The Legacy of Johnny Clegg

Last night, we went to see Johnny Clegg's "Final Journey" as he says good bye to his fans. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and set up this tour shortly after finishing his treatments earlier this year. We bought tickets right away. While we seldom go to concerts, even avoid restaurants where bands are playing, going to see Johnny Clegg, for us, is a must.

Peter was hooked after hearing Johnny Clegg and Juluka on the radio while he was going to Villanova in the early 80's. He and some frat brothers caught a show when the band played Phillie. That was that. But of course the guy who dreamed of going to Africa from when he was seven, would love the South African crossover band, steeped in African sound and an anti-apartheid message. He would come to find out over the years, this white Zulu, didn't just appropriate the music, but spoke not only fluent Zulu, but deep Zulu, understanding the cultural nuances and traditions as if they were his own.

Of course, that first song that grabbed Peter was "Scatterlings of Africa" and it was particularly poignant seeing it for the 6th and probably the last time, this evening. According to the man himself, while he may have written better songs, written songs that made more money, this was his favorite song.

After Clegg said that, I wondered which one was mine. With so many great songs, how could I pick one?

In "The Crossing" I think of my brother who was murdered 22 years ago. The verse about a
"punch drunk man in a downtown bar
takes a beating without making a sound,
through swollen eyes he sways and smiles
because no one can put him down.
Inside of him a boy looks up at his father
for a sign or an approving eye,
Oh it's funny how those once so close to us and now gone
can still affect our lives."

My husband, may have a different song as his favorite, I know that "Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World " is the one I think of as his song to our children. Early on in our marriage, we were having a difficult time, we went to see a marriage counselor where we found a shocking revelation. While I had always wanted children, he admitted in our sessions that he did not. At the time, I thought he didn't want them as a rejection of me, but I came to find out that he didn't want to bring innocent children into the world we were living in. I helped him to see the world not as cruel and crazy as he thought. And I helped show him its beauty. I told him I wanted to do what I could to make the world worthy of our children. That was a huge turning point in our individual lives but also in the life we were sharing.

And now we have these kids. We even brought them with us to the Kalahari Music Festival, where Johnny Clegg was headlining when we were living in Botswana. On our safaris, treks throughout Southern Africa, they heard Clegg with Juluka, Savuka and on his own - one of the handful of CD's we listened to over and again. Regardless, who would have known that "Asimbonanga" Clegg's tribute to Mandela would be our activist daughter's favorite and that our son, taking expeditionary studies, would/could be '...sitting on top of Kilimanjaro..." where he "can see a new tomorrow."

It's hard for me to choose just one of the songs that Clegg played last night. They meant so much to me as I made my way with this White American with an African Soul. And how my life would be so different if I had not met him, married him.

Maybe I would have embraced some other culture if I had married someone else. After all, I felt a kinship to the women I met when I went to Pakistan and Guatemala for work. Maybe I would have pursued my dream of being a newspaper journalist and become a global correspondent. I could have settled in Asia. But that didn't happen. I met Peter and that was that.

His love for Africa wasn't infectious. He didn't immerse me or the children in it but instead exposed us to her charms, like playing Johnny Clegg for us on our game drives and road trips on our way to the heart of the desert, to sleep under the stars, to see a forest of giraffe, be charged by elephant and awoken to the roar of a lion in camp.

And while we didn't always have a choice, we went willingly. Not only do our children embrace the adventures Peter has given them, I do too. When we were on our honeymoon through Europe, we went on a ghost walk in England. During the walk, there was a story of a mint where the janitor saw images of soldiers, hurt, dejected, weary. The troop walked toward him as he fixed something in the basement. The soldiers and their horses were quite visible from their shins up. After some research, it was determined this was a Roman legion who had lost and were pushed up to York. Anthropologists excavated the basement of the mint and found concrete evidence. That night, I had a dream so vivid, I awoke in fright. Peter leaned toward me to ask what was wrong, but I pushed him away. In my dream, I was a woman who had come up to one of the soldiers to offer a ladle of water. As the man took the ladle from my hand, I saw his face. He was Peter. Eventually, I did fall back asleep. It wouldn't be until the light of day that Peter would tell me that he had the very same dream. Many experiences have shown me that Peter and I were not only "meant-to-be" but have been for many lives.

After how easily I adapted to living with the San, we're convinced we were Bushmen at some stage of our beings. We have been together since the beginning of time.

