As most of us know, it's often life's little things that make the greatest impact. Especially when traveling, subtle, unexpected incidents can create the most lasting memories.
Here in Australia I've had several of those little incidents lately.
Picture it: It's late afternoon and I'm sitting in Scarborough in one of the many pretty parks that line the shore of Moreton Bay about six miles from my house. Behind me, incidentally, is the house where the BeeGees grew up, which has absolutely nothing to do with this story but I thought it was interesting. I'm watching the sky turn purple as the night gathers, I'm reading and listening to my favorite radio station, ABC Classic FM.
Now I have to interject a bit of personal history. The summer before I was a senior in college, 1969, I met a Bolivian guitar student from the N.C. School of the Arts in Winston-Salem. His name was Javier Calderon. I thought he was absolutely the sexiest, most brilliant boy I'd ever met. He seemed to take a shine to me, too, and of course we fell in luv.
I know it's hard to believe, but at age 21 I was not a candidate for Bride of Shrek. In fact, I had long blond hair, only one chin, an actual waistline and was in the zip code of being sort of unconventionally attractive. For his part, Javier had that brown-skinned, dreamy Latino thing going for him, to say nothing of his massive talent. When he serenaded me, which was often, I swooned. To this day classical guitar music evermore flips my switch.
Javier and I were fire and gasoline -- a combustible combo. But lordy mercy, we had a hot romance going, and it lasted about two years until it finally burned itself out. During that time he tried to launch his career as a classical guitarist while remaining at NCSA as a teacher. The last I heard of him he was headed to the University of Illinois and had finally found a professional artists' rep to manage his performance engagements. That was in 1972. I haven't laid eyes on the man or communicated with him since then.
Fast-forward to that park in Australia and that classical radio program...A guitar piece has just concluded, and the announcer is saying, "That was a recording by the Royal something-or-other Orchestra of Guitar Concerto #2 by the American composer Alan Hovhannes, who wrote it for the soloist, Javier Calderon..."
Surely I misheard?? Here I am on another continent on the other side of the world in another hemisphere 43 years later listening to a piece played by -- and written for -- Javier??! Naturally, I went to the radio station's online playlist, and there, sure enough, was the piece with "Javier Calderon, soloist."
People, I couldn't make this stuff up.
Of course, I did a Google search and discovered that Javier is now a Professor of Music at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. I've emailed him there, but I'm not holding my breath that I'll hear a peep from him. Still, I had to share the small-world story with him. I'm thrilled that he has succeeded in making a career of his music.
One of the other "little" things I've done lately involved a mob of kangaroos. That's what one calls a pack, or herd, or bunch of kangaroos, according to the Aussies: A mob.
This particular mob lives "in the wild" -- as opposed to in a game preserve or zoo -- in a little town near here. The locals apparently leave them in peace, because the animals graze in (and fertilize) their yards and in the public park along the waterfront at will. Quite a few of the females had joeys (babies) in their pouches, which were so heavy they were practically dragging the ground. In fact, one of those baby suckers hopped out, saw me, and hopped RIGHT BACK into his mama! It was a sight I'll never forget!
The last thing I'll report is about the Jumpers & Jazz Festival in the town of Warwick in southwest Queensland. I found it online and since it would give me an excuse to see more of the country -- the interior about 150 miles from where I'm staying -- I figured, why not?
How can I put this in as complimentary a way as possible? As I've come to expect out here, Warwick is filled with kind, lovely people. And these people have come up with a pretty unique way to promote their town in an otherwise remote part of the countryside -- in the winter, bless 'em. The Warwick boosters should be congratulated for their concept. After all, I fell for it, and no doubt others have, too, because the festival has been held annually since 2004.
It involves yarn. Lots and lots and lots of yarn. "Jumpers" is the Australian and British term for pull-over sweaters. Somewhere along the way, the nice ladies of Warwick discovered that they could knit and crochet their way into infamy by making jumpers -- and caps and socks and flowers and other decorative doo-dads of all descriptions -- and hanging them on Warwick's barren trees in the dead of winter.
The idea took off. Now the whole town -- beginning with City Hall -- is decorated with these colorful yarn creations. Trees, phone poles, buses, you name it. Every surface, it seems, is festooned with a yarn-y item. Judges award prizes for the best displays. Taste may not be a strong influence in their creative choices, but one has to give them an A-plus for imagination and effort.
As one of the knitters told me proudly, "We don't care if we sell anything at the festival or not. We just love spending all year getting ready for it!"
Then there's the "jazz" component of the festival. Well, I'm assuming somebody thought the alliterative "jazz" would go nicely with "jumper," but no one gets too worked up over the actual music selections. The "jazz" event I went to at the local pottery center had three middle-aged gals crooning "Sentimental Journey" and Rosemary Clooney's other latest hits, and nobody minded at all. The place was mobbed -- not by kangaroos, but by friendly locals who seemed to revel in their home-grown entertainment outdoors in the middle of the country on a mild, starry winter night.
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