Sucker for Great Sax

It's interesting to me how ones mind and thoughts connect one to another.  Okay.  It's interesting to me how my mind (when I let my self think about) appears to put together certain thoughts and musings.

The other day I was thinking about how a part of Malibu you see from the PCH reminded me of Maui except "no rainbows".  That made me think of the Marshall Tucker Band song, Searchin' for a Rainbow.  That got me to thinking if there are any other groups from the 70's I hadn't listened to for a while and just loved.  Hall and Oates.  Mmmmmmm hmmmmm.  Yes.

While cyberspace appears to include just about any subject you can imagine, YouTube can't be far behind.  I checked YouTube to see what they had on Hall and Oates.  Impressive.  I started to listen.  Can I just write? Music for my soul.  Mmmmmm hmmmmm.  Yes.

Initially I was a little surprised, but pleasantly so.  Most of what appeared to be available for my listening pleasure was stuff from the 70's, in particular MusikLaden 1977 videos.  In these videos I personally felt I could sense Hall and Oates love, appreciation and joy in making music.  Fearless.  Unafraid to give a somewhat different spin on their songs so you knew they simply hadn't memorized the same version recorded on their album.  Not just live music, but music ALIVE!

Listening made me think how similar these Hall and Oates' performances were to some of Prince's music.  I saw Prince in San Diego in 2004.  The tour he said would be the last of him doing his old stuff.  The tour he mentions somewhat derisively how many music acts today have little know how of actually playing music.  Prince does.  He can jam out.  He's got more than funk in his soul, apparently it is also in his behind.  He can't help himself.

And the Saxophone (sax) on "Do What You Want. Be What You Are".  Amazing.  Made me think of how much I've always been a sucker for great sax.  I used to think I wished to play sax one day.  Yet let's take a close look at that wish?

"I wish to play saxophone one day."

Doesn't say anything about playing well or playing for more than one day.  Is it a wonder I don't play?

Then I watched the movie, "The Lovely Bones" last night.  The main character is murdered on December 6, 1973, she at the tender age of only 14.  As I was watching, I started doing the math.  OMG!  I was 14 on that day, December 6, 1973, in history.  That date isn't my actual birth date, but you know? We are 14 for a year.  I was in 9th grade at the time, Hosterman Junior High in New Hope, Minnesota.

This got me to thinking about ninth grade and how different life was.  The many experiences I've had since then I could have never predicted.  I didn't even know how to type yet.  I wouldn't learn that until 10th grade in a class where only half of us got to use electric typewriters.  The rest of us were stuck with the manual typewriters.

If you would have told me then that someday I'd be able to type so fast (without looking at the keys) that I could type just about as fast as I can think (so either I type really fast or think really slow...hmmm), I probably wouldn't have believed you.  In ninth grade the thought of it may have just been too much of a feat for me to fathom, which may have had me deciding not to attempt it.  Yet here I am.

It's as if when I play this instrument, aka the keyboard, it becomes an extension of my self.  Even my in-the-beginning, oh-so-lame and wimpy, left pinky finger has caught up and now pulls its weight equally with my other fingers.  No longer do I need to think of the individual letters to forge the particular words.  I simply think the word and my fingers somehow just seem to fashion them effortlessly.

Now when I dream of writing something yet to be written (which seems to happen a lot for me in bed or in the shower), I don't worry about the mechanics.  I simply let it flow out of my mind and through my fingers.  Whatever the combination of letters and words, it is as if I must give them expression even if they are not always as imagery evocative as say the first lines of Daryl Hall's lyrics for the song, Abandoned Luncheonette.

     They sat in an abandoned luncheonette sipping imaginary cola and drawing faces on the table-top dust.

In my mind, pure poetry.

Somehow all of this got me to thinking that if I were really to learn to play an instrument, it wouldn't be the sax.  I would wish to play blues guitar emulating Eric Clapton.  This isn't the first time I had this thought.  In fact I went so far as to buy a guitar and a DVD the House of Blues put out with instructions for beginners to play blues guitar.  I actually watched the DVD...once...while holding and strumming my guitar with what I could only characterize as some sort of relative version of fear.  How was I ever going to get from this to playing the blues like Clapton?  Too much.  Too hard.  Won't happen.  Why bother?

Now I am rethinking.  You know I figured out I've already lived over 18,000 days in this lifetime.  I pretty much expect to live about another 18,000 and not living them with a sort of waiting for my body to break down and me to die mode.  Like my friend, Keith Salender, who has walked most of the Pacific Coast from Seattle to almost San Diego by putting one foot in front of the other, one step at a time and my ability to type as fast as I can think, which started with beginner lessons on a manual typewriter; I could start learning to play blues guitar this week.

