To kvetch or not to kvetch, that is the quetschen!

Yes, I know! You don’t have to remind me. I haven’t blogged for days on end. However, here I am and I will pick up where, I think, I left off.

I’ve been on the road doing quite a bit of traveling but am back in the saddle now. It’s Monday morning and the weather is beautiful outside. People are still rambling about the weather being so bad just a few days ago, but today should serve as a distraction from the climate kvetching.

(Time out! Did you know that the term “kvetch” is a Yiddish term? Yeah, it literally means to squeeze or pinch. It also has its roots in the Middle High German quetschen … which should remind you of an English word that we usually try to give an answer to. Hey! Now go impress your friends with your great etymological prowess.)

I’ve been so terribly consumed of late. It seems like I run from person to person. I’m not going to say I’ve been “busy” because I detest that leather worn word. I have been, however, very much frenzied of late. Work has taken me away from my regular routine and while I welcome the change in the scenery and exposure to new experiences I nonetheless find myself feeling late for a meeting or anxious about another unexpected phone call or worried about falling behind.

I’m reading a book coauthored by Norman Mailer and his youthful son, John Buffalo Mailer. The title of the book is The Big Empty. I stumbled upon this publication largely through a broadcast on cable of an interview conducted of the two writers by The New York Society for Ethical Culture (http://www.nysec.org/). I was impressed enough with the clear thinking of Norman Mailer to warrant going in search of the February 2005 publication the very next day. (I have since read a short novel by NM by the title of The Gospel According to the Son- a very interesting look at the life of Jesus, written in the first person, sort of Jesus’ response to the four gospels- very thought provoking.)

I have a guitar performance on April 22nd that I feel dreadfully unprepared for. Tonight I’ll padlock myself away for a few hours and decide what course I want to go in for that. I never quite feel adequate for these events; something inside me tells me there should be someone else sitting there, another more qualified individual than myself. However all those harsh feelings usually subside and vaporize once I am seated and can see the responses from people and know there’s no turning back. Music is something that is difficult for me to write about. I’m not sure why. I’ve yet to really explore that one. Perhaps it’s because there is some mystical element to the performing and the enjoying of music. I find it hard to remember lyrics to songs, but my fingers seem to know exactly where to go when I am playing some early 19th century arrangement that I have no mnemonic hint as to how to remember other than shear mental trust and assurance.

Well, it’s Monday morning. It’s nice to be back. The weather seems to say, “It’s going to be a full week … get to work … everything’s going to be okay.”