But this one was different. Because the band is different. Neil Peart — widely acknowledged as one of the best drummers ever — passed away nearly seven years ago. The surviving members of the trio (Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson) had been recording and touring with Neil since 1974, and he had been their primary songwriter. Playing without him just didn’t seem right.
But Geddy and Alex are no spring chickens. And over time, they warmed up to the idea of touring again. After all, they wrote the music that went with Neil’s lyrics. And touring again would be a way to pay tribute to “The Professor” (as Neil was known – they got his family’s blessing) while also once again experiencing the joy of playing together and bringing their beloved music to the masses.
They recruited Anika Nilles to play drums with them. A gargantuan task – not only was Neil one of the best, but Rush’s music is complex.
And Rush’s fan base is notoriously — almost comically — heavily male.
Would a female drummer be welcomed into the fold, especially following in the footsteps of a legend?
So it was a different band that I saw last week.
And it also was different because two of my kids joined me at the show. Gabriel plays drums and is into rock. Leah has become an avid music listener, with wide-ranging tastes.
I loved the show! Because Anika was given a hero’s welcome… and crushed it on drums.
Because Geddy and Alex were all smiles.
Because they paid tribute to Neil, and to their original drummer John Rutsey.
Because after more than 50 years, they still rock!
Because it put me back in touch with my 16-year-old self.
The first concert I ever saw was Rush, back on April 14, 1981, at Barton Coliseum in Little Rock, Arkansas. It was during their Moving Pictures tour. (I spent my entire weekly Piggly Wiggly bagger salary on that t-shirt in the photo above… totally worth it!)
Last Friday, Rush played every song off that album. And tons more tunes to delight hardcore fans.
But what I loved most was the fact that my son and daughter also loved it.
WHEN WE ARE YOUNG WANDERING THE FACE OF THE EARTH WONDERING WHAT OUR DREAMS MIGHT BE WORTH LEARNING THAT WE’RE ONLY IMMORTAL — FOR A LIMITED TIME
It will come as a shock to absolutely no one who reads this blog (all three of you) that I love music. To be able to share that joy with my kids was magical.
Neil’s gone, but the music of Rush carries on.
Someday I’ll be gone, but my kids’ memories of the Rush concert will carry on.
Time stand still — I’m not looking back — But I want to look around me now See more of the people And the places that surround me now Freeze this moment A little bit longer Make each sensation A little bit stronger Experience slips away
Or for most of my life, anyway. Please allow me to explain.
In my recent Ride Cincinnati post, I shared a photo of my sneakers with some initials on them – LJ and CJ for my dearly departed friend John (a.k.a. “LJ” – college nicknames are hard to lose) and Carol Jean, the mom of my friends Lisa, Drew and Jimmy. And on my right sneaker, GJ for my mother-in-law Gloria Jean, and just an “O” for my mother, Olga.
As you can see, at the time I said my mom had no middle name. My older sister (one of three loyal readers) then sent me a text saying:
I don’t know if you knew mom’s middle name was Edith. I always thought it was unusual for an Italian.
Her text included a screenshot from Ancestry.com:
Before we unpack this mystery, let’s take a moment to savor that fuzzy photo. It’s my mom and dad on their wedding day… and the man in the background is my dad’s brother John, the Jesuit priest who married them. Happy times indeed back in 1960. October 15, 1960, to be exact.
First came love, then came marriage, then came a veritable conga line of babies in baby carriages*. Four kids in six years. OK, six years and 8 days, to be exact. And none of us were given middle names at birth.
*I’ve forgiven my older sister for breaking my leg in a baby carriage… that’s a tale for another day.
Then came leukemia. You can see the year of my mom’s passing listed in the Ancestry photo. 1968.
I was not quite four. Meaning I was not quite old enough to remember her. Try as I may.
Our dad, Herb, didn’t share a whole lot of stories about our mom. They were probably too painful to recall. But the story I remember (or mis-remember as the case may be) about why my siblings and I weren’t given middle names at birth is that because it was my mom’s call, and it was an Italian thing.
It’s a “tradition” that I held onto with our kids. No middle name at birth. To honor my deceased mom’s Italian heritage. Or so I believed.
Whereas my older sister thought we had no middle names because our last name was such a mouthful (11 letters, three syllables) that adding a middle name would be excessive. Which also makes total sense.
“Memory is a funny thing.”
I turned to the interwebs for help. The results were spotty, but there are some indications that the no-middle-name “tradition” in our family really was an Italian thing:
Clearly my mom had a middle name. But was it a birth name or a confirmation name? I have no idea. Heck, I didn’t even know my mom HAD a middle name until a couple of weeks ago. So I’ll probably never know the true reason why my siblings and I have no middle name. Most of the folks I could ask (my dad, Zia Rosetta, Uncle Remo…) are gone too.
