Jitterbug, with The Munchkins

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July 28, 2023, Carson City– The cast was set to dancing and jumping about, in this version of the spell cast by a cheekier version of the Wicked Witch of the West. W3 did not feel like even hinting at opium being an acceptable diversion and so came the Jitterbug, whose weapon was getting everyone to dance until they dropped from exhaustion. The classic dance marathon, instead of deadly poison, was a tad more family friendly-but W3 still asked Scarecrow if he wanted to play ball.

“The Wizard of Oz” first came into my consciousness when I was about nine, and we started watching it, as a family, once a year. When I hit my mid-teens, the watch party shifted to a gathering of friends-still a time for laughs and feigned fright. Seeing that it has not lost its appeal is re-assuring. There is much that is not ersatz about our culture, and these are the totems that I hope will remain.

Children and teens are almost universally dear to my heart. One of the dearest was on stage as a Munchkin, her time under the klieg lights about five minutes of play time and a few minutes at the end. In our pre-play conversation, I re-assured her that this is how just about everything starts. The first jobs are almost always the equivalent of a small role, with few lines. It is approaching the task with aplomb, with the confidence that one is going to do the small stuff well and move up the ladder, to a place that is deserved, that makes the dream become reality.

So she did her small role well, being visible and audible from where I was sitting, with her grandmother, in the second row. Afterward, the three of us went to a fast food place and each got an orange cream shake. We talked of the importance of agency, which she has already stood for, as she described an incident in which she asked that officials remove a poster she finds offensive. She heard us say: “Good on you and keep standing for justice, even when-especially when, it’s hard.”

I will always stand beside her, her brother, cousins and any other young person who is looking at being hazed or subjected to injustice.

Floating and Flowing

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July 8, 2023- The young couple with whom I work on Saturday afternoons entered the Raven, as a mutual friend was playing the opening set for tonight’s joyful noise. Preferring the rooftop patio to the stage-side seating, they floated on upstairs, to enjoy their date night, while I went with the flow in the main room.

Life and friendships are like that now. Other than marriage and the parent-young child relationship, the strongest of bonds do not need constant physical presence, in order to thrive. It is actually a throwback to the days of my mid-to-late twenties, when many gatherings were of friends happy to just be doing their own things, and connecting as those activities naturally intertwined. Back then, though, I didn’t really understand, and often felt like I was on the outside, looking in. These days, it all makes more sense. I know I can count on friends, when they are needed-and vice versa.

Earlier to day, I covered for an old friend who was unable to host his weekly online group. Things started slowly, and yet as the hour continued, people floated in to the call. Some stayed, others were on for only a few minutes, while still others came in place of those who left. It was, all in all, an unpredictable, but delightful spiritual session.

My afternoon work, with the Farmers Market team, also started off with each of us doing separate tasks. Before too long, though, we were helping one another, coming up with more efficient ways that each work station could be completed. This makes two weeks in a row that the Market was closed up within ninety minutes of the vendors and patrons leaving.

At tonight’s concert, people floated between tables-and I found myself enjoying the company of the opening artist, and a few friends of the main artist, then sitting alone after they all left, just enjoying the rest of the performance. After a fashion, leaving the table, so that the band’s videographer could have the right vantage point to do his work, and taking a single seat by the piano, to take in the rest of the concert, worked just fine.

Going with the flow has actually made life a whole lot more joyful.

Intensity

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June 24, 2023- The day started in earnest, right around 8 a.m., with a quick visit to Farmer’s Market-stocking up on microgreens for the week and getting two bulbs of garlic and some flowers for a friend’s birthday dinner, later in the day. Running out of cash and tokens, I gave one bulb back to the farmer, then went back to HB, catching a half hour or so of the Celebration of Unity Zoom call.

Next, it was off to a Red Cross Blood Drive, where my role was to staff the registration table-checking people in and making sure they had completed all preliminaries, prior to their donation. This was a fairly busy five hours, and I felt successful and bushed at the end.

After changing clothes and leaving my Red Cross “uniform” at the apartment, it was off to a Farmer’s Market volunteer appreciation gathering, at a salubrious Willow Lake ramada. I was still a bit tired, heading up there, and briefly inconvenienced a tow truck driver, at an intersection. He got in his protest, and that was all. I do my level best, most of the time, on the road, but never will claim perfection. The gathering was exactly what I needed, after an intense work shift, and the company of young mothers and children afforded a unique and most essential take on our collective life.

Finally, after a run to Costco, to replenish the supply of flavoured water for upcoming gatherings of children and adolescents, it was time for the aforementioned birthday party. Four of us enjoyed fresh salad, vegan chili and fresh cherries, covering a wide range of topics in conversation. Wild animals in our midst, the right and responsibility of adults to conduct their own affairs and associating with people with whom we disagree were all covered amiably.

