There are places I remember all my life
Though some have changed,
Some forever, not for better,
Some have gone, and some remain,
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I loved them all . . .
I met up with a friend of a good friend earlier today. We’d met briefly through the doors of church a year ago; he was going in, I was heading out.
Today we finally got to talk, about music, about jazz in particular. He belongs to the league of musicians who can replicate what he hears immediately on the keys, and he had lots to say about the music; he once accompanied George Benson on the keys when the master jazz guitarist performed in Jakarta. Like most experts in their field, he was able to talk simply and beautifully about his passion, his craft.
I got home and saw that another Indonesian friend whom I befriended in my halcyon days in Vancouver, had posted a video online, the Beatles’ classic In My Life.
It makes me think of how everyone is connected, especially in this small world of mine. Someone I profiled for my radio show turns out to be my neighbour in my estate, turns out to be an old friend of someone I went to school with. The muso I met this morning is a close friend of my rocker pal in Bandung, whom I go shopping with whenever he’s in town. Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel. . . but that is a line from yet another song.
And thanks to my white river friend, that in turn leads me to this lovely bit of prose by Mr Pratchett.
“It had been a strange relationship, mostly because it wasn’t a relationship at all. They hadn’t been drawn to one another: they had been pushed towards one another by the way the world worked. She was a witch, which meant that she was automatically different from the village kids, and he was the Baron’s son, which automatically meant he was different from the village kids.”
And so it goes.