Jim Bishop: A Ford in my past drives recollections in the present
OK, gang, let’s sing along with Jim (those of you old enough to remember this heavy hit from – man alive – 1955):
“You loaded sixteen tons, whattaya get?”
Everyone – “Another year older and deeper in debt. St. Peter don’t ya call me ‘cause I can’t go . . ”
And pray thee, why not?
Because “I owe my soul . . . (dramatic pause) . . . to the company store.”
The coal miner’s lament that Merle Travis wrote in 1946, based on his own family’s experience in the mines of Muhlenberg County, Ky., spent 10 weeks on the country charts and eight weeks on the pop charts and made singer Ernest Jennings (“Tennessee Ernie”) Ford a crossover recording artist with what became his “signature song.”
“Sixteen Tons” became Capitol Records’ first number one single of the rock era, according to Fred Bronson in his “Billboard Book of Number One Hits” (Billboard Publications, 1985).
According to Bronson, Ernie was snapping his fingers to set the tempo while rehearsing the song in the recording studio. The producer, Lee Gillette, was in the control booth and told Ford to leave the snapping in when he recorded the song. That “special effect” and the unique, clarinet-driven “hook” pop arrangement by Ford’s musical director, Jack Fascinato, helped capture the distinctive sound that enthralled listeners and propelled record sales.
I played the song frequently on my weekly fifties music radio show, “Friday Night Jukebox,” during its 11-year run on WEMC-FM, struck by the simplicity of the arrangement with minimal instrumentation, but both the words and the melody stick in my head like epoxy, returning from my subconscious while snarled in heavy traffic or daydreaming in church.
My senior year of college, I wrote and performed a ballad about the tedious nature of working in a car wash in my hometown, using the “Sixteen Tons” tune. Unfortunately, word of this creative saga – so I thought – got back to the owner, and I apologized for my social gaffe; I was the one who was all wet.
The Bristol, Tenn., native had numerous songs in the top ten on the country charts in the early to mid-1950s; his only other “crossover” hits were a duet with Kay Starr, “I’ll Never Be Free,” that went to No. 3 in the summer of 1950, and his version of “The Ballad of Davy Crockett” (No. 4 on the country charts and No. 5 on the pop charts in 1955).
Tennessee Ernie Ford went on to even bigger success as a host of his own prime-time variety program, “The Ford Show,” on NBC television from 1956 to 1961. He always ended the show with a hymn, which made producers and the sponsor nervous at first, but it became the most popular segment of the program.
Ernie went on to record numerous albums of hymns and gospel selections. His album “Great Gospel Songs” won a Grammy Award® in 1964.
Over the years, Ernie was awarded three stars on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, for radio, records and television. He was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1984 and was inducted in the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1990.
Publicly, Ernie appeared to have it all together, career-wise and otherwise. But, even at the top of his game, he couldn’t resist tempting the spirits, as it were. Alcohol, and specifically a fondness for a particular brand of whiskey, led to his physical deterioration (Wikipedia) and eventually, liver ailments claimed his life. He died Oct. 17, 1991, in Reston, Va., exactly 36 years after “Sixteen Tons” was released.
Ernie received posthumous recognition for his gospel music contributions when the Gospel Music Association added him to its Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 1994.
I’d never endure as a miner; they’re a special breed with an extraordinary calling to a risky business, but I will continue to labor in the musical gold mine, pausing to salute those inimitable, pioneering artists like the late Tennessee Ernie Ford who gave us songs like “Sixteen Tons” that help kindle special memories of yesteryear.
Ernie found that gold mine, but he never gave us the shaft.
Jim Bishop is public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University. He can be contacted at bishopj@emu.edu.
Jim Bishop: Memories, pressed between the pages of our lives
On this Memorial Day weekend, I ask openly, why are memories so important to us earthlings?
Maybe that’s not the proper way to phrase the question. Some people may go out of their way to suppress certain memories. For others, their minds are playing nasty tricks on them as victims of Alzheimer’s disease.