I could see my self in bed at the young age of 70 pondering how way back in 2009 before I was 50, all I had was a $30 guitar I ordered on-line from Amazon (just in case, I didn't wish to make too much of a financial commitment), a $15 DVD (when I am 70, no doubt DVDs will be dinosaur technology) from the House of Blues (the one in Anaheim part of Downtown Disney) and a desire to metaphorically put one foot in front of the other--one step at a time.  As I ponder, even my left hand is on board.  I don't have to think of the individual notes.  I dream of music yet to be played anticipating the feel of the instrument, the guitar in my hands, as an extension of me.  And I must express this music.  Even if I am the only one who hears it.

The other alternative is pondering at 70 what I never started.  Yet?  For this is where I come full circle.  No regrets!  No complaining!  No explaining!  I could start at 70 and ponder at 90.  These are some of the types of ideas I have gleaned from the book, Excuses Begone!, by Dr. Wayne Dyer.

His words have inspired me to think of 2010 as my first year of really expressing my self as a WHOLE, Divine being.  A well-being.  NOthing wrong with me.  NOthing to heal.  NOthing to fix.  Now what do I wish to do?  Who I am is already taken care of...has already been determined by my Creator.  Technically unchangeable.  Divine.  Spirit.  Energy.  It got me to thinking that if the book, Excuses Begone!, were to ever have a theme song; it would have to be, "Do What You Want. Be Who You Are" by Hall and Oates.  I'd change the title just a smidge by sliding in a word.  "Do What You Want.  Be (Divine) Who You Are".

Without further ado, I include the Hall and Oates' video from YouTube with the great sax, "Do What You Want.  Be Who You Are."  Enjoy!

Happy Accidents

Do you ever have one of those days?

I planned to go to Point Dume (pronounced du-may) in Malibu to see if I could walk from the west beach to the east beach via the beach.  Rocks pepper the beach of the actual point.  So I wondered if at low tide a person could actually walk around (without getting too wet) or was that area always covered in water.  And I couldn't just ask someone.  That would be too easy, right?  I had to find out for myself.

So, I dutifully checked the low tide schedule.  I planned what time I would have to leave my home to be at Point Dume at low tide.  I made sure my camera battery was all charged up.  I was off to check it out.

Normally, I don't enjoy the 405 Highway and will choose an alternate route, but to get to Malibu it seems like the best choice.  As I was traversing the highway, my mind became lost in things I might see, what I might write about it, new ideas I might write about, blah, blah, blah.  I missed my exit.  I got back on the 405 going the other way so I could get on Highway 10 and missed that exit.  After another fifteen minutes of waiting to turn left and following signs in Santa Monica, finally...I was on the 10 and on my way.

So much for getting to Point Dume right at low tide.  No worries.  There had been warnings all day about what was going on with the ocean, which meant much higher than normal waves at the beach.  Maybe I wouldn't get to test my wonder about walking around Point Dume at beach level, but I would most likely see some excellent surfing.  If you don't know by now, I love to watch.

When I arrived at Cliffside Drive hoping to snag a parking spot, there were many vehicles hoping to do the same and the area was abuzz with surfers.  Cool!  I knew this would be some golden filming.

I went back down to park on Westward Beach Road and see what I could see.  Right away I spied a photo op.  Out came my camera and click...memory full.  What?  I knew that I had deleted everything on the card before replacing it in my camera.  What was this?  This couldn't be true.  This couldn't be happening.  So, of course, what did I do?  Try to take about five more pictures all with the same result.  Camera useless.

I didn't drive all this way though to simply get back in my car and drive home.  By now it was a good 75 minutes past optimum low-tide time.  I walked over to see how high the water was on the west beach to see if I could pass.  Way too high.  Denied. (author's note: the next day I returned to Point Dume with my camera functioning...so, I have since included some photos to highlight this blog from my next day trip)

Up the path I went making a B-line for the stairs to the east beach.  At the top of the stairs I could see at least a dozen surfers at the Point waiting to catch a wave.

I descended the stairs greeted by a rocky stretch.  The sand that had been my greeter less than 14 days ago was now covered in rocks.  Don't worry.  The rocks weren't that big and easily navigated.

Now what?

Since I didn't have use of my camera and I'd already discerned I couldn't walk around Point Dume at beach level, I decided to go left.

Oh the things I saw.  A boat motor had washed up on the shore.  Even though the tide was still fairly low, I wasn't seeing any starfish.  Were they hiding?

Then as I got close to the area (which I have circled on the photo included with this blog) I noticed a guy with a backpack and some walking sticks walking close to me.  Since I had never actually walked this far east before, I decided to ask him if he had.  "No" was the reply.  "First time."

Now while I currently don't believe that the coming together of phenomenon in a given moment can be explained by one simple contributing cause, I have since been mulling over how amazing it seems to me that this person I struck up a conversation with was in fact on a hiking trip he'd started in Seattle, Washington.  I find it especially interesting because I rarely tend to engage people I don't know in conversation.

