Trumpeter in Inglot Park
Many afternoons, as I walk through the park, I hear a trumpet. Someone seems to have decided that the parking lot of the VA hospital has good acoustics. The trumpeter is good, occasional stumbles but usually clear, and a nice choice of music.
The other day, when I went through at the same time, I didn't hear the same sound. It made me wonder about who the mystery musician was, whether they thought about anonymous listeners. I wondered about children, or work, or how the person got into trumpeting. Things I would never know if they were to leave without my seeking the source of the music.
I have since heard the sound, and been lulled into a small comfort of being there, and will probably never go into the parking lot in question.
R&R first jumped out to me as rest and relaxation... in this case I guess it's recuperation and resurrection, seeing as it's a previous thoughthread I killed. But anyways, I'm on the social committee, and thought R&R was being addressed to us. No, it was in fact, rules & regulations. Rather the opposite of what one expects, but there it was.
Tango might be killing me.
Everything seems to be pointing towards keeping such. Dancing is supposedly a great way to meet women, and it's my only regular form of cardiovascular exercise, and it's good for my posture and strength.
It also has a particular mood... Tango is terribly moody. And it keeps me up late. And it often leaves me feeling hollow. The people with whom I have the best dances are not my lovers, and I almost never "go home with someone". I feel like I'm missing something, but the dearth of definition makes it nigh-impossible to find what I lack.
The other day, when I went through at the same time, I didn't hear the same sound. It made me wonder about who the mystery musician was, whether they thought about anonymous listeners. I wondered about children, or work, or how the person got into trumpeting. Things I would never know if they were to leave without my seeking the source of the music.
I have since heard the sound, and been lulled into a small comfort of being there, and will probably never go into the parking lot in question.
R&R first jumped out to me as rest and relaxation... in this case I guess it's recuperation and resurrection, seeing as it's a previous thoughthread I killed. But anyways, I'm on the social committee, and thought R&R was being addressed to us. No, it was in fact, rules & regulations. Rather the opposite of what one expects, but there it was.
Tango might be killing me.
Everything seems to be pointing towards keeping such. Dancing is supposedly a great way to meet women, and it's my only regular form of cardiovascular exercise, and it's good for my posture and strength.
It also has a particular mood... Tango is terribly moody. And it keeps me up late. And it often leaves me feeling hollow. The people with whom I have the best dances are not my lovers, and I almost never "go home with someone". I feel like I'm missing something, but the dearth of definition makes it nigh-impossible to find what I lack.