It’s Sunday morning, the second Sunday of Advent. On this Sunday in the Christian tradition, we remember the preaching of John the Baptist, the man the prophet Isaiah anticipated as “one crying in the wilderness.”
With Heart and Voice, a syndicated radio program featured on Maine Public Classical stations, just played Orlando Gibbons “This is the Record of John.” This beautiful anthem from long-ago sounds as magical and mentally de-cluttering today as it did when it was written in the early 1600’s.
You can find it on YouTube or you can stream the entire syndicated program of sacred choral and organ music on any public radio station; I listen to it when I can on Maine Public Classical, not to be confused with Maine Public Radio. I am disconnected from the news of the world and Maine Public Classical interjects only occasional and tiny unpleasant bits of news into their daily musical playlist. I experience minimal cognitive dissonance in the segue from Ralph Vaughan Williams “The Lover’s Ghost” and “we’ll discuss what political correctness means today and whether the idea of ideological purity has gone too far on Maine Calling at Noon.”
How long has it been since I wrote about cognitive dissonance? And societal collapse? I don’t remember. These topics are not beautiful or soothing. But like Boomer Esiason commenting on the Patriots’ 28 – 22 loss to the Houston Texans on the first glorious day of December, “there are problems.”
I was reminded of these societal problems during Tom Brady’s December 2, 2019 appearance on WEEI’s The Greg Hill Show. Many, many media outlets have already chronicled Brady’s late-season funk and his low vibe. Some thought Brady may have had a cold or a flu, as it was reported that other players on the team were sick.
The Greg Hill Show’s co-host Danielle Murr asked Brady if he was physically sick on Sunday. She then asked him “…are you a giant man baby when you do…” have a cold?
I don’t care for The Greg Hill Show. I listen to it on Monday mornings to hear Tom Brady or when I’m desperate for the sound of male voices in the house. I miss John Dennis and Gerry Callahan, but I think their ideological purity went too far and “cancel culture” destroyed them. They are mere ghosts of the airwaves now and instead we have Ms. Murr asking Tom Brady if he is a “giant man baby.”
Maybe I’ve changed as I’ve gotten older, but I don’t think I would ever ask Tom Brady if he was a “giant man baby” during times of sickness. I wouldn’t ask any man that, even one for whom I had no respect. Maybe such questions improve ratings, but they do nothing to promote human thriving, peace, and understanding. And Tom Brady is too damn smart to go off script and fall for a “gotcha” question.
As I near the end of this long ramble, I’m sighing. I need to get into my Christmas storage closet and find a bow, go to my father’s land to cut some more pine and fir boughs for decorating, and then prepare for the week ahead.
A letter from a friend reminds me that I must “continue standing against the collapse all around us.” I will.
I was honoring the birthday of another friend yesterday on Pearl Harbor Day. Warmed by my restyled vintage mink coat and fortified by four glazed molasses donut holes from The Cookie Jar in Cape Elizabeth, I stood against the collapse all around and the nineteen degree temperature.
Onward I go, to walk about the world and consider an invitation to join a garden club and learn to tend roses.