"But my dad never haunted anything—too busy living..."
Our parents had that in common. When my mom turned 65, I bought her one of those Record Your Memories prompt books, hoping she'd write about her life so that her grand- and great-grandkids would know how amazing she was. She never slowed down enough to answer a single question. When my sister & I were cleaning out her apartment after her death, I found a folder neatly labeled "Arrest" and the year (I've forgotten but she would have been in her late 50s/early 60s). Inside was her charge sheet from her Civil Disobedience arrest. Sadly there was NOT a copy of the picture I'd seen, years before, of her being led away in zip-tie cuffs, but that lives too vividly in my memory ever to fade. I have that folder now, to remind me that her legacy was a world she worked tirelessly to make better. And though she doesn't haunt me, the older I get, the more likely I am to see her face when I look in the mirror.
There are so many flavors of infusion, huh? Every day it feels like I'm discovering a new one. This is such a relatable and memorable anecdote. Thanks for sharing it.
My father and I had a plan to go to New Orleans for a week and visit the off the beaten path jazz clubs. The Pandemic intruded, my father died, and now, whereas I mostly listen to more experimental music, I'm listening to Miles. I don't know what that means, but it's something.
I don't know what it means, either. But those plans, that conversation...it's the way it keeps going that's so miraculous, for me. In a not so silent way. Kinda blue...
"But my dad never haunted anything—too busy living..."
Our parents had that in common. When my mom turned 65, I bought her one of those Record Your Memories prompt books, hoping she'd write about her life so that her grand- and great-grandkids would know how amazing she was. She never slowed down enough to answer a single question. When my sister & I were cleaning out her apartment after her death, I found a folder neatly labeled "Arrest" and the year (I've forgotten but she would have been in her late 50s/early 60s). Inside was her charge sheet from her Civil Disobedience arrest. Sadly there was NOT a copy of the picture I'd seen, years before, of her being led away in zip-tie cuffs, but that lives too vividly in my memory ever to fade. I have that folder now, to remind me that her legacy was a world she worked tirelessly to make better. And though she doesn't haunt me, the older I get, the more likely I am to see her face when I look in the mirror.
There are so many flavors of infusion, huh? Every day it feels like I'm discovering a new one. This is such a relatable and memorable anecdote. Thanks for sharing it.
My father and I had a plan to go to New Orleans for a week and visit the off the beaten path jazz clubs. The Pandemic intruded, my father died, and now, whereas I mostly listen to more experimental music, I'm listening to Miles. I don't know what that means, but it's something.
I don't know what it means, either. But those plans, that conversation...it's the way it keeps going that's so miraculous, for me. In a not so silent way. Kinda blue...
Also, Nathan, I want to know more about what experimental music has your ear at the moment, please...