Funny how things work out. Last week Bob, who fiddles with piano and drums, asked if I had any music books. I said I had one left at home - a beautiful one on jazz and pop standards from which I'd torn several pages in order to make it easier to learn how to play specific songs. He asked me to bring it next time. I found the missing pages and others I'd downloaded from the web and stuffed them into the book. As Bob looked at the chords today, his eyes spread. He wasn't prepared for such sophistication. I wasn't surprised. It took me a month to learn songs such as "I've Got You Under My Skin" and "The Girl From Ipanema." He passed. Minutes later a young Russian, wheeling his toddler, spotted and pounced on it. He barely spoke English but he understood the universal language of music. Spasiba, sir.
Earlier, as I was leaving Bay 37th Street, my old buddy Bill was doing the final clean up of the house his family had owned for 50 years. His brother Paul, nine years his junior, passed away a year ago tomorrow and left a lot of debt, as he'd refinanced several times. Fortunately, the sale covered expenses and left Bill and his family a tiny profit. As I gave him a hug goodbye, I wondered if it would be the last time we saw each other in the flesh. Like so many of the guys I grew up with, he has moved away from Brooklyn, to New Jersey. How lucky we are to have the internet. I've reconnected with so many old friends who I would probably have never heard from again without the miracle of the world wide web.
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