Enthused

I thank God every day for keeping me enthused.

— Bobby Rush

Enthusiasm was borrowed by the English language in the 17th century from the Greek word enthousiasmos, which meant "divine possession."

The Ancient Greeks believed that music took possession of you and produced enthusiasm—especially the "manic" tunes attributed to the god of music, Dionysus. 

But age often dampens enthusiasm, as it dampens drive. People reach 60 or 70 and seem suddenly adrift and disengaged from the greater world. They spend their waking hours reminiscing about the past, grousing about the present, puttering about the house, and seeking leisurely distractions to fill the empty time.

So it's inspiring to learn there are enthusiastic folks like Bobby Rush around.

A "legendary" blues musician who won his first Grammy at 83 and today, at 88, still tours the world, Rush performs in front of large audiences at solo shows and festivals continuously.

Last year, Rush took home yet a second Grammy and even published a memoir, I Ain’t Studdin' Ya.

"I have 397 records," Rush told the Houston Press last year. "There's not another blues singer ever lived that has that many records. I'm the oldest blues singer that’s living in the world."

Rush, a Louisiana native who worked all through childhood as a sharecropper, is the product of 1950s-era juke joints in Little Rock, Arkansas. Success on the stage quickly took him to Chicago, where he played guitar and harmonica alongside musical giants like Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, Etta James, John Lee Hooker and Buddy Guy. He founded his own band in the 1960s, and scored his first hit, the funky single "Chicken Heads," in 1971.

Fifty-one years later, Rush's enthusiasm for the blues is as strong as ever. He spends over 200 days a year on the road. Like Bob Dylan's, his tour is "never ending," and Rolling Stone has respectfully nicknamed Rush "King of the Chitlin' Circuit." He has appeared recently on a slew of TV shows and in feature films and documentaries, and is a prominent voice in favor of voting rights.

In 2017, in tribute to his career, Rush received the B.B. King Entertainer of the Year Award, the most prestigious blues-music honor any performer can receive.

"I’m sitting on top of the blues," Rush told Glide Magazine two years ago.

"I’m a bluesman who’s sitting on the top of my game, proud of what I do and proud of who I am. I’m happy about what I’m doing and still enthused about what I’m doing."

How about you?

How's your tour going?

And—most importantly—are you enthused?

Exile on Main Street

The artist has no more actual place in the American culture of today than he has in the American economy of today.

— William Faulkner

I'm flattered so many friends and acquaintances have taken well to my choice of an "encore" career.

At the same time, I'm saddened that I can only pursue painting as a career because I don't depend on it for the lion's share of my income.

My hat's off to those painters—successful or not—who found the cajones to try in their youth to paint for a living.

Faulkner was right to say the artist "has no place in the mosaic of the American dream as it exists today."

The average American artist, according to the Labor Department, earns $50,300 a year. That's $10,000 less than a clerk at the post office (a job Faulkner held as a young man, until he was fired for throwing away mail).

Of course remorse isn't good for the soul; and calling America materialistic is trite.

But as Wassily Kandinsky observed, "The nightmare of materialism, which has turned the life of the universe into an evil, useless game, is not yet past; it holds the awakening soul still in its grip."

Minding Your Business

 

Wish not so much to live long as to live well.

— ​Poor Richard’s Almanack


Science and medicine can help us live longer, but not necessarily better.


To live well you must mind your business.


The original penny-pincher Ben Franklin understood the importance of minding your business.


When he designed the back of the US' first penny, he included that motto and an ovaloid sundial—a sharp reminder that "time flies." (Coin collectors call Franklin's penny the Fugio, Latin for "to flee.")


Time indeed flies, Franklin wished us to know, and you'll never live well unless you mind—that is, take care of—your business.


But what is your business, when the whole world conspires to call you "retired," the filthiest word in our language?


The answers to that question are many and varied.


Some retired people find second-act professions. 


They reinvent themselves full bore, emerging butterfly-like as entrepreneurs, investors, philanthropists, consultants, writers, publishers, artists, filmmakers, musicians, tutors, teachers, hoteliers, tour operators, historians, farmers, florists, sailors, carpenters, clerics, and chefs.

Others become daycare providers, gardeners, world travelers, or pilgrims; join nonprofit boards; start a "mastermind" networking group; or enroll in the Peace Corps.


Some run for office; some are consumed by a sport or hobby; and some quickly "boomerang," returning to their former jobs.


But many retired people don't mind their business. 


They putter all day, watch TV, surf the web, yak on the phone, read the paper, and take long naps.


How sad!

The world's your oyster. 

Are you minding your business?

My Second Act

There are no second acts in American lives.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

Second acts fascinate me. So it's pleasing to learn my own encore has been featured in Carl Landau's Pickelball Media.

Thanks, Carl.

And sorry, Scott.

You were wrong.

Above: Tangerines. Oil on canvas. 16 x 12 inches. Sold.