Hello friends,
I’ll be doing my “Songs of My Spiritual Journey” online concert this Wednesday June 17, 8 PM EDT (5PM Pacific), from my new place.
They say, psychologists say, that geographical therapy doesn’t work. But I have recently moved from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I did this once before, moving to Eugene OR for a dozen years, before returning to the East again for the last couple of decades.
I’m now living at a community with swimming pools, exercise room and tennis (my one vice) courts. So, I have no excuse. I won’t be more specific to the public as I like to have a little inaccessibility and privacy. It’s quite beautiful here, with plants imported from every part of the globe, and there are palm trees. My desire to be on the ground floor, to make it easy to bring equipment in and out, means that I am now living under someone else.
At certain times of day my upstairs neighbor walks back and forth, heavy feet. I count, because I’m a musician, 11 pulses that resonate in the ceiling and walls: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11, and then a pause, then 11 back in the other direction, turning the corner into the kitchen or bedroom, then back again. The 12 (11 with a pause) could be 3 bars of 4/4, or 4 bars of 3/4.
This goes on to symphonic proportions, half an hour. At 8 in the morning, or in this case 3:30 in the afternoon as I write this. I imagine the person marching to headphone soundtrack, or ceremonial dance. Sometimes the pulse stops at 8, and a longer pause then 8 back. Sometimes there’s 13 and on rare occasions, 15 - a Greek dance with a beat for a kick in the air. I think of making a humorous note that tells this exerciser that I’m all supportive of exercise, and dance and marching for that matter. But my son Lou says do no such thing. It’s a part of living in an apartment. A Part of Apartment Life – sounds like a song title.
Moving, is a real distraction from life and brings all kinds of petty aggravations that keep one from getting any work done. (I’m getting to that). So, I’m writing this post in kind of a protest, I won’t be deterred from being creative. And that usually makes me feel better.
I’ve thought of this for a while, southern California and near but not in LA. And it was a long winter in Massachusetts. I concocted a tour that took me with my car across the country. Once in California I looked for a place to live and then had another tour of the Northwest. I must say, traveling around in the beauty of Oregon and Washington I wondered again why I wouldn’t just move back there. Oh yeah, not enough gigs - I lived there before. Living in Eugene back then, I began the regimen that I admit I still pursue, to get on a plane on a Friday, do several gigs somewhere, and fly home. Much better use of time than driving long road trips, you can accomplish much more at home.
My new home is comfortable, and I’m getting acclimated to the heat. But the truck that took all my stuff back in April, has disappeared. Yes, right, there’s “no record” and no one at Howard’s Van Lines can tell me anything. I wouldn’t mention their name, but what the hell. Doesn’t a national trucking company have a computer? More than two weeks ago, I was told the truck would arrive between 8 and 10 in the morning. Nothing happened. I called. No one knows anything.
Every day for more than two weeks, same thing. I’ve written emails to the boss, and have gotten nothing but an auto reply (why is everyone a robot now?). They use the word “visibility,” in that they have none. I’ve had conversations with the actual humans that I reach, saying “You’re a good person and I don’t need to be angry at you, but can you tell me, does this happen all the time or is this an anomaly?” I don’t think they know what “anomaly” is, but they say it’s been reported to the dispatcher, and the driver will contact me the day before delivery. I ask, “You’re looking at the computer, what does it say there” I get silence then the same memorized answer.
I have what I think is a great sense of humor (ask others) but this is a test of humorous creativity. The boss person will not likely appreciate my humor in the letters I’ve written. My attorney friend will tell me if she found the letter I just wrote amusing.
I’ve heard all my life about the sacrifices one makes to be an artist. Yeah, but… This is an amazing life of privilege I live. I don’t have much money saved or invested, but life is still giving me the reasons to do what I do. I am not dragged out of my car and deported. I am not beaten by police or killed by ICE. I can express myself and it is fulfilling that people tell me they are entertained.
Thank you for being my friends. I appreciate anyone who can afford to be a paying subscriber, but I cherish all subscribers, I’m grateful for your passing attention.
I’ll be playing a concert of songs from my spiritual side this Wednesday. the 17th of June at 8PM EDT (5 PM Pacific, my Dad’s birthday. I hope you can drop by. You can tune in at any of the following places:
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