Christmas Greetings, 2012

Christmas Greetings, my friends, 

A bit of  history — I’ve been sending these “letters” out since 1979. They started out in the typical holiday format, chronicles of what I’d been up to that year, etc. I did this for a couple of years and by the third one I decided I was tired of spending all that verbiage on my exploits, such as they were. So … the next time out I used the Christmas letter as a way to offer some sort of creative writing for the Season — a poem, story, a song — something that seemed more like a gift than a recap, blah, blah. Now a big piece of the shift in this emphasis is that as a bachelor, I have no one to talk about but me — no spouse, kids, not even a pet. (Which is fine by me.) Since you folks seem to like these Yuletide ramblings of mine and have been gracious enough to say so, I’ll continue.

To recap then, the year in brief — This past year I had my 65th birthday and have been celebrating all year long by traveling, playing music and visiting friends. Some places I’ve been — Columbus, OH; Breckenridge Village in Tyler, TX; Pittsburgh, TX; NYC (Prior to Sandy’s devastation); Atlanta, GA; Charlotte, NC; Wilton, CT; Townsend, MA; Denver, CO; Kansas City, MO. These visits took place in June, October and November, mostly via Amtrak, of course. Every stop was full of warm welcomes, great times with friends and opportunities to make music of all kinds in all sorts of venues. Of course at home I’ve been very busy doing my local music thing — playing and writing. One of the many highlights of the year was being able to do arranging for and performing in the Wilshire Baptist Church program Hanging of the Green on December 2nd. This year the tone was specifically jazz and man, I loved it. We had the very talented contributions of Garrett and Luke Wingfield, Mark McKenzie, Jon Hock, Russ Allor, Lyndsey Jones and of course all the Wilshire folk from the church music program there. It was a great way to start off the Christmas Season. I actually could go on and on with how much fun it’s been to be 65 this year but I’ll stop so I can get to the “meat” of this epistle — leastways I hope it’s got some substance to it.

To quote a portion of  Lee Mendelson’s lyric for the TV special, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” — “Christmas time is here, happiness and cheer, fun for all, the children call their favorite time of year”.

And yet I’m betting that not every one of you reading this epistle are feeling that way at all. For some of you this is a difficult time, a stressful time and perhaps a time of sorrow as well. And so I thought this year I’d try and say something to you, for you. You see if Christmas doesn’t have a message for you too then it’s not much of a message is it.

It’s a Small Word, After All …

A baby was born, long ago on a Christmas morn in a manger, etc.

And the aching soul, having borne one too many burdens may well be tempted to say, “That’s nice” or perhaps even more harshly, “ So what?” What indeed?

What does a birth of a Jewish kid some 2000 or more years ago have to say to me now?     

It’s a good question and it deserves a good answer. However, I don’t have one — at least not exactly. I don’t have one custom made for you as you try and make sense of that which makes no sense. I don’t have one that makes the pain go away or fills the empty heart. But what I do have is this … hope.

It’s a small word, easily lost among the clichés of the world and not hard to submerge beneath a sea of cynicism and anger. But let’s think about this word for a moment.

What if hope were not just a word but a person? A person who knew first hand about heartache and loneliness and  being abandoned. A person who’s birth was cause for violence and greed and hatred for some and at the same time, an occasion to bring out the whole angelic choir — (Trumpets included, I’ll betcha) — for others.

It was the kind of birth that was so remarkably unremarkable in its locale as to be ludicrous. If this is God’s idea of how to introduce eternal hope to the world, well … man, what could you have been thinking. This baby boy is it? This is the hope we’ve been waiting for? And I suspect He was smiling as He was saying, “Yes, just wait and see.”

I guess that’s the hardest part of hope sometime, the waiting. But turns out God was right. Jesus did more than “make good”, he “made good” by making miracles and making the lives of people better, people who most folk had given up on. Well, I’d say when hope looks like that then it’s worth putting your faith in or at least investigating.

Well, that’s what people of faith, me included, believe about Jesus. He was/is the embodiment of hope, that God is not “asleep at the switch”, even when it seems He is.