I need memories – we all do, I believe – not to push us back into living in the past, which is all too easy to do, but to help nourish and uphold us as we deal with the numerous challenges and hassles that occupy our lives in the present moment and in facing the future unknown.
Most of my recurring memories focus on family. When a loved one departs this life, such as my mom and dad, I reflect often on the guidance, values and unbridled love they gave us siblings and treasure that legacy.
The 1930’s-era Crosley floor model radio (that still works) that once occupied space in the living room of my paternal grandparents, Walter S. and Priscilla Bishop, now stands like an electronic sentry in our living room. I’ll occasionally turn it on, wait for the giant vacuum tubes to warm up and tune in a Philadelphia AM radio station that comes booming in at night. It reminds me of “Nana” – Grandpa Bishop died in 1943, two years before my birth – and especially the many hour in my childhood spent seated in a chair in her third floor apartment, listening intently to radio serials on that mammoth super heterodyne.
Back in my home community earlier this year for the sixth annual Bishop cousins ScrappleFest, I spent about an hour with cousins Jon and Don Smith in the expansive graveyard at the Doylestown Mennonite Church. Mental images repeatedly surfaced from the decade that our family lived next door to the church (1952-62) and the many hours we siblings rode bikes on the narrow macadam paths, stopping to read names and epitaphs on weathered tombstones.
It’s amazing how an event, or even someone’s offhand comment, can trigger a song in my melody-clogged mind. Wife Anna remarked how great it was for the sun to reappear, however briefly, after nearly a week of clouds and nonstop downpours and from nowhere came the words to a song:
“Jesus wants me for a sunbeam, to shine for him each day,
In every way try to please him, at home, at school at play . . .”
I couldn’t believe it; this tune from childhood Sunday school days had vanished for decades, and suddenly I was again bellering the words and melody. Without a pause, the chorus burst forth as well:
“A sunbeam, a sunbeam, Jesus wants me for a sunbeam,
A sunbeam, a sunbeam, I’ll be a sunbeam for him.”
It works the other way too. A song from my teenage years suddenly invades my cerebral cortex, i.e., “Decided (By the Angels)” by Ronnie Dawson from 1960 played on radio station KQV, Pittsburgh, and I recollect scenes from that memorable summer on staff at Laurelville Mennonite Church Center in Westmoreland County, Pa.
“Sea Cruise,” a 1959 swamp rock ditty from Frankie Ford, immediately conjures up listening by the hour to WIBG radio 99, Philadelphia, on my Silvertone six-transistor radio. On one occasion, this rockin’ ditty was blasting over the public address system while I cleaned the sanctuary of the Doylestown Mennonite Church and the bishop, Joe Gross, appeared unexpectedly. My dad saw to it that that episode would not repeat itself.
Or play “Maybe You’ll Be There” by Billy & the Essentials, one of my favorite oldies from 1962 and I visualize cruising the roads of Bucks County, Pa., with my buddies with freshly-minted driver’s license in hand. It would be the last relatively carefree period of life before entering our senior year of high school and needing to start thinking about what we might eventually want to do with our bucolic existence.
More serious music, such as hearing a work from my favorite classical composer, Pyotr Ilich Tchaikovsky, stirs up memories – not all fond –of weekly piano lessons with Mr. Partsch, or the hymn, “Be Still My Soul” (from Silelius’ Finlandia), conjures up fond reminiscences of my late father, J. Vernon Bishop. My brother Michael Bishop led this stirring selection and soloed on several verses at his funeral in 1998.
I take many photos, and have for years, and try to keep them updated in albums with captions. Paging through an album or watching a home video from long ago isn’t often easy to view, because I’m reminded of how fast the time flies.
When we come together, for a reunion or similar group gathering, much time is given to reliving memories that help us to celebrate the good times and shared values that bind us together.
Memories, of the way we were, can stir our hearts and minds and help provide strength and resolve for the journey ahead. All aboard!
Jim Bishop is public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University. He can be contacted at bishopj@emu.edu.
