Dear Family,
I got my picture taken with one of my heroes this month!
I am not attaching it, however, because of a vow I made with myself nine years ago.
I think it was nine years ago – I am trying to remember the circumstances. For whatever reason, I was on an overnight flight from Los Angeles to Washington and had a desirable seat (3C). Directly in front of me, in 2C, was the late United States Senator John McCain. Other than to wave hello and smile, I did not interact with him at all. Even if I were inclined to chat him up (which I wasn’t – few things irritate me more than getting dragged into a conversation with a stranger on an airplane) you can’t really do that with the person seated in front of you. And even had I tried to, the guy in 2D wouldn’t have let me get a word in edgewise. 2D spent the entire flight bloviating about I don’t remember what, preventing me (and McCain, I expect) from getting any sleep. By the time we landed at Dulles, I was feeling some explicitly un-Christian sentiments toward the bloviator and feeling kind of bad for the senator.
If McCain was annoyed, he didn’t show it. He said hello to some other people who had recognized him and got off the plane. Then, in the terminal, as he was either heading into or coming out of the men’s room (I can’t remember which), two young women from our flight asked to have their picture taken with him. At this point, he still bore some resemblance to himself. But more than anything, he looked like a lightly disheveled 77-year-old man who hadn’t slept in a while. He was cordial and smiled for the picture. But it was at that point that I promised myself that I would never importune a famous person for a picture while they were so clearly run down.
It’s not a situation I often find myself in, and so keeping this particular promise has not been hard.
My commitment was put to the test three weeks ago, however, when I had the privilege of attending an organ recital by the great Richard Elliott. Brother Elliott had (for some reason) traveled across the country to perform at St. Andrew the Apostle Catholic Church in Clifton, Virginia, a place I was not familiar with. Clifton is a little ways out I-66, almost to Manassas, about an hour west of here and well off my grid. But when I learned that Richard Elliott, a man whose skills at the organ console make me swoon, would be performing there, I was eager to make the trip.
The recital was amazing and well worth the drive. Here are the last 29 seconds.
(Also, since it’s Halloween, you might as well watch this 3-minute performance of his on the Tabernacle organ, too.)
I stuck around after the recital for a promised “meet the artist” session in the fellowship hall. I was hoping for a handshake and maybe a selfie, but mostly I just wanted to meet him and fanboy out a little.
I stood near the entrance to the fellowship hall for 15 minutes or so awaiting his arrival, but he never made it there. I subsequently learned that he was suffering from a case of food poisoning. He had somehow managed to perform the entire recital on adrenaline. But once it was over, he could barely summon the strength to stand, let alone glad-hand a roomful of admirers. I watched as he greeted a few people milling about in the vestibule behind the sanctuary before retreating into a nearby office where various parish leaders brought him Gatorade and otherwise attended to him.
I then did what I think any honorable, self-respecting person would have done under the circumstances. I set up camp in the vestibule about 10 feet away from that office door. I tried to be inconspicuous about it – pretending to look at stuff on the walls, read the pamphlets, etc. I wandered upstairs to the choir loft to have a closer look at the organ, which still had the score from Elliott’s final number (his own mesmerizing Fanfare-Toccata on “Christ the Lord is Risen Today”) sitting on it. I struggled to get my head around how any human could make their fingers and feet do what that music was asking them to do.
After 20 minutes or so, someone emerged from the office, motioned me over and asked if I’d like to meet him. I walked into the office and found Brother Elliott seated, his suit jacket removed, tie loosened, and smiling despite clearly not feeling well. I thought about my John McCain vow from nine years ago … and proceeded to ask him for a picture anyway.
He could not have been more gracious about it. There’s something immensely satisfying about meeting someone you idolize and finding him even friendlier than you’d hoped. I’ll consider my vow partially kept by not putting the picture on the internet. But I have it on my phone and will show it to anyone who asks me in person. Even sick, I think he looks pretty dreamy.
I told Brother Elliott about my daughter serving on Temple Square and thanked him for showing her the Tabernacle organ several months ago and letting her play it. I then asked if he ever let missionaries play the Conference Center organ. He handed me his business card and said he’d be happy to if Sophie’s mission president was okay with it. A series of emails ensued and it happened.
The brief encounter caused me to marvel that someone with such prodigious talent could also be so friendly and down to earth. I am sufficiently insufferable with my decidedly mediocre abilities. I try not to think about how intolerable I would be if I were actually great at anything.
—————
For example, as I have sought to shoehorn into virtually every conversation I’ve had with anyone this month, I placed second (in my age group) at the Waterman’s Long Course Triathlon (half-iron distance) four weeks ago on Maryland’s Eastern Shore — my first triathlon since breaking my arm back in March.
The race took place amid the remnants of Hurricane Ian. The forecasted rain miraculously held off for the most part. But sustained winds of 20-25 MPH made for a miserable and choppy swim in the Chesapeake Bay’s Rock Hall Harbor and nearly blew me off the road a couple of times during the bike leg.
