I’m with her in the grocery store, shopping for a nice lunch. I’ve bought a soft cheese with a chalky rind. Not my favorite, but I know she likes it.
Long ago, it was the newspaper or the daily mail. What bit of novelty therein would make my day happier, more interesting, unique?
Does a teacher facing students, jazz group improvising, swimmer doing workouts, coder fixing software, thinker seeking solace seem safety prone to you? Are these the risk-averse?
Might activists be poster-folk for the risk-willing? They march for justice, take stands, venture into parts unknown, right?
And do they also pay attention to what works v. what may backfire, waste time, disillusion volunteers? Do they follow best practice like the blandest nine to fiver?
‘You’ve internalized, Bob Dylan - his spirit comes right through and we all feel it,’ says a Dylan fan gesturing toward rows of chairs recently filled with hushed listeners AKA noisy clappers in Fairview Park’s Meeting Room A.
Libraries, we are told, are no longer meant to be quiet zones.
I pictured you a lumbering older man with wide, surprisingly nimble fingers I’ve seen on guitar players from time to time. I thought you’d be a little arrogant, just the kind who suffers no fool gladly but suffers the children to come unto him. I considered this a plus.
What you say to your audience between songs is an art in itself. Walter and I don’t want to break the spell of Dylan’s lyrics with stray patter in our Muscle and Bone shows. So this story, though umbilically melded to Queen Jane Approximately for me, is better essay than segue.
Dylan’s songs let us in. They are his butler, impeccably dressed, astute, well versed in the bard’s wishes. Oddly, this butler lets anyone enter who rings the bell.