Jim Bishop: Reader, beware – You, too, may soon be obsolete
I arrived home from work the other evening to hear a rather depressing voicemail message:
“This is _______ from ________. I’m afraid the problem with your riding lawn mower isn’t a broken belt. The clutch is gone, and your mower is so old that we can no longer even special order that replacement part. Let us know what you’d like to do.”
I hung up, feeling a bit like being told that either I or a family member has a life-threatening illness. It’s just an inanimate piece of machinery that has served me well and did a beautiful job of cutting our lawn for many years and, kept properly maintained, well, it ran like a Deere. But no longer.
So is anything wrong with this picture? Probably the right person could be secured who could locate the needed part(s), even if rebuilt, do the necessary repairs and get me back to Manicure City. But would it be worth it over the long haul?
I do have a small walk-behind rotary mower to use as backup but will take twice as long to mow our three-quarter acre lot. That’s fine as long as I’m able to walk on my hind legs.
Is this a bit how the dinosaurs felt as they were sinking in the LaBrea Tar Pits? This is the pits . . .
The struggle for me began with seeing vinyl records, which I started buying in the mid-1950’s and have amassed a sizable collection, being relegated to a dusty discount bin as cassette recordings came to the fore.
How many of us now have shelves of cassettes gathering dust even though the sound quality is generally excellent, they take up little space and are easily fast-forwarded and reversed in finding favorite selections? But . . . try finding a sound system today that includes a cassette player or a late-model vehicle that has a cassette player built into its audio system.
For years, I shot home video with a super 8 mm camera which, of course, became outdated. Eventually, I paid big bucks to transfer all those 50-foot reels to VHS format.
Now, apparently, VHS players are passé, even though the image quality is excellent, especially since our upgrade to a flat-screen digital television. Now, here we are with a videocassette player that works great an array of personal videos, programs recorded off TV that we want to keep and a quantity of commercial movies. But, sorry, VHS is fading fast, and now even DVD players are on the endangered species list.
I also strongly to the fact that practically any electronic appliance costs more to repair than to pitch when it breaks down and buy a new item.
Another thing that bugs me: most shirts and t-shirts sold today no longer have a breast pocket, and I always carry a pen and tuck my cell phone there too.
Then, there’s my Canon Rebel 35 mm. camera that I still use for personal photography and takes awesome images despite the doofus pressing the shutter. It’s increasingly difficult to find the particular brand and type of color film of preference, and one of these days the photo lab will tell me that they now longer process film.
“Why?” I ask aloud, almost with a sense of futility and acquiescence.
Whose is behind this sinister plot of planned obsolescence? It ain’t me, babe. If I had my druthers, we’d still have that bright yellow, rotary dial telephone on the kitchen counter that worked perfectly and never gave us problems – except for that short time span when our daughters insisted we get call-waiting.
I’m afraid where I see this train of thought heading . . . straight for the terminal. Come to think of it, not many people take the train anymore because it’s too slow in transporting people to their destinations, but think of the scenery, the chance to relax and catch one’s breath and other benefactions missed. Is that no longer important?
Slowly but deliberately, those things that have served me well or met with personal tastes are increasingly, inevitably declared “obsolete.”
I fear that I am too.
Jim Bishop is public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University. He can be contacted at bishopj@emu.edu.
Jim Bishop: Receive these baccalaureate blessings for the road
I’m neither a preacher nor a theologian, although earlier on my daughters would have declared that indeed I did preach at them regularly. And even though I’m a Bishop, I’m not ordained – disdained, maybe.
There seems to be a prevailing notion that if one has had a few things published along the way that automatically makes one a public speaker. For myself, I’m more comfortable sitting at my computer expounding on any number of subjects I know little about than standing before a group, hoping that intended words and phrases will burst forth in ways that both communicate to and motivate the audience to some wished-for response – long after the room is cleared.
Those times that I’ve spoken to groups the pre-speech period is agonizing. I can’t really enjoy the meal, however scrumptious, knowing what’s just ahead. The anxiety level especially rises when the meeting should be concluding about the time I’m being introduced.