I'm still a little in awe as I sit here at my laptop contemplating what to write next about this.  We exchanged cards.  He asked me to friend him on Facebook.

I thought of him last night sleeping wherever on the beach in his sleeping bag he'd fished from the backpack that didn't really look big enough to me to carry all the things one might feel they would need for such a journey.  Once in July I slept out in a tent and I was cold.  Something about the moisture in the air.  I just couldn't imagine.

What I loved the most is that he, Keith Salender, reminded me as we talked that in my life there have been many times when people have trusted me with their life and their possessions without a seeming reason or knowing me that well.  I know they had every reason to trust me, but I've known me for over 50 years.  And in a world where it seems we are smarter to not trust others (if you believe all the news reports), we talked about how his journey so far was proving to be more of a reason to trust people.

It made me ruminate over the teaching of the Law of Attraction.  Actually, it got me thinking about one of the stories in the book, Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramahansa Yogananda.  It's been a while, but one of his rites of passage had him being sent out with a friend on a journey to a certain destination with seemingly no resources (including financial ones).  They weren't allowed to ask for help either.  They were simply to have total trust in the Universe.

Anyway, if Keith and I never meet again, I feel blessed to have had the few minutes together we did.  Click here if you wish to be connected to his flickr presence.  He's been uploading some of the photos he's been taking along his journey.  If I remember correctly, his ultimate destination is Pennsylvania...the long way, obviously.  What's the hurry, right?

Did I mention he's doing this walking?  Walking!

I know this is getting long.  I do this as much for potential readers as for myself, especially since I had no camera on this day.

So what else did I see?

Just about the time I hadn't seen one starfish and I was thinking to myself, "hmmm, I guess no starfish sightings today."  I saw one.

I saw white heron.  I got pretty up close and personal.  They didn't seem to care.  Of course, I am no threat.

I saw a sea gull with some sort of something in its beak I can only assume it thought was food.  Try as I might I couldn't figure out what it was the sea gull had gotten a hold of.  With its beak wide open, I got to see its tongue.  My first ever sea gull tongue sighting.  It struck me as sort of funny.  Don't know why.

The portion I circled on the photo, I asked one of the surfers if this part of the beach had a name so I would know how to refer to it later when I wrote about it...what do surfers call it.  "Misstoe" was his reply.

"What?"

"Misstoe" he said again.

"Did you say misstoe?  How do you spell that?"  I asked.

Well, he didn't know.  And a thought popped in my brain.  Okay, remember the word and then look it up on Google.  So, this area is actuallly known as "Misto".

As I stood at Misto watching the surfers ride the waves, it reminded me of when I first moved back to California.  For some reason when I thought of waves surfers would want to ride, I had a picture of the big waves you find in Hawaii during winter time when the surfing contests take place.  So to me, California's waves were wimpy.

Not today at Misto.  This was the first time I could recall where the waves were high enough that you could see the surfer inside the wave and still have wave above and below the surfer.  These were some waves.

By now the sun was starting to seriously set and it was time to start back to my car.  As I was walking back I thought what could make this day any more better (my English teacher would be so proud).  Gray whales!  Wouldn't it just be the most awesome thing if I saw some gray whales now?  Nope.  I swear though, in looking I feel like I saw some dolphins.

I ascended those stairs like a pro.  What?  How does a pro ascend stairs?  Okay, there was a surfer behind me.  And let me tell you, these stairs are one-way stairs.  There is not room enough on them for a two-way passing.  So, I didn't wish to feel like I was holding up traffic.  I was doing pretty good until about half-way up at which point for the sake of my beating heart, I felt like I had to take a pause.  There.  I admitted that.

I'm about to get to the street when I see a man on a bike riding toward the beach overlook.  I swear.  He could have been Ted Danson.  I saw Mr. Danson once at LAX.  Man he is tall and thin, I thought.  Was it him?  Who knows.  I didn't have a camera to figure it out.  So I guess I'm saying it was.  Prove it wasn't. 

About the time I stopped thinking about all of this, I noticed a woman and her daughter walking the trail with their two dogs.  There are plenty of signs around that specifically state dogs are not allowed.  And so I started thinking and riffing about that.  I guess for some people signs are simply suggestions.  And before I get too judgmental, I've been known to view certain signs as suggestions, as well.

Then I started thinking that even if they are suggestions, you'd think people would be better about following the signs.  I mean I would assume Malibu didn't just for the heck of it decide to put up "no dogs allowed" signs at Point Dume.  I'd like to think they had a good reason.  No more than a beat in time later, here comes a man, woman and child walking the trail with their two dogs.  I laughed to myself.

Oh and one other thing I saw, a plastic, purple shovel.  You know...a little kid one for playing in the sand.  How can I be sure?  It's now in the back seat of my car. You know...just in case I ever need to dig my way out of something.