Music

Every morning at 8:00, we hear the Star Spangled Banner over loudspeakers from Camp Foster. At noon and 5:00 PM, loudspeakers around town play music to notify everyone of the time. Like factory whistles, but more interesting. It seems to happen all over the island, because when we drove back from Azalea Park, we heard Edelweiss as we drove through a small town. I am intrigued by the choices of pieces, especially that one, because it was the played on the 55th anniversary of Sound of Music, which we watched again that evening.

I originally saw SofM in a Miami movie theater when it first came out. For some reason, I had ridden over with a high school friend, Mickie, to meet up with some of her friends, I believe Civil Air Patrol cadets. Since she was in CAP, and I wasn’t, I can’t imagine why I went. A question for when I see her at our girlfriends’ reunion in the fall.

SofM was the first  in our Clara-movie series. She was probably six, visiting us, and missing her parents. I tried to get her weeping stopped by singing “These Are a Few of My Favorite Things”. She had never heard of it. We rented the movie, and she was fascinated. I rented Mary Poppins for the next night,  and I had Grant start it while I went to a Finance Committee meeting.

When I got home, Clara grabbed my hand and insisted I watch the actress. “Look at her face! Look at her face! She was in the movie last night!”

I realized Clara hadn’t seen movies with people acting. She, like most children her age, had only watched animated cartoons.  This began our retrospective. Next was Princess Diaries to continue our Julie Andrews theme, (I decided to skip Victor, Victoria.) We went on to Some Like it Hot, A League of Their Own, etc. Especially fun is watching original movies and remakes, then discussing which we like better.

Tsunami Water Level Sign

 Who chooses the songs to be played over the loudspeakers? They are always Western music, usually secular, and old saws. The loudspeakers occasionally make announcements in Japanese, which seem almost like commercials. Mary said during election season, she thought they might be political ads. I assume if there were a tsunami, the loudspeakers would sound the alarm, since there are signs around town telling us the level of tsunami we are safe from. At Araha Beach, the announcements are repeated in English, and are admonitions to be considerate of other beach-goers: share tables if needed, pick up your trash, keep your dog under control, etc.

All the grocery stores play Japanese music at levels loud enough to make me want to hurry through my shopping which I think would be the opposite of what they would want. Out in the malls, it’s back to English songs, including It’s A Small World which I first heard at the 1964-65 World Fair in New York. I know most people cringe when they hear that song, and they ridicule the ride at Disney World, but it is nostalgic for me.

I loved the World Fair. On our way to the Canadian Maritime provinces, we stayed outside of New York City with the Sweets, former Naples neighbors, and rode the train into the fair. I was amazed by all the pavilions but my favorite was the Vatican’s exhibit that displayed Michelangelo’s Pietà. Never had I seen anything so beautiful and so incredible. I still cannot understand how artists can make marble turn into flesh and fabric. I bought the official Fair charm, a flattened sterling sliver globe that rotated on its axis, but I think it was on the charm bracelet I lost at Mount Rushmore. TBD

Mr. Sweet was a photographer for Evinrude Motors, which used travelogues to promote their outboards. It must have been at one of his children’s birthday parties where he show us his film of gooney birds (albatross) living and landing on an island in the Pacific. The premise was that they will sit on anything as eggs, so the crew had great fun putting odd objects in their nests; and, although albatross are graceful flyers, spending most of their lives soaring over the ocean, when they land, they flop and roll. Put to music, it was one of the silliest and funniest movies we’d ever seen. I just looked at EBay, and I could buy a copy for $75. Since I don’t have a 35mm projector, I’ll have to pass.

With non-Americans now being prevented from entering the US for 30 days if they have visited most of any part of Europe, perhaps we should have It’s A Small World played over loudspeakers once a day to remind us how connected we are.

Shorn

Finally, after 16 weeks between haircuts rather than my usual 6 weeks, I have had my locks sheared off. Blame the time frame on my broken pelvis since I was overdue for a haircut when I took that fall. I've waited so long because sitting in a salon chair did not appeal to my sore butt.