I recall a time when I reached the podium, surveyed the fairly large audience that was giving me fidgety non-verbal signals, and I said, “Hmmmm, where shall I begin?” And from the back of the room a voice rang out, “Somewhere near the end!”
On another occasion, I was asked to reflect on writing this weekly column, where ideas comes from (I have no idea) and how I go about composing this weekly prattle. It seemed to have gone exceptionally well; I could tell just by person’s rapt facial expressions. I ended the formal part and invited questions from the group. Immediately a hand shot up in the back of the room and a dear lady shouted out, “And who are you . . .”? It was an excellent, sorely-needed, lesson in humility.
EMU’s commencement last weekend, held outdoors despite some fickle weather, was a celebratory occasion. I wasn’t asked to give any kind of public discourse at this last graduation for me to cover in my role as public information officer, and that’s fine with me. Both the baccalaureate and commencement speakers made excellent presentations.
But I thought several times over the weekend: if given the opportunity, what would I have said to the graduating class of 2011?
No question: I would focus on the importance of accepting God’s love and in turn sharing that marvelous love with others and the blessings that arise from this reciprocal experience.
A statement from the late Elizabeth Koobler-Ross, widely-known authority on death and dying, that is tacked on my office doorpost pretty much sums up what I would tell any graduation audience:
“I have never met a person whose greatest need was anything other than real, unconditional love. You can find it in a simple act of kindness toward someone who needs help. There is no mistaking love. You feel it in your heart. It is the common fiber of life, the flame that heals our soul, energizes our spirit, and supplies passion to our lives. It is our connection to God and to each other.”
“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God,” I John 4:7 (NASB). I’d try to underscore and elaborate on this declaration, then conclude by bestowing a blessing on everyone that I hope they would carry with them and experience in the days ahead:
* May you look forward to the start of the new day more than its end, and at its close, may you experience sound, restful, adequate sleep.
* May you always have a roof over your head (that doesn’t leak) and food on the table, and may you always have hot water (but stay out of it).
* May your checkbook always balance – handle that ATM card with care! – and your checks never bounce.
* May the line you’re in be shorter – and worth any wait.
* May your vehicles always pass inspection and your appliance warranties be valid.
* May your computer hard drive never crash.
* May you always win arguments with yourself.
* May the weather be pleasant on your days off.
* May that slice of bread you drop on the floor land butter-side-up.
* May your cup of human kindness always overflow.
* May you be content with what you have and thankful that you don’t already have everything you desire. If you did, what would you have to look forward to?
* May you always eschew loquacious verbosity.
* May you find meaning and purpose in the commonplace.
* May you have a serendipitous moment this very week that helps put a magical spark in life, turns dreams into reality and motivates you to share this unexpected blessing with someone else.
* May the candle of hope burn intently in your being and radiate outwardly
from there.
* While one can never be exempt from injury, insult, emotional wounds and illnesses that are part of being human, may you experience God’s presence and gentle healing touch when they strike.
* May you find fulfillment and sheer enjoyment from pursuit of a hobby or special interest.
* May peace like a river overflow your hearth and heart.
* May you stay forever young.
* I’ve exceeded my time limit and word count – please forgive me. Blessings in abundance!
Jim Bishop is public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University. He can be contacted at bishopj@emu.edu.
Jim Bishop: Lordy, Lordy, This Commencement is Number 40!
The pomp and circumstance will soon be under way. President Loren Swartzendruber will acknowledge the 451 members of the Eastern Mennonite University graduating class of 2011 and invite them to begin coming forward to receive their hard-earned degrees.
Hopefully, the weather tomorrow, May 1, will allow the pageantry to take place outdoors, on center campus, where a more celebratory and ebullient atmosphere prevails.
My own graduation, in 1967, was held in the same outdoor space. But I had to go back and check who our commencement speaker was – Roy Just – but unable to recall who he was or any word of counsel he may have given. What I do remember is that we were the first graduating class to be allowed to don academic regalia after pestering the administration for this right until they finally agreed.
