When: Monday, Aug 25, 7:30pm EST

Where: https://youtube.com/live/CqImRAKlNVg?feature=share

Who gets 10%: Minuteman Senior Services https://minutemansenior.org Read the story below and see why I’m doubling down

http://paypal.me/vancevancevance or https://venmo.com/vancevancevance or VanceFunder P.O. Box 17, Arlington, MA 02476

*PRIVATE COACHING AVAILABLE - Contact me (vance@vancegilbert.com) for songwriting, performance, and voice coaching.

***CUSTOM SONGS - Expensive, but sure, you want one about you or your family or something.

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THREE CALLS

I tried to be careful when to call. Too early meant that I’d be woozy. Too late and I know older folks, particularly those with dementia, are “sundowning”. So I chose 4pm. I called his phone first, which I was told would ring in his room. Him is an Old White Man who, for here, I’ll just call R. R was a designer at General Motors, proprietor of a futuristic eye, designer of things you drive today. When his history pops up, many of us realize we played with futuristic Hot Wheels he was the father of. He drew hundreds of published rubber band model plane plans, each and every one an inspiration in subject, layout, and intent. A devastatingly good modeler himself. And he thought I hung the moon.

I got his answering machine.

I called his wife, T, who now lives in the room next door. Clay, pottery, design was her jam. Arthritis and immobility has her in its clutches, this genius living next to her genius. The two rooms hit me as odd, but I suppose it’s the best. These two had sent me a get well card, complete with his still recognizable handwriting, now a wavy, jagged reminiscence of what it was in letters from the 90’s that inspired, nudged, taught.

I got her answering machine.

I was sad and oddly relieved, the list of things not to say unscrolling in my head like “Do you remember when...?” or “What’s the name of that plane that...?” The game where you let that person's bits of memory take the lead, never triggering their polite embarrassment at the lack of memory of a name or event. I’m ok at it. That game wouldn’t get played today.

That last message was followed 5 min later by a call from John Vezner. OK, I’m name dropping a bit here, but he’s a famous Nashville songwriter, singer-songwriter in his own right, husband of hit song singer and Mountain Stage host Kathy Mattea, and friend of mine I haven’t heard from for a while, checking in on me and my condition. I love his kind quiet heart.

We chatted about cancer, foot/leg issues, when we’d tour again, come see me when I’m in town, and it wasn’t until after he hung up that it hit me like a ton of capos that he’s the co-writer, with Don Henry, of the following hit song by Kathy Mattea:

[Verse 1]
Claire had all but given up
When she and Edwin fell in love
She touched his face and shook her head
In disbelief she sighed and said
"In many dreams I've held you near
Now at last you're really here"

[Chorus]
Where've you been
I've looked for you forever and a day
Where've you been
I'm just not myself when you're away

[Verse 2]
He asked her for her hand for life
Then she became a salesman's wife
He was home each night by eight
But one stormy evening he was late
Her frightened tears fell to the floor
Until his key turned in the door

[Chorus]

[Bridge]
They'd never spent a night apart
For sixty years she heard him snore
Now they're in a hospital
In separate beds on different floors

[Verse 3]
Claire soon lost her memory, forgot the names of family
She never spoke a word again, and then one day they wheeled him in
He held her hand and stroked her hair

And in a fragile voice she said
[Chorus]
Where've you been
I've looked for you forever and a day

Where've you been
I'm just not myself when you're away
[Tag]
No I'm just not myself when you're away

(c) Jon Vezner & Don Henry. Used with permission. He said I could. He called me.

Dementia and aging are shitmonger thieves, on that we can all agree. But time is the recipient of stolen goods, and that’s the reason for my tears. It’s ticking anyway, and I can only hope the first two of these calls makes the relentless sweep of the second hand, and me, worthy of the third.