Sam watches the world go by on Sept. 9

Classic stoop. Bill Arnold Photography/Getty Images

Classic stoop. Bill Arnold Photography/Getty Images

Sam sits on the stoop, cup of coffee warming her hands, aroma stirring her senses, thoughts bombarding her brain.

Another Sept. 9 in my beloved city. Happy Birthday to Me!

Made it again.

Would you look at those people scurrying here and there! The coming of Autumn may be robbing us of our daylight, but she will not take our day from us, will she?

Yeah, you! What are you looking at? Never seen a well-lived chick in a vintage CBGBs shirt hanging out on her steps, have you? Yeah, they’re mine, and they’re fabulous!

Let the Great Love upstairs be looking out the window catch you and … Nah. Calm one, up there. How’d that happen? How’d that stick? Oh, yeah. My blog. Ha.

What am I gonna write about today? What pissed me off the most yesterday? Yeah. Gotta fix that shit, Madam President.

The Big Dude’s coming over for dinner with the grands. Do we have enough food? He and the spouse seem to be doing OK this week. Damn, it’s tough on the young ones. Just like when I … I’m so glad I didn’t listen to the system and kept at that kid and his spectrum and high intelligence and let him find his way.

OK, cup’s empty. Gotta go up and put on some tunes. Lou. Patti. Still best. Sure. Happy Birthday to Me.

It’s Samara’s birthday. Rara and Lizzi and friends have put together a package for our BloggyVille friend. Loads of folks are expected to participate, building a mixtape of sorts.

I went with jazz. It’s a video I shot myself, a year ago, at a show by the Heath Brothers at Onondaga Community College. I consider it the best music video work I’ve accomplished. And, everybody there was celebrating Jimmy Heath’s birthday, too. He had just turned 88.

For the little story above, I was struck by an exchange of comments on Samara’s blog recently in which she mentioned my way with words and her inkling that I am a writer of fiction. Well inspired, by your compliment and your life, this little short story is for you, Samara. I can see this hopping the aisle onto the non-fiction rack down the line. Happy Birthday, my friend.

Here’s the link to Samara’s mixtape.

Here’s the link to the stoop photo above.

36 thoughts on “Sam