I will tune in to Netflix on Thursday night because I need a hearty dose of Leanne Morgan. Especially after all I have read this week.
What I have been reading is what I have been writing for the past eight years. And it is depressing.
It started when a voice said to me, “Why don’t you publish another book of your newspaper columns?” That first book, On the Other Side of Oddville, was published by Mercer University Press (2006), and it went into a second printing. Forget the fact that I still have a box full of these books 19 years later. I have lived in four different residences since then and that means a lot of moving and storage. Time to get rid of some stuff, Jan says, and I know exactly what she means.
I started organizing the hundreds of these 700-word columns until I noticed something. I had plenty of material for sections on Politics and Religion and such, but the Humor section was empty. More than that, the overwhelming mood of these pieces was sad, or dark, even angry. It made me reflect on these years: COVID, Gaza, Trump, and Breonna Taylor. Plus, the murder of Ahmaud Arbery just minutes from my then studio in Brunswick, Georgia.
Then this happened.
A weekly subscriber in New York, totally unknown to me, sent me a link to an article, writing, “I thought you might be uplifted a little bit by this piece in the New York Times.” Thank you, I began my response and concluded with, Tell me who you are and how you got connected to my Meetinghouse material?
He did, then added, “I can tell you that I love almost everything you write. So, I’m just a fan…. I turned 80 in February, and I try to stay engaged with thinkers like you who are making a real difference.”
Precisely two weeks later he unsubscribed … after reading my column “The New ICE Age.”
I am surprised, I wrote him. Care to comment further? He did: “Emotionally spent from reading too much negative stuff, not necessarily from you. Just need a long break from news and commentary. Hope you’ll understand. No offense intended!”
Yes, I understand, I replied. I feel that way also…. God bless you. You did the right thing.
I am not always sure what “the right thing” is, especially in these dark times. Wars overseas, division throughout our land, and a pandemic of mental illness. Not to mention natural disasters and all the gun violence.
On my Sunday in the House broadcast, I urge people to attend to music and festivals and hikes in the woods in order to stay sane and sober. Last week, Jan and I sat with some 200 locals for a two-hour concert of the music of John Prine. Hardly a day goes by that I do not get out on the Swamp Rabbit Trail and work up a sweat.
Laughter helps, too. Which is one reason I listen to John Prine and watch any and every clip of “Seinfeld.” I once wrote a column and gave it the title, “Jesus, Jack, Jerry, and John” to honor four people who have fed my soul for seventy years.
“Why don’t you make that your book title,” Jan suggested, “and organize the manuscript that way?” I thought about it for a day before giving up. Maybe I will just write lyrics to a song about two Jews, an Irishman, and a mailman on the beat. If I can write a song, I might then try an article.
Or maybe I will just watch the premiere of “Leanne” on Thursday and remember her show in Greenville two plus years ago. It was the first stop on her “Big Panty Tour.” We attended, with VIP treatment, because her brother-in-law is also a subscriber to this newsletter and sent us tickets for good seats and six minutes with the star.
That is the kind of subscriber I need, don’t you think, and also the kind of message we need to hear. Come on, Leanne. Tell it like it is!
“He who is of a merry heart,” the old translation says, “hath a continual feast.”
Dwight A. Moody
I will tune in to Netflix on Thursday night because I need a hearty dose of Leanne Morgan. Especially after all I have read this week.
What I have been reading is what I have been writing for the past eight years. And it is depressing.
It started when a voice said to me, “Why don’t you publish another book of your newspaper columns?” That first book, On the Other Side of Oddville, was published by Mercer University Press (2006), and it went into a second printing. Forget the fact that I still have a box full of these books 19 years later. I have lived in four different residences since then and that means a lot of moving and storage. Time to get rid of some stuff, Jan says, and I know exactly what she means.
I started organizing the hundreds of these 700-word columns until I noticed something. I had plenty of material for sections on Politics and Religion and such, but the Humor section was empty. More than that, the overwhelming mood of these pieces was sad, or dark, even angry. It made me reflect on these years: COVID, Gaza, Trump, and Breonna Taylor. Plus, the murder of Ahmaud Arbery just minutes from my then studio in Brunswick, Georgia.
Then this happened.
A weekly subscriber in New York, totally unknown to me, sent me a link to an article, writing, “I thought you might be uplifted a little bit by this piece in the New York Times.” Thank you, I began my response and concluded with, Tell me who you are and how you got connected to my Meetinghouse material?
He did, then added, “I can tell you that I love almost everything you write. So, I’m just a fan…. I turned 80 in February, and I try to stay engaged with thinkers like you who are making a real difference.”
Precisely two weeks later he unsubscribed … after reading my column “The New ICE Age.”
I am surprised, I wrote him. Care to comment further? He did: “Emotionally spent from reading too much negative stuff, not necessarily from you. Just need a long break from news and commentary. Hope you’ll understand. No offense intended!”
Yes, I understand, I replied. I feel that way also…. God bless you. You did the right thing.
I am not always sure what “the right thing” is, especially in these dark times. Wars overseas, division throughout our land, and a pandemic of mental illness. Not to mention natural disasters and all the gun violence.
On my Sunday in the House broadcast, I urge people to attend to music and festivals and hikes in the woods in order to stay sane and sober. Last week, Jan and I sat with some 200 locals for a two-hour concert of the music of John Prine. Hardly a day goes by that I do not get out on the Swamp Rabbit Trail and work up a sweat.
Laughter helps, too. Which is one reason I listen to John Prine and watch any and every clip of “Seinfeld.” I once wrote a column and gave it the title, “Jesus, Jack, Jerry, and John” to honor four people who have fed my soul for seventy years.
“Why don’t you make that your book title,” Jan suggested, “and organize the manuscript that way?” I thought about it for a day before giving up. Maybe I will just write lyrics to a song about two Jews, an Irishman, and a mailman on the beat. If I can write a song, I might then try an article.
Or maybe I will just watch the premiere of “Leanne” on Thursday and remember her show in Greenville two plus years ago. It was the first stop on her “Big Panty Tour.” We attended, with VIP treatment, because her brother-in-law is also a subscriber to this newsletter and sent us tickets for good seats and six minutes with the star.
That is the kind of subscriber I need, don’t you think, and also the kind of message we need to hear. Come on, Leanne. Tell it like it is!
“He who is of a merry heart,” the old translation says, “hath a continual feast.”
Dwight A. Moody
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