Confessions of a Human Nerve Ending

Heather. I tried to find you yesterday in the way it’s done now:  typing your name in front of a blinking cursor. But then realized there was no real reason you’d use the same last names you used back then: One--your biological father, absent, and the other-- a step-father, that I always thought was always gone as well. Heather. I tried to remember yesterday; the last time I saw you. Vail-it must've been. You’d relocated on a promise-- a promise of a steady job in a ski town with people you knew from home. Heather. Yesterday, I tried to remember when we met, and how I liked you right away; It took me two weeks-- two weeks to find the spell. You'd  push back playingly, liked being teased and prodded . Behind a stainless counter, you’d smile then hand full drinks through a window to a car. Heather. They gave me the key and never knew what happened. We were hungry snuck in, reassembled the soda machine, turned the...

(for Robert Frost) No bigger than a housecat, a small gray roadrunner has adopted our neighborhood. Almost any morning, I can spot him. Sometimes up the road a bit, turned towards the sun with his feathers spread apart, warming up, or just bouncing from our fence to our roof, then over the top and down to the other fence that keeps our lot separate from our neighbor's. I wonder if he recognizes me, knows how I know his colors:  the red and white stretched out from behind his eyes like mascara how I recognize his stuttered step, his head ducked down so his beak is the first thing impacted on anything that doesn't get out of his way. Strange how the cats don't seem to bother him, and I wonder what he eats, and whether I should spread some bird seed on the wall. My neighbor and I exchange pleasantries and stay in our respective territories-- a smaller part of his territory--a neighborhood in the middle of the city.

Life is about listening.   Sometimes what life is saying comes at you in in strange ways.   On Friday, I was reading this story on Salon.com and it mentioned that few jazz musicians have the same clout as they once did.  Of the few who still draw considerable audiences, it mentioned Keith Jarrett .   I don't know Keith Jarrett, but I've been trying to school myself on jazz for the better part of a year now.   Since I'm relatively new to this jazz thing, I want to make sure I'm really listening to what people think of as "great."   With that in mind, I bought a book:   The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings .   Under Keith Jarrett they mention the album,  The Koln Concert as his best album (part of any enthusiasts' "Core Collection").   So, when I saw the album while perusing Mecca Records in ABQ, I knew I had to buy it.   Life was talking. The Koln Concert  (So, go ahead and ...