Hello everyone, everywhere,
Today I’m talking about creativity as I see it. I’ve been playing drums professionally for 35 years. I played with greats and not so greats and the early years were very hard. A lot of people got off the wagon because it was too hard. But here I am at 59 with this bloody brain injury, and I’m writing all of these beautiful words.
When I play I seem to be so enraptured with both playing and writing. You know, I sit on my deck and I write; that’s where I go. But it seems like when I’m out there, I’m taking memories that I don’t really have, so I’m making them up. And when I’m playing, it seems like every song is the greatest song I’ve ever played. Maybe I have lost a life with this brain injury but I have adopted a new one. And I find that creativity is a love affair; just a rush of incredible people…of faces…and smiles…and ideas. It’s a wonderful thing to be happy with what you’re doing. After so many years. Even if you didn’t get there. Yet.
Now I work with a disabled band and every day is unique. Despite the great power they put out in talent, unfortunately they’re as lost as I am, and some days we have to talk each other through just to get the bloody song going. But once we do, the creativity comes out again. It’s an awesome thing to work with people who may appear damaged to you, but to me all I see is this incredible beauty and talent. And that’s all I ever see when I look at people. I don’t care who you are or where you came from. If you say hello, I’m going to say hello back. I’m just that kind of person. I may stand out (because I choose to). It’s just, I’m a 1940’s guy living in the 21st century. I still call women dolls. They don’t like it. I do, but I do it carefully.
Anyways, creativity is…pick up a pen. Look outside. Hug somebody. Talk. Draw a picture. It doesn’t matter if it’s good. If it fits you, then it fits. That’s all.
And now it’s time to close our eyes…and our thoughts…and rest. Until we meet again at Fred and Betty’s Bowling Alley and Transmission Shop. You know where…on the corner of Bleecher and Snug Street.
THERE WAS A TREE
When I was a little boy I had a tree in my back yard. And I used to climb that tree every day. And when I got up there, I used to hold onto these branches and tell everybody it was my airplane. And I’d fly up there. And my dreams would just float right by me. I would be sitting there, four years old, talking away, eight feet in the air. And everybody was always yelling, “Get out of that tree! Get down here! You’re going to fall!”
One day a friend of mine came over. We were about six by then, and I was quite “polished” at climbing the tree and flying the airplane. My friend had never been up there, so I said to him, “Why don’t you go up there and fly the plane?” So he did. He didn’t fly very well though. He fell out and broke his arm.
At that point I was told that I could not fly the plane any more, though after a couple of games of football by myself, and tackling myself, with my helmet on, showing off to all the neighbours, someone yelled, “Why don’t you just go climb that tree instead of tackling yourself in the snow. ” So I did.
(NEVER EVER GIVE UP)