KALILILY TIME -- AGEISM -- BLESSED RAIN -- EXIT 9

"Kalilily Time" by Elaine -- a writer/blogger/poet of interest who has been in the blogosphere since blogging's beginnings -- read the "Who" and "Why" by clicking on her blog above.   Like many of us life has resulted in her needing to take a hiatus from time to time and I've missed her when that has occurred, so let's welcome Elaine back!  

Elaine's poetry has appeared in numerous publications.   She also wrote some very interesting blog posts which she has resumed doing in the past few days.  An excerpt from one of her recent blog posts says: 

"...I've been trying to track down other bloggers around my age to see if we can develop into a virtual community of kindred spirits.   That's what I had back in the 2000s, and I miss the virtual camaraderie."

I think you may want to pay her a visit to welcome her back by clicking on her blog above at her web URL:  http://www.kalilily.net/

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I've had a rude awakening, or in the vernacular of today, I'm woke.  I discovered I may actually be ageist when I wrote to my adult children a description of my experience when I recently attended an afternoon outdoor jazz concert.  I referred to some other people there with descriptive words well beyond saying they were old, which, of course, I am, too, so I'll omit any of that ageist language which might be seen as offensive.  

The concert afternoon stayed hot in the mid to low 90s as I sat in my car in the parking lot right next to the concert area patio of the Japanese restaurant, with all of my car windows down.  I turned the A/C on briefly only once since I didn't want to run down my battery during those hours and my gas was rather low.  

I digress ..... but I haven't filled my gas tank, expecting rates will go down from the $4.40+ per gallon.  Now I learn that's not likely to happen any time soon and the price could go up -- to $5 or more!  Clearly, I better fill up my car's gas tank soon.

No doubt you've heard we've had a big oil leak off our Pacific Coast originating in the Long Beach area, with the oil slick moving southward, possibly to San Diego, adversely affecting the environment -- ocean life creatures including sea lions and otters, dolphins, fish, birds covered in oil though only a few needing rescuing so far, wetlands damage, pollution of numerous beaches.

Early aid to mitigate some of the potential problems has helped the total damage be less to date than had been expected.  The cause is presently thought to be a ship's 's anchor dragging and ripping open the oil pipeline, possibly occurring as long ago as a year earlier, but the definite cause is yet to be determined.  I expect the oil companies might cite that as another excuse for our high gas prices.  When will offshore oil drilling everywhere permanently cease?

Back to the concert ..... I enjoyed the young Exit 9 trio (note: current YouTube musical group videos with this name are not this group) who played classic mellow jazz standards including a favorite of mine, "On Green Dolphin Street", plus a few pop songs through the decades, other newer tunes, also easy listening compositions some call smooth jazz.The Exit 9 trio consisted of a keyboard, guitar and drums.  A duo of guitars played one short segment.  I hope this group is invited to return each month as I told them.   The next week's performing group, ZZAJ, is a longtime favorite of mine about which I've written HERE before.

Here are two different versions of "On Green Dolphin Street",  one with noted Pianist Peter Nero with orchestra, the other with the Latin beat of talented musician Sergio Mendes.

Peter Nero -- The Unforgettable  -- Sheet Music & mp3 - Okmusix 

Sergio Mendes -- Moderno - Milestones Records 

Continuing the now-edited-to-remove-ageist-attitude-wordings report of my experience ..... I had a pretty good view of the Exit 9 jazz trio, could hear the music fine, but sometimes people on the patio moving to seek shade, as the sun crossed the sky, would block part of my view.  There was only a low wall and greenery between them and me, but, irritatingly to me, some seated at the back of the patio closest to my car parked headed-in next to them in the parking lot, paid no consideration at all to my presence behind them they had to have seen.  They were inconsiderate, unlike those sitting on the patio in front of them were for them, so they could see.  

I wrote disparaging descriptions later to my children of the old man, and an old woman there who chatted with him as the concert wore on.  My negative attitude toward them was obviously colored by the fact they kept interfering with my view.  I didn't want to toot my car's horn, but I sure felt like doing so several times.

In my message to my kids, I groused about the guy's appearance and ponytail, was rather snide about her appearance in a backless, very very short sundress that I'm more accustomed to seeing on a much younger woman.  Actually, she was very smart, definitely, including her big red hat, and wisely dressed for the extremely hot afternoon of well over 90 degree temperatures.  Comfort and safety from heat stroke is the name of the game.  They were both quite respectable representatives of their 60s generation.

