Making music, just like that

Thursday, April 20, 2006

I spent much of Sunday afternoon busking downtown. For a while, I sang, played, and talked with this middle-aged black guy who is a cook at Miller’s Grill and Bar. He was wistful about the days when he was in a Motown band in Hawaii. (“I made 1000 bucks a week. Lived in Hawaii. Now I’m 52…. I was the best trumpet player around.”) Then, he said he got too hard into drugs and messed up his life. He hurt his hand in a fight, so he can’t play, but he still plays keyboard by looping one hand playing so he can have two hands going. He still sings, too. He bought me a lemonade and repeated all this stuff over and over. I had fun with him at first, but after awhile, I got tired of his talking and wanting to sing songs with me that I didn’t know and had to try to pick out. We sang "My Girl" a few times.... He'd give a toothy grin, turn his face to the sky, and belt out in a rich voice, "I've got sunshiiiiiiine..... No, no, no, the guitar goes DUM, da, dum, dum, da, dum! Yeah! You got it.... I've got sunshiiiiine.... No, you forgot that guitar part... yeah, that... on a cloudy day...."

I didn’t make any money while he was there. But, I also began to feel good. Well, after all, it was a compliment that another musician wanted to share music with me, and he was obviously talented, even as a lonely, middle-aged man. So, I sipped my lemonade and let him raise my spirits as I was raising his, singing back, "Talking 'bout my girl." "Yeah!" he encouraged, and his eyes sparkled. That's how music's made, anyhow, just like that.

Rainy season thoughts

This entry was written before I got ahold of a paper that told me about the invasion and fall of Baghdad that was happening as I wrote, but its timeliness is impressive.

Sunday, March 23, 2003 in El Taxin, Mexico

I think the rainy season started this weekend, as did spring, in theory. Spring (in theory) starts everywhere in the Northern Hemisphere on the twenty-first of March, when actually the weather stays pretty much the same as on the twentieth. But, I don’t think a date was ever set for the rainy season of the tropics. You know when it’s here. Not that it was totally dry before. But now, it actually rains some. Before, it was this awful stuff called chipi-chipi, which is mist rain that just stays and stays. Rain is highly preferable to chipi-chipi because you get the wonderful comforting sound of droplets hitting your roof, immediately underscoring the fact that you are warm, dry, and safe. And even if you’re outside, you hear the drops on the pavement, the puddles, your rainjacket, your umbrella, the roofs, which all make a sort of lively music. Rain is lively. Chipi-chipi is gloomy. Not that chipi-chipi goes away in the rainy season. No. It’s usually there when it’s not rainy (for instance, now).

Earlier this weekend, it was less welcome when I was camping. I’ve camped in rain; it’s not so bad. But, when you’re in a leaky tent with a stupid person, it’s hell. Luckily, we were allowed to re-pitch the tent in the barn of the guy whose land we were camping on. The guy’s name was Carlos, a swell vaquero, who later helped us out of another messy situation when we returned to our tent in the middle of the night to find it invaded by ants for a crumblet of food my compañeros had mistakenly left there. Incidentally, they were entering and exiting through the holes Victor (our Mexican friend – or rather, Kayla’s.) had foolishly punched in the bottom of his own tent to drain it. Any dweeb-face knows this does not work. The entire weekend, I simply thought Victor was an idiot. I still do.

The worst thing about Mexican ants is they all bite. I have yet to encounter ones that don’t. I do not know the difference in evolutionary histories between the sweet, docile, harmless ants of North America and those of the tropics. I’ve no idea what benefits one for having stinging powers or not, or whether they’re just a separate gene pool altogether, but whatever it is, I wish the damn things didn’t bite here. And there are so many more here. But, to be fair, Mexico does have harvester ants, which I consider incredibly cool. And they generally do not invade houses and tents because they resourcefully grow their own damn food. They just trundle about in long lines carrying viper-green pieces of leaves three times their size. Amazing creatures....

I miss home. I want to feel American here, in the very best sense of the word. I’m not talking about the America that ruins small towns with Wal-marts and whose corporations fund the bombing of innocent Arabic peoples. No, I'm talking about American: the frontier, the land, the opportunity, the diversity, I dunno, Geez, loyalty to your buddies and using good sense, and, hell yes, independence. I guess I love it because I’m a classic American girl. And not in the 1950’s sitcom sense, nor the aforementioned power-mongering political machine sense. Being in Mexico, I’ve found a new love for my country and a new loathing for my government. It's amazing how few people in the rest of the world understand who an American really is.

