Fare thee What? Who?

I understand that many of us have long-term memory issues, but I was somewhat surprised at the short-term memory loss that many in our extended family seem to have. But then again, maybe I’ve got that backward. Some old Heads can remember the first song of the second set played at some civic center in East Podunk back in ’72, but we seem to forget the lessons of one month ago.

Yes, folks, just one month ago we convened in what seemed to me like the largest gathering of singular intent – to share the music we love with the people we love. We were all family, whether we knew each other or not.

I know every family has the crazy uncle who gets drunk at every gathering and waxes political using the saltiest language even in front of Nana, or the annoying bratty cousin, who rats you out for smoking a joint while walking the dog, but we are family nonetheless.

Today we were introduced to Dead and Company. Yay! Some of our favorite musicians playing our favorite tunes at one of our favorite venues! What could bad about that? Oh. Phil’s not there because he’s an indentured servant to Peter Shapiro at the Cap. Oh. Phil can’t sing. Oh. John Mayer sucks. Oh. They should never use the name Dead because Jerry is, well, dead.

So I was wondering. If we, as a community, are OK with bands like DSO, JRAD, Golden Gate Wingmen, even (or especially) Phil and Friends, why are people freaking out? Again? Did we learn nothing from Trey at Fare Thee Well? Don’t we know that the music plays the band? That talented musicians playing the music we love is an experience worth having?

But most importantly, where is the love? Where is the feeling that we took from Chicago? I love that we all have different ideas and different opinions. But let’s be kind. Mickey implored us to do so, but that’s not why. We need to be kind because that’s who we are.

My daughter and I are headed to where-the-hell-is-Arrington, VA to go to Lockn next month. The lineup of musicians is unbelievable and we cannot wait. And then you’ll find me at the Cap for Halloween and Phil. We are all blessed beyond belief that we can still hear this music performed by the boys who have been playing for us for 50 years. Honestly. What is there to complain about? Enjoy the ride folks!

Peace.

Love,

Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Being Dead, Giving Life

It’s hard to count the number of times I’ve heard Phil’s “donor rap.” But this last time in Chicago was different. Without Phil, there’s no Fare Thee Well. Without Phil, there are no “and Friends” to see at Lockn’ or at the Cap a few times a year. Without Phil, there is no heartbeat, no lifeline connecting the players on stage. And as Dean Sottile noted in a recent blog post, has there ever been anyone as grateful to their organ donor as Phil Lesh?

So last week, when I was online renewing my driver’s license, I finally checked the organ donor box. I’ve had my license longer than some of you reading this have been alive. So what changed?

I thought about the many, perhaps countless people who need an organ transplant or they will die. They are each somebody’s parent, child, sibling, best friend, or other loved one. One of them might cure cancer someday. One of them might play music to hundreds of thousands of loving fans. Or one of them might just need to punch the time clock in order to put food on the table. They are each worthy and each deserves a chance to live a full life.

When Mickey urged us all to be kind, and take the feelings we had from Chicago and keep them with us, I figured this was a pretty easy and painless way to do that. So when I’m dead, perhaps someone will have the heart of the Dead beating in their chest. Peace.

Love,

Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Fare Thee Well My Honey – Is it Really Over?

It’s been a few days since Chicago, and I’m still trying to get my sea legs back. I can’t quite get back into my “before” head space, and frankly, I’m not sure I want to.

I’ve been around the block more than a few times, and saw the Dead and various Jerry iterations on just about every tour starting in 1977. I didn’t follow them to every show, but made sure I saw them when they came east. So why do I feel so different now, 20 years after they last performed together? As others have written (quite profoundly, I must say), it definitely wasn’t just the music. In fact, maybe the music, as good as it was, was tangential to the rest of the experience.

I really can’t put my finger on it (is it the “x” factor Jerry used to talk about?). What I do know, and what Dean Sottile has articulated so well, is that the Chicago shows were profound in ways that I don’t think even the band could have predicted.

(By the way, I’m a writer/marketing/communications professional in my real life, yet Dr. Dean has been able to put everything into words way better than I ever could. Kudos, my friend.)

Quite literally, there were strangers stopping strangers just to shake their hand. People were kind and generous of spirit, and we existed on a plane not of this earth. Cab drivers and hotel workers told us how Deadheads were the best visitors and guests. And I have to believe it’s not just because we tip well. It’s got to be our collective karma. 100,000 Deadheads can’t be wrong.

I’m honored that I was able to experience this with my 23-year-old daughter. Having her with me was intensely deep and meaningful. Back in the 70s and 80s, when my best friend Ellen and I dreamed that someday we would take our kids to see the Dead, I could never have imagined this. Unfortunately, Jerry died when my daughter was just 3, but we have been to Lockn, to the Cap and Central Park to see Phil, and now Chicago for Fare Thee Well.

At Saturday’s show (the only one we could attend), we met Billy’s Airbnb winners in the CID lounge and we became fast friends with Charles and Beth, a mom and her 19-year-old son from Lake Tahoe  (this is them from Relix). On the field, we met a beautiful, spiritual, yoga mama who was painting beautiful designs on faces, backs, and arms. She existed in a place of joy and peace that I can only aspire to. At David Grisman the next day, we met Reed, a kid from Michigan who, God bless him, hung out sweltering in a blue bear suit. We met fellow ‘heads from Atlanta, Alabama, Texas, California, and more. It was one, giant family reunion. Only this family included folks you actually wanted to hang out with.

