Self-serve Peace

Today is the International Day of Peace. If only every day were Peace Day. So, what are you going to do to be peaceful today?

I'm thinking that trust and respect are pretty reliable cornerstones upon which to build a peace-filled world. I discussed respect today with a hundred-or-so school kids from Spring Green, Wisconsin, and I asked for three examples of ways they can be respectful and promote peace.

"Do your homework," said a fourth-grader. And the other kids agreed that this would create some peace with teachers, parents, and themselves, because they just might learn something.

The next mischievous-looking kid said, "Don't chuck rocks at birds." Pretty much all were in support of refraining from chucking rocks at people, animals, windows, moving vehicles, (or anything for that matter) as a decent move towards respect.

The last suggestion was from a kindergartener who simply said, "Type." After a bit of cross-examination she came out with, "Like on a computer." And the group decided that typing a letter to your grandma or typing a love note was a pretty good way to promote peace.

So we just need to round out these great suggestions for respect with an example of trust. And I found one -- a particularly impressive exercise in trust at a small farm on a gorgeous country road on the outskirts of Cumberland, WI.

















Hustad's Sugar Bush makes and sells 100% maple syrup. They've got a little gift shop right there on their property east of town. But when the Hustads aren't around, they have a self-serve window where you can grab some bottles or jugs of syrup and leave your check or cash.

I love this kind of trust. Just pull what you need off of the shelf and put your money in a slot in the wood. And, if you need it, there's a little plastic container with some one-dollar bills and some coins where you can make change.

I'm guessing that for the few times they've been ripped off, the Hustads have made up for it by the stream of customers who have left extra money just because they were impressed that they were shown respect enough to be trusted.

Wouldn't we all be better off with this kind of trust? I'm a strong believer that if you live a life of trust, you rarely -- if ever -- get burned. And even if you do, you can rest knowing that what goes around, comes around. Call it karma, call it what you will.

If only we all had the peace of mind and the trust of a Hustad.

Stinky Feet Ice Cream...Mmmmm...

Mr. Stinky Feet has now been immortalized as a creamy frozen confection. I feel like I've officially "made it." The generous and creative folks at eCreamery in Omaha have made, not one, but two flavors of ice cream in my honor. Who wudda thunk?

The Hiccups and I performed at Dundee Day in Omaha last weekend. Dundee is a groovy historic neighborhood in Nebraska's largest city -- lots of beautiful old homes and cool shops. It's a great fest and we had beautiful weather. Many thanks to the folks at Dundee Bank for sponsoring our show.

To top it all off, Abby and Becky at the boutique ice cream parlor eCreamery (on the corner of 50th and Underwood) decided to honor our appearance by offering "Ooey Gooey Stinky Feet" as their special flavor of the day. It's vanilla with swirls of gooey caramel and fudge. Then they sent me home with my very own pint of "Stinky Feet - Special Edition," which is a lemon sorbet with coconut shavings (non-dairy for my discerning constitution).

These ice cream goddesses do most of their business online at eCreamery.com. You've got to check out this site where you can design your very own custom flavor and have it packaged with a custom label and shipped to your favorite ice cream lover as a super-thoughtful gift. What a cool idea! They are sweet culinary geniuses.

With a name like "Stinky Feet", it's got to be tasty! Ask for it by name.

Bongo B: Keep on Drumming!

When Bongo Barry asked a crowd of a thousand people at the first Kansas City Jiggle Jam to start chanting the phrases "Charlie Parker plays jazz" and "Really great barbeque", I thought he was nuts. And he was nuts. That's why I loved him.

He was nuts about music. Nuts about people. And nuts about life. Bongo Barry could get anyone to sing or dance. He had the talent and the passion and, most important, the genuine love for his fellow humans.

Barry unexpectedly left his earthly body today to take on his next spiritual assignment. A shocking and devastating blow to all who love him, including the children's music family in Kansas City.

He was a truly beautiful, loving soul who included everyone in whatever he did. He was the only performer I know who would bring enough instruments to a show so everyone in the audience could participate. Really! He had tubs and tubs loaded with oodles of drums, egg shakers, and film canisters full of beans.

