By: Ken Boone
The other day, I had the pleasure of contributing to a conference call. It was the second in a series of calls with this group of people doing good work. The group consisted of individuals who had multiple letters after their names, and yours truly. The first call didn't go so well in my estimation. Although there wasn't any bluster coming from the participants, there was an air of "things need fixing and I know how best to fix them". That resulted in a lot of reinventing of the wheel. There were a lot of monologues with very little natural gaps for others to interject. There were very few opportunities for me to add to the discussion, which left me feeling frustrated. We are all caught having to adjust our way of living almost on the fly. Most face-to-face encounters have been replaced by Zoom, Google Hangouts, Go To Meeting, and WebEx platforms. Webinars and podcasts are now the new norm. While I respect the professional accomplishments of the individuals on those calls, I needed to be able to remind them that webinars and podcasts are in my wheelhouse. I can do them in my sleep and have done the research. But the people with the letters behind their names insisted on telling me what to do, even when I was already doing those things on a daily basis. I try to be a team player. I grew up playing team sports. I sang in a choir. I was in a number of bands. I could go on forever. I was also conditioned to defer to the judgment of others, even when I had the solution. So much so that when I insisted on getting my point across, I typically did so with very little tact. As I mentioned a number of times in both my blog as well as my podcast, it took me too long to earn my college degree. And I only earned one. I made a lot of excuses for not finishing, but the main reason was that I was simply afraid. I thought that my brain cells that I used for learning had simply died off. Maybe my chronic truancy in high school brought me to that conclusion. The 1957 classic movie "12 Angry Men" was a courtroom drama starring Henry Fonda. One of the jurors was an ad man by trade, meaning that he came equipped with a vocabulary dripping in the latest buzz words. Having the other jurors convinced that he was wise, it wasn't until he couldn't make a decision that the others realized that he was all talk and no action. I, too, would used my perceived lack of credentials convince myself that I had nothing to contribute to that call. even remained silent when they tried to state "facts" about the structure of podcasts, a subject that I've learned and practiced quite a bit about. I stewed about the slights for a few days, which was far too long. After getting up the nerve to calmly voice my frustrations, I was convinced by allies to push back when I knew a fact was being misrepresented. I was told that I was the expert on most the topics discussed in this series of meetings. This brings us to the conference call of the other day. I listened respectfully, pushed back appropriately, and felt a part of a productive call. I was listened to. I was deferred to. My input was needed and welcomed. When the call ended, I rushed to the nearest mirror to give my reflection a piece of my mind. I told myself that I was just as valid as anyone else. I also reminded my reflection that if I felt intimidated by other, more impressive folks, I could borrow a time-honored technique used by successful people and great impostors the world over. I would just "fake it until I make it"!
0 Comments
By: Ken Boone
They wanted us to stay inside. That was long before the state instituted the order (or should I say policy). The message was delivered to us by the nice doctor as she was telling us that we were negative for the flu. She also gave us a handout as she wished us "good luck". On the drive back home, Celia started reading the document out loud. Buried within were clear instructions that this self-quarantine was to happen with us in separate rooms, even using separate bathrooms. No wonder the document was rolled up when the doctor handed it to us. How can we quarantine in separate rooms? How can we not sleep in the same bed? Except for a few nights when one of us was in the hospital, we always slept in the same bed. Even during those hospitalizations, the one who wasn't the patient always slept in a recliner next to the patient's bed. Although we both work from home, we spend a lot of time in different parts of the house. Celia works from the master bedroom with her laptop placed on her, well, lap. I spend most of my day in the bonus room above the garage. That's where I set up my recording studio, as well as my home office. I record Celia's podcast from our downstairs music room. It began life as a sitting room, which I've been told was typical in the South. Nowadays we all just flop down in the family room. In our house, that room is too comfortable to call by it's proper name -- the Great Room. When we would go out on our daily adventure, typically to the grocery store, we'd be together. Being originally from a city of over 8 million people, I am still amazed that I'm easily recognized when I walk into both of my neighborhood Publix supermarkets. I almost feel like Norm from Cheers! During Celia's recoveries from both hip surgeries, I had to do the shopping by myself. It never failed that a number of store employees would ask how she was doing and for me to send her their love and well wishes. And when she made her triumphant return to the produce aisle (as you know, she's a vegetarian) those employees would drop what they