After the intensity of the day, I gladly relaxed at HB, viewing a light episode of a streamed program, then turned out the lights. Tomorrow could be just as intense, if I let it be. I think, though, that won’t be how it turns out.

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A Broken String

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May 27, 2023-Of course, it happened just as Rick was getting into an extended riff, for his last song of the evening: A string broke, on his electric guitar. With a shrug of his shoulders, the craftsman and artist took out a new string and replaced the errant interrupter, in less than two minutes. Then, he resumed playing a rendition of Eric Clapton’s “Old Love”, from where he had left off-no mean feat of memory. The Bluesman has a limited playlist, but it is surely larger than mine, since I don’t play anything other than a hand drum and a few chords on a piano. He never fails to entertain, this one-man band.

Last-minute events never fail to either aggravate or astonish. Certainly, the buzzer-beating shot by Derrick White, giving the Celtics the win in this evening’s NBA East Semifinals Game 6, will rate among the great turnarounds in professional sports history. Boston teams have done it before-the Red Sox, in 2004 and the Patriots, several times. It was actually the New York Yankees, Penny’s favourite team, who perfected the art of Last Minute Charlie-hood- often coming from behind, in the last half of the ninth inning, and more than once, with two outs.

Mickey Spillane, Al Capone and Dame Nelly Melba said it best, if in a politically-awkward, and in Dame Nelly’s case, self-deprecating, way: “The show’s not over until the fat lady sings”. Nothing is truly over until its last element has transpired. The lengthy tussle over the national debt ceiling is about to come to at least a two-year respite. Let’s hope there is no last-minute broken string.

Anna Mae

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May 24, 2023- Before Beyonce, before Rihanna, even before Aretha and Diana, there was Tina Turner. She transcended being treated, and mistreated, as a commodity by her first husband, then by Phil Spector, the latter at least acknowledging her particular vocal talent. She wore it and shook it off, keeping her stage name as a mark of survival.

Anna Mae Bullock was born to an indifferent mother and unsettled father, and frequently made to feel like an appendage. Her grandparents taught her Gospel music and a strong work ethic, which she exhibited throughout her musical and film career. She stuck with Ike Turner for nearly twenty years, until his addiction-fueled, abusive behaviour made her overcome any remaining loyalty or feeling like he had somehow “made” her career. Tina, she remained, and true to her vocal talents, she kept on performing, rejuvenating her career in the 1980s, a decade in which she said she “fit”. Tina Turner remarried, in 2013, finding happiness with her long-time friend and collaborator, Erwin Bach. That same year, she became a citizen of Switzerland, relinquishing her U.S. citizenship. Her last ten years of life were wracked by disease, tempered by her faith in the Divine and the love she shared with her husband.

Tina was the ultimate show artist,and while her view of her native land was harsh-so was much of the life she lived here. She made a grand contribution to American popular music, nonetheless, rejuvenating both her career and the entirety of the genre, at a time when both were in a low ebb. Tina Turner will remain in many hearts, for a long, long time.

The Balancing Dance

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May 10, 2023, Flagstaff- The little Amish girl looked at me, quizzically, and asked her mother why I was not watching “The Beverly Hillbillies”, like the rest of the people gathered in the train station waiting room. Her mother responded, “He probably sees that show for what it is-a farce that ridicules people like us.” With that, the family went outside and there they waited for the train, away from television-which the parents despised openly.

Truth be known, I have never been a fan of the insipid- “Dumb and Dumber” and its ilk. Shows that ridicule any group of people have a duty to bring the people in on the joke-or cease and desist. It is healthy to laugh at oneself, within reason. It is not healthy to be on the outside, watching the finger-pointing and hearing the snickers.

I’m told that the Trump “Town Hall”, sponsored by Cable News Network, this evening, was another clown fest. The audience made a spectacle of themselves, laughing almost on cue at the barbs and one-liners thrown out by their idol, in his usual staccato fashion. With that revelation, I had a more appreciative opinion of the station master’s decision to show situation comedies that were come by quite a bit more honestly.

The balance between fact and opinion seems more treacherously off, these days. It’s a dance, for sure, and one in which opinion, unfiltered, manages to stomp on the toes of fact, while gleefully yelling and looking towards its Greek chorus of misfits, knowing it can count on them to keep the party going full tilt.

The balance, if not brought to evenness, will end that sad party in a mass of delusion and dejection-as the Greek chorus, from CNN to OAN, realizes just how badly they have been duped-and like the Jacobins of late Eighteenth Century France. turn on their clown prince-and all that he represents.

