And Then. . . There Is the Music

It is the time of year for beauty here in my own home state.  And. . . allergies.  I have one now that seems severe.  The oak pollen is falling and lying like dry rivers in the streets.  I took a walk yesterday before the gym.  Every other house had a yard crew.  Every yard crew had a blower.  My eyes burned, my nose ran, and I sneezed hundreds of times.  I was a mess.  I hadn't any allergies until a few years ago when the pollen fell like rain.  After that year, if oak pollen, or rather, the "catkins" of the male flower (wouldn't you know) falls on my exposed neck or shoulders, I get a burning red rash.  

Before this happened, I thought people who had allergies were weak crybabies.  

"Man, this pollen is killing me."

"Uh-huh.  Shut the fuck up."

Now I know.  I don't want to know.  

I think the allergic thing has made me tired, too.  A low, sleepy hum runs through my body.  A part of the BBC invited me to happy hour yesterday.  It would have been nice, but I didn't have it in me.  I just wanted to make a roasted vegetable dinner at home.  

Which I did.  And I sat out on the deck with a Campari and a cheroot and reacted to my texts as I listened to good jazz music.  My young friend has become quite taken with some of it.  

you can spam me with this music 

makes me very happy

i love new music 

just added them to my playlist 🤗

yes!

i’m vamping up my jazz playlist

so this is perfect 

i loved all the songs you sent 

went straight into my playlist 

Youthful enthusiasm is contagious.  

The vegetables roasted, the rice cooked, and I poured another Campari.  The world seemed full of possibilities and wonder.  

As the light began to fade, I plated my food, shredding a roasted chicken on the vegetables and rice, and poured a glass of wine.  But I worried.  I'd bought some deluxe mushrooms, the weird looking ones of all kinds, but when I put them on the vegetable platter that went into the oven, they felt slimy.  I had rinsed them, so I thought maybe they were simply wet.  I'd slathered everything in olive oil, too.  Maybe it was that.  I couldn't remember the sequence of events, though.  What to do?  I remembered movies where people were poisoned by mushrooms.  It might be a horrible death, I thought, but wouldn't cooking them mitigate that?  I had no idea.  I pictured myself in the ER late on a Friday night with teenaged interns who had no clue what to do about toxic mushroom poisoning.  

Youthful enthusiasm isn't everything.

So I nibbled with consternation.  Why hadn't I just taken the mushrooms off?  

The meal was good, but I didn't eat as much as I might have.  Perhaps, I thought, I could survive a little poison.  

Just as I was finishing up dinner and pouring my after dinner drink, a text came in.  

"I'm at John's new place.  Oh, my!"

John is a fellow I've known since playing in the old band.  He was a kid playing drums in a group that sometimes opened for us.  Back then, there were two little clubs right on the Boulevard where we played.  It is hard to believe such things were allowed then.  I would be the first to object if they tried to do such a thing now.  

John went on to become a very successful businessman importing furniture from Indonesia and Thailand, exotic, beautiful things.  He opened up several shops.  I have several nice pieces from his store in my house right now.  

But he had a clever idea. He opened up cafes in several of his stores, and as the retail hours ended, the bar hours began.  And he found the cafe business more profitable.  And so. . . just now, he has opened up a cafe/salon on the Boulevard.  I was worried it would be of the sort I would object to.  Rather. . . . 

OM f'ing G!!!  Was it opening night?  Why wasn't I there?  The tenant said that it was very, very nice.  

I sent the videos (she sent several) to my friends.  

"it’s soooo your vibe. you live there now."

Indeed.  I have a daytime cafe that I never go to at night.  It is great for coffee or tea, but the evening it is the kind of music and scene I can no longer enjoy. But now, I thought, I have an evening cafe as well.  I knew that it would not be like this every night, of course, and that bummed me a bit, for how many such musical groups are hanging around town waiting for a gig?  

But there was the annual Crap Festival coming up next week, and there is, as always, the party at a friend's house who always has great music.  

I texted John to say how great the club looked from the video.  I sent him the video clip above and encouraged him to try and book them.  He texted back in the affirmative.  

O.K . I was feeling good and happy.  My oh my.  

Then I got a text that brought me down.  I wasn't 't invited to the party at my buddy's house.  The fellow, I was told, didn't care for me.  

WTF?  Why would someone not like ME!!!  I think I'm a pretty swell fellow.  

Well, whatever.  It's just a bunch of old geezers anyway.  I've got new friends now.  

oh my gosh i love the music and the vibes!  so so nice

i want to go to a place and just sip on some wine and listen to music like that

On a night when everything seemed to be happening, I was sitting alone at home playing with my phone.  It wasn't late.  I could get up and go out still. . . but I wouldn't.  I was still waiting on the potential poisoning and trying to mitigate the possible effects with good drink.  And, of course, there was the whole oak pollen thing that was making me lazy.  It was enough that people wanted me to come out, I thought.  Not all, it was reported, but I'd try to let that go.  Fuck him.  

"i loved all the songs you sent "

The photo is from last year at this time.  Miami.  If I can get away, I want to go again soon.  It is so very visual.  And there is the music.