By the time I returned to my alma mater in the role I’ve now held here for four decades, students had decided to do away with the short-lived tradition or at least made caps and gowns optional.
That was okay, I suppose, except we were left with a mish-mash parade across the graduation platform – some wearing caps and gown, some street clothes, others receiving their degrees in ratty t-shirts, cut-offs and flip-flops.
What goes around comes around, and it wasn’t long before the grads-to-be opted to become more uniform, as it were, in again donning caps and gowns.
Thinking about this again on the eve of my last commencement to “cover” – 40, count ‘em, 40 – as public information officer, underscores for me that it isn’t what is said at these annual rituals of transition into the “real world” – a concept I never bought into – that remains planted in my cobwebbed cranium as much as those events that happened, many unplanned, that made certain ceremonies stand out.
In 1970, Anna and I drove from Elkhart, Ind., to Harrisonburg, staying on Rt. 33 all the way – we realized what a brilliant move that was about half way through West Virginia – and almost missed my brother Bob’s graduation because the trip took so much longer than expected.
But that fit right in with the graduation speaker, a college president, who droned on and on about who knows what, and each time we thought he would say, “And in conclusion,” he rather said, “Let’s take this one step further . . .”
Over 40 years of covering these events, I can count on one hand those grad speakers who gave such exceptional, inspiring address that I can play back something they said that sticks with me to this day. Two political figures head the list:
- Former First Lady Rosalynn Carter, in 1986.We anticipated an audience turnout that would tax our campus facilities, so the ceremony was held in the JMU Convocation Center (a warm, sunny afternoon, of course). “Remember who you are and where you came from,” she told the graduates in urging them to be committed to a peaceful world, to an end to the threat of nuclear war, to human rights and opportunities for all people.
- Former US Senator Mark O. Hatfield (R-Oregon), commencement speaker in 1992, urged the graduates to “take Christ as a role model and source of power who gives importance to humanity in everyday relationships. Be salt and light to a nation that desperately needs it.”
Weather took center stage – or upstaged – many ceremonies over the years, the most memorable in 1985. The ceremonies began outdoors under sunny skies. The speaker was Dr. Wayne Geisert, former president of Bridgewater College. About 15 minutes into the service, a large black cloud suddenly moved in, hovered over center campus and literally dumped its payload as people got up and sought shelter.
When we re-assembled about an hour later in Lehman Auditorium, Dr. Geisert came to the podium, gave a sly smile to the audience, some still showing signs of the earlier deluge, and said, “That’s what you get for inviting a Church of the Brethren member to speak.” (Brethren baptize by immersion; Mennonites typically practice “sprinkling” water on new members).
A similar experience took place in 1987 with graduation held in front of Roselawn dormitory. The speaker, who will go unnamed, was expounding on the minutiae of “cosmology” to his restless audience as the thunder claps increased in intensity over the horizon. He finally, mercifully, concluded his speech and the conferring of degrees hastily began. That commencement unceremoniously ended with the audience scattering to the four winds with some students still waiting to receive their diplomas.
Other commencement high points for me include:
- The first wheelchair-bound student to graduate Patty Cooper of Appalachia, Va., in 1988 with the construction of a ramp to the stage earned degree in psychology. First commencement presided over by Joseph L. Lapp, who took office that year 1977-78. The second wheelchair student was Tony Wright, a psychology major from Waynesboro, Va., who graduated in 1989.
- Three sets of twins graduating in 1993 – Rosemary and Sharon Kreider, Harrisonburg; Chad and Greg Hostetler, Erie, Pa.; and Eric and Alan Brenneman, Saxton, Pa. The commencement speaker was Lawrence Hart, a Mennonite chief of the Cheyenne Nation.
- The 1995 commencement of 232 graduates, the first to receive diplomas after Eastern Mennonite College became Eastern Mennonite University. It was also the first group of 10 persons to receive master’s degrees from EMU’s first graduate program that is not seminary-related: the MA in counseling.