The train to Los Angeles is leaving, and for the next few days, I will be going from one end of the Golden State to the other, observing the state of the street people (my term for the unhoused), the present condition of the Central Valley and of the snowpack in Sierra Nevada, I can see much, from the windows of buses and trains, and learn much. from talking with street people in places like Union Station or the tent encampments in downtown Sacramento and Stockton.

Eyes front, America.

Their Melodious Voices

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April 29, 2023- The five visitors from Tucson elevated our already high-level celebration of the Ninth Day of the Ridvan Festival, commemorating the day when Baha’u’llah proclaimed His Mission to His family and closest followers, whilst in the Ridvan Garden just north of Baghdad. This was on April 29, 1863. The family led us in two spiritual rounds, then were among the first to offer assistance, when a community member sent a texted appeal after her child was injured in an accident. Their presence alone was a confirmation of the Divine.

This was the first of two amazing musical events, the second being two hours and forty minutes of celestial bliss, courtesy of The Barn Swallows Band (so called, as to distinguish this ensemble of three woman and a man from the all-male group, The Barn Swallows.) The three-part harmony of the women, backed by their male bassist, has not failed to keep me, and their other two dozen or so followers, enthralled, in three appearances at Raven Cafe. They work as hard as I’ve seen any musicians work-taking turns in the lead, with their bandmates joining in vocally or instrumentally, in each and every song. Here, Aurelia sings lead, with Jessica backing vocally and May on banjo. Still have not caught the name of their silent bass player, whose melodies are nonetheless central to the effect of their harmonious vocals and instrumentation.

These ladies are among a multitude of young women who I would gladly claim as daughters, or nieces. (It seems, as the years go by, that Aram, Yunhee and my nieces and nephews are gaining more siblings by the minute-and that is just how my heart functions.) Their work ethic and compassion for others are what draw us in.

A local musician, Jonathan Best, aka Angiolus, led some intrepid dancers to the makeshift floor, after a brief negotiation with Raven’s management. It worked well. I was not, for once, among the dancers-these were ballroom quality steppers. It was from a cozy spot, just in front of the dance floor and stage, that three hours of reverie ensued. I could listen to these folks for more hours on end. They will be on a national tour, after the launch of their first album, on May 13. The schedule is posted on The Barn Swallows Band Facebook page. If they are in your area, I highly recommend a listen.

This special day has always produced something of great value.

An Original DREAMer

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April 25, 2023- Back before the DREAM Act, before Mexicans desperate for a better life began arriving in this country en masse, there were Harold and Melvine Bellafanti, and their son, Harold, Jr., coming from Jamaica, and living quietly in an undocumented fashion. The Bellafantis only wanted to lift themselves up through hard work. Harold was a chef, and Melvine, a housekeeper. The three found housing where they could, with young Harry spending eight years with a grandmother in Kingston, where he attended the well-regarded Wolmer’s Preparatory Academy, before returning to New York for his high school study. He served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.

Then came his introduction to theater, where, with his friend Sidney Poitier, he would purchase a single ticket, trading off with Sidney so that each of them would watch an act, then trade off the seat, after filling in the other about what he’d seen and heard. He took acting classes with The New School, alongside a who’s who of up and coming actors, including Marlon Brando and Tony Curtis. Paying for those classes involved singing with Charlie Parker’s band; then, as a folk singer, on his own. His “Banana Boat Song” was one of the first tunes I remember hearing in the 1950s.

Harry became concerned with the conditions in which his fellow Blacks lived. Although a biracial person (both his parents were half-White), Harry Belafonte experienced his share of bigotry, yet refused to let that lead to shutting Whites out from the social dialogue. He became friends with Frank Sinatra, and through Ol’ Blue Eyes and other Rat Pack members, he came to know John F. Kennedy. Harry was an advisor to the Peace Corps, while also becoming close to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, and increasingly involving himself in the Civil Rights movement.

Harry Belafonte never ceased his work in advancing social justice, while also continuously networking to bring political conservatives along in the process. One of his friends was the fiercely progressive Marlon Brando; another, the equally fierce conservative, Charlton Heston. Brando admired Harry’s feistiness and Heston, his work ethic. Harry’s only concern was social justice. In that vein, he left out no one, even befriending Fidel Castro, who he brought around to liking hip hop. He was reportedly not shy about admonishing Castro to let up on his more repressive policies, though how successful that effort was is open to question. He also furiously opposed both Islamism and the Bush Administration’s actions in Iraq and Afghanistan-as well as many of the policies espoused by Bill and Hillary Clinton, the latter becoming his bitter enemy, due to his reaching out to Venezuela’s Hugo Chavez and opposing the invasion of Iraq.

