demand" world of what we want, whenever and wherever we want it, via a device of our choosing to consume it. There is nothing wrong with this as anomalies will usually flare up to demonstrate that the past does not easily die; the popularity of vinyl records today I feel is an apt representation of this.

Live music though is different and does not easily fit into the digital realm. Artists may be presenting Stage It events that allow you to witness a digitized live event as it happens but nothing replaces the feeling of being physically present as they render forth their creation; a co-creation, really, as the energy of the audience is factored into the whole. It is a commitment from both parties to travel and hopefully give their best. The artist surrenders the polish and emotion of the song and the audience grants precious attention to said artist's performance.

I have been to a variety of venues in many different locales, choosing to support the artists that I admire by purchasing their work. I pay with my time, my attention and legal tender. Sometimes I am fortunate to have that expenditure mature into a tremendously worthwhile investment, one which pays immediate dividends of delight while witnessing it live, followed by countless hours of good feelings while thinking back to it and listening to the music heard at the show. This is what I call a "Top Ten" experience and I have been blessed with many more than just ten in my life.

Some of them have been huge events; going with a friend of mine to Madison Square Garden to sit from 6 pm until midnight at the MUSE concert (Musicians United for Safe Energy) which then ended with a three hour Springsteen concert, leaving us limp, exhausted and exhilarated at 3:30 am that morning. Traveling up to Toronto with a van full of friends to see Gordon Lightfoot at Massey Hall (and getting to meet him on the street near his office) was another. James Taylor has provided several "Top Ten" shows as has his son, Ben Taylor and his daughter, Sally Taylor. Vienna Teng (World Cafe Live in Philly) still gives me thrills when I listen to her music and Jim Boggia at the same venue with a full band and brass section remains an awesome memory to this day. (Thanks for eventually putting out the CD of it, Jim!) Another incredible experience was seeing Paul McCartney in Philly in 2002 (Twelve years ago? Really? Wow...)

I can go on (Keali'i Reichel, our favorite Hawaiian artist was so incredible in San Diego), and on (Steely Dan, who I never thought I would see play live, playing one of the best shows ever at the PNC Arts Center in NJ) and on (Billy Joel, before he became BILLY JOEL, in the multi-purpose hall on the Rutgers campus, solo on piano)... well, you get the idea.

One man who was a consistent "Top Ten" was Harry Chapin. His rapport with the audience was unique and whether his voice was ragged as hell from overuse or spot on, you knew that you were getting his best, no mater what. The two-night retrospective he did at Avery Fischer hall in NY with his brothers (and including his dad, jazz drummer Jim Chapin) was as good as it gets.

And now I am thrilled to add a show to this cherished list: Jen Chapin, who I have seen play live before, performed at The Cutting Room in Manhattan with her full band and featured her latest album, "Reckoning." This was how The New Yorker magazine highlighted it as a weekly pick:

"With songs delivered in a style that ranges from tender fragility to unexpected steeliness, Chapin brings a jazzy edge to the folk form. Sometimes she explores a fleeting emotion, sometimes she weaves a solid narrative—not at all surprising from the daughter of Harry Chapin, a master musical storyteller. She’ll be performing songs from her new album, “Reckoning,” with a fine band including her husband, Stephan Crump, on bass, Jamie Fox on guitar, Dan Rieser on drums, Chris Brown on piano, and Erin Hill on harp and supporting vocals. (Cutting Room, 44 E. 32nd St. 212-691-1900. Jan. 17.)" -- The New Yorker

The room was equally comfortable and lush while both food and service were excellent. The sound was superb and the performance by Jen and the band wonderful. I am getting shivers (the good kind, not because it's 12 degrees outside) just recalling it as I share this with you. A harp! Erin Hill played a harp while singing accompaniment. An enormously talented and tight band framing some of the best songs that Jen Chapin has ever written in a transcendent performance; that's what I was lucky enough to be part of.

You had to be there. And that's why I am taking the time to write this.

