Every morning, I get up around 6:30am, tiptoe out of the bedroom holding my phone, clothes, and shoes, and maybe the empty glass of water from the night before. I put the stuff down and enter the dark guest bathroom, run hot water over my washcloth, wash my face and go into the kitchen. I fill the kettle with water, marvel a little at how the counter behind the sink looks so good dry (it's a process of endless mopping up during the day), set the kettle on the base, push the button down, get the Oat milk from the fridge, realizing we need to purchase more, get my favorite large coffee cup, decide if it's Earl Grey, Matcha or coffee, and sit down to see what mail or FB missives are on the computer. Each day, there is less and less. Texts are the most welcome and satisfying. And each day, I think I could be reading something much more valuable for my morning opening lines, or writing something more satisfying, as I am loving writing these days: Here, on my Substacks, and a kind of a daily self-imposed exercise in memoir. It's routine. I forgot, also, there is the ritual of letting the cat, Ivy, inside through the kitchen's sliding glass door. She is also motivated by routine. And once again, after checking all the virtual connections and responding here and there, I'm stumped as to what is next. The day is ahead. The weather has turned chilly. I need to face it. There's lots to do today. I'm planning on walking down to my friend, Linda's, to make apple pies together. I was too tired to go down yesterday evening to prepare the crust and made her a deal that I'd make her potato sorrel soup this coming week if she'd make me some crust. I've always been hesitant about making crust and I know it can not be hard. She's given me the NY Times recipe, but anyway, she was happy to make that trade. We often gift each other from the bounty of my garden and her chicken coup. This kind of neighborly friendship is rich. We have her and Stu over for dinner at least once a month and we go there at least once every other month. This routine makes me feel grounded. Linda is a child psychologist. She and Stu took me in when Eric was in the hospital and held my spirit strong with confidence giving advice and promises that he would get better. Our friendship was born in Cuba. They're great friend, Cilla, runs a travel company. She'd invited me in 2018, I think it was, to invite a musician like Leon Russell to go on a tour with me as leader of photography and him as leader of music. I ended up inviting Taj Mahal, who I had just had contact with and had not seen since I was a teenager. And beyond my wildest dreams he said "Yes!" So, off we went, 40 people, I think it was. Needless to say, it was a trip of a life-time. Linda and Stu and Cisco, their son, were on that tour. That's where we bonded. It was also a harsh experience, as I was forbidden to take any photos of Taj by his management. I think they were freaked out that he said yes in the first place, and by the time he had gotten comps for god I think 10 of his friends, he was stuck going and couldn't turn back. The reason it was interdit for me to take photos was that they were just going to release a big record and tour for Taj and Keb' Mo' and they didn't want any publicity prior to that release. Marketing! Management, Music, I say with a sneer! Always the suits...its the subtle art of manipulation that artists have to deal with. At any rate, I cried and wrung my hands, I can tell you. To forbid me to photograph Taj in Cuba, when it was my supposed gig in the first place. And to be straitjacketed by music management caused a trigger of remembered experiences and emotions from my days having to navigate that power structure. But, my agency and pissed offness got the better of me and during the trip, Taj and I had a talk about this prohibition and he told me to go ahead and take photos. And so, I did. I kept them to myself mostly, when we got home, sent him copies which he appreciated, and printed and hung this one on my wall. It's really iconic when you think about it. Check this out. It's Ernesto Che Guevara and Taj Mahal wearing the same shirt! So, beyond having satisfied my creative urges, which must be satisfied -it's like a hunger of the soul - what this experience taught me is not to get so upset by outer restrictions and interdictions. With time, and staying the course of my intentions something mysterious and unknown in the moment may, with time, and acceptance, provide opportunities we least expect. This photo is an example. If I took no other photos of Taj in Cuba, it would have been enough. And it was only 1 shot, and I took it. This is the thing. When you have a shot at what you have pointed your spirit towards, take it.
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The perfect backdrop for Taj, you had to take the shot, as it was a once in a lifetime photo op! I’m just glad he let you, and I’m sure he was very pleased with it too Linda! Glad you have Linda and Stu in your life, as she sounds dear! Did I ever tell you my nickname is Horace Debussy Pie 🥧 ~ There has never been a pie I didn’t like, or haven’t had for that matter! It’s all in the crust when it comes to a great pie, and Granny Harrison, made the best apple pies, and she’d always have one waiting for dad when he’d bring me over to see her! Folks used lard back in the day… She was the one that had my folks name me Michael ~ After the Archangel Michael! I was very sick as a young child, (she said I looked like I was eighty years old when they took me to the hospital)! I made it, and she said a rosary everyday for me, and would do so her whole life🌹🌅❣️
Such a wonderful shot ! Lots of great memories from that trip including all the hi-jinx to get his photo . Reflecting back it made the journey more memorable ! If only he had comped Keb’ . Viva Cuba ; a hui hou ! 🇨🇺