I wish for all of you, who find sadness an unwelcome companion this Christmas, the hope that He brings, that He ushered into this crazy, mixed-up, unfair, unjust world that first Christmas years ago when he was born. It’s a hope as vital and alive as the heart that receives the gift of love and gives the gift of love. And with all my heart I wish that kind of hope for you this Christmas and the whole year through.

Merry Christmas (Anyway),

George Gagliardi

December, 2012

Death at Easter?

Whoa, what’s wrong with this picture?

Death at Easter, indeed.

Aren’t you forgetting something, pal.

Easter is when He arose, not when He died.

Besides who wants to think about something so gloomy.

It’s Spring and, depending on how the weather cooperates,

You’ve got sunshine, beautiful blossoms, birds singing

And heck, you’ve even got the Easter bunny

What’s this nonsense about death at Easter, anyway

Death is so final, so morbid, so … well, real.

Exactly.

You see it occurred to me that you can’t really have a resurrection

Without someone or something dying first

Now those of us who profess to have faith

Or those wish that they did

Or even those who’d like to be able to believe in something or someone

Will buy in on some level that something happened that first Easter

People of faith, such as myself, believe that God simply raised Jesus from the dead

(Simple for God but far from simple for us)

Death is enemy numero uno and, as has been quoted endlessly --

“Nobody gets out of here alive”

But Jesus did – at least that’s how the story goes

And that’s also my story and I’m sticking to it

My story?

Well, yes, in a way.

You see, getting back to this death at Easter thing,

Dreams can die, hopes can die, faith can die

And like all things dead, they get buried

But they don’t have to stay dead

They can be brought back to life

Not by wishful thinking or sheer willpower or clever maneuvering

They can be made alive again by … (or you ready for this?)

The grace of God

The unfailing, unearned, totally free grace of God

The kind of grace that can restore that which is broken

Or heal wounds too deep too imagine

Or shine the light of forgiveness on a dark and troubled soul

Or raise a man from the dead

That’s right.

God’s been in business of resurrection for a long time

And He’s still at it.

Death at Easter – Merely a Prelude

But one we’d do well not too ignore

Because as Abbie Huff, minister and wise woman, declares

“Look to the Broken Places. If it’s resurrection and new life

you’re looking for, the broken places are where we start”

Amen and amen.

Happy Easter

George Gagliardi

Christmas Letter, 2011

Greetings, friends.

  Or perhaps I should say fellow travelers since I’m convinced more than ever that we’re all on a path, a journey. I certainly have felt it this year as much as any. Maybe because I’ve literally been out “riding the rails” this Fall—Portland, Denver and Plano(?)  

  News dpt: I have a new CD out which most of you already have. It’s entitled “Songs Unsung … Until Now.” In addition to my continued opportunities with the various groups I play with — Singapore Slingers, AChord Trio, Nobles of Note big band, Mark McKenzie Quartet and Dallas Banjo Band — I’ve had some delightful experiences working with the Plano Children’s Theater as pianist/musical director and with a special needs group at Highland Park United Methodist Church, The Jesters. Moreover, it’s been a year of surprises — from my being hired as the melodrama pianist at the Pocket Sandwich Theater to a recording by Gloria Gaynor of a song I co-wrote with my pal, Cynthia Clawson to my working with a local burlesque troupe, the Lolly Bombs. (Now don’t tell me I don’t have an interesting life. HA!) Heck, I’ve even got some videos on my Facebook page and my website www.georgegagliardi.com, including one of me in KC’s Union Station. That is story unto itself. But speaking of stories, let’s get to this year’s installment.

The Enchanted Mandolin

   The children were excited. It was two days before Christmas and tonight he would be here. For more years than anyone could remember he had been coming to their little village. Whether fair weather or foul, he was always there. As reliable as Christmas Day itself, he never failed to appear and it was always the same schedule, year after year after year.

   No one knew his name. They simply referred to him as The Storyteller for that’s what he did, he told stories, wonderful, magical stories. Stories that delighted both children and grown ups alike. He would arrive about dusk, have a simple meal at the Inn and around mid-evening the people would start gathering in the Inn’s cozy dining room, lanterns all aglow, a welcoming fire blazing in the massive stone hearth. 

   When he came in, he would greet everyone, pull his favorite chair over in front of the fireplace and smile. Then he would lean back, grey eyes a twinkle, tilt his head to one side while stroking his long white beard - as if remembering some long ago event - and then begin.