My hair grows fast. This time one of my sons asked if I were growing it out. As if. I wore my hair long for years and years, but when my older daughter was getting married, I had it all cut off, voting with scissors not to look like an aging hippie in her wedding photos. What a good decision. No more hair in my eyes; no more waiting for it to dry; no more fighting the cat for ponytail holders (and one wonders why they like to play with them).

I pay more for a haircut here on Key B ($45 +tip) than I did in Fort Lauderdale ($17 total), but it's a fancier process. The results are about the same, longish pixie cut, but Alex's effort is more intense. He cuts off bits with the razor, measures each side against the other, cuts some more, measures some more, repeat, repeat, repeat. When I think he is done, he gets out scissors and snips here and there. A little more with the razor, more snips, measuring, different scissors and more snips, more measuring. Eventually he deems it done. I have to say, a great hair cut.

When he used a hairdryer to blow off all the little snips and razored bits, some got in my nose and reminded me of when I made a cape and muff from my Grandmother Spaulding's vintage mink stole, which was refashioned from a full length coat originally belonging, I think, to a great aunt. This was my first time working with fur, and I cut away with my scissors, not thinking that I would be cutting the hair at the same time as I cut the skins. I was sitting where a fan blew on me, so tiny bits of mink fur swirled around, and, as I breathed in, a lot went up my nose. I quickly figured out to cut the skin from the back with a sharp knife and eventually sneezed out all those tiny bits of hair.

Me in the Original Coat in Front of Our Trailer  

The cape and muff were Christmas presents for my older daughter the year she was reading the Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingles Wilder. My daughter was enchanted by the cape and muff worn by one of the characters. Even though we lived in South Florida, my daughter and her girlfriends loved dressing up as pioneers wearing mink. After being worn by other children and friends, the mink cape and muff are now in Okinawa, waiting for our granddaughter to be old enough to enjoy them. I have some pieces left from the stole, and someday I may use them in another project. The pelts are in good shape even though they must be 70 years old. I hope I can say that about myself in a few weeks.

Cabin Fever Fear

The kite sailors were flying on Biscayne Bay when we drove over the causeway to Grant's appointment with his cardiologist. It looks like so much fun. I envy their freedom and strength. Between my broken pelvis and the crumby weather left from Hurricane Dorian, I haven't had any exercise for days, not even a walk to the end of the block. I've become stir-crazy, which I learned comes from stir, slang for jail.

When we moved to the key, I had hoped to try windsurfing again, after a break of 30 years, but that's looking unlikely. Even paddle boarding may be out of reach. When will riding a bike be taken away? I worry about that after hearing Grant's doctor being so concerned about his bike mishap. He takes blood thinners, and a bad fall could be fatal.

This is what really scares me about getting old. I have so many things I'd like to do, and, slowly, slowly, they are be eroded. Hike? Not if the ground is too steep or too slippery. Bike? Not too fast or too far. Canoe or kayak? Can I get in or out? Tent camp? Sail? What will be left? Slow ambles around the block when the weather is fair?

I know most of this musing is from being stuck inside. I really start to deteriorate when I don't spend time out in fresh air. Maybe tomorrow will be sunny, and I will walk in the pool.

Overindulged

We had our first semi-new acquaintances from Key Biscayne to dinner last night. Semi-new because they are known to Grant through work, but not on a personal level. Their teenage son had cat-sat for us twice, however this was the first time we'd interacted. Grant cooked his good teriyaki chicken with rice, a cucumber salad, and ginger fruit compote. My contribution was a chocolate cake with ice cream.

Good times with too much wine for me. I'm suffering this morning. I've reached the stage that two drinks are all that I really can process; one would probably be even better. Mostly I remember. Last night I did not. Aspirin, Tums, breakfast and lots of water haven't done much. Time is the only cure.

Ever since Grant announced his retirement, rather that pretending that day is far, far in the future, we have been talking more about the next stage. We've been more gentle and compassionate with each other since soon we will be in each other's pockets day in and day out. We've even been more passionate, as much as our aging bodies allow, which is nice. It looks like that's what the next stage will be: nice. Especially if I don't overindulge.