- In 2000, Moses Sakuda, a Masai tribesman from Kenya, earning an MA in education from EMU and an MDiv. degree from Eastern Mennonite Seminary, witnessed by a contingent of extended family members, many of whom had never before flown in an airplane.
- Pre-med/honors graduate and student athlete Laura Rosenberger of State College, Pa., a track and field standout, doing a flip off the platform after receiving her degree in 2003.
- Perseverance personified in Bonnie W. Bowser in 2005 .Bonnie, who works as circulation and office manager in EMU’s Hartzler Library, took one course a semester for 14 years and graduated magna cum laude with a degree in liberal arts. Three graduates – Rachel E. Medley of Harrisonburg, Jason D. Garber of Hutchinson, Kan., and Davi R. Soesilo of Indonesia, each earned degrees with triple majors, a rare occurrence, at this same graduation.
I believe it’s not just happenstance that this year’s graduation speaker is Michael Berenstein, author and illustrator of the Berenstain Bears book series. He and yours truly share the same hometown of Doylestown, Pa. I can’t BEAR to wait much longer to hear his reflections on the theme, “Simple Gifts: Thoughts from Childhood.”
Graduation day is a special moment in time, a gathering of persons who will never come together in quite the same way again. What we take with us from these special occasions are memories, rarely of what was said or even unexpected things that happen this momentous day. But, we likely will remember and hold dear the people who were a pivotal part of that journey with us and continue to hold a special place in our hearts and minds.
Indeed, we really don’t graduate from the school of experience but hopefully continue to study and learn until the day arrives when we’re given that last final exam.
May all of us pass with flying colors.
Jim (EMU class of ’67) Bishop is public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University. He can be contacted at bishopj@emu.edu.
Jim Bishop: Something new, fresh personifies this joyful Eastertide
It was one of those too rare early spring days that unexpectedly emerge out of the blue.
The sky remains clear, the air fresh, temperatures slowly rise and hover in the low 70s and the distant haze dissipates, revealing the purple majesty of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I could only be outside a short time, but I savored every moment as a sense of rejuvenation flooded my being.
“I enjoy putting this exhilarating, artistic spin on my Creation,” Jehovah God thinks aloud. “Behold, that’s good. Why don’t I do this more often?”
Indeed, if these kind of magical days did appear more frequently, I suspect we’d soon take them for granted, like so many other undeserved gifts and blessings regularly bestowed.
Easter is such a gift. The day itself skips around the calendar each year, arriving as early as March 22 and as late as April 25.
Whatever the date, when it comes, I accept it gladly and unwrap it eagerly.
There’s nothing wrong with celebrating the season by hiding and hunting colored eggs, dressing up, enjoying a special meal or singing “Here Comes Peter Cottontail” (who remembers that Gene Autry rendition?). In fact, the Energizer Bunny makes sure this aging boomer still gets a basket of carbohydrate delights. But that shouldn’t be the primary focus.
The events surrounding that first Easter were dark, confusing, tragic and, yes, violent. There was trepidation and mystery, cowardice, betrayal and denial. But, there was also the introduction of a new access to the divine initiated at that Last Supper, as Our Lord broke bread, shared the cup and washed the feet of his bewildered disciples in that Upper Room.
“Do these things ‘til I come again,” he admonished, as the shadow of the cross loomed ever larger.
Waiting on the other side of this turbulent train of events were prophecies and promises kept, miraculous appearances and disbelief turned to belief and certainty. A stone blocking an empty tomb was rolled away and with it, the sins of humankind – a new day had arrived.
These extraordinary events re-echo in this Scripture passage, full of blessed assurance:
“Bless the Lord, O my soul,
And forget none of His benefits;
Who pardons all your iniquities;
Who heals all your diseases.
Who redeems your life from the pit;
Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;
Who satisfies your years with good things,
So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.”
