By Fred Owens
Mozart in Zimbabwe
I liked the sound of that phrase so much that I journeyed to Zimbabwe in 1997 and brought this sheet music with me.
The Sonata in C is simple and easy to play -- although to play it well takes years of practice.
I
brought this sheet music in my shoulder bag and went to Zimbabwe, and
the quest was to find a piano. Surely they have pianos somewhere in
Zimbabwe I thought, although the Lonely Planet guide book did not touch
on the subject.
I
went to the east of Zimbabwe, to the Nyanga Highlands, of such altitude
that apple trees and plum trees can grow and the English settlers
planted trout in the cold water streams.
I
hiked around Nyanga and came upon a chapel, one of those terribly cute
Anglican chapels, and it was empty and the door was unlocked, and there
was the piano.
So
I went back to the hotel for the sheet music, and then came to the
chapel, quietly, with composure, and played the Mozart in Zimbabwe.
After
a time a small African boy came in to listen. He must have been about
eight. I invited him to come closer and listen. And then I said "you can
play it, come, sit by me, try playing these keys."
He
did. I enjoyed the music. Then I left the chapel and closed the door. I
said goodbye to the little fellow who had played with me. I never came
back to the chapel and never came back Zimbabwe. But I was there once,
in 1997, and played Mozart.
Sciatica
-- there 's a lovely word. It could be the name of a resort in the
Adirondacks. "We stayed at the Sciatica on our honeymoon. It was a
lovely place."
Or it could be the name of an Italian dessert, "Dear, try the sciatica. It is positively scrumptious."
Well,
it is a nice sounding word, but the actual medical condition is quite
painful. I've been having it for several weeks now, on the right side.
It seems strange because there is nothing wrong with my hip or my knee
and yet they hurt constantly, or intermittently. I take ibuprofen three
times a day and that helps.
I
take walks on the beach -- that doesn't help. I take an extra rest and
that doesn't help. The only thing that actually relieves the discomfort
is a few hours of gardening work. It must be all that bending and
stretching that takes pressure off the nerve for a while.
I
see the doctor on March 21 for my annual physical. so I will have
something to tell him if it still hurts. Let's see what he says. Maybe
it will just go away.
Otherwise I favor acupuncture for alternative medical solutions.
Ash Wednesday
Art
Najera came to the Santa Barbara Kiwanis Club lunch yesterday. He comes
every Wednesday, to the Mesa Cafe. We had fish tacos.
But
this week was Ash Wednesday, and Art is a devout Catholic. (I call
myself an observant Catholic because I observe other Catholics going to
church -- ha, ha !)
But
Art is the real deal. He goes to church and his son is a priest. We
call his son Father Tom and Father Tom used to come with his Dad to
Kiwanis lunch until the diocese re-assigned him to a distant parish.
This
week, Art came to lunch with his wife Barbara. They have been married
for 58 years and seem to be enjoying it. Art is a retired orthodontist
and horseman. He favors western wear, jeans and boots and crisply ironed
snap-button plaid shirts.
Yesterday
being Ash Wednesday, Art and Barbara come fresh from church with the
ashes dabbed on their forehead, a traditional sign of Lenten penance.
I wonder if Art has ever heard the poem by T.S. Eliot. It's called Ash Wednesday. Eliot made this recording in 1930. It sounds too dismal, who died?
My
English lit guru, Virginia Smith in Toronto, says the poem is not in
fact dismal even though the poet himself seems to think it is. The poem
takes 12 minutes to recite. Listen to it while you're doing your nails
or washing dishes. Don't try to figure it out, just let it flow. Eliot
is quite a good poet after all.
Have a nice week,
Fred
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