So, I’ll be honest. I haven’t been handling reaching my own 60th birthday very well (2 days from now). I’ve been in a real funk about it. Those of you who know me intimately have gotten an earful of my various infirmities and laments over getting old and the change in my once youthful appearance. I honestly dread people with a camera phone and intentions.
Where is my hair going all of the sudden and why does what little I have look like straw?
Why won’t these aches and pains go away? Blood pressure, cholesterol, thyroid, tinnitus, an unbreakable weight barrier and unmovable gut?
My nose? Since when do I look like Bill Maher? Why do men’s ears turn into oven mitts when they get old? It’s not fair!
(You get the picture)
I guess there is no such thing as a Vanity Clause, after all.
(Where you can opt-out of getting old if you don’t like the look of the product)
But then I get a little dose of needed medicine after re-listening to my Dad talk at age 63 in 1990. The interview linked at the bottom of page was shared with me by jazz pianist and friend, Mark Eisenman. I honestly never heard of it. And it’s with NPR’s Terry Gross. I have heard many interviews she’s done and enjoyed them all, but I had no idea she knew this much about jazz or my father for that matter.
Here’s a guy who has been virtually deaf for years and knows that this little respite from hearing impairment he experienced in 1990 was going to be short-lived. After this interview, he would take this opportunity to record one of his last beautiful albums, But Beautiful for Criss-Cross in New York. As it turned out, he would have only 3 more years to enjoy what hearing he did have, good or bad.
But certain comments in he made in the interview about his hearing loss from Meniere’s disease really stood out. And made me ashamed of my recent behavior. Check this out:
Terry Gross: Was it difficult to accept what was happening to you?
Jimmy Raney: Yeah, it’s ok (pauses) I’m prepared to be totally deaf. Unless I die first (laughs) or something, but it’s ok.
It’s OK??? Wow. Talk about stoic acceptance. I can only imagine how I would react to such catastrophic life changes, especially those that interfered with my central livelihood. He didn’t call me up constantly complaining about this devastating disease robbing of his happiness and sanity. I know I would be calling my daughter or slipping it in daily in chats.
(Sorry Talia. Daddy needs to grow up)
I’ve been thinking about this mindset lately when trying to get myself in gear every morning. There is something to be said about what we now call the “Greatest Generation” that both my Mom and my Dad were a part of.
For example, when my Mom learned about getting her life-ending multiple myeloma in 1994, she let her second husband, Bob handle the details about the cancer news. He told me, and broke down while doing it. After, I sat on the curb in stunned silence. She comes up to me and says, “Yeah I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how you would react”.
Again. Wow. She’s thinking about my reaction. Not the news that would likely end her life her life in a few years (painfully).
So my point here is that we could really learn something our fathers and mothers were taught about keeping a stiff upper lip. Nobility and stoicism is a lost quality on our over-sharing, bitch and moan generation should think about.
(Or I could just be a self-obsessed jerk too. I didn’t read my own user manual that came with me)
At 60, my father was no longer the beautiful man he was in his twenties that made my Mom swoon when she saw him on the bandstand. But he still had it. He was still a master player, an appealing and compelling person with a unique and beautiful mind. Even if his hair was thinning and he looked a bit worse for wear at that point.
I remember once in his later years in the 80s. I was at his gig at Bradley’s and this way younger women went up to him after one of his typical mind-blowing sets and just said, “I Love you! I just love you. I’m not sure what else to say. You’re just…. (taps on her heart)”. My mom, who was also there as a guest, just took in the whole thing and gave me this bemused look.
The video interview he did in 1987 on my homepage (with Jamey) he was exactly my age. That interview will be looked at long after I’m gone. I still watch and listen to it. Brilliant.
I think you all get my point. it’s not original. We all get old, get beat up, go thru our little things. Depressions, illnesses, disappointments. And eventually will pass on. The only thing that matters is how we live life in the moment and the attitude we take about all that.
My father had his faults and weaknesses but he was a noble, thoughtful, brilliant and unique man and he continues to provide lessons of all kinds to me everyday (not just musical) and hopefully the rest of you.
Happy Birthday, Jimmy Raney. You are sorely missed. But definitely not forgotten.
Take a moment to listen to this short but revealing interview with Terry Gross during the last phase of his wonderful life.
