Graceland

I dreamed that I was making out with Paul Simon. We were having a fab and significantly awesome snog-a-thon but I got the definite vibe that this was a one off kind of a deal. That was OK-ish. It’s not like I’d anticipated some big ongoing affair.

Sigh. I simply detest when realism creeps into my dreams.

Back in 1969, mia familglia lived in Tulip Tree House -- married student housing for Indiana University. My best friend was Julia Marie Johnson. We were 11. Her father was working on a doctorate in music, mine was after his Ph.D in math.

I loved visiting her apartment. She had four brothers who all played violin and one of them would always be practicing. Her parents were both pianists -- they had a baby grand and a harpsichord in their living room. Julia played flute. There was always music in their home --  live or recorded, usually both.

Her apartment, which struck me as cultured, exotic and oh-so-sophisticated, was a little piece of heaven for me.

Julia’s the friend who turned me on to Simon and Garfunkel -- specifically the album Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme.
 
I fell in love. The tunes transported me to a happier, calmer world -- one without arguing parents or classmates who made me feel extraordinarily odd and inferior.  I lived inside every cut off that disc.

But this is just how unhip I am -- while I loved every song on that album, the one which called my name was Cloudy. Reading the lyrics now, they don’t seem all happy, perky, smiley but the tune, as I remember it, was upbeat.

These clouds stick to the sky
Like floating question--why?
And they linger there to die
They don’t know where they’re going, and, my friend, neither do I

In any case, Julia’s fav number was Patterns with its def darker tone and lyrics:

From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death
There are patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me Lies
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies

Pretty damned bleak, especially for a couple of ‘tweens,' eh?

After her family moved back to Detroit and mine to Western Pennsylvania we stayed in contact and even visited each other once. The very last time I saw her was in the early ‘80s -- she was living in San Jose, California. Julia was getting her undergrad degree in music and had just finished studying with Jean Pierre Rampal. She was magnificently talented.

In that last meeting she told me that she’d ‘found Jesus’ (I wasn’t aware he was lost) and was going to become a plumber versus concert flautist. Why? Plumbers made serious cheddar AND there wasn’t the intense, often backstabbing, competition for gigs and orchestra seats. No constant moving from city to city -- from orchestra to orchestra. She wanted stability and calm just like me. I understand.

British singer/songwriter Animesh Raval puts the musician’s struggle into words better than me. Go read.

I often wonder what became of Julia. Did she really put aside her formidable talent and become a plumber? Either way, did she find happiness or, at least some contentment?

Are the states of happiness and contentment the same thing?

My usually strong google-fu fails me -- I can't find her.

Now, I think I'd like to head back into dreamland with the lovely Paul Simon.

Cheers!