If you love music, it ain't "live" unless you are there. Make a decision to support the artists that you love by purchasing their work and going to see them play live at a favorite venue. It is magic when it all comes together, truly a "Top Ten" moment of time well spent.

To me, life is a series of moments strung together on a necklace called time. Doesn't it deserve a damn great soundtrack? Thanks, Jen, for adding to mine last Friday in New York.

In Tribute To My Dad

I sit here, thinking about both of my parents. My father unexpectedly transitioned earlier this week in Florida, as unexpectedly as one can get at 86 years old, I imagine. I had spoken with him three times in the first five days of the new year; once just after midnight on New Year's day to wish him well and then later to chat and see how he was doing. Finally we had our normal Sunday call and I alerted him to the NFL playoff game that was going on in frozen Green Bay. And that was it.

There will be no more Sunday calls, no more trying to be heard and understood over the blaring television in the background. Our story is complete and what a story it was.

Like most children of divorced parents there was drama and in our case, quite high pitched drama it was. In the late Seventies, about the same time that I began writing my Christmas poems, I did what most of us do in life; I made a choice. I chose my mom and took sides as the war began with a sudden blast. The passion play had me and my father standing on the front lawn of the family home screaming at one another. I threatened to kill him out of "love" and concern for my mother and the deep personal hurt and betrayal I was feeling.

When you lose the cherished illusion of a happy family setting, it can trigger a massive wave of pitched emotion. I judged him as severely as one can judge a parent. The first lesson I learned is that judgement is a boomerang and in ways that I will not go into here, it returned to me in bitter, ironic and angry fashion as I went through my own divorce years later. As one of my high school teachers reminded us, when you point at someone else remember that you have three fingers pointing back at yourself. Experience has shown me that this is true.

I  made hateful, hurtful decisions in the years to come, blowing up all ties with my father's family... my family, by not inviting him to my wedding and then cutting all ties to them when they refused to attend because of my decision. To seal the deal, I did not acknowledge or attend my grandmother's funeral when she transitioned. If one could ever harden hatred and rage into place, I did it well.

In 1996, eighteen years after all of this began, my younger brother (and only sibling) died. With his passing, my mother began the slow decline that lead to her end in 2002. I took her to the service and the funeral meal afterwards in the "belly of the beast," a fractured family setting that included everyone that I had cut off (or never even met) throughout the years. I saw my father there. He looked devastated. There was no conversation with him or any of them. I made another decision, one of the hardest and most emotional ever. I would attempt rapprochement with him.

I wrote him a letter explaining my feelings in the best way that I could. He agreed to meet me over a lunch, one that would last almost three hours. We agreed to try and patch things up. I knew it was a good start because after the meal, he introduced me to his friend who owned the restaurant. He introduced me as his son. For all of the personal, spiritual work I have done in my life, that was one of the most dramatic lessons of forgiveness that I have ever participated in.

Many other lessons in life were experienced over the course of the next seventeen years including a couple of visits to him in Florida after he moved, leaving the cold Northeast behind. Jeri witnessed how one's body can be wracked with pain as you process deep emotions and move the energy during one of those trips that she accompanied me on. In so many ways, my father was one of my greatest teachers and I am thoroughly "amazed and amused" to recognize that.

In the end, the most important thing is that he undoubtedly knew that I loved him and I knew that he loved me, although he would never say those words. He wanted so much to have the rift within his family healed and it proved difficult from both sides. I think that he's beaming now from his new perspective as he knows that this healing has started. Both sides have reached out to one another and tears have already been shed. My one cousin has said to me, "Well, he wanted this to happen and he made sure of it in his own way." Indeed he did; indeed he has.

One last note to bring it back to the start; I think every child would love to believe that they can get their parents back together after separation and divorce. As I sit here, sipping on a cup of Kona coffee, I smile in recognition that I did manage to do that in my own sly way.