Maybe it was Italian. Maybe it was our long last name. Or maybe both! Life’s a mystery, and this part of my life will be too.
I’m not trying to throw my own pity party. I’m just sharing this as a reminder that if you have parents who are still alive, be sure to capture their stories. And pass ‘em along to the next generation. So they won’t be living a lie. Potentially.
Fun fact from my research:
If my parents had adhered to that, my name would be Luigi!
I rode 30 miles in the Ride Cincinnati event on Saturday. Although according to my Garmin watch, it was only 28.72 miles. (I paused it at the turnaround, and didn’t restart it until I was underway on the return.)
Riding 30 miles on a glorious Saturday morning was the easy part. (Especially with police helping us through the tricky intersections before we hit Route 8 in Kentucky.)
But if you contributed to my fundraising efforts, that’s the tough part. When gas and grocery prices are sky high. When you have so many worthy causes asking you for your hard-earned dollars.
But together, WE did it. We helped fund cancer research, education and care. To the tune of $4540.
We make a great team.
And there were others like us. Riding. Donating. Cheering. It all adds up.
I put some initials on my shoes to help remind me of why I was riding. My dear friend LJ. Carol Jean, the mom of my friends Lisa and Drew. Gloria Jean, my mother-in-law. And my mom, Olga (no middle initial). All gone too soon. All no doubt approving of OUR efforts.
Editor’s note: Below is a slightly modified version of an email I sent out yesterday afternoon. Posting here in case any of my loyal readers (all three of them) weren’t on the distro list for the email… or in case anyone else stumbles across this post and decides to donate.
Writing is usually my happy place, but this is one I absolutely hate writing.
I hate it because I am asking you to donate to my Ride Cincinnati efforts when gas and grocery prices are taking a much bigger bite out of your wallet. Granted, raising funds for cancer research, education and care is a noble cause. But that’s of little solace when there’s “too much month at the end of the money” as the old country song goes.
I hate it because the reason behind the email is cancer, and cancer is pure evil. It has taken away people I love, and people you love. And other friends and family members are battling it right now.
And I dread it because it’s yet another painful reminder that my friend “LJ” is no longer with us. He was diagnosed with brain cancer in May of 2024. He fought the good fight. No one was braver. No one had a better attitude. But still, we lost him in November of last year.
I hate writing this, but I know in my heart I’ll wind up loving the outcome.
Because of your generosity – even in tough times.
Because it helps. Every damn dollar makes a difference.
Through our partnership with the Cincinnati Cancer Foundation (CCF), Ride Cincinnati fundraising supports local hospitals, nonprofits and community programs that are making a difference in the lives of cancer patients and their families.
And because it reminds me that life is beautiful, even when it’s way too short.
24 days from now, I’ll have had as many spins around this globe as LJ got (Lord willin’).
38 days from now, I’m going to spin my bike wheels for 30 miles (knees willin’), to pay tribute to LJ, and keep his memory alive, and to help other folks who are bravely battling cancer with his same strength and grace. What goes around, comes around.
Give if you can. No worries if you can’t. I still love you, and appreciate you.
Thanks!
LJ on the left, with his wife Patty, and our friends Sheila and Art, on a sunset cruise in Florida last fall. We knew it would probably be LJ’s last trip to the beach, a place he loved very much.
My wife’s cousin Kelly recently retired from teaching.
(That’s Kelly on the left, when she and Mrs. Dubbatrubba had a Ferris Bueller’s Day Off-style adventure recently.)
She spent 30+ years at Catholic grade schools in the D.C. area.
Over those three-plus decades, thousands of kids crossed paths with her. In the classroom. In the lunchroom. In the hallways. At the school plays, and the sporting events. At Sunday Mass too.
The lessons those kids learned from her didn’t always come from a textbook.
She taught them kindness, by showing up with a smile on her face, even on the tough days.
With her sense of humor, she taught them that learning can be fun.
By being attentive, she let them know they mattered.
By demanding their best effort, she inspired them.
Those lessons don’t stop when the kids move on. They carry them with them, wherever they go, for the rest of their lives.
Kelly’s out of the classroom, but her lessons are still going strong. What an amazing legacy!
“Tell me you have a golden retriever without telling me you have a golden retriever.”
Bibo is our official greeter at home. Doesn’t matter if you’ve been gone two weeks or two minutes. He’s always happy to see you. Or to meet you if you’re a stranger. Unfailingly friendly. Loving.
Kevin Sullivan on 43-3=1,001: “Reading while listening to Keith Jarrett, “Guess I’ll Hang Out My Tears To Dry”, good good stuff Damian, thanks.” Oct 3, 09:29
Thomas Kuhl on We did it!: “Well done! Good and Honorable man!” Sep 29, 01:29
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