- Psalm 103:2-3 NASB
Whatever age or life stage, I must continually ask: what is that new thing seething in my innermost being that is itching to come to full flower? If we don’t respond to that seed of newness and cultivate and water it regularly, it will wither and die. What a misfortune.
In Easter are sown the seeds of freedom, forgiveness, grace and reconciliation and peace, individually and corporately.
God quietly and patiently whispers to each of us, “Come, accept this gift of renewal, of new life,” and surely tires of hearing the response, “Thanks, but I’m content (or just indifferent) with things as they are.”
Why would we spurn a gift so rich and free, when acceptance allows us to go forth boldly into the bright and shining new day, living in the power of the resurrection?
Jim Bishop is public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University. He can be contacted at bishopj@emu.edu.
Jim Bishop: Counting in my sleep is sheep-inducing (That’s baaaaaad)!
Posted by afp on June 13, 2011 · Leave a Comment
Of the days repeat
In our dreams they creep
While we sleep, sleep, sleep.”
- Little Willie John (1960)
Last night, I promptly dropped off to sleep and dreamt that I ate a giant marshmallow, and upon awakening this morning, my pillow was gone.
You took that lying down, like a bedridden shoplifter, didn’t you?
No, this is not another pun-chant attempt at pundemoanium, but rather a feeble acknowledgment that I was too lazy to get up in the middle of the night, turn on the computer in our bedroom and play back, as best I could, the gist of a column idea that swirled in my subconscious.
The next morning, all I could remember is that a fairly decent essay was germinating in the midst of my sawing wood, but once awake, I couldn’t cut it. So, in effect, I’m starting over, taking on the somnolent subject of slumber (and no more annoying alliteration, I promise!).
So, what remains in my foggy mind is a recognition of how fortunate I am, at my ancient age, to most nights hit the sack – around the same time, between 10:15 and 10:30 p.m. – fall asleep almost immediately (and soon start snoring, my long-suffering spouse adamantly insists) until the grating buzz of the radio alarm comes on at 5:30 a.m., disrupting my recurring dream of a seven-day weekend.
I remember coming up with this line in an essay for a college creative writing course: “I used to think that if a person couldn’t sleep at night, he must not be living an upright life. If that’s the case, I must really be a saint.” My instructor wrote in the margin: “Good sleight of hand.” I didn’t even know at the time what I’d done, but it felt affirming.
On Friday nights, I don’t set my alarm for Saturday morning, the only day of the week that I don’t have to get up early, but invariably, I awaken anyway around the same ungodly hour, lay there fussing that it happened again and soon realize that I might as well get up because the odds of falling asleep again are as good as my winning the Powerball jackpot.
Paradoxically, those times that it took a long time to fall sleep, then find myself wide awake in the middle of the night or have a generally restless night usually occur when I’ve felt most at peace with myself and the world in general.
Of course, now at MY age, there’s got to be something wrong if I don’t get up at least once during the night to make sure the, er, bathroom fixtures are working properly. The nightlight guides me safely to my destination and back. By the time I’ve reassumed a horizontal position, hairy feline Avery has pounced on the bed and proceeds to purr loudly in my ear.
Some time back, I made a wonderful discovery that has provided a sleep aid on those occasions when I’m lying awake in the early morning hours. “Zoomer Radio,” a commercial station at 740 on the AM dial comes booming in at night from Toronto, Ont. From midnight to 6 a.m., the station cranks out one great song after another, mostly from the 50’s and 60’s, on the “All Night Jukebox” with few commercial interruptions. Next thing I know, the Everly Brothers, Rick Nelson or the Platters are beginning to fade as I slowly reenter slumberland .
The bottom line: I need my sleep. It may not be eight straight hours of uninterrupted snoozing night after night, but the “early to bed, early to rise” axiom works for me and when it does, my work patterns and productivity the next day do too.
The question arises as retirement looms on the horizon: Will this pattern I’ve held to for so long end in retirement and I become like so many people I know who get awake at 3:30 a.m. and that’s it for the night, then an afternoon nap is needed to compensate?
Let me sleep on that and get back to you.
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