2 January 2016
It was like a call to prayer, this noisy feeling that
this second morning of January must begin with the
verses of Bill Holm, that now-dead won’t-die voice
for soul-sanity who lived with one foot anchored in
Minneota, Minnesota while the other danced in Iceland.
And so I took and read, and was braced further awake
by this Kris Kringled character who railed against
the miniaturization of the world.
Change is already afoot for me. There’s the demise
of my favorite radio station that kept alive the
voices of the 40s and 50s, those tunes that brought the
boys home safe from the war, at least some of them.
Market forces necessitated a change because the station
was losing listeners (as in they’re dying off).
Such tiny forces know nothing of the white cliffs of Dover,
or the folks who live on the hill.
More change in March as I turn 49. Strange phrase, that.
To turn 49 – as if some directional difference awaits.
Big Bill Holm turned 65, and died. Helluva thing death. One year
you’re here eating rhubarb pie or listening to Perry Como
then you turn and you’re not. Best to live it up, pal.
Bill asked someone to keep the chain letter of the soul moving
along after his exit, what he called the labor of remembering.
That’s nice work if you can get it. And I resolve to try.
Dude, I am all over the labor of remembering. And if you can swing it (see what i did there) Sirius has those tunes, too. Like you, those are my faves. Sometimes feel like I was born in the wrong era, but then…I probably wouldn’t appreciate then as I do now.
Me too John – and I’m a Minnesotan turned 75 and some of those tunes are my tunes. I always relish your words – I believe you and Leif Enger are kindred souls.
The “miniaturization of the world” made me cock my head and chew the words for a while. Thank you.