Left to my own devices

I've been missing my parents recently. Of course they are never too far from my heart, though I don't consciously miss them all the time. That changed recently when I was putting together a playlist of my favorite film scores. Anyone who knows me knows I love movies. Anyone who knows me even better knows that I am also enamored with certain film scores: the Cocoon movies, scored by James Horner; the brash, clashing music for Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (also scored by James Horner); the Star Wars films, composed of course by the great John Williams; many of the Bernard Herrmann collaborations with Alfred Hitchcock; the score for Cloud Atlas , by Tom Tykwer, Johnny Klimek and Reinhold Heil; and, of course, nearly anything by my favorite film composer, Jerry Goldsmith. Another maestro of movie music I quite enjoy the work of is the late, great John Barry. He is probably best known (or at least most heard) for scoring eleven James Bond movies from 1963 - 1987. He also arran...

Yesterday, during a back & forth professional e-mail chain, a business partner wrote: "Congratulations to your daughter on her acceptance to the university!" I stopped for a moment, taken aback at the obviously incorrect statement. Yours truly has never been in a position to father a child, dear reader, and so the laudation was, alas, misdirected. A couple of e-mails later, and all was sorted out. The person had meant to send the remarks to someone else. No harm, no foul. Afterward, I had turned the exchange into a minor story of mirth, regaling a couple of co-workers about it, and even posting it online to social media. Chuckle chuckle, there's no way Matt could have a daughter out there -- or could he? Ha ha, but no. Admittedly, I had a few seconds of slight panic at the thought of an offspring I was unaware of. The alarm was uncalled for, of course, which at the moment made it even more amusing. And then, as the day wore on, a rather surprising sen...

The late, great film critic Roger Ebert once noted (and I'm paraphrasing because I can't find the exact quote at the moment) that one of the benefits of relationships is that the other person acts as a sort of mirror to our lives. He was mostly referring to romantic couplings, though I think this can be expanded to encompass parents, friends and other platonic relationships. Indeed, sharing experiences with people helps create a collective memory, or sorts. These shared memories can help us bond, both in the moment and later on down the road, as the memories are recalled, hopefully fondly. What happens, however, when age and time begin to ravage the memory banks of our compatriots? Or, perhaps, ourselves? In reality, memory is often variable, and no two people will have exactly the same recollection of events. And yet, when one of those involved in the same situation begins to have no remembrance of it at all, then that is truly saddening. It is depressing for them, and...

An actor died recently, and his death was announced by his daughter on social media. To dabble in understatements, the daughter was quite distressed. Her actor-father was 86 when he died. My initial reaction to the overt display of emotion was to internally chide the woman. 'Your dad lived to be 86,' I thought. 'You got more time with him than a lot of other people have with their parents. Why the huge sadness?' Upon reflection, I realized I was being callous. It occurs to me that perhaps when we have had someone around the longest is when their death will impact us most? There is something to be said for becoming used to someone, to their presence, to their influence on your life. Of course, length of time may not always play the most important role. It's true that we can know a person a comparatively short amount of time and yet still mourn them dearly when they pass away.