In her final years, I had treated my mother to estate plantation Kona coffee. With their permission, I had scattered my mom's ashes in that same plantation on the Big Island of Hawai'i. She was one with the trees whose product she had so enjoyed. I ordered that same coffee as a Father's day gift and had it sent to my dad. "How's the coffee?" I would ask him "Delicious," he would always reply.

I would smile and think about the "family reunion in a cup." Now they both are in on the joke.

36 Years of Christmas Poems: Christmas 2013

Before I sat to write this year's poem, two thoughts made their way into my mind that I jotted down. The first was "Live by the light of your dreams" and the second was "The opposite of love is fear." The question then was to see how they would work their way into the fabric of this 2013 Christmas tapestry.

I have joked for years with Jeri whenever she would fret about having to come up with a crafts project to make for her volunteer work. "Popsicle sticks made into a box would be nice," I would joke, "Or maybe pipe cleaners twisted into some kind of festive design!" So what happens? Jeri goes to a crafts fair at one of the assisted living facilities nearby and calls me to say, "You'll never guess what they had there. Popsicle stick ornaments!" Naturally, she purchased some.

Fast forward to me working in Manhattan and walking in front of Macy's on 34th Street. It wasn't even nighttime yet and the huge "Believe" in lights on the front of the building just dominated all else. I had to snap a picture.

The final part of the story came when one Sunday night I went to bed at a very reasonable hour, knowing full well that I had to be up and alert for conference calls in the morning. Falling asleep with little problem, I suddenly awoke at 4 am and was incredibly restless, my brain "buzzing" with feelings, ideas and unable to settle back down. As I lay there, the thought of a kid making a mess while decorating Popsicle sticks flew into mind; a Christmas ornament... he's making an ornament while his mother laughs and takes it all in. Get up and write it down. That was the compelling thought.

In the dark, I snapped on one light at my desk and grabbed a legal pad and pen. The first four verses practically wrote themselves in a flash. Then over the next two hours (and now, the sun was out), the two ideas that I had previously jotted down worked their way into the mix. Tired and happy, I grabbed an hour's nap before my work day began. The poem was done and in a way that I had never experienced before.

All I had to do was borrow one of those ornaments from Jeri and catch the inspiration for the picture on the front cover. I confess, it was great fun! "Believe" became the natural "final word" on the back cover and the concept had become reality for the 36th consecutive year.

Sometimes I am asked if I have any doubt if I will be able to come up with another take on the holiday for purposes of writing yet another poem. Years ago, I would have admitted to a shred of doubt as it had come close several times. But not anymore...

I believe.

Christmas 2013

by

Richard Perrotti

I watched with a smile as a child

Sprinkled glitter of silver and blue.

As he created a sparkly ornament

Out of Popsicle sticks and glue.

He laughed and beheld his creation

Over which he had both worked and played.

That joy would be shared by his mother

Through this precious gift, handmade.

My mind left that scene as I turned back

To my holiday list to combat.

Yet the joy of that child would not leave me;

When did we lose all of that?

My answer took all but a second

As a shopper stormed by in a huff,

Shaking her head and muttering,

“It’s simply just not good enough.”

Those three simple words separate us

From our light and all we hold dear.

For the opposite of love isn’t hatred;

The opposite of love is fear.

The gift that this child had proffered me

Was recalling a choice like a prayer;

To step off the road of self-judgment,

Coming home to find myself there.

Thirty-six years I’ve sat for this poem,

Never knowing where each one would start.

What I’ve learned is to trust in the guidance

That arrives when I open my heart.

May the light of the season gently guide you

To the place where it still lives and beams.

May your heart be always loving and joyful

And may you live by the light of your dreams.

35 Years of Christmas Poems: Christmas 2012

I admit that the idea that I've now done Christmas poems for 35 consecutive years absolutely boggles my mind. Each year I wonder where the new idea is going to come from and it never ceases to amaze that they continue to come. I also get to enjoy the creative aspect of taking pictures to go with the poem and make the work a complete vision.