   “It happened this way, a long time ago. (He rarely started off with “once upon a time”, that was not his way.) A certain young man decided that the best way to experience the beauty and wonder of this world was to get out and see it, to explore it, to travel. So he did.

He didn’t have much in the way of possessions – a few clothes, his favorite journeyman’s hat, a journal and an old, well worn mandolin – well worn from hours of playing in this town and that, from being on the road, from one too many nicks and scratches -- hazards of, if not carelessness, then clumsiness. The sort of tangible reminders one has from living out on the highways and byways of this world.

   Now it so happened that one Christmas Eve as he was traveling through the country he found himself in a mining town, perched high in the mountains, next to the Great River. On this particular day the tiny hamlet was a place of great sadness because one of their own, a young mother, had disappeared and could not be found. The people there all feared the worst -- that she had been swept away by the Great River the day before and was gone forever. The search parties had combed the area but to no avail. Sadder still, now there was a little girl, Sally, who had no Mommy to rock her or hold her or tell her bedtime stories or just be there for her with a warm smile on a cold winter morning. Her daddy had died in a mining accident only two years ago and so it had been just her and her mother – and now she was gone.

  He was there in the town square, preparing to unpack his mandolin when he learned of the tragedy from one of the locals. The news broke his heart. He put away his instrument, sat down and stared out at the vast mountain range that surrounded the village. He felt utterly helpless. He’d come to play his mandolin, to lead the townspeople in some Christmas carols, to help celebrate this festive night but now … there didn’t seem to be much point in that. So he sat there, despondent.

   After a time he took out his journal and was writing down his feelings when he saw a little girl approaching him, obviously curious as to who he was and what he was doing there. She moved cautiously toward him, not saying a word. It was Sally. He smiled, put down his journal and said hello -- Still not a word. He took out his mandolin and showed it to her. Would you like to hear some music? Slowly she nodded. And he began to play.

  He began with a simple Christmas song he knew the little girl would recognize. Was there a trace of smile? No, not even a glimmer of one. How about this one? And he played a song that had always proven to be a children’s favorite. She looked down and then started to cry. He stopped playing, at a loss as to what to do. At that moment he uttered a silent prayer, just three words, ‘God Help Me’. He was trying desperately to think of what song he should play when something remarkable happened.

   The mandolin began to play the most beautiful melody the young man had ever heard – all by itself! Sally heard the sweet music and lifted her eyes, only to stare, puzzled but full of wonder, completely caught up in this amazing thing that was happening. Here was a mandolin playing and no one was playing it –why it was almost like it was enchanted. As for the young man, he sat there, mouth agape, not knowing what to do. So he simply let the music play. In a few moments he began to notice that the sounds of the mandolin had started to draw a few people over to hear the music. Once they saw what was happening they stood there also staring in disbelief, mesmerized by this incredible vision. There were some who, after having seen this bizarre sight, promptly rushed off to tell their friends – and still the music played, on and on. Very soon the crowd began to grow.

    Eventually the music changed from a ballad into a jaunty, almost “hoe down” tune and before long people were dancing and clapping and chattering about how wonderful it all was. There truly was a spirit of celebration and for a time the sadness forgotten, the townsfolk having been caught up in the wonder of the event.

   Suddenly Sally burst forth with one of those ear shattering, high pitched squeals – as only little girls can. Everyone and everything stopped, including the mandolin. The crowd looked in the direction of where the little girl was looking. And they saw what she saw. It was her mother.

   Immediately both mother and daughter began running toward one another and cheers went up from the crowd. They embraced and as if on cue, the mandolin began to play again. There were tears of joy, great big smiles, thanksgivings, warm hugs and of course, questions -- Are you alright? Are you hurt? What happened? Where were you? Why couldn’t we find you?  