And here's a classic example of the whimsy and love he sprinkled on our world...He recently made a road trip to western Kansas for some shows. Along the way he stopped at highway rest areas and left behind colorful plastic percussion egg shakers with his name and website printed on them. This was no marketing ploy, it was another example of Barry sharing the gift of rhythm with the world. And that's what he did best...share. He gave and gave and gave of himself, always. Including his sweat. He perspired more than anyone I've ever met. After every show -- soaked to the bone. I'll miss those sweaty hugs.

And I'll miss seeing him at the winter solstice party leading the singing in his Santa hat -- the only Jewish Sufi I know who also celebrated Christmas and solstice. He celebrated it all. Imagine the drum circle forming in heaven right now! No doubt, Jerry Garcia is jammin' with him.

To you, my dear blessed Soul Brother, I send my love for a swift and rhythmic journey!

Are you rich?

Kids ask a ton of questions. That's one of the reasons I think they're so cool. It's part of their drive to quench their insatiable thirst for learning.

Today kicked off the school assembly season for me. And, as always, I look forward to the barrage of questions from curious little minds...

Is that your real name? Do your feet really stink? Why don't you just take a bath? Eeewwww...do you really have bugs in your basement? Are you telling the truth about that dinosaur dancing in his underwear? Have you met the president? Are you Miranda Cosgrove's dad? Are you famous?

Most of the time I just smile and nod vigorously like a well-oiled bobble-head. But there is one question that sends my noggin into overdrive every time I hear it...Are you rich?

Many kids assume that since I carry a guitar and have my name on some CDs that I must be rich. Anybody who has been interviewed on TV by the local weather personality has got to be famous.

"It depends on your definition of 'rich'," I tell them. "By my standards, I am very rich."

I do what I love, and I love what I do. I get up with my girls every morning and read them stories and cook them breakfast. I sometimes get to nap with them after lunch. I play for a living. I get to travel around this great country and sing with kids. I've got food in my belly and a roof over my head. My family is happy and healthy. I own an automobile that works and another that sometimes works. I pay taxes, and I had a dental appointment this year.

That may not sound very rich to some people, but it sounds pretty well-off to me.

(Here's an ironic aside... A financial planner has been hounding me for months to become his client. I finally agreed to meet with him, and once he found out how much money I make, he hasn't called me back! Now, that's rich.)

If I'm ever feeling down about money and or some perceived "lack", I just plug my seemingly meager salary into a world wealth calculator (check it out here -- you'll be amazed) to be reminded that I'm living like a king compared to most people on this planet. I'm among the richest 3 percent in the world, and I'm 55 times wealthier than a billion people.

Humbling indeed. Blessed indeed. I am livin' the dream.

Perspective on Life

Hug your loved ones tightly and often!

My veggie oil-powered Jetta died last week. Just wouldn't start. I've been very proud of that car and thrilled that I could drive to and from shows all over the Midwest and never pay for fuel. Perhaps my pride contributed to its demise.

The verdict is that it will cost about $2,000 to get it running again. That's after I put $2,500 into it last fall for a new tranny, a $1,000 a year earlier for a new timing belt, and about another $1,500 in various other ailments. Bottom line: I'm confident the universe will provide the money to fix it, but is it worth it? I could really use that money for new carpet in the basement, a real vacation, and Lyda's college fund.

This is a classic example of what my friend Kate would call a "Middle Class Drama." It goes like this:

If I were poor, I would have no car problems because I wouldn't have a car at all. And I would only dream of owning two. And if I were super "wealthy", also no car problems. I surely would own something other than a "clunker" or would simply buy a new one.

So, here I am in the middle. Blessed to have the means to own two cars (actually one, now, since the Jetta doesn't run -- which, oddly enough, makes it ineligible for "cash for clunkers.") And hog-tied because it'll take some creativity to pay to fix it.

While I'm wracking my brain trying to devise a solution and feeling sorry for myself and fretting whether or not I'll ever be able to afford college for my girls, life sends me a harsh and shocking reminder of my blessed existence.