Maybe that's why Johnny Clegg so easily stirs my soul. He has been a part of our lives from the beginning. And seeing Clegg up on stage, acknowledging that this might be his last tour, watching him with his son, Jesse, and seeing the fruits of his other son's labors in the videos accompanying the performance, really made last night's show most personal.

But back to answering my own question - "Dela" is my favorite song from last night's set...and quite frankly, the song my African heart sings and has sung for what seems like eternity.

"One day I looked up and there you were.
like a simple question looking for an answer.
Now I am the whale listening to some inner call,
swimming blindly to throw myself upon your shore.
...What if I don't find you when I have landed?
Will you leave me here to die on your shore stranded?
I've been waiting for you all my life, hoping for a miracle.
I've been waiting day and night, day and night."


http://www.johnnyclegg.com/tour.html

The Keys to My Heart

Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart.

Good thing FB reminded me of the post I'd written two years ago. How interesting that what stood out about our wedding was the fact that the limo never arrived to pick us up. I remember turning to my dad and saying, "What if this is a sign?" "What kind of sign?" he wanted to know. "What if I'm not supposed to marry him?"

On our honeymoon, you rented that motorcycle to get around Corfu. We tooled around and had a blast. That was my first time on a motorcycle. What a wild ride, I thought. Until you tried to out-run a truck on that windy dirt road and we wound up in a ditch. I got so banged up I could hardly walk and wondered if I had internal bleeding. We barely saw Athens because I was so hurt. And again I wondered what I was getting myself into?

Over the years, I've had issues with your driving. That time you made a sudden left from the right-hand lane in Hoboken. My life literally flashed before my eyes as a huge dump truck came within feet of crushing me. And that time I was 8 months pregnant with Markham and we drove up and down these unmarked roadways, bumping over logs and rock outcroppings looking for Tom's camp but never did find it? Or the times, the many, many times we ran out of gas, our car just suddenly died or we sank in mud well past the car's axles? And remember that trip going to one of our Cultural Survival sales when you got three speeding tickets in three different states?

But I do remember times when I should give you credit for your driving. Like your amazing parallel parking! And driving to the Neversink, down the former logging road, we barely fit, with one side of the car a cliff-face and the other a mountainside. Not a scratch on the car. And more recently, the hours of switchback roads you drove in-and-out of Mendocino. One stretch went 22 miles! Whew!

If we mapped the many trips we've taken, from Hoboken or Manhattan every weekend to our parents houses, back and forth to go fly-fishing to the Catskills or Pennsylvania, up and back to visit Macallan in Syracuse and now Markham in Plattsburgh, and your always too frigging long commute to work, no matter where we lived and what job you had, you've probably circled the globe several times over. And still I am anxious sitting shot-gun. I clutch the dashboard. I grab the handle. I slam my right foot onto my imaginary brakes. I scream, "Watch Out!" when only 10% of the time is there ever anything to be watchful of.

I don't know why. We've never been in a serious accident. We have never gotten hurt (except for our honeymoon in Greece in 1986). I'm not even really sure why I had to have "happy pills" for our long Botswana road trips. I slept during the stretches where you drove 120mph!

But it seems significant. It seems like that's symbolic of our marriage. You driving us. You are the reason we went places - to Florida, to Botswana, and here I was, just going for the ride.

But while that's how I remember it, that's not the case, is it? We've taken these 31 years together. Sometimes you're the driver, deciding not only where we're going but how fast we'll go. Sometimes, you're driving me to places I need to go. And sometimes, I've spurred you on to look for new fishing spots, hiking trails or new breweries to keep things from getting too stale and to fulfill both our need to explore.

We're at a frustrating and difficult time right now. At a time when we're essentially empty nesters but you still have to work, further exasperated when we have big unforeseen expenses, like the two major repairs on the cars. Just when we think we've got it all figured out, a budget we can live with and plans for the future, something goes wrong and sets us back.

We were coasting and then all of a sudden, there's not enough gas or road or the brakes have gone out! "What are we going to do?" Or we're coasting and we want to gain momentum. We're looking for a gas station to fill up or we found gas but the it's too expensive, "What to do?"

And sometimes, there isn't a "What to do?" as much as, "What do I do now? " or "What do I want to do?" coz you're bored or you're empty inside.

I've been questioning us lately. Not because there's something wrong, but more that there's nothing wrong. I make conversation. I prod. I poke. But maybe, I should just let you drive. I should trust that you'll get us there and you'll get us there safe and sound. Not a scratch on us.

Because I'm not just the passenger, going along for the ride. You aren't always the driver who knows where we're going. Sometimes, you're there just to get me to the destination I need. Sometimes, you take me on a wild and crazy ride.

