 magically_delicious
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Über-Meister
2885 points
23/F/29 palms, California
Join Date: Oct 2007 |
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When I was growing up, one of my favorite things to do was just sit by my window and look outside. I probably wouldn't have liked it so much, had I not been raised in one of the most wonderful locations in world. I lived a block from an outdoor theater company, 7 blocks from the beach, a block from my best friend, and 2 houses down from one of the coolest Canadian blues icons, Stu Hayden. When sitting in my room, I could hear a myriad of chattering birds during the day, and the thunderous ocean and the outdoor theater at night. I loved the smell that came with both; always the same salty mist in the air muddled with thick smoke from wood burning fires. The smell didn't even change with the seasons; it was always cold and wet enough to build a fire at night, no matter what time of year. Carmel always had this resounding timeless quality; the one place on the planet where nothing ever changed and everyone was always pleasant. There was nothing to do there besides go to art festivals and nice restaurants, and the worst type of crime was the occasional petty theft... and most of the calls were from little old ladies who were lonely and scared. Thinking back it was a pretty boring place for a kid, but even so, I loved it then just as much as I do now.
Sundays were always the laziest day of the week because it was "family day". I absolutely hated the notion of family day because it meant no hanging out with my friends, but Sunday was also "Pancake Day", so I accepted the occurrence. Sunday afternoons were usually spent in my room daydreaming, and I would often hear two whimsical recorders playing Sousa duets. The songs lazily seeped through trees; almost too faint to recognize. I heard it quite often, sometimes on Saturdays as well as Sundays. One day my friend Becky and I decided that we were going to investigate who and where the sounds were coming from. Turns out it was two little old men, so rickety with age they must have been in their nineties when we met them. Brazen and young, we knocked on the door of their little cottage to get a better look. Both men were cordial, inviting us in and they played us a few songs. Their enthusiasm and patience more than made up any skill they lacked, and I remember having such a nice day with them. The men had both been in one of the world wars, I believe WW1 but I can't quite recall. They had been friends since the war, and now that their wives had passed, they would get together on the weekends to play. Life went on after that day, and Becky and I grew up. I know that I didn't think too much of it, but I did enjoy listening to them intermittently each week. It was several years before Sunday afternoons were only graced with the sounds of busy scrub jays. On great occasion, you could hear a lone recorder; dutifully playing its part of the duet, until a few months later there was nothing.
It's hard to think back to that memory without becoming a little teary; it was a wonderful part of my childhood. It hurts my heart that this generation of kids cannot experience something so innocent and pure. It's also hard to know that those two little old men, who were once great American war heroes, had only their memories and each other to cling to in old age. I can only pa** on my tale of the two sweet little old men, and hope that someone might see the beauty and enjoyment in it that I do. | |
loveis
Monk
32036 points | "I can only pa** on my tale of the two sweet little old men, and hope that someone might see the beauty and enjoyment in it that I do".
I see it, and also that you have a wonderful way of expressing yourself..your journal had an almost 'novel like' feel.
Thanks for the read |
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Two little old men