Last Friday my former classmate Tom Murphy was killed instantly by a falling boulder that smashed through his windshield while he was driving home from a mountain vacation with his family. Bam -- just like that. No signs. No warnings. Nothing he could have done to avoid it. His wife Jenny was able to prevent further tragedy by grabbing the wheel with one hand and applying the brakes with the other to bring the car to a stop. I can only imagine the utter shock and horror.

Tom brought such great joy and laughter to this world. His unexpected death reminds me to pray for peace and healing for his family and to approach life like he did.

All of a sudden my car drama doesn't seem so serious. In fact, cars and other things of this world now seem rather trivial. I'm blessed beyond belief with a healthy, beautiful family, and a fulfilling career. I'm hugging my wife a bit tighter today and loving on my girls a bit more enthusiastically.

Oh, and I'm riding my bike to fetch groceries more often -- with a smile.

God. Love. Hate.

Pete Seeger's banjo

My apologies to the good people of Topeka, Kansas. You have been so good to me over the years, and today I'm choosing to give space to your (arguably) most nefarious and disturbed citizen.

The family and I recently visited Topeka for three truly moving performances. (See video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1C0x5JZg23M&feature=related) More than 1,300 people over the course of the day! During one of our breaks we drove down a street in the state's capitol and saw a banner that read, "God hates America."

The banner was lashed to a tall fence that surrounded some property. A "compound" you might call it, and a sure indication that behind it lurks anarchists. Why is it that those who live on the violent edges of society live in compounds? No doubt, to protect themselves from backlash to their hate-filled existence.

The property and the sign belong to Fred Phelps and his Westboro Baptist Church. Phelps is the self-proclaimed pastor and chief hater of America, Canada (all countries, really), US military personnel, homosexuals, Jews, non-whites, and, of course, Heath Ledger.

Now, I'm not sure what "god" his sign is referring to, but it isn't the God I know. God, by the very definition of "God," is incapable of hate. Love and hate simply can't co-exist -- one precludes the other. I'm pretty sure that God loves all the things that Phelps hates, and I'd bet God even loves Phelps.

So, here's what we do. We take a move from Pete Seeger's playbook and surround Phelps and other hate-mongers with love. Really. I know you'd rather inflict more painfully-satisfying things on him, but this is our best antidote to his kind of venom. A famous quote inscribed on the head of Seeger's banjo reads, "This machine surrounds hate and forces it to surrender." I love that.

Our four-year-old daughter Lyda reminded me of something so simple the other day. We were making wishes on something and she asked me what I wished. I said, "World peace." And she said, "We've already got peace, because we've got God."

She's right, as always. We've already got peace right here; we just have to choose it, use it, mobilize it, and surround the planet with it.

Now, get out there and spread some love!

Noah's Scar

Noah (far left) with his family, my girls, and me.

Before we head into the thick of our super-charged July (49 shows in 31 days), I really want to tell you about our friend Noah who we saw on our annual tour through New Mexico this year.

Noah is five, lives in Albuquerque, and has seen my show every year for the past four years. He was a bit concerned he might miss this year's show. His parents told me that when Noah found out when I was scheduled to play, he got very upset because it was a mere two weeks after his open-heart surgery. Yes, heart surgery! He was more concerned that his docs wouldn't let him come to the show than he was about his healing.

Well, he showed up in spirited form!

"Hey, Mr. Stinky Feet, look at this," he said lifting up his shirt. There was his souvenir "zipper" from his surgery, running from his belly to the space between his collar bones. And sitting atop that scarred torso was a proud beaming face. You should have seen that grin. And the scar! Impressive.

"Is it still sore?" I asked.

"Nah...well...just a little," he admitted. But you'd never know it because he was cruising and bopping along with the rest of the crowd.

Aren't kids flat out amazing? Just think if that had been you or me. We'd be moping around, complaining about how the pain meds weren't doing the job, and milking as much sympathy as possible.

Kids don't have time for that. They're on to more important things, like singing and dancing, and...living.

Thanks for the reminder, Noah. You've got your priorities straight. Peace...