were doing to give her a welcome back bear hug! Against this backdrop of togetherness I just painted, we had to make the decision whether we should quarantine separately or not. I'll admit, the drive home became pretty sobering. Being a couple of accountants, we created an imaginary ledger. The left column were reasons to quarantine apart, while the right were reasons to stay together. It quickly became obvious that we would stay together! During the deliberations, we started exchanging stories about adventures past. We talked about dozens of trips we took to Asheville to play at our favorite church. You see, driving through the Blue Ridge Mountains was breathtaking for a city guy like me. I would savor the moments by "only" driving about 10 mph over the speed limit. Since Celia was from that neck of the woods, she wasn't impressed. I finally wised up and handed her the keys. That way, my lead foot wife would make the 125 mile trip in well under 2 hours. That doesn't seem impressive until I remind you that she's driving through a mountain range, and the trip in mostly uphill. We reminded each other that it was just the two of us on that huge stage at those performances. Although I'd spent most of my life on stage, with much of it leading a band, choir, and/or small vocal ensemble, here I felt most comfortable playing my bass while sitting on a stool behind Celia, who was at the piano. There were many more stories that we recalled, and many more that we forgot during that ride home. We ten reminded ourselves that, since we both had recovered from our year of medical hell, we had a comeback to plan and execute. A lot more drives to make. A few hotel rooms to crash at. And many, many more adventures to the grocery store to pick up provisions as well as be recognized and greeted warmly. Friends sometimes feel sorry for us. They tell us all the time that we've been through a lot and the worry and pray for us. Well, thanks for the concerns and especially the prayers. We then tell them that we are doing great. That our "troubles" are just another adventure. And we LOVE those adventures, big and small! By Ken Boone
For the past few days, for about as long as I've been stuck inside practicing social distancing, I've been hearing a constant tapping against the transom above my front door. My initial assumption was that it was someone trying to sell me a cure for COVID-19. (We have all kinds of weirdos peddling things in our development). About a week ago, I got a letter from my Home Owners' Association demanding that I have the sides of my house power washed by next Tuesday. It was my first warning, so I don't know what their "or else" will be. The channels I typical watch have turned their programming into "All Coronavirus, All the Time". They don't just run the same stories over and over, they've added slick graphics, theme music, and a parade of medical experts doing interviews via Skype. My reactions to these inconveniences would vary depending on my age and my mood at the time. I'll tell you right now that none of my past reactions made any sense. In retrospect, they were silly, to be kind. When I was a kid, up until my teens, I would express anger and frustration by biting my hand. I would clamp down on the knuckle of my left index finger. In addition to tickling the hell out my friends, that gnawing left a mark that I thought would never go away. Manhood brought about a new coping mechanism. I was old enough to by cigarettes and proudly exercised my right to do so. I justified this vice by saying that I only smoked "lights" and I never smoked more than a pack per day. Whether it was hand-biting or smoking, I also and always yelled and threw things around the room. I justified that behavior by saying that those outbursts were brief in nature. I never engaged i long-running rants. That made it OK. Right? Wrong! Wanting to change my bad behavior, which isn't an easy thing, I noticed that my wife, Celia, would react to life's annoyances in a much more controlled, calm way than I ever could. She would always tell me that my behavior was like taking a cyanide pill and getting pissed that it didn't kill the other guy. I can get my head around that. She'd also ask me what my fears were. Initially, that was the wrong thing to say because most men don't like to admit to fear of any kind. Then she told me what fear is the acronym for: False, Evidence, Appearing, Real. That's very catchy and easy to dance to! So I started chanting the FEAR definition. It took a while because it takes a while for old dogs to learn new tricks. I'm happy to say that I don't bite my hand any. Nor do smoke cigarettes, or anything else for that matter. I'm still loud, but I don't yell or throw things around any longer. And I stopped those things just in the nick of time. There's some very real dilemmas facing us today. Not knowing when things will get better is quite frustrating. Having sensible coping skills in place relieves a lot of tension. Look up the Serenity Prayer and commit it to memory. Now, let's get back to the problems I articulated at the beginning of this post. The tapping on my transom was a male robin looking at his reflection and trying to protect his nest against himself. He'll either stop because he has a headache or summer will give him other things to instinctively do. I responded to the demand letter from the Homeowners' Association by letting them know, via email, that I would address their concerns as soon as possible. I also reminding them that there is a health crisis in this country and requested that they