    Little by little the story began to unfold. She had remembered seeing a particular mountain daisy she wanted for this Christmas basket she wanted to make. It was perched high up on a stone ledge. No sooner had she climbed up and picked the flower when she discovered that the ground around the patch of flowers was soft, merely covering the entrance to old abandoned mine shaft . She lost her footing and fell into the pit, hit her head on something and was too dazed by the fall to move. She had been lying in a sort of bewildered state since yesterday afternoon, half awake and half asleep. She might be there still except for this dream she’d had – there was music playing, beautiful music. It was prettiest melody she’d ever heard. She had the strangest feeling that it was written especially for her. It was mandolin music. And then she woke up. And even wide awake she could still hear the music. Then she remembered what had happened and where she was and who she was. Slowly she stood up and surveyed her surroundings. Fortunately it wasn’t that difficult to climb back out of the mine shaft, there was a makeshift ladder from old timbers that readily brought her to the surface. Once she got back down from the ledge she headed for home, following in the direction of the music.

   All who heard the tale marveled at it. It was a miracle, no question about it. Didn’t they give her up for dead, didn’t they all hear the mandolin play all by itself and wasn’t that what the young mother heard? Yes, it was indeed an enchanted mandolin.

   As for that particular stringed instrument, after that remarkable episode it went back to being merely an old, worn, ordinary mandolin. Now and then the young man would wish that it would repeat that haunting melody and play itself but it never would and it never did. But he wasn’t bitter about it. He knew he had been privileged to be a witness to a Christmas miracle and he was glad that his mandolin was chosen for the task. After all how often does one have the opportunity to witness such a miracle— then again, maybe more often than we realize if we would only look with believing eyes.” 

   The Storyteller ended his tale and was preparing to leave when one of the children asked him if the story was true. He replied that of course it was, then chucked, saying that only facts had been changed for the sake of making it a better story. As he made his way across the room he could see the doubt in a few eyes. So he walked over to the corner where he kept his knapsack. Once there he picked it up, put it on the table, opened it up and pulled out an object wrapped in a small, cotton blanket, undid the cloth and showed it to the people there – it was a mandolin.

  So there you have it, a tale about a miracle which is only fitting for me because this is His time, a time of miracles and I for one still believe they’re possible. May the wonder and the possibility of the impossible fill your heart and help us all remember a miraculous birth in manger about 2000 years ago when God did the impossible – as is His custom.

Merry Christmas, 

George Gagliardi, 

December, 2011

It's Easter . . . Film at 11?

Friends, Happy Easter.

This year's contribution grew out of a passing comment from a minister about video proof of the resurrection. I trust you'll find it worth reading. 

Setting: Easter morning, shortly after sunrise, an empty tomb on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Two men are having a conversation, one has a video camera.

Tommy: (Obviously out of breath) Man, I can't believe I missed it. I overslept. Got here as fast I could. Did you get it? 

Pete: You better believe it. It was … I don't know how to describe it. Thank God, I don't have to. (patting his camera) It's all right here on tape on this little camera of mine. 

Tommy: Yeah, that's great. But, I mean, you saw him, right? He really came out of there. 

Pete: He is alive as you and me and that's a fact. 

Tommy: I'm telling you I can't wait to show this to those pious prudes and get right up in there face with it. What are they gonna say? Hm? How are they gonna justify what they did then? Those bastards will have to do some fast talking then, eh, Pete? 

Pete: You better believe it. (Pause) You know, Tommy … 

Tommy: Yeah? 

Pete: I'm thinkin' maybe we ought to show it to his guys first – you know, John, Matt – his followers. Can you imagine all the whooping and carrying on they'll do once they see he's alive again. I'm telling you it will be party time in old Jerusalem for sure. 

Tommy: Yeah, what was I thinkin'. We'll go and try and find some of them and invite them to the studio to see what you've got there. Of course it might be a bit tough – a lot of them went underground, trying to keep a low profile from "you-know-who". 

Pete: Can't say I blame them. But once they see this – well, it will be a different story, to be sure. 

Tommy: Yeah. (Long pause) You know, Pete, maybe we should watch it first before we show it to anybody else. Mind you, I'm not sayin' you didn't do your job but I think I'd feel better if we previewed it first just in case …

Pete: Just in case what … in case I didn't get it? 

Tommy: No, I didn't mean that exactly. It just that … 

Pete: Well what did you mean? 

Tommy: Look, Pete, someone doesn't come back from the dead everyday. This is 'way beyond anything we've ever dealt with before and maybe … maybe there might be more going on with this than we realize. 