Harry Belafonte was married to three different women, during the course of his life. His one true love, though, was justice. The polymath, patriot and artist Harold Bellafanti, Jr. deserves the gratitude of all, regardless of any differences one may have with his political sentiments. May he rest in power.

Many Jobs, Few Tasks

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April 22, 2023- Earth Day called me to get up on a workday schedule, so by 5:30, I was groomed and dressed. There were four stops and a Zoom call waiting, so after reading the newspaper and saying a few prayers, it was off to Courthouse Square. There was not a whole lot to do at Stop # 1, an environmental group’s booth, between 8:15, when I finally found the booth, and 8:50, when it was time to race back for the Zoom call.

It seemed imperative that I join the call, since I had been absent for two weeks, due to my Red Cross deployment. The moderator of the call has had a hard time with my absence-service to the wider community is apparently not his thing, if it conflicts with his Zoom work. As it happened, he was absent today, but his trusted assistant was glad I was on the call-and has no issue with someone being away due to working with the Red Cross.

After the call ended, I stopped in, briefly, at an American Legion Auxiliary rummage sale-picking up an extra pair of sunglasses(to replace the pair that was lost during my sheltering activity) and a cake to bring to my substituting assignment on Monday. Then, it was off to Farmers’ Market, getting a week’s supply of microgreens and catching up with friend Melissa.

Job #3 was back at the Firewise section of Courthouse Square’s Earth Day, and I got to the Red Cross booth four minutes late, which led to a mild chastisement from the woman tending the booth and groans from the man who had been there since 7 a.m. Water off this duck’s back! I give a lot of myself and no longer fret about people who are overly sensitive at slight lapses of punctuality.

After an hour, in which I greeted seven visitors and explained a bit about our mission, it was back to Farmers’ Market-this time to help a group of college students break down the tents, and put away the folding tables and chairs. With an increased efficiency, on the part of the new team lead, we were finished in less than an hour.

Job #5 was back at the Red Cross booth. This time, I was early, and the tent was folded up and put away a bit after 2 p.m.

There were big crowds at both Courthouse Square and Farmers’ Market, as people are finally comfortable with being at our community’s traditional events. Chalk-It-Up is back, after a three-year hiatus! More on that delightful artistic festival, in tomorrow’s post.

It was a fine day, and not as strenuous as it might have been, had there not been full teams at each location. Topping the day were two relaxing musical events: The Bourbon Knights performed ’60s Golden Oldies and some original tunes, at Rafter Eleven, while friend Stephy Leigh, accompanied by Jonah Howard, of Cross-Eyed Possum, performed two sets of her original music, with a few covers thrown in, at Raven Cafe.

Being back at Home Base has its rewards, great music being chief among them.

Green Carpet of the Heart

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March 17, 2023- The darling girl owned the room, as soon as she and her mother entered. One of those people whose smiling eyes could melt the iciest heart, she engaged anyone who would listen in a few minutes of banter. We know each other from somewhere, and her mother is a doppelganger for a much loved friend who lives outside Portland, OR. We greeted each other cheerfully, but as strangers, as if meeting for the first time. Her grandmother showed up, a while later, as the Raven Cafe’s grand re-opening proceeded, with the Joe Booth Band, a rousing bluegrass and rockabilly ensemble, got the proceedings going.

Nonna mistook me for one of the owners, as I was sitting close to their table, in a small wooden chair by the water station, with the beer and wine menu overhead. I guess the father of one of the owners overheard and came over, interrupting my description of the t-shirt that had caught her interest, and making sure that the ladies knew who he was, before walking off to his next conversation. Normality has returned quickly to the Raven, after it was closed for a month, for structural repairs.

As Joe and the guys readied for their second set, they brought the sister of a friend on stage, for her first public performance. She held her own, for two songs, and seems to be a quick study on the fiddle. There was a goodly amount of dancing, mostly by the women and girls, wherever they could find space. The girl I mentioned at the outset was up there with the rest, dancing her heart out. This time, I contented myself with bouncing lightly in my chair-not really needing to be all that conspicuous. It was enough to see so many people enjoying themselves on the scattered open spaces.

Today being St. Patrick’s Day and, by happenstance, the 29th anniversary of my youngest brother’s passing, there was a bittersweet air. This time in March has ever seemed like a time of new life, at least in the northern hemisphere- the unrolling of a green carpet. Brian’s passing marked the end of a fair period of suffering and decline, so he moved on to his own new life-as his sister-in-law would, nearly 26 years later. Festivities such as this evening’s comfort me, as a kind of green carpet of the heart. Maybe the mother and daughter, who were so happy to meet me, are angels sent to make sure that the message of joy supersedes any lingering sorrow.

It is a blessing to have the Raven open again.