That's what our love is. It's a journey we're taking together. I'm not sure where we'll wind up, but after 31 years, I should trust that no matter what, you'll be right by my side. You're not going anywhere, I know that now. You're not going anywhere ... unless it's with me.

On Being a Mom to Graduating Seniors

My kids are graduating - one from high school, the other from college. I can hardly believe it. Where did the time go? And where will my kids wind up?

It seems like only yesterday I was breastfeeding, potty training, reading to them, and watching them learn to read for themselves.

Over the years we set rules: Don't climb the stairs without holding our hand; Don't leave the perimeter of our farm; Tell me where you're going, when you get there, who you're with.

And learned from our mistakes: Don't cross the street without an adult; Don't leave him alone with matches; and Be sure to apologize to your kids after yelling at them over something minor because your editor set an ungodly deadline and you feel like a failure all the way around.

There were times when I caught myself saying, When is he going to learn to feed himself? I can't wait for you to drive. You can have that when you can pay for it yourself.

But now that they're so independent, I ache to make him dinner, to spend more than a few hours at a time with her, to sit on the couch and watch "A Knight's Tale" or "Princess Bride" from start to finish with each of us reciting our favorite line. "It's called a lance!" "As you wish."

Now, they're graduating. Moving up, moving on and our home will never be the same again. No loose Lego pieces to impale our feet, no more animals to care for (except for the ones we already have and the ones I can't help but bring home), no overpowering scent of hair or body products, and no boys splayed out on the floor of the kitchen, catching me up on the gossip at school, as I happily make them a snack.

Graduating for them is an exciting, scary, promising endeavor. As it should be for me, I keep telling myself. Because now, I don't HAVE to take care of them, I GET to care about them.

I, too, graduate - from nursing to nurturing. Sure, I wish they could have stayed a certain age longer. You know, like if they could have stayed five-years-old for three years? But alas, that can't be. So, I guess, I'll go and grow with them.

I'll take mending that broken heart over that busted knee. I'll dole out the cash for fast food over slaving over a hot stove. I guess I'll take the "Good Morning" text over having to get them up for school, any day.

Yup, when you look at it that way, we're all graduating. Taking that next step in our lives.

Because no matter how old they get, they'll still need their mother (and father). I'm so thankful that I get to see them grow up, grow older, and truly see how my 'momming' has paid off.

So here's to my graduating seniors! Go on. Go off. Go take your place in this world...I'll be watching,  cheering, and waiting for you to come "home".

And in our family, who knows where or what "home" will be, but as long as I am living, that home is me.

Birthday Lunches, Failed Get Togethers and Good Byes

Just around the new year, I start thinking about my birthday. I’ve had some pretty awful celebrations but I can’t remember one. Recalling recent years, my sister threw me an impromptu party at her home. I’ve celebrated in various cities, Hudson being one of my favorites. And several times now, my family has taken over Purple Yam where Chef Romy has made us special dishes based on my favorite foods!  

For a number of years, while I was working at Scholastic, I shared my birthday with a few co-workers. We were all born a few days and an undisclosed number of years apart. We never planned it. It was always a casual thing. “Hey, let’s go out for our birthdays,” Jackie would say. And off we went. 

Over the past few years, I hadn’t celebrated with my co-workers. I lost touch with one of them, although I can see she is doing well from the FB posts of friends we share. And while I hadn’t spoken, emailed, texted, or pm'd the other, I knew if I reached out, she’d be there. 

"Why don't you come out to Brooklyn?" "Let me know next time you come into the City." One time she and our former editorial director surprised me and stopped by my shop in Cold Spring. Just after we moved back from Botswana, a Scholastic reunion of sorts came together, bringing many of us from "the old days" to one of our favorite hang outs in the Village. "When can we do that again?" was a catch phrase one or more of us would utter half-heartedly on social media. There always seemed to be a better time, a next time..."Next time I'm downtown." "Next time I've got a sitter." "Not this time because I can't get away from the store, but definitely next time." I’m not sure when the last time was. Could it really have been 13 years? 

I'm sorry I took our time together for granted. I was overwhelmed when I learned of her death. I didn’t know the Cancer had come back. 

I didn’t know. 

But over the years, why didn’t I call her? Why didn’t I make an effort to go see her? Why? 

And now I’m facing another birthday and she just missed hers. We won't have that birthday lunch. We don't get to plan an alternate date. I don’t get to say, "Happy Birthday". And most importantly, I also didn't get to say "Good-Bye".