On Yellow Mountain with Carol

An old journal entry--

Sunday, June 10, 2002

Around dusk, a cloud bank rolled in. The fog crept in through the valleys and crags first, and the bank followed behind. We watched as the cloud filled in below us. The breeze is pretty strong on the summit of Yellow Mountain, so eerie sheets and rags of fog came floating past us on top. The breeze soon turned to gusty, cold wind, and we were thankful for the fire. Eventually, the wind swept the fog away, and we could see all the stars clearly. I pointed out some astronomical things to Carol: the Big Dipper, North Star, Venus, Cassiopeia, Bootes, Hercules, and even a satellite bee-lining across the sky. There was no moon. I also explained some of the basics of astronomy – She knew nothing of it! – how the stars rise and set just like the sun and moon; that the North Star stays constant; that all the stars and constellations stay in the same order and formation. For some reason, she thought they changed and overlapped, since the stars are different distances from us. She was fascinated. I told her that constellations were different in different seasons because the Earth’s tilt is different, so it’s on different sides of the sun. If you really know your stars, you can tell the time by what constellation is overhead. She had never thought about it. To me, I had always thought this stuff was common knowledge.

When we went to bed, Carol had her sleeping bag, but all I had was a fleece blanket and the Therma-rest she’d lent me. I hadn't expected it to be cold; being from the coast, I'd never camped on a mountain summit before. I layered up, but I was still cold all night. I slept, but I don’t know how well I slept. I woke at dawn. The eastern sky was pink and gold, and the mountains were different shades of blue. I got up and made a meager fire with the little wood we had. It took all my effort to start it and then keep the blaze going. I blistered my thumb trying to light the kindling with Carol’s lighter, because my hands shook so badly. I ran all around picking up dry leaves and sticks to keep the flame going, at least until the sun was up enough to warm everything. Carol and I ate sandwiches and juice oranges for breakfast. Then, we broke camp. We hiked down but had to take a slightly different route than we’d taken to get up the mountain the day before, because we wanted to come out closer to the highway.

When we finally came out on Buck Creek Rd., we kept walking, hoping cars would come by that we could thumb a ride on. Few cars passed at first. The first place we came to was the dump, so we went in and asked this nice old man with a white beard and captain’s hat, who was sitting in an old orange armchair, if we could use the phone there. We tried the station but were informed that our two potential rides, Andy or Andrea, were not there. So, we kept going, singing songs from musicals in big boisterous voices. We started with songs from “Oklahoma”, such as “I’m Just a Girl Who Cain’t Say No” and “Many a New Day”, messing up the words and making funny voices. Eventually, a young, sweet-looking woman in a red truck passed us a few times and then picked us up, saying she could take us to the end of the road to the main highway. We rode in the back and then hopped out. On Rt. 64, there were plenty of cars going by, and we didn’t have to walk far before a man with his old dad picked us up in a green minivan. He was going into Highlands and gladly took us to the station. He was a nice guy, from Florida, a math teacher nearing retirement.

Neither of us had hitchhiked before, so it was very exciting. We decided that hitchhiking renewed our faith in mankind, since we got such nice rides so quickly. But, as Carol put it, “I still wouldn’t want to test my faith in mankind too often, but it is nice to have it renewed.”

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Bobby and I went to the Newport Agricultural Fair yesterday. It was an old-fashioned country fair, with contests for the biggest vegetable and all.

We met this taxidermist who had his work on display. Bobby builds banjos, and is in the midst of building one for a friend, so he wanted to find a thin skin to use to make the banjo. He’s ordered calf skin but wanted to check out more local options. He walked in to ask the guy about skins. I think the taxidermist said his name was John, or maybe Bill. He had only the pinky and ring fingers on his right hand. As he talked, he would flick them out to the side in a sort of nervous gesture, and then rest his face sideways on his hand and stare at you. After we’d expressed interest in his work and Bobby talked to him about buckskins (which Bobby said were too thick), he began asking us about all his pieces:

“See that bear?”

We assented.

“Does it look real?”

“Well, yeah, I’d say it does,” said Bobby congenially.

“That’s a new mouthpiece in there I’m using. It’s great work. You put it in there. I had to paint it, though, all the details. The mouth looks real?”

We nodded, staring at the wide snarling mouth of the bear in what we hoped looked like admiration. John or Bill flicked his two right-hand fingers toward two skinny bobcats on display on the wall and turned is head to the side. “See those two bobcats?” he asked, speaking to me.

“Yeah…,” I said.

“Do they look real?”

“Um, yep. They sure do.”

“Them rocks look real?”

“Oh yeah, yeah. They look…really real.”

John or Bill looked very pleased with himself. We entertained a quick conversation about the variation in the coat color of coyotes as we eased towards the door. As we neared the escape route, John or Bill bounded across the room and shook our hands, suggesting we return around 2 or 3 to see him mount a new buck. We finished the exiting formalities.

As we walked down the hallway of the old school, Bobby said, "Did that guy creep you out, or was it just me?"

"Yeah... yeah, he did."

"Well, he is a taxidermist..." Bobby observed.

We made our way out to the truck and left the fairgrounds behind.

Creepy

May 2006, Totsukawa, Japan

“Let’s go this way – maybe we’ll see something,” Lauren said, as she veered suddenly right onto a dark little road up the mountainside. “Maybe some tanukis – I’ve seen them here before.”

