Beauty for the Broken Hearts

I suffer from a lifelong weakness.  It never gets any better either.  My emotions---be they anger, sadness, joy, excitement, etc.---often operate at extremes.  

Seldom does moderation play a role in my reactions to situations at hand. 

Ironically, I'm a pretty moderate person when it comes to political attitudes or when reacting to the extremes that we see in this world.  

Teaching and journalism probably enhanced that approach to my life and my belief system.  

Fairness is a cornerstone for journalism.  As a teacher, I saw extremes in student behavior or appearance---often embracing them and subsequently gaining more perspectives from which to exercise my own opinions. 

I've learned over a lifetime that the good, the bad and the ugly comes in all packages, so it's helpful to keep an open mind----except for those occasions when the hackles immediately come to the surface. 

I figure gut instinct also can play a crucial a role in how we interact with humanity or lack thereof.  

Which brings me back to my extreme emotional meter. 

The meter arrow almost went off the charts yesterday when I watched the video below. 

Let me tell you about Jesse.  I met him back in the early 1990s when the Spokesman-Review still had an office and a full-time reporter along with a part-time aspiring feature writer.  

Dean Miller filled the role of the former, and I'm still aspiring.

Jesse carried a camera and a whole lot of big fat lenses, and I vividly recall that no hackles went up when first I met him.  Just the opposite:  what a pleasant, nice guy, I thought.

Well, the years have passed.  Dean Miller is now a college professor back in New York. Through many moons of strong aspirations, I've written a feature or two.

And, Jesse has amassed a fine reputation for his high-quality work as a photojournalist with the regional newspaper.  Plus, he, no doubt, has hundreds of friends in every port. 

I've always loved running into Jesse because I know a pleasant, upbeat conversation will ensue.

Saturday, he almost literally 'bumped' into me in the hallway at Sandpoint High School. You see I had my "rock star" canine named Foster with me.  

And, in a crowd, folks have to look down to see Foster.

That's precisely what Jesse was doing as he moved through a crowd of young people, all primed for the annual Lego competition, where kids use legos to design robots. 

Turns out Jesse's son was involved, but at the moment of our meeting, Foster had taken his attention.  

We talked Foster for a while and kids and Gonzaga games (GO ZAGS tonight vs West Virginia) and then went our separate ways---in my case, once again with a smile on my face, having visited with Jesse.

Well, yesterday I saw Jesse again, on Facebook, that is.  Instead of the extreme emotion of the excitement of seeing a good friend, my inner "total reverence for all talented musicians" drawer opened and shot to the top of the meter.   

I've watched this video no fewer than half a dozen times since yesterday.  I've agreed with Bill---who was downstairs listening when I turned the volume to the extreme---when he asked, "Is that Jesse?  He sure is good."

"Yes," I said, "I'll play it again."

The song ended.

"He sure is good," Bill, the former music major, repeated."

That's when I decided that others who might not be on Facebook needed to see and hear Jesse.  

I also thought of the sad events of the past couple of weeks where this community has grieved for the loss of two beautiful 19-year-olds---much beloved young ladies, friends and classmates----an ironic, inexplicable and devastating twist of fate.  

Somehow, I thought of them during my moments of listening to Jesse whose touching rendition certainly can make us visualize two beautiful angels spreading their wings and watching over all who feel their loss here on Earth.  

With that confluence of thoughts, my emotions soared.  

I hope Jesse's talent and the beauty of this much revered Christmas classic provides some soothing moments of solace or simply pure enjoyment.