I’m fearful. How could I not be? We are, right now, heading towards a global recession with so many variables that there is no clear picture on how bad it will get, or how long it will last.
   Opinions are the greatest commodity available at the moment, but much them are of little value as the coronavirus epidemic spreads, stock markets plummet, consumer behavior becomes illogical, and the supply chain of knowledge dwindles as quickly as auto parts and hand sanitizer.
   Whether by paranoia or panic, we’ve got people stockpiling toilet paper in preparation for a shitstorm that will continue for who knows how long? Two months? Six months? A year?
   Nobody is really talking about recession — not yet and not loudly — but history shows us where we are headed. 2008 is still fresh in our memory.
   The coronavirus has been big news, globally, for months. We have been fortunate, so far, in Canada with cases of infections limited to a few provinces and only one death; so far. Statistics change hourly. The World Heath Organization has been avoiding the word ‘pandemic’ for weeks.
   The picture in the United States is not as clear, but it is not good. Still, the North American continent is not yet in bad shape like, say, Italy, Iran, or South Korea. Or China.
   And this recent crude oil price war between Saudi Arabia and Russia will further devastate money markets at a time when treasury boards can do so little to prop up individual economies. How much lower can interest rates be reduced?
   Just yesterday a large domestic producer in this country announced plans to cut spending by more than 30 percent. The Canadian oil patch — already reeling —  is in no way prepared for the economic downturn that has begun.
   Governments are searching madly for ways to respond; our own prime minister is announcing something or other today. The ever-vainglorious U.S. president has been continually weighing in with his unfettered ignorance; more concerned about the battle he will face in this fall’s election.
   And the race between the two Democrat hopefuls who plan to do battle with Donald Trump this autumn is in no way inspiring.
   I’m fearful. You should be too. Of course, right now, that’s just my opinion.

*the above image is ‘borrowed’ from the rather clever video for the Van Halen song Right Now.
   The 1991 image seems especially appropriate right now.

Not spring, not yet,
not the type of cold you can’t forget.
Wake and wonder how we slept,
what has been done, what is still left?
Plans will change, uncertainty,
the plans you made unknowingly.
Emotions always come into play,
when rain soaks down,
we feel the grey.
The time between night or day;
a further chance, another way.

© 2020 j.g. lewis

We live now, and always have,
as hunters and gatherers.
Along our path we collect
small scraps of our being,
slowly assembling the quilt
that surrounds us.
Experiences, information,
or misguided moments and
memories become fabric
we wrap ourselves in. Lonely,
or cold, we search for a stitch
of humanity in threadbare
motives and flimsy excuses.
It is not always comfortable.
It is who we are,
not what we have become.

© 2020 j.g. lewis

A three-day weekend with not a lot to do, I spent a great deal of it shopping some of Toronto’s fine record shops. Yes, Record Store Day is a few months away, but it’s not like I need an excuse to search for some new vinyl.
   Nothing brightens a cold winter’s day like music.
   I had no specific music in mind, and I keep a list in my head (and on my mobile device) of rarities I’m always searching for; though some days you’ve just got to get out and search for something.
   Music is, and has been for most of my life, my strongest vice or addiction.
   I bought my first Bob a Dylan LP on the Monday. Yes, for the first time in 49 years of buying recorded music I finally bought a Dylan album. It was by no means a spontaneous decision. I’ve been thinking about buying this particular album for more than 40 years, since it was released in 1979.
   Slow Train Coming: I’ve heard most of it, at various times, in bits and pieces, on FM radio or at friend’s home. I’ve even picked up the CD a couple of times, at garages sales, thrift stores, or assorted clearance bins, but something else always captured my imagination.
   I always felt there was more worthwhile music than a Bob Dylan album.
   There’s only one other time I came remotely close to buying Dylan, and that was for the song Knocking On Heavens Door (from the Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid soundtrack), but I never bought it. I just couldn’t. Not for the song and mainly because of Dylan’s voice.
   No matter how introspective, or amazing, his songwriting was or is, I simply could not deal with a voice that is as annoying to me as Tiny Tim, Leonard Cohen, Siouxsie Sioux, or Brittany Spears.
   Yes, I realize now (and I supposed I always have) that Dylan is an icon. I’ve read about him in the pages of Rolling Stone for almost as long as I’ve been buying albums. I know the songwriter has few peers in his genre, or on the level of this popular musician, but I could not bother buying his music.
Besides, you could always hear his songs on many other albums by so many other musicians. I could fill a page with artists who have covered Dylan’s songs. Hell, I could fill a page with artists who have recorded Blowin’ In The Wind, or Mr. Tambourine Man. Or I Shall Be Released.
   Yes, he is that good a craftsman; I would never even joke about the man’s songwriting skills. Lyrically he is astounding; I mean, he did win a Nobel Prize for poetry in 2016.
   The man can’t sing (his voice can only be described as ‘honest), but he does have a certain place in rock and roll history. I became somewhat enamored with the guy about a decade ago when he had his own show on Sirus XM Satellite Radio. I’d tune in more regularly than I’d care to admit, and listen to the music that caught his ear, or what he listened to as a kid. I was often pacified by his storytelling abilities.
   I also enjoyed reading about his life through the eyes of Joni Mitchell and Robbie Robertson in either of their fairly recent autobiographies. Despite the occasional differences each of the musicians documented in the pages, there was respect for the man.
   I guess I finally acknowledged my respect for his talent by buying one of his records on the weekend.
   It was probably because I’ve always, sort of, kind of liked the song Gotta Serve Somebody. Maybe it was for the message itself?
   Maybe I’ve softened, maybe his voice is recorded a little better this time around (producer Jerry Wexler did have his soulful ways of working), or maybe it was Mark Knofler’s guitar work that had been calling to me (Knofler himself having been accused of a Dylan-esque voice when he came onto the scene with Dire Straits).
   Point is, music will often find a place in your life. It may be a new style, or band, or something from your past. Maybe it is a certain melody or lyric that brings forth an important  moment.
Or maybe, like the times, I am a changing.
Slow Train, I’ve come to realize over the past few days, is one damn good album. I probably should have bought it decades ago.

Never underestimate
the power of a six-buck bouquet, a
shared newspaper or gift of a pencil.
Simplicity. Given, without expectation.
Demand comes to all-too-easy in days
that move with unintended velocity
and mixed emotions.
To put a price on kindness is
to devalue a gesture or sentiment.
Everything comes with a cost, perhaps
even at a cost. You should not ponder
it’s worth, or yours. Words, at times,
are not easy. Acceptance can be difficult.

Remember to say thank you,
as you give or are given. Gifts
do not need to be boastful. Gratitude
need not be uncomfortable,
it should, however, be memorable.
We often forget kind words, flowers
after they have wilted. Tossed away.
Small blessings are not short lived,
there to remind us more of
who we are, Not what we have.
To receive is to give.
Acceptance is realization of truth,
or trust. Or thought. Remain thankful.

© 2020 j.g. lewis