People mostly sat some distance apart with less casual interaction than pre-pandemic days.  Nobody wore a mask, but I had one at the ready in my car, especially since the decrease in Covid infections had instead gone up in both the public and our schools -- attributed to the unvaccinated, of course!

There's usually a pretty friendly group at these free jazz concerts -- a few folks came together, but a number of both sexes came and left alone.  Strangers talked with one another between tunes and during breaks.  I do recall one individual years ago who was married, apparently lived on my street, though I had never known of him or his family.  Some in the musical group seemed to know him, or maybe he had just been showing up for their concerts before I started attending after my husband died.  

The man was a big talker everybody could hear with his comments between sets directed toward varying musicians, sometimes naming an instrument he said he played.  At one point, he spoke disparagingly of marriage with broad statements, then intimating he would welcome meeting someone he could rendezvous with in a nearby town.  

Later that afternoon after that statement he called me over, then started talking quite confidentially, but didn't make much sense.  He finally gave me a weak excuse for this talk in his one-sided conversation of having a toe problem that didn't sound like much of one to me but suggesting I might want to examine him.  I don't know what he had in mind since he wasn't removing his shoe and sock to show me, though I wouldn't have looked anyway.  Did he really want medial advice from me -- there, in front of others?

I nicely explained to him his toe was quite out of my area of expertise since, I stressed to him, I was a Speech-Language Pathologist -- we weren't exactly trained in toe rehabilitation.  I walked away and we never talked again.   I shared that conversation, laughing it all away, with the vocalist with whom I had become friends.  He never showed up at the concerts again, at least when I was there.  I think he and his family eventually may have moved away to that town he mentioned.

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I'm in disbelief -- we actually received about one-tenth of an inch of rain here in my SoCal foothills!  Furthermore, we may get a dribble or drop more later.  This will hardly matter much to alleviate our drought, but "every little bit helps", as the saying goes.  Mammoth Mountain even had snow -- a ski area, driving time approximately 5 hours from Los Angeles, 3 hours south of Reno, Nevada.  Our temperatures have dropped considerably and finally begin to feel like fall.

Are the seasons noticeably changing where you live?  Do you listen to your favorite music to influence your mood for weathering the vagaries of life, including pandemic confinement or isolation, to distract from or escape pain, or perhaps loneliness due to other reasons?

SIGNIFICANT LIVES

I just came back from a place I frequently visit, Old Horsetail Snake, whenever I feel the need for a guaranteed laugh. He's been doing some remodeling over there, and darned if his blog isn't taking on a really classy look. As always, plenty to laugh and think about. I'd been intending to add a really humorous blog to my blogroll for some time, so I just figured, why wait? I'm gonna add that blog right now.



Influence of others occurs throughout our lives upon reflection...
here are a few from my youth.


There are people who make a difference in our lives at every age throughout our lifetime. Some we remember quite vividly. I strongly believe that we have some slight impact on just about everyone with whom we come in contact and they us.

I thought I'd take the time one of these days to list all the people I've met and recall as having made a difference in my life. Perhaps, given my belief about how we all impact each other in minor to major ways, an abbreviated list might be in order, in which I would simply include those who had the most profound impact on my life. Actually, as I think about important others, at any given time an individual might be having a significant impact, but then in the scheme of a whole life, the impact could ultimately become much less significant. I could not possibly list everyone who comes to mind. I do want to mention a few here from that well-known group called teachers, who dedicate their lives to trying to make a difference in the lives of others. They are generally quite successful in doing so, though they may not always know they have been, or receive the acknowledgement and recognition to which they are entitled.

Certainly, my life was impacted by teachers I encountered at various life stages. Some, I would say, even most teachers, were a very positive influence, but as with any group, there are always those few who, however unintentionally, are otherwise. I prefer to think of the more positive ones, those whose expectations and efforts to expose their students, including me, to new ideas, experiences and expression of thoughts come readily to mind.