This year, an idea that actually came to me several years ago and centered upon "ornaments" finally came to fruition. Utilizing a pure dictionary meaning of the word to open the poem took me into uncharted lands; the surprise was that it also gave me a structure that brought the full intent home.

The times today challenge in ways that are sometimes unimaginable if not unbearable. We need to highlight the abundant beauty to make it flourish and grow around and about us. The joy of Christmas is that it is a reminder of the light during the darkest time of the year in the Northern hemisphere. Choose to keep the light alive no matter what. That is the greatest gift we can offer and receive.

Christmas 2012

by

Richard Perrotti

Beauty is where you find it,

The saying eternally goes.

In your eyes, it multiplies,

Flourishes and grows.

Ornaments can be but a bauble,

Caught by the eye, quickly glanced,

Attracting unusual attention,

By shimmering sparkle enhanced.

Placed in most mundane surroundings,

Any ordinary item transforms

Into something wondrous and special

As our interpretation reforms.

Any prize, “ornamentalized,”

Captivates your attention with light.

When finding that flame in another,

Something sacred within you ignites.

Step back and look all around you;

Take notice of what you see.

Is it a forest of human misgivings

Or a glimmering family tree?

One who looks for such light in the world

Will find what seems out of place.

For one who’s capable of seeing such things,

Reveals his true beauty and grace.

Be the change you wish to see in yourself.

Know it’s true value, it’s worth.

Intentionally granting this gift to yourself

Is a treasure you tender the earth.

Choose to see what beauty surrounds you

In myriad forms of disguise.

Celebrate your own that shines from within;

Ornamentalize!

The Care and Nurturing of a Dream

I am about to donate $100 to a Kickstarter campaign of a long-ago business acquaintance of mine so that he can launch a web series called "The Dive Masters," the story of ... well, let me allow Jason to tell it in his own words:

"Based in Roatan Isla de Bahias, Honduras, “The Dive Masters” follows the real life SCUBA diving adventures of Jason McAnear, Suzette Nelson and other DIve Professionals located in Roatan, Honduras’ West End, a mecca for Scuba divers, both new and veteran as well as visiting other islands throughout the Caribbean."The Dive Masters" takes divers and audiences into the crystal clear waters of the Caribbean to experience nature at its’ most spectacular and encounter a menagerie of undersea life including sharks, dolphins, sea turtles, rays and colorful tropical fish of all sizes. The Dive Masters’ personal lives, interaction with divers and each other is on full display. Nerves and skills are tested as viewers gain a greater understanding of the courage and strength required to be a professional Dive Master."

The reason that I am doing this is very simple. I am doing it for me.

Allow me to explain. I believe that life is nothing more (and certainly nothing less) than the creation and furthering of stories. Shakespeare expressed it as well as anyone when he wrote. "All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players." But I think that we have the ability to co-author the story and the parts that we play. Thus is called into play the power of a dream.

Think about it; what inspires you? What gives you power to move forward when everything around you seems to be grinding to a slow halt? What do you fantasize about, wish for, yearn for? What brings the light to your eyes, life to your voice and joy to your heart?

Conversely, what scares you to death when you actually consider taking action on it? What brings up thoughts like, "Oh, that's not real. It's just a fantasy. That's not really me." And how does thinking thoughts like that make you feel? Sad? Resigned? The opposite of "life-giving?"

Now comes the choice; which one would you rather focus on? Be aware the importance of that question. What you focus on becomes the direction of your life, the fabric of "everyday" and the part you choose to play on the stage of the world. And know that the world will absolutely conspire with you to make that choice as real as can be.

Jason, a man that I knew for a brief time during my tenure at HP, decided to totally embrace his dream. If you read his story on the Kickstarter website, you'll know that he resigned his training position at HP, sold everything he owned but for a suitcase of personal effects and moved to Roatan to become a Dive Master. Thanks to the wonder of today's technology, he has been sharing his story via You Tube and Facebook and keeping those interested enthralled with the details of his incredible decision to utterly change his world.