Pete: Wait a moment. Do my ears deceive me? Are you talking about supernatural stuff? You, of all people. Mister "show me the proof" Tommy. You're going to start talking about – dare I say it, miracles 

Tommy: Okay, okay, it's not my usual way of dealing with things but … well, this feels different. I'm just saying, what's the harm in our looking at the footage first before we bring anyone else to see it – just to be safe. 

Pete: Man, I never would have believed it. Okay, we'll watch it first. To tell you the truth I'm anxious to see it and who knows how long it might be before we could find some of his guys. 

Tommy: Hey, I think I hear somebody running, let's skidaddle. See you back at the studio. 

(Back at the studio. The lights are off, the tape is rolling …) 

Pete: See, there's the stone, rolled away from the entrance. I mean, it just moved away by itself. When I saw that … wait a minute here it comes, see that bright light. Now it's … (Silence) 

Pete: What happened? Where is He? This is the moment I saw him come out. Where the hell is he? He supposed to be there. He was there, I saw him. I swear I saw him come out. I… 

Tommy: (Stands up, turns on the light) I don't doubt that you believe you saw him come out. Hell, for all I know, maybe he did. But there's no proof. It's not on the tape. You may have seen it but I didn't'. 

Pete: What are you implying? 

Tommy: I'm not implying anything. I'm stating a fact, pure and simple. We have no proof, other than your word, that you saw Jesus alive again. Now that might be good enough for me, but not for anyone else. As your pal, I'd believe you because I know you don't lie. But for you to claim that you saw a dead man alive again – well, it's just too preposterous for anyone else to believe. 

Pete: (Shakes his head) But I saw him. Dammit, I know I saw him walk out of that tomb. 

Tommy: I'm sorry, my friend. I don't what else to say. This could have been the biggest scoop since that water and wine thing down in Cana but … well, we can't make up the facts. 

Pete: So what do we do now? 

Tommy: Well, what can we do. Just chalk it up to … bad timing, I guess. 

Pete: (Long pause, the Pete stands up and heads for the door) 

Tommy: Where you goin'? 

Pete: You may call me a crazy man but as you say you didn't see what I saw. But I did see it. I'm going to go find some of this guys and tell 'em what I saw. 

Tommy: Do you really think it will do any good? 

Pete: A man who says he'll rise from the dead and then does it? Yeah, I definitely think it will do a world of good. 

Tommy: Well if you're determined to tell your tale then I best go along and try and keep you out of trouble. 

Pete: Me? Trouble? Just because I claim to have seen Jesus alive again, how could I get into trouble over that? (Laughs and they both exit) 

George Gagliardi, Easter 2011

Easter, 2010

Greetings, Friends,

True confession time – I almost decided not to create an Easter greeting this year. As you read the words below you’ll better understand why. But I have and here ‘tis.

Imagine if you will (To borrow from Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone) it’s the day after Jesus has gone missing. We come upon two chaps making “small talk” …

Chap 1: Hey, how about that Resurrection. Talk about your disappearing acts. Man, he really is “outasight”. (Chuckles)
Chap 2: Well, you know what they say – You can’t keep a good Messiah down. I was just …  (We interrupt this crass frivolity to bring you the following --)

I doubt seriously if the above conversation would have taken place. After all it’s not everyday that someone is believed to have risen from the dead. And it certainly would not be cause for sophomoric humor – or would it? It may well be that for some Easter is in fact a joke – a joke played on the whole human race by … well meaning fanatics?

Well, friends it’s no joke to me, especially this Easter. I told you it was hard to sit down and write something and it has been. The death of someone who fought with all his being to stay alive, to triumph, only to be forced to succumb to cancer makes the idea of resurrection something a hell of lot more than merely an idea. To be blunt – if Jesus didn’t get raised from the dead and it’s all a sad cosmic joke then God is not only a trickster and liar but worse – he provides false hopes.

Being as candid as I know how I have to say the temptation to go that route of cynicism was strong in the face of the injustice of the death of a young man. A young man not yet 19 who should have had his whole life before him. However most of us who have lived any years at all and have weathered the many seasons of life know about injustice and absurdity and loss. And it never gets easier to take, either.