Regrettably, I don't recall ever having an opportunity to express my appreciation to far too many people, including some of these teachers, who have crossed my path in a meaningful positive manner. For some, what would I say? I recall in the fifth grade Miss Barroway asking me one day, to take over from her reading the spelling words to the class. I felt very surprised and proud to have been selected, especially considering not too many days before that, I had received several whacks on the knuckles of each hand from a wooden ruler wielded unmercifully by her. I had been caught writing a note to my boy friend, Dwight.

I also had quite mixed feelings as to why I was being asked to stand before the class and read these spelling words, since I had been observing her closely when she had begun reading from the word list, and I knew something was wrong. I was distracted seeing the throbbing, blood flow pulsating in her neck's left artery that looked most unusual to me. I walked to the front of the class, began slowly reading one spelling word at a time as she left the room. Later our principal, Miss Broome, told us our teacher had a heart attack. After some days had passed, I learned she was safely recovering. The knuckle whacks she gave me were extremely painful and potentially injurious. They would not be tolerated today. On the other hand, my being selected to read the spelling words suggested to me I did have some redeeming qualities in her eyes.

What a contrast with a college instructor I had, with whom I exchanged annual holiday greeting letters each year as long as she was able, well into her nineties. Just before she finally had to relinquish living in the home she had shared first with her parents and then by herself, I indulged what I thought to be a selfish pleasure, when over some period of time, the impulse to do so simply would not go away -- I phoned Miss Harton. I kept remembering with pride for her that a few years earlier, a brand new theatre complex was built on campus which bore her name.

This call and the conversation which ensued turned out to be more than welcomed by her. I told her the reason for my call was simply to thank her for all she had contributed to my life. I described her now incidental actions which had so affected my life then, how I had been influenced, how she had been on the cutting edge of innovation with a new idea she brought us following her summer leave to work on her master's degree out of state. She responded that in all of her years of teaching there were individual students that stood out in her mind, but she had never had so many at one time as in our particular group of six, a small part of a much larger class. Our conversation ended with her saying to me, "You've made my day!" I could only respond, "You didn't just make my day, you made my life."

Another one of the individuals I so wanted to thank had departed this life by the time I made an effort many years ago to locate her. Mrs. Eastburn was without question the best teacher I had in high school, who truly made an effort to prepare each of us for life, death and especially to attend college for any of us who might so aspire. She was demanding of us, not without humor, but with high expectations for our performance in her English class. I'm sure our writing efforts must have contributed to humor in her life, too, such as can be read HERE.


She went to great lengths to make arrangements for us to travel from our suburban rural setting school into the nearby city to see Lawrence Oliver in a special showing re-release of the 1948 black and white movie Hamlet which he directed long before he was knighted "Sir Lawrence." We had been reading some of Shakespeare's works in class. I was young and impressionable as Shakespeare's words penetrated the stillness of the darkened theater auditorium, coming alive for me as I viewed the movie. I became unabashedly enamoured with Shakespeare, "Hamlet," Lawrence Oliver, acting. My love of language was reinforced.

Mrs. Eastburn also required us to read, explain, memorize, and recite the last verse of William Cullen Bryant's poem "Thanatopsis." We even had to write a paper about the value of memorization. There were many plays with memorable lines as a student/amateur, in which I have acted, directed, or judged. They included high school's relatively unknown "Drums of Death," through obligatory one to three act perpetually performed college plays, a live local TV drama, and subsequent little theatre productions in which memorization has been crucial.

In college there was "Don Juan In Hell" inviting the audience upon their entrance to "Give up all hope, ye who enter here" (here and here) in which our cast's production included our soon-to-be Dean of Students, the son of a well-known actor of his time, Guy Kibbee. Then there were Portia's often repeated Shakespearean lines from The Merchant of Venice: "The quality of mercy is not strain'd, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath..."

All these words, but through the years those that periodically always come to mind are in the last verse of the one repeated here in tribute to Mrs. Eastburn. The thoughts expressed in this poem's verse contributed to the formulation of my perception of death. I believe our culture could benefit immensely by more freely embracing comfortable discussion of death throughout our lifetimes without avoidance of the topic, becoming afraid, or resorting to denial, but instead accepting that, indeed, life and death are parts of a connected circle. Whenever, at whatever age dying becomes our life experience, we will have long since made our preparation by embracing these words:

"So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. "

Thanatopsis by William Cullen Bryant 1794-1878