But I had the run of my life — my best ever triathlon half-marathon by several minutes. In multiple past triathlons, I have finished the bike leg in a podium position only to surrender it to people streaming past me on the run. Not this time. No one (in my age group) passed me on the run, and I actually moved up from 3rd place to 2nd. It made me very happy. It’s been a month and I still get giddy thinking about it.
If you’re looking to take me down a peg, you could point out that I’m competing against some pretty old dudes now (50 to 54 year olds). But you only get one shot at being 50, and even though I lost a chunk of my age-50 triathlon season to my broken arm, I’m still trying to make the most of it! (If it matters to you, I finished 20th overall, behind 8 guys in their 20s, 3 guys in their 30s, 7 guys in their 40s…and 1 fellow 50 year old.)
———————-
Crystal, who has more than twice the experience navigating her 50s than I, had another birthday this month.
Her advanced age notwithstanding, Crystal continues to exhibit a mind-boggling amount of youthful energy, holding down her full-time teaching job while simultaneously pursuing a master’s in special education. A couple of weeks ago, Crystal’s classroom observer from Johns Hopkins asked her how many years she had been teaching. When Crystal replied that this was her first, he incredulously observed that he couldn’t recall having written a review with so many commendations.
Crystal’s birthday coincided with Diwali this year, which meant no school for students but a work day for teachers. In addition to a battery of in-service meetings, Crystal also had to catch up on her reports detailing the progress of each of her students toward their Individualized Education Plan objectives. (Sample IEP objective: Be able to sustain a three-volley conversation with another person on a topic of the other person’s choosing without changing the subject or melting down. Kind of makes me think maybe I need an IEP!) I am learning that special education teachers seem to spend at least as much time completing these reports as they do preparing for classroom instruction.
In keeping with what has become her tradition, Crystal celebrated her birthday by going for a 52-mile bike ride. She did this mostly on her own. (I joined her for the last five miles or so). Her route was basically one big ring around the city (with a couple of laps around Hains Point to get the requisite mileage).
As with most of Crystal’s bike routes, this one took her past Georgetown Cupcake, where she finally put to rest the question we have all asked at one time or another: Is it possible to cram a two-cupcake box into the back pocket of a cycling jersey?
Answer: Si se puede!
The world also celebrated Ari’s 23rd birthday this month. The enthusiasm of the family celebration was exceeded only by that of Ari’s young Kids After Hours charges who made a sign and apparently painted Ari’s face.
Ari seems to have found their calling working with young children. Ari assists in the nursery at church and continues to do well in their child development program at Howard Community College. If everything continues on its present course, Ari will be certified to work as a group leader sometime next year.
Grace continues to be neck deep in the kinds of activities that consume many first-semester high school seniors. College applications remain a source of anxious uncertainty, feelings of inadequacy, and just general consternation and malaise. However things turn out, I think Grace (not to mention her parents) will feel relieved to be done with it. Unlike where we were with her older siblings at this stage, I literally haven’t the faintest idea where Grace will be at this time next year. She is gravitating toward applying to schools that she understands to have strong music education programs. I sometimes mention that my alma mater falls into that category, but I don’t think that’s currently at the top of her list. We’ll see what happens.
By far the most extroverted of our four children, Grace, despite her busyness, still finds time for her expansive circle of friends. (It appears expansive to me, at least. I never had more than a couple of friends at any given time in high school, and that may be overstating things.)
Among these friends is her homecoming date, whom Grace refers to as her “boyfriend.” Like any father of a 17-year-old girl, I don’t love this idea, but I do like the boy. I suppose I should ask his permission before dropping his name on the internet (near the bottom of a page that might very well be read by literally dozens of people). He and Grace are fellow drama program nerds. He is also on the Northwood varsity football team. (The team has lost all eight of its games this season by an average score of 45 to 4, and he has been out for much of it with an injured ankle, so maybe he should stick to drama.)
But he is friendly and exceedingly polite and allegedly once said to Grace (in reference to me), “That guy is freakin’ hilarious.” He also frequently brings me tribute in the form of baked goods. So I guess I’m okay with it.
———————
Sophie will have completed her mission when I write next. She flies into BWI on the night before Thanksgiving (from Salt Lake via San Diego – naturally). What more fitting way could there be to come home from a mission that included Spokane, Washington, Dnipro and Kyiv, Ukraine, and Temple Square?
One of my fellow baritones in the Washington D.C. Temple Choir (and alumnus of the somewhat better-known Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square) mentioned to me at rehearsal on Thursday that he had bumped into Sister Willis in Salt Lake last week. He kindly spoke of how impressed he was by her and said many nice things, none of which came as any surprise to me, but were nice to hear all the same.
Hannah (whose recent life adventures warrant their own separate letter – I’m not the person to write it, though) is on a flight arriving some 9 hours after Sophie’s. We are looking forward to all of this.
Love,
Tim
Managing Editor of The Famlet Monthly