Now at this point those of you who have a ready response to why and how and what regarding the workings of God have my permission to keep those things to yourself. They don’t do a damn thing for a broken heart – they really can’t. Do you suspect that Jesus felt any better knowing that it was God’s will that he die on a cross? I don’t think so. Feelings are just that – they don’t respond well to “chapter and verse”.

So what to make of all my rambling and grumbling --- it’s simply this. I can’t speak for anyone else nor do I want to but I’ve decided I will go ahead and believe anyhow. I’m going to be damned stubborn about it too. There’s an almost angry kind of resolve building in my gut about my faith. A sort of “I don’t care if the whole Resurrection seems like a fairy tale. By God (and I mean it literally) I’m going to believe it to be so. And if it’s not then I guess I’m an idiot, not sophisticated enough to rely strictly on my intellect. But tell me when you come up on tragedy do you truly want to rely on yourself as God for comfort, for peace, for hope? I don’t and I won’t. Moreover I don’t have to – but then neither does anyone else. All you have to do is believe the impossible. Now how hard could that be?

It might help to remember that saying we all learned years ago -- “With God nothing is impossible” I’m going to believe it and I’m counting on it this Easter.

George Gagliardi, Easter 2010

Christmas Memories

Greetings my friends,
Here’s this year’s offering. First off, I’ve had another great year and can once again echo the sentiment of George Bailey’s brother in the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” when he says, “Here’s to my brother, George, the richest man in town.” More times than not this year I’ve have felt just that blessed. There’s been trips galore including an extraordinary time in the Northeast in October working with the youth at Wilton BC and Greater Restoration BC – in Connecticut and Brooklyn, NY, respectively. Then in November I made a trip to Charlotte, NC, to do a benefit and visit with my pals, Jim and Debbie Rivers. Several new songs, a Jimmy Webb workshop in September, playing with the Mark McKenzie jazz quartet, premiere of my first attempt at writing a piece for concert band (Ye Olde Swingin’ Carols medley) and on and on it goes. I continue to enjoy working with the gals in AChord and also doing my duo work in schools with Mel Hartman Couture through Young Audiences. Also I’m still playing piano with the Shriner Big band, Nobles of Note. (Whew!) So you can see my being ancient (you can say old fart if you like – HA!) hasn’t kept me from getting out there doing what I love to do and living it up, literally, as much as I can. I truly hope all of you can say the same and I wish you the very best this season.

George Gagliardi, December 2008

Christmas Greetings from Gagliardi

The Magic of Christmas

“Don’t tell me there is no Santa Claus”
For if it were left up to me
There most certainly would be
No one would be forgotten or left out
Every single person on the planet would know
Without a doubt
What the magic of Christmas is really about
And of course it’s about giving gifts – no, no, no, no not those
Not the ones all wrapped and shiny, that sparkle and glow
They’re pretty and pleasant, I know
But gifts like that – well, they’re really for show
But it’s the kind you can’t make in a factory or sew
Or put in box or buy in a store (Do I sound like Seuss-sayer?)
Well, here’s another rhyme more
No, the sort that I mean don’t cost a dime
Maybe some effort, some thought – a little bit of time
On second thought these are things
Even Santa couldn’t pack
Not the sort of presents you can put in a sack
Peace, love, hope, forgiveness, warm embraces
True gifts that all our “hustling and bustling” often replaces
While we blithely ignore all of God’s amazing graces
And miss the magic, which is there
As precious as the words of a little one’s simple prayer
For you see we have to pause
And like a child who still believes in a Santa Claus
Receive a gift that prompts such wild surprise
That our hearts are full of joy, there’s delight in our eyes
And as we stand back in awe and ask,
“Did you bring that for me?
Recalling a holy night, alive once again
A baby born in a stable, in a place called Bethlehem
Starlight and shepherds and angels singing — peace, goodwill to men
Gifts to the world from the Father above
Not illusions or sleight of hand but real magic, borne out of love
Wrapped up in redemptive ribbons reminding us of
The grace and the glory, the sacrifice and the story
The miracle, the majesty, the mystery
As in wide-eyed wonder
We fall under the spell
Transformed by the Magic of Christmas

George Gagliardi, December, 2007