exercise common sense and compassion when dealing with the residents who vote them into office. They "graciously" extended my deadline for compliance to May 31st. I want to write them back, but I should just let it slide. They have to save face, you know. As for my favorite channel running nothing but COVID-19 coverage, I simply change the channel when I've heard enough. I'm binge watching a bunch of movies from that greeting card channel (I'm a little embarrassed to call it by its right name). I've also become a frequent viewer of my local cable news channel. I'm becoming a fan of the anchors, meteorologists, traffic and street reporters. While they cover the virus, the do a bang up job of keeping us informed of the lighter side of life in our community. Well, the Pappa bird is tapping on my window. Let him protect his family. I just hope he doesn't knock himself out, since he's hitting the glass at a high rate of speed. Be safe birdie... and all of you as well! By; Ken Boone A few weeks ago, I wrote about my friend Pete. I don't think I mentioned that he's a soft-spoken guy. He's not shy in the least bit. He's funny as hell, so that means that you've got to be on high alert for when he tries to sneak one of his punch lines past you. Trust me; you'll feel as if you just got hit by a truck if you don't see it coming. I learned a lot from Pete during those two summers while our sons were wrapping up their high school baseball careers. To tell you the truth, the boys came to grips that they had reached the end of their playing days before we did! In the twelve years since the boys "retired", Pete was still teaching me things. In particular, I learned the power of understatement. Done properly, it makes me appear more profound, funnier, and less obnoxious. I called him this afternoon. I should call him more often. In fact, I promised him that I'd call him at least once per week. I always make that promise but rarely follow through. So when he picked up the phone, I told how horrible I was as a friend. Then we proceeded to jump into what was our typical 2-4 hour conversation. For the past several years, Pete has wintered in Florida while returning to Rochester for the rest of the year. He's had some pretty serious health issues and lives alone. And after he sold his record label, he's spent much more time in solitude. When I first connected with him, he asked if he could call me back because he didn't want his oatmeal to get cold. That's good because sometimes he forgets to eat. But oatmeal? That's for babies and old people. Who am I to talk. I start everyday with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. And since he is 10 years older than me, it will be in no time that I add oatmeal to my grocery list. Ten minutes later, Pete called me back. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was worrying about a whole bunch of stuff. So we just took it from the top. Starting with the COVID-19 outbreak, to the apparent incompetence of some of our leaders in Washington, to the bustling streets outside his condo in Florida. The world has gone bat-shit crazy! We are both sheltering-in-place, so we breezed through that topic and onto the next one. Politically, we come down on the same side of this. So we were able really speak our minds without worrying that we would offend each other. He was surprised to hear that the networks were spotlighting America's Future (college students) ignoring the warnings. There were many visuals of kids crowding the beaches at Spring Break. Yup, the world has gone bat-shit crazy! As our conversation progressed, the same thing happened as in past phone calls. The immediate cares of the world disappeared. The moaning and griping were replaced with laughter. He would tell me a story about an encounter he had with some rock legend. Particularly a story when that legend displayed bad behavior. My response was typically to call that person an asshole, and hope that they are broke today, if they are still alive. Morbid laughter floods the phone lines, and the crowd goes wild! We then segue-way to the underlying reason for the call. Pete's next great conquest; the world of podcasting. He's currently going through the normal hiccups that all podcasters encounter when they start. After producing nearly 100 episodes, I myself am still running into these technical glitches. I tell him to relax and keep moving forward, which is like preaching to the choir, because he's the most determined person I've ever met. That phone call lasted between two and four hours. I never check the time of the call on my display. The time always flies by. We ended the call making the same lame promise that we would talk more often. If we kept that promise, we wouldn't be able to play "Can You Top This", where we each plead our case that we're horrible friends! Yesterday, my son called to check in on Celia and me. I told him that we are doing the self-quarantine thing. He told me that it didn't surprise him one bit that I would laugh while I delivered some pretty serious news. I guess that's the protective parent in me. After exchanging pleasantries, the next sound i heard was a hello from my 6-year-old granddaughter. We didn't talk about COVID19, Washington, DC, or Spring Break. We got down to the important business. She told me that she lost a tooth! She also told me that the Tooth Fairy left her $8.00! The Tooth Fairy used to leave her Dad $5.00/tooth. And I thought that inflation was relatively flat these days. Like I said... the world has gone bat-shit crazy! But wait..., there's more!
By: Ken Boone I'm hunkered down in my house while I'm collecting all the information I can in the Coronavirus outbreak. I'm a little worried because, since I'm considered to be in a fairly high-risk group, I don't want to chance a health setback. Trying not to obsess about thing I can't control, I found something that will keep my mind occupied. At least for a little while. I have a love-hate relationship with public performances. Mostly because I'd have flashbacks of hundreds of times I really stunk up the joint. There were quite a few great moments on stage, but the duds far outpaced the successes. I could come up with a hundred lame excuses as to why my performances were, at best, uneven. But the main reason was that I would hit the stage totally unprepared! That's right, I rarely, if ever practiced. When I was a band leader, I was known to hold two hour rehearsals. The band, instrumental and/or vocal, would usually perform quite well. The problem was that I was the anchor that dragged things down. Celia, one the other hand, was a person who would practice for hours on ends. Running scales, practicing performance pieces, and learning a 600-song hymnal, Celia was prepared for anything. And boy did it show! As different as we are in our approach to readiness, we click on stage. I knew that from the first time we played "The First Noel" at a Christmas Eve service a few years back. I'd only been playing the bass for about eight weeks, but somehow I was ready. Maybe it was because I was on the bass, and not faking it on the piano. I'm just saying... As I alluded to in the past few blog posts and podcasts, we are in comeback mode. We can no longer lean on illness as a crutch for not doing what we believe we were called to do. We have to get ourselves back down to figurative fighting weight. We have to dust off the old songbooks. Playing the songs is the easy part. As long as I can sit on a stool with my bass and Celia is at the piano, things will turn out alright. But now that I have a story to tell about the miracle God performed on me, I have to practice telling that story to friends and strangers alike. And as the title of this post suggests, I HATE TO PRACTICE! It's not because I'm bashful. It's not because I get stage fright. It's not because I lack experience. To tell the truth, I don't know what it is. I have a feeling that it's my disdain for appearing scripted. I always told myself that a scripted person is a phony person. I've recorded 28 episodes of my podcast. I've also provided voice-over for dozens of other podcast shows. I started using a script on my episodes. I've always used a script on the other shows. And yes, I feel like a phony every time I record and listen to the playback. While I don't have a large audience, I usually hear that my listeners like the sound of my voice. They say it's soothing. I say they need to get their ears checked. But I thank them from the bottom of my heart. With all of that said, I've been picking up my bass recently. I don't run scales or arpeggios. I simply slap on a pair of headphones and play along with whatever song is in the CD player. I also imagine that I'm playing to a full house at our favorite church. I guess I'm practicing magical thinking. That's not a bad thing. Now all I practice telling my story of healing to a crowd of people. I could either look in my bathroom mirror, or tape a picture of an audience to my computer screen. That way I can imagine I'm working the crowd when I'm actually recording another podcast. Hope that will work! But wait... there's more!
By Ken Boone: She's back, and just in the nick of time! Another episode of the podcast "In Search of Peace & Healing" has been recorded and scheduled for publication! It's been over six months since Celia last recorded an episode of her terrific podcast. As usual, I don't ask a lot of questions, such as her topic, how long does she plan to speak, will she have any guests, etc. I just grab her a bottle of water, turn on her microphone, and wait for her to say a little prayer. As soon as she said "Amen", I hit the record button. Celia's last episode, recorded last August, was devoted to telling her listeners about her first hip replacement surgery. Since the surgery went well, she had very little to complain about. Just the rigors of rehabilitation. Neither one of us knew at the time that we were about to enter a pretty dark period in our lives. Just to recap, I had my medical issues that finally came to a head in September. It took a good two months to get back to a somewhat functional state. Which takes us to November. Celia underwent another hip replacement surgery. Thank goodness that we only have two hips, because the second surgery came with some serious complications. As she began to get into her episode, I noticed a strange thing. Instead of talking about her medical situation, she was talking about mine. Now, I brought up the subject many times on both my blog as well as my weekly podcast. However, I only had my vantage point as a reference. To hear her perspective put things in a new light. I remember her tears when she was pleading with me to purchase a medical device that would notify me if my heart stopped beating. While that debate was quite animated, I can now laugh as she retold the story for her listeners. While my original cardiologist appeared to be very concerned about my prognosis (as was I), all I could think of was the notion that they were running a scam. Don't blame me, my New Yorker came out. They're always trying to get one over on people! Celia's episodes usual consist of her recording two 12-15 minutes blocks, or segments. Toward the end of her first block, she talked briefly about the complications after her second hip replacement. Without telling her story, she suffered a fall in her hospital room caused by an unexplained loss of blood. She also had to go under the knife again to clean out some infection that set in at the incision. During the break we take being recording the blocks, I reflected on my feelings during the most critical time of my illness, and boy was I warped. I knew that my situation was dire, but all I can think about was that all production at Descant had come to a screeching halt. No podcasts (I was producing four different shows), no weekly blog posts, and no periods of magical thinking. When we resumed the session, Celia talked a little more about her health situation. She used that opportunity to express her gratitude that most of her chronic pain has subsided, and that she no longer has to walk with the aid of a walker. That's right... she's the comeback kid who bounced back from almost a dozen surgeries in the past few years! She then deftly pivoted to my recovery. No, not again! She was making me blush! She talked about all the prayers that were sent up on my behalf. And I didn't think people knew who I was. I was always this person's son, that person's brother, the other person's father, and Celia's husband. That's just me suffering from the "Great Imposter Syndrome", and not activating my natural cockiness that's been laying dormant for the past few decades. Because she has a very pleasant speaking voice, my mind sometimes drifts when I record her. It was during the "B Block" drift that it dawned on me that I too was a Comeback Kid. We overcame a lot during the past year. We've overcome a lot during the decade we've been together. The real miracle is that we've resented each other for any hard times. We simply laughed and called them adventures! As she was wrapping up her episode, Celia mentioned that one of the things she looked forward to was for us to resume our music ministry. She always called it one of hope and encouragement, among other adjectives. The format was simple - we would play a few songs, followed by Celia telling her compelling story. Then we'd end things on with an up-tempo number. Easy Peasy! She also said that now, I too have a story to tell. It's one of real-life miracles, like the one that God performed on my behalf. Now if I can just overcome my phony case of stage fright. I have to keep telling myself that if I can write a weekly blog and record a weekly podcast, speaking in front of people shouldn't be too difficult. Besides, I used to do it all the time, back went my performances really sucked! I just finished posting links to the podcast episode, aptly titled "Our Struggles Make Us Stronger". I have a cockpit-styled work space with a corner desk, flanked by my printer sitting atop file cabinet on the left. On the right is my keyboard (the musical kind). Right behind the keyboard is a music stand with the chord changes of another show jingle I recently wrote. All that's left is for Celia to drop in the piano part. I can't wait to press the "record" button and be amazed by what her hands will produce! But wait... there's more!
By: Ken Boone When recording my weekly podcast, I always give my listeners an update on the shows hosted by my wife, Celia, and our "daughter", Angel. They've both been under the weather, for different reasons, until recently. Fortunately, they're doing much better and will be recording and releasing new episodes of their podcasts in the near future. Amen to that! It's been several months since I'd last seen Angel. She used to come to the house most Sundays to record her podcast episodes that would be published every other Thursday. It's been even longer since the last time I saw her husband, Chad. The last time I saw the two of them was the day after I was discharged from the hospital. They came to the house with loads of food and other necessities. As weak as I was, I was no match for them when I tried to pay for the purchases. In fact, they asked me if I needed anything else! That's just the generous nature of the two of them. They are truly family! The type of family you get to pick! Last week, Celia and I jumped at the opportunity to go to lunch with them. This also gave us the chance to meet their daughter, their son-in-law, and their two adorable granddaughters. We'd heard so much about them, but the closest we got to them was "liking" their pictures on Facebook. I'll tell you this... they were better than advertised! While waiting for our food at the local iHop, Chad kept commenting on how good I looked. My color had returned to normal, I got rid of over 50 pounds of excess fluids I was retaining, and my steps had more pep. The best thing about it was being able to fight off Chad in order for me to pick up the check! I tend to think of myself as a relatively selfless, generous person. But I have a few friends who can, and do, put me to shame when it comes to having those attributes. Chad is among them. Angel has those same traits. In fact, you could consider them heroic, because by definition, a hero is one who acts when their is a duty to act. As for me, the older I get, the more selfish I think I've become. Maybe it's because I can sense my mortality better. Or maybe I've grown tired of the perceived attempts at being victimized by people only looking out for themselves. Either way, I find myself constantly questioning my character, even though Celia constantly tells me that I'm still a good person. On my past three or four podcast episodes, I brought a segment titled "Let Me Shop in Peace" to my subscribers. It was a humorous take on commerce's heavy-handed approach to squeezing charitable acts out of their customers. One episode I shined a light on a large discount store. Other episodes featured my favorite supermarket and sandwich shop. None of these businesses needed my money, and made a point of splashing images on the walls depicting giant checks with larger dollar amounts donated (in their name) to worthy charities. Those donations come from profits earned through sales to people like me. Even though I can rationalize their tactics, I still feel a little bad when I rebuff their various pitches for donations. Am I really a selfish S.O.B. or should I just turn back around and give them the mere $2.00 asked me for? I wasn't thinking about it during our meal, but somehow we got to that subject. As I said earlier, Chad and Angel are two of the most genuinely selfless people I've ever met. They give without expecting anything in return. Their example makes me take my own inventory. However, somehow the conversation drifted to how businesses employ different upselling tactics. Some will ask if you want to "Super Size" your meal, while others ask if you want to round up you purchase to the nearest dollar to help some worthy cause. None of the tactics are meant to inflict any noticeable pain on the consumer. But once in a while, you do check your back to see if they put a sign that says "Kick Me" on it! The mild remorse I would feel when I said "no" to the requests quickly left when Chad stated that the sandwich shop I mentioned earlier was the same one whose donation pitch pissed him off the most. In fact, he did a word for word recollection of the pitch which actually made me shutter. If a genuinely generous person like Chad found this behavior annoying, I was right to feel put upon. It also made me grateful that my defenses mechanisms were still functioning. Not to be paranoid, but we always have to keep our guard up because there are others who make a career of trying to separate you from things of value to you. I may bring Chad in to do an episode where can gripe about not being allowed to shop in peace. Or maybe not. All I know is that Angel will be recording new podcasts episodes in the near future. So will Celia. I will also tell you that we won't ask for your loose change to hear those episodes. That's because they're free! Thanks for letting me gripe a bit! But wait... there's more!
By: Ken Boone It's been almost one month (give or take a few days) since my cardiologist, Dr. V, told me to cut the dosage of one of my meds in half. Back when I first went to see him, he told me that if I stick with the plan, he could start making adjustments to my pill regimen. I think a decrease in one of my meds qualifies as a good adjustment. Don't you? It just occurred to me that I've been writing this blog for a year! I incorrectly stated either here or on my podcast that it's been going on for just a few months. Although, by comparison, the early blog posts were rather lame musings, they count just as well. Anytime you reach a milestone, especially an anniversary, you do a good deal of reminiscing. I'm no exception to that behavior. If I recall, I was dealing with a slight cold, and I went with my tried and true of keeping the damage to a minimum. I took one sleep-inducing cold bill and got into bed. Hurray for the ad lib remedies. They always seemed to work. February also marks two related milestones. It was February 19, 2010 that I met Celia in person for the first time. It was February 19, 2011 that we got married! So I had to be in good health in order to celebrate those important dates on my calendar. The year seemed to proceed without much ado. I was making podcasts, counting beans, and getting better at writing these blogs. I still took my one cold pill (gel caps preferred) when I got a case of the sniffles. Life was pretty good. It was also during the past year that I started doing some serious reflection of past behaviors. I realized that I'm in the home stretch of my earthly existence. I'm not saying that death is just around the corner. I plan on sticking around until at least 90! Even living that long means that I'm two-thirds the way to the finish line. When we do the look-back of our lives, we tend to focus on our gaffs and screw ups. I'm no exception. I always tend to land on my 20s, which I call "My Wasted Decade". It was the early part of that period that I discovered those cigarettes that you had to roll up yourself, and weren't quite legal yet. I chased my tail a lot back then. I also figuratively shot myself in the foot as well. All I know is that I came out of it having accomplished very little and leaving a lot of scorched earth in my wake! One of the rare episodes that makes me laugh today was when I smoked so much that I started having heart palpitations. In hindsight, I may have just been imagining my condition, but it was real to me at the time. And I wasn't laughing back then. In my panic, I recalled (or, again, imagined) watching a news story where it was reposted that if you drank warm milk and calmly stroked your pet, your heart would return to normal. So I did just that. I didn't stop to think how stupid I must have looked sitting in a dark room sipping warm milk and stroking my cat! Besides, the cat and I weren't particularly close. Eventually I fell asleep, soon to wake up to an acute case of the munchies. Again, the home remedy worked. Fast forward to a year ago. Celia decided to have some long overdue surgery to replace both her hips. The left hip was replaced in July. The surgery went well. The recovery was going well, but I got sick. Unable to climb a flight of steps without panting and coughing, I initially diagnosed myself as having a summer cold. No problem, let's break out the gel cap. The results: nothing! After about two months of self-medication with no improvement, I finally gave in and sought medical attention. At first, I was going to make an appointment with Celia's doctor. I didn't have my own in the years that I've been living in North Carolina. But somehow, I got a flash of wisdom and decided to go to the emergency room instead. Good call, Ken! They took one look at me, hooked me up to a bunch of machines, and admitted me to the cardiac care unit. Their main task was to get my heart and other body parts functioning properly. The bonus was them getting my head right as well. These wonderful doctors, nurses, aides, and technicians taught me that I didn't know everything. Just because I learned valuable lessons from my screwed up early years, I still had a lot to learn. In particular, I learned how to ask for help. I also learned how to take advice, whether it was given freely or I had to pay for it. Now, I have to take between 11 and 12 life-sustaining pills per day religiously. I also have to keep my stress level down. I accomplish that by indulging in a number of creative outlets. One of them is by writing this blog every week. And while I hope you read and enjoy it, I can't let it bother me if you don't. My job is getting it out there. The rest is beyond my control. One more thing. I am no longer allowed to take that dose of one gel cap followed by a nap. You see, most cold remedies have the side effect of raising ones blood pressure. And hypertension is my underlying malady. So, no more self-prescriptions. And that goes for warm milk as well! But wait... there's more!
By; Ken Boone I'm reaching the end of a busy, but fruitful week. I've gotten more good news on the health front. Celia's back to doing all things Celia. Like driving and taking the stairs without pain. The only thing isn't cooperating is the weather. If there's a such thing as too much rain, we're getting it! However, I am grateful that, here in North Carolina, the weather can change on a dime. It very could be dry and mind within the next couple of days. In fact, I'd bet my coffee allowance on it. In addition to hearing birds chirping, I've heard the sound of bats hitting balls in the local parks I've driven past recently. That's a far cry from my days in Western New York, when I was wearing layers of winter wear just to watch my son's baseball team sloshing around in the wet grass of preseason workouts. My buddy Pete had to endure the same suffering, only double. He has two sons and has lived up for decades longer than the four years I called it home. He now spends his winters in sunny Florida. I'd like him to stay in Florida, or move to North Carolina. But that's a story for another blog post. I started this post with baseball because that was the genesis of our friendship. I'd mentioned that in several of my blog posts as well as my podcast. Like the title suggests, we were just a couple of dads watching our sons trying to squeeze one more summer out of America's pastime before reality brings that chapter in our lives to a screeching halt. We'd known each other for a couple of months when we found out what the other one did for a living. When we discovered that he was a music industry veteran looking for an accountant and I was an accountant looking to make inroads in the music industry, we were off to the races. Pete's record company was in harvesting mode. He was deciding whether to sell or just close the doors and walk away. I was tasked to run a bunch of financial scenarios to see which one made the most sense. I also had to produce royalty statements for the 160+ albums he produced since 1990. After several close calls, we finally got the business sold in 2008. It was because of Pete that I was retained by the new owner to produce royalty statements for the label! In fact, Pete has gotten me a number of music industry gigs through his recommendations. That's just the type of guy that he is. Now that he's rid himself of the day-to-day headaches of running the label, he needs something else to keep him busy. He has a curious mind as well as a restless soul. He's also an amazing storyteller, who will leave you in stitches once he gets started. That brings me back to this week. I pointed Pete to the world of podcasting as an outlet of expression. It was no surprise that he'd already considered it, but didn't have a handle on the logistics of making it happen. That happens to be in my wheelhouse! I could never repay him for all the kind things he's done for Celia and me, I'm more than honored to walk him to and through the door of the next chapter of his life. Whether it's explaining the software and equipment he'll be using, or lending a critical ear about the content and production value, I'll be there. Over the years, people have suggested that he write a book, or two, about his experiences in the music industry. He's been reluctant to do so because of the difficulties in writing, editing, and finding a publisher. And that's before he sells just one copy! Thank God blogging came along. I'll suggest that to him after his first podcast episode is published. We don't hang out in the stands any longer. In fact, it's been over a dozen years since I've attended baseball game on any level. Our sons have long hung up their spikes. His oldest is a police officer outside Syracuse, NY. The other son is in the music industry doing marketing and event promotions in New York City. My son is a general manager in the food and hospitality industry based out of Atlanta, GA. Our conversations take place over the telephone. I admit that we don't talk as much as we should, and each ten minute scheduled call turns into a two hour laugh fest! But now he's taking the plunge into the world of podcasting, and hopefully, blogging. He's asking for my help, and I'm more than happy to provide it. You see, he's one of the good guys. And I discovered that if you do good things for good people, you get good blessings. I'm all for that! But wait... there's more!