“Or a monkey?” Katie said hopefully.

“Mmmm, I don’t think they come out at night,” Lauren answered. The little car rounded a curve, and everyone strained their eyes as the beams of the headlights illuminated the curve and the forest on either side. “I’m always afraid to go up here by myself,” said Lauren, “but I know there’s a good view of the village, and the animals come out on warm nights like this.”

“Why are you afraid to go up here by yourself?” Hayden asked.

“Well, I mean, you never know what could happen. My car could break down or I could get a flat, and then I’d be stuck and have to figure out what to do.”

“You should learn how to change your tires,” Hayden commented.

“I know…,” she paused. “Besides, it’s a little creepy.”

“Creepy? It’s not scary. What could possibly happen? You’re safer here than in the city.”

“I know, but when you’re out here in the dark alone, you don’t think like that. It’s scary. You can’t see anything. Besides, it’s not much fun if no one’s with you.”

“Do you have a flashlight?” Katie asked in sudden alarm.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Good.” She settled back in her seat.

The car had reached the cusp of the mountain, engine whirring. The road began winding around in descent.

“Look!” Katie cried. A hare bounded out in front of the headlights. “A bunny.” They all felt rewarded for witnessing the rabbit. Probably no one else was going to see that rabbit tonight.

“I know there’s a view coming up around here somewhere…,” Lauren said. She stopped the car abruptly and turned off the engine and lights. Everything was suddenly black, so that Katie couldn’t even see Lauren in the driver’s seat next to her.

“Why’d we stop here?” Katie said uncertainly.

“I thought maybe we could see the village from here,” Lauren said and hopped out. Hayden followed suit without a word.

“But there’s trees all along here,” Katie said, as she opened the door a crack.

“Geez, I can’t see a thing,” Lauren called.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Katie urged. “There’s no view here.”

As she and Hayden climbed back in the car, Lauren said, “Wow, that was crazy. I had no idea it would be so completely pitch black when I turned off the car.”

“There’s no stars out,” Katie observed. “It started clouding up late this afternoon….”

A silence descended upon them. The invasion of the dark into their bubble had unsettled them with an uneasy watchfulness. Lauren started the car and pulled out around the next bend.

Lauren gasped. Something was running along the side of the headlights, just in shadow. Before anyone could get a better look, it turned and dashed into the forest.

“What was that?”

“A rabbit, maybe….”

“No, I don’t think it was. Did you see its fur? It was much too dark for a rabbit. It must’ve been something else.”

“Well, there’s only a handful of mammals in Japan, and I can’t think of what else it could be,” Lauren declared.

They sat in silence again, staring at the blackness out the side windows. They wheeled around another bend.

“Hey!” Lauren pointed with quick, sharp, excited thrusts as another animal scurried across the road, heading up a trail. “I think it’s a monkey!”

“A monkey?! Really??” They all watched as the forest swallowed the animal.

“No! It’s a tanuki.”

“That’s no tanuki – look at its tail.”

“Looks like a tanuki tail to me.”

“It’s too long. And not bushy enough.”

“Well, it looks like the tanuki tails I’ve seen. I don’t think it was a monkey.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a monkey,” Lauren consented.

As they rounded another bend, the trees to the left opened up, and the village lights were spread out across the valley below them.

“Wow….” Katie breathed. “There’s the view.”

They all turned their attention to the left, as the village lights blinked on and off as they passed openings in the trees. Katie glanced forward as they rounded the next bend.

“Oh! Someone hit an animal,” she said, staring ahead at what appeared to be a lump of roadkill illuminated by their headlights. “What is it?”

Lauren slowed the car as they approached it, the headlight beams glaring, spotlighting the thing. Sympathy, then horror, grew as they drew closer. “That’s…not an animal.” Lauren stopped the car right in front of it, letting the engine idle. They sat, shocked and uncertain, gaping at the lump. It was about the size of a small cat, maybe, but it was wrapped in a blanket. Some dark liquid oozed from the middle, leaving a dark streak as it drained downhill.

“Oh my god,” said Katie. “Do you think it’s a pet?”

“Maybe someone threw it out – tried to kill it.”

The blanket around the thing signified some sort of eerie human intervention in this wild, solitary place. They sat silent again, not wanting to leave it but afraid of what they might find.

“Okay,” Lauren said, growing impatient. “Who’s going to get out and see what it is. I’m not…. Hayden, I vote for you. You’re the one who likes to be creepy.”

“Yeah, I vote for Hayden, too,” Katie piped in.

Hayden cleared his throat. “Okay.” He stepped out of the car and approached cautiously, craning his neck forward. He bent over, reaching his hand out gingerly. Suddenly, Hayden screamed, the thing in his hand. He held it up as he turned around – a floppy, wet brown cushion – a grin across his face. He returned to the car, and they drove down to the main road, hearts racing.