November 11, 2011
All those ones
Elegy of love.
Eleven eleven eleven.
A full moon has risen.
It is perfect and balanced and beautiful.
I was born on the eleventh of January.
My father was born on the eleventh of November.
1-11… 11-11…
We were both only children.
When I was little I used to talk excitedly with my father about our 2011 birthdays. It was the late 1960’s. The year 2011 was inconceivable; an arrival point so distant and unreachable as to be almost preposterous. Never much of a numerologist or mystic, I still enjoyed the vertical simplicity of all those ones.
“I’ll be 49!”
This was uttered with sheer amazement at how old that was. An eight year old is incapable of grasping the concept of middle age, and how she might ever get there. Nor, why she’d ever want to. Yuck.
I wriggled my nose as I tried to do the math. “And you’ll be 83!” I gazed lovingly at my father and had no reason to think that this was an unreasonable request.
It was.
He died thirteen years ago in 1998, at age 69.
It’s rare for a day to go by when the full moon of his wise glow does not envelope my life. In the best of ways.
His complicated essence: often funny, sometimes quietly tortured, perpetually intellectual, always kind, weaves a path through the music I create, much in the way my seaside existence is reflected in so many notes.
It is unavoidable.
It is resonant.
It flows.
It is permanent.
And it is valued, and loved, always.
Christy said,
November 11, 2011 @ 2:58 pm
Beautiful post Alex…a gorgeous tribute to your Dad. Happy 11-11-11!
Paul Muller said,
November 11, 2011 @ 4:00 pm
Beautiful photos. Beautiful post.
My mother died on Nov 15, 1998 – just 72. But my father lives on, almost 90 now.
I was born in 1950 and I can remember as an 8 year old trying to figure out how old I would be in the year 2000 – when we would all have flying cars and our own spaceships. I would do this by counting the years forward on my fingers and I would get either 49 or 50. So I quit worrying about it. (Since I was born in August, 49 turned out to be my correct age on New Year’s Day 2000.) I’m hoping I last for a while longer!
Madelyn Byrne said,
November 11, 2011 @ 4:41 pm
Beautiful post Alex. Excellent music, as always, and a very touching tribute.
Phil Green said,
November 11, 2011 @ 6:14 pm
As one of your 1-11 “twins”, thanks for the wonderful post.
Tom said,
November 11, 2011 @ 11:11 pm
“One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do…” but when accompanied by five others it’s a numerological orgy, apparently. All day long I’ve been hearing 11-11-11 this and 11-11-11 that.
Isn’t it cheating, though, to ignore the 2 and the 0 in 2011? It seems to me that a much more significant date would be 11-11-1111. Now that’s a unique day. Well, almost unique. It does have an evil BC twin. But 11-11-11? That happens every 100 years. It’s soooo last century.
At the end of the day, so to speak, dates are just numbers, and numbers can mean anything. They have no special power over us other than what we give them. They are nothing more than the page numbers of our lives. Their significance derives from what we put on those pages; and what you put on your pages, Alex, is timeless. Thanks so much for sharing your passions with the rest of the world.
And to show you just how much I appreciate it, I’m sending you this comment at exactly 11:11:11 p.m. on 11-11-11. (That’s Pacific Standard Time, of course.)
Robert Ballantyne said,
November 12, 2011 @ 8:33 am
Alex, you said so much about being a child, being middle aged, being a parent. And about a life lived. In just a few beautiful words. Thanks. Those of us who lived with our parents for years, and recall those as good years, seem to have them with us, speaking to us, guiding us, even decades after they’ve died.
sarah said,
November 12, 2011 @ 5:51 pm
beautiful thoughts, sometimes the simplest sentiments are the deepest. My parents are both gone, something both terrifying and humbling. Your memories are the glue that binds, mends and the The circle of life continues….
Alex Shapiro said,
November 13, 2011 @ 10:23 am
I’m really touched by these lovely comments, friends. Thank you!
Al Jenks said,
November 13, 2011 @ 4:26 pm
Who ever said that you were verbose? Few words, heartfelt thoughts.
Russell Sadler said,
November 13, 2011 @ 4:37 pm
My father died the same year at the age of 79. I still miss him. A wonderful reflection, Alex — along with the photo and the music. Thanks.
Glenn Buttkus said,
November 16, 2011 @ 5:35 pm
This post takes us into Shapiro heartland, starting with the full moon images and the mesmerizing Elegy@1:40, or as you put it “elegy of love”. You play with the numerology like a child with blocks, building the emotional structures of your future, and you put us into your eighth year effortlessly, embracing us with some of the motivations that have molded you into who you are. You father sounds like the kind of guy I would have liked to spend an afternoon with, on your deck, looking at orcas at sunset, sipping wine, hearing those paternal stories of the tiny Alex. It was hard to find the poetics in your reflections, until it wasn’t:
Patriarch
It’s rare for a day to go by
when the full moon of my father’s
wise glow does not envelope my life.
In the best of ways.
His complicated essence: often funny,
sometimes quietly tortured,
perpetually intellectual,
always kind, weaves a path
through the music I create,
much in the way my seaside existence
is reflected in so many notes.
It is unavoidable.
It is resonant.
It flows.
It is permanent.
And it is valued,
and loved,
always.
Alex Shapiro
Barry said,
November 17, 2011 @ 10:59 am
Alex,
Wonderful post and most excellent photos!
My Dad would have be 100 this year, born on 11-15-11. He passed eight years ago and I miss him very much. He was a cigar smoker when I was a kid, so a few days ago I had a cigar to remember him by and a glass of beer as well, of course.
First our fathers teach how to live, then they teach us how to die.
Thanks for the great blog, and for you,
Barry