Listen Globally...

An infinite beach of white sand melts into water of an unrealistic turquoise hue. The warm waters of the Arabian sea lay across the horizon, lulling me into a heavy and languid sleep. Sadness drips down the walls of my heart until it’s completely saturated. My soul swims in loneliness and struggles against the undercurrent. Tears fall heavily onto the sand before me…

Never have I fallen more deeply in love with a collective musical talent as I have with Pink Martini. Their music ensnares me until I’m a slave to their compositions. If their music were a flavor it would be the darkest chocolate paired with a glass of handmade basket-pressed cabernet. Then I listen again. My words fall flat. Its not simply listening to music. It is a completely encompassing experience. Not only does their music invoke vivid imagery in my mind, but deep and unexpected emotions. Loss, melancholy, like my experience above. Then, soul bursting happiness and joy.

Though Pink Martini originated in Portland they are not of this country musically. With them I have danced all night in a club in Greece, I’ve tangoed in a small bar in Spain, and cried tears over wasted time and heartache in Rio de Janeiro. I’ve felt the Siberian chill at my back while watching snow fall in Red Square. I’ve retreated to my room to smoke away my broken heart in Paris and I’ve looked for Yolanda throughout Mexico.

For me, the finest of these sensory decadent travels is when I spend Una Notte A Napoli… It is truly an out of body experience.

It is unlikely that I will ever have the opportunity to travel the most farthest and obscure places in the world.
…but to purchase the artful music of Pink Martini is to purchase a first-class ticket around the globe.
Photo by Adam Levey2007

Dan

For 42 years my dad has gotten out of bed at an ungodly hour, showered, dressed in uniform, and driven to work with coffee in hand. His days have been long in all weather conditions, besides mentally and physically demanding. He never ignored an opportunity to work overtime. Most of his weeks were 6 day weeks of at least 10 hours a day. He’s worked sick, injured, and I have no doubt there are days when he wished he would have been anywhere but in his mailroom, casing and sorting mail.

And still he showed up, my dad. With integrity and an iron work ethic.

My dad is a popular man. People are drawn to him for his kindness, generosity to a fault, and soul-warming laugh. He’s kind, considerate, and has a jovial nature. A great conversationalist and the heart of a child with everything still to learn.

I honor him for his wisdom. I respect him for his endurance. And most of all I thank him. Not only for being a provider of everything we could ever need and want, but for being an example of the person I will always strive to be.

Congratulations, dad. On your retirement and the beginning of your new future.