Now his dream has taken a new and expanded direction; a web series about his adventures in what to many of us seems like Paradise. This could evolve into a television program (there apparently has been interest) and who knows what else? Dreams take us to the stars and beyond if we allow them to.

This brings me back to the start. I am donating to Jason's project for a totally selfish reason - the care and nurturing of my own dreams. The emotion swells within me as I write these words. It tells me that I am alive and that my very real thoughts and dreams are vital and acknowledged. In lending my energy in the form of money to Jason's evolving story, I am telling myself that I am invested in keeping my own dreams alive and nourished. I am thus committed in the creation of my own story, the allowing of my own dreams to thus become "real."

This is present day magic, a genuine power. If you love something, it is your sacred duty to support it. To me, nothing is more important than the power and vitality of my dream, the creation and allowing of my own story. Out of respect for that, I am thrilled to donate to Jason's Dive Masters project and be a part of its realization.

If you feel similar, if you have a dream that is stirring within, nudging you that it's dormancy is at an end, consider caring for and nurturing it by donating to this project.

Dive Masters Kickstarter project

Dreams, and the energy contained within, do not discriminate. Feed them. Start here.

Son of a Beautiful and Violent Mother (by way of Another Ocean)

The ocean has held a special place in my heart for as long as I can remember. Some of my most dearly held memories of childhood can be found at the Jersey shore, frolicking in waves and accumulating copious quantities of sand in my shorts. In adolescence, full days would be spent in sun, sand and surf, shredding my salty lips with frozen treats purchased from a vendor pacing the packed beach. Preferably, I'd find big waves to body surf back into shore. (Here was where I almost left the planet, held under by a particularly violent crest for much too long.)

So why was it that I never wanted to visit Hawai'i? Was it the fact that the flight was so long (more than 12 hours)? Was it that Oahu received more visitors in one week than Tahiti would receive in a full year? There was really no one good answer. But a visit from an indefinable "something" changed all of that back in the year 2000.

There are times in life when one enters a realm of spirit and mystery, a place where one must choose to travel by way of faith as no maps exist. I had met a woman after the turn of the millennium, an unexpected soul who gave me pause to see things differently. Within three months, a secret door in my subconscious slid open and a compelling idea took hold; you both must go to Maui.

The fact that I was in the final process of becoming divorced and had barely the means to live meant nothing; the thought consumed me. I obtained travel brochures, videos, information in the most traditional way (the internet being a strange and unkind beast to me at that time.)

That was March. By November, we were there.

It was definitely not easy. At times it became ridiculously dramatic even to the point where it seemed like we would break up and cancel everything at the last minute. It soon became obvious that despite all protest to the contrary, this journey WAS going to happen.

Once I arrived, I knew why.

Have you ever ventured into someplace new and exotic and felt more at home than you did in your own skin? Waded into a rainbow painted ocean and known peace like never before? Driven around an island so thrilling and exalting that it was like being fully alive for the first time?

This only begins to scratch the surface of what I experienced the first time in Maui.

We went back three times in four years (and even threw in one additional trip to Oahu for a special person.) While sitting in this volcanic arena of beauty and wonder, I penned the words, "My heart lives here always." Towards the end of this April, I reclaim that piece of my heart by crossing my other ocean, appreciating it all more than ever.

While savoring the upcoming journey, I fill my days in the car while listening to favorite Hawaiian language musicians (such as Keali'i Reichel.) How can a language that has but 13 letters (5 vowels and 8 consonants) move my spirit so? I understand not a word yet the power and beauty evoked having me driving those same roads 6,000 miles away even as I traverse the canyons and perils of New York City in my car. It speaks such power, grace and beauty despite the foreign form.

It is in moments such as these that I gain a better idea, a more complete feeling that time and place are magnificent illusions that we invoke and experience. John Lennon said "Reality leaves a lot to the imagination." I find this to be more true than not. Yet these complex feelings that Maui evokes from me are best summed up by T.S. Eliot:

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.