We tried to get tickets to Sunday’s show, but it wasn’t meant to be. We really didn’t want the experience to be over, but it isn’t. It’s inside us now. The lesson has been taught. We are to love each other. We have to be kind, as Mickey implored us.

We are all truly blessed. This was an experience I’ll never forget.

On the road again

As I start to think about next week’s pilgrimage to the Dead equivalent of Mecca, I can’t help but think about a road trip I made to see the Dead at Manor Downs in Austin, Texas, also on the 4^th day of July.

While this year’s trip includes round trip airfare, a room at the Hilton, and VIP passes, the last trip – made 34 years ago when I was a fresh-faced college graduate – included an old car that broke down long before we got to Texas, hitching a ride with strange folks in a van that had caged hamsters (I hope they were hamsters), a chance meeting with Dan Rather at a car-rental counter, and an old drunk named Jazzem, who was actually one of my traveling companions.

My other two traveling companions were my college roommate and still-best-friend Ellen and her then-boyfriend Russell. We met Russell and Jazzem in a very local, very townie bar in Allston. That’s another blog post entirely. But I will say that this bar, Riley’s Pub, was where I first learned of the “shitfaced pool player” phenomenon. I have vivid memories of Jazzem and Russell barely able to stand up straight yet running the table. But I digress.

I remember how ridiculously massive (and flat) Texas is. When you live in Boston, and can cross the entire state in just over two hours, Texas might as well be the surface of Jupiter. It goes on forever. I remember driving into a rainstorm, except that you could see it coming from a zillion miles away. But when it rained, well, we learned that everything really is bigger in Texas.

In any case, somewhere along the line, after Jazz wrote in our travel diary that “Hot Springs sucks,” we had to rent a car. But given our very limited means, and an “emergency only” credit card, we had to return the car to the airport in Austin. That’s where Ellen and I saw Dan Rather. We were probably pretty smelly and dirty, so I’m not sure he was nearly as amused as we were.

Eventually we ended up in the parking lot at Manor Downs without a car. So we spread out our blankets and hung out in our car-less spot. After that, my memory gets a bit fuzzy. I do remember a guy looking everywhere for his “pimphole,” which we didn’t understand and were very curious about. Until we learned that he was actually looking for his pit bull. Oh. North/South language barrier.

I remember hearing Jack Straw (leaving Texas, 4^th day of July …), but don’t remember much else. I also knew that I couldn’t go back to Boston the way I came (sort of like Dorothy). After the show, I walked around asking for a ride to the airport. My plan was to camp there overnight and figure out a flight home in the morning. I think even my mother would have agreed that this constituted an “emergency” use of her credit card.

But something pretty cool happened. A young girl, a student at UT I think, offered me her couch for the night. I was a strange, young hippie girl who was probably pretty unkempt by that point. But she let me stay overnight in her air conditioned apartment (priceless … remember this was Texas in July), where she let me (probably urged me to) take a shower. She seemed more entertained and amused by this strange, “Yankee” hippie girl than anything. And I was just thankful for her hospitality.

So the next morning, I called the airline, and after trying to clarify “Austin to Boston” about 10 times (Austin to Austin ma’am? No. Austin to Boston), I was ready to roll.

My young hostess wasn’t into the Dead, and probably just went to the show out of curiosity, but I’ll never forget her act of kindness.

A lifetime or two has passed since then. This time, my traveling companion is my 23-year-old daughter, who is not much older than the young girl I met in Texas. We’ll be creating new memories of what I hope will be an incredible experience in Chicago. I hope to see you all there. Peace.

-Meri (rhymes with Jerry)

Are You Kind?

After all the hype, hand-wringing, and hullabaloo, I can’t believe the Chicago shows are less than one month away. Good luck if you’re trying to score tickets today! But as think back to some Facebook comments and a new comment received here just this morning, I can’t help but feel like Rodney King when I say, “Can’t we all just get along?”

There are Trey haters. Phish-lovers haters. Haters of us old Deadheads and haters of young Deadheads. Personally, I think the haters are just generally misguided. I know in my heart that true Deadheads, of any age, aren’t haters of any kind. Do I wish Jerry was still around? Of course. I know the younger Heads wish they could have seen him, and for good reason. But it wasn’t meant to be.

But instead of name-calling and nastiness, how great would it be if the younger Heads didn’t disparage the older Heads for talking about our experiences, and the older folks were loving and accepting of younger Heads, even if they never saw the actual Grateful Dead. I’m hopeful that it can be done.

In addition to the music, and my 23-year-old daughter, this community keeps me going.  I know that true Deadheads are generous of spirit and soul (and various consumables), and they rise above the noise. True Deadheads are respectful, which is why it’s so disheartening to read some of the hateful things some younger Deadheads have written to me. I will never publish them, as I won’t be a forum for haters. Disagree all you want, but do so respectfully. [and yes … I know they’re younger when they call me old. Us older folks know better than to call anyone old!]

Nobody needs to justify or quantify their love for the Dead. But what each of needs to do is follow one simple rule: be kind. That’s pretty much the price of admission to this large, disparate, crazy community.

If you’re headed to Chicago, I hope it’s in the spirit of our Deadhead foremothers and forefathers. They created something real, something different, and something extraordinary that was born from the music but soars high above it as well.

Until next time, I’ll be searching for the sound.

-Meri (rhymes with Jerry)