Elvis Ate Dynamite

It was 37º Fahrenheit when we went for our morning walk today. I’m sitting in my office now, with the heat on, wearing a flannel shirt. It’s May 1st, and, in Chicago, this is not unusual. This is what passes for Spring.

Spring is an odd time of year for another reason. In my family, we go from the anniversary of my brother John’s death in early April to my late brother Tom’s birthday on May 1 to the anniversary of my father’s passing on May 4. It’s a season of loss.

I’ve mentioned before that Tom was a brilliant guitar player. He was the reason I picked up the guitar late in life, and while I’ll never have one-tenth of his talent, banging away on it makes me feel close to him. Playing music, as it turns out, is for everyone, not just the virtuosos among us. I think Tom would agree. Play because you love playing, not because you think you’re going to be the next Jimi Hendrix or Duane Allman (two of Tom’s favorites).

We lost Tom to lung cancer in 2009.

Every year on Tom’s birthday, I make a point of playing Steve Earle’s “Someday” on the guitar. As you might have guessed, I’m a big Steve Earle fan, and, yes, Tom is the one who introduced me to his music back in the mid 1980s.

“Someday” has always reminded me of Tom. Even though we grew up just outside Chicago, the song captures Tom’s restlessness and desire to, well … get out of town. At about age 18, he took off for the Pacific Northwest, then ended up in Georgia working at a filing station on the interstate, as the song says. Later in life, he moved to Nashville in the hopes of making it as a singer-songwriter.

But he ended up back here in the Chicago area, with a wife and daughter and a union job. I like to say he started out in a Steve Earle song and ended up in a Bruce Springsteen song. Which is not a bad progression, all things considered.

This year, maybe I’ll take a stab at playing “Someday” on the Irish bouzouki. I think he’d like that.

Miss you, brother.