By; Ken Boone It's been a great week! In fact, it's been better than any I've had in years. Work-wise, I'm back at full capacity. Just this week, I:
In the past, if I could list just two to three things, I'd consider the week a success. But hey, that's before I started counting the little miracles that occur all the time. I've been able to produce my weekly podcast for six consecutive weeks. I've also published at least that many blog posts during the same time span. A just think, I wasn't sure how I spelled my name a mere three months ago. (Ok, that's an exaggeration). But things were pretty bad. When I was tasked with the job of producing those six podcast episodes I mentioned above, I was given two MP4 audio/video files totaling over seven hours of content. The only instructions I got was to just make it interesting. No problem. The files were from the client's fall conference. I usually record the event myself, but I was just getting out of the hospital and could barely make it up a flight of steps in my house. So driving and recording over seven hours of speeches, panel discussions, and sales pitches was totally out of the question. Reviewing and rough editing the files, I came up with ten distinct sections. Each one could have made it on it's own as a podcast episode. Oh yeah, and the client wanted tp do a studio-recorded solo episode, meaning I was down to five episodes I could select from the segments. One of the segments was that of a group of disabled college students in a panel discussion about inclusion in the job market. Several months ago, I was pitched the idea of recording this very same group. Based on the pitch, it seemed like it would be chaotic, so I proposed a much more manageable format. They declined my counteroffer and I walked away. I've got about three years of experience documenting various stories in this space, so know my way around getting a good show out of just about anything. I'll admit that I was a little miffed by their pushback. Especially since I was going to wave my usual fee. I just knew that what they were proposing was going to be a unruly and would leave me with very little that I could use. Before I could submit my recommendations for the segments we should turn into episodes, the client gave my wife Celia a list of segments that didn't make her cut. First among them were the college students! After some semi-private chants of vindication, I felt bad for them. As I listened to the MP4 with their segment, I found that I could relate to their feelings of exclusion they experienced throughout their young lives. I remember being left out of things many times growing up. And, like them, I was expected to feel grateful for the crumbs that I got. In all honesty, the client and I were on the same page regarding the segments that made the cut. But I had to do something for those students. I made a promise to myself years ago that I would do whatever I could to be inclusive. In addition to the five things I articulated above that produced a great week for me, having my mental faculties return should have been number one on that list. I recalled that I have a podcast show titled "Descant Pop-Up Podcast" just for occasions like this. The plan was to have a place for people to do limited-run podcasts on any number of topics. To date, I only have one episode out in streaming land. So, whether it takes me two days or two months, I will turn their segment into a podcast episode. In fact, Item 4 on my list is the theme song for this very episode! And as I offered when I was first approached to record them, I will waive my usual fee. I'll let you know when the episode is published. Hope you'll give it a listen. One more thing. I just saw a story on the local news complete with footage of tree down, damaging cars and houses nearby. So I went outside to check my things. Except for a lawn chair that was upended, I got away unscathed. I guess this makes it official. This week qualifies as one of my best weeks EVER! But wait... there's more!
|
About the AuthorAs owner of the Descant Music & Media Group, Ken is a creator and producer of several podcast shows. He is also a music producer, as well as a writer and an accountant for small businesses and nonprofits. Archives
June 2020
Categories |