Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • This morning, I have such an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s over! Life now has a chance to get back to some semblance of normalcy for me, whatever that means. Well, I know what that means for me. I can get up in the morning, do my morning quiet time, my reading and my writing, get back to some familiar routines, and not have some major event looming on the horizon that I need to concern myself with.

    Don’t get me wrong – I wouldn’t trade this weekend for the world. It was a great send-off for my Mom, it allowed everyone to have closure, to come together as a family, as a tribe, to honor a remarkable matriarch, and it was all that and more… but, I am my mother’s son, and as such, my voice inside is saying, “O.K. – that’s done – now, on with life!” It is time to move on!

    I thought I would be writing a lot more about my reflections on the day, the weekend, and I may eventually do that, but for now, I just need to focus on the here and now, and moving forward. This morning, I’ll take my son back to the airport, so he can get back to his new life in L.A. I have so many pieces to pick back up at work. My major projects have not had my undivided attention, and some of the details have suffered, as a result. Nothing major, but enough that I know, things are not exactly where they should be. I need to get on that. It starts today.

    Tomorrow night, I get my birthday present from my wife – I’ll get to see the greatest songwriter of my generation, as well as one of the most unusual, individualistic characters of the 20th century, the king of reinvention of oneself, the one and only Bob Dylan, aka Robert Zimmerman. This will be the 5th decade in which I have watched him perform live. Probably about the 25th Dylan concert I’ve attended. The first was at the Syria Mosque, in Pittsburgh, sometime in the 70's. I saw him twice last decade, once at George Mason University and once at the 920 Club in D.C. This will be a much larger venue, the Verizon Center.

    Each time I see him, I think the same thing. “This might be the last time I see him.” The man just keeps on plugging away, keeps doing what he loves to do – performing his work, honing his craft. Once dubbed “the Voice of a Generation”, a title which he always eschewed, never read his own press clippings, at the end of the day, he’s just a working stiff musician, a wandering minstrel on the road for 150 to 200 shows a year, doing his minstrel thing. That's what I admire most about him. And, as long as he’s playing, I’m listening. Dylan rocks.


    "If I'd paid attention to what others were thinkin', the heart inside me would've died.
    I was just too stubborn to ever be governed by enforced insanity,
    Someone had to reach for the risin' star,
    I guess it was up to me.
    ....
    Somebody's got to tell the tale, I guess it must be up to me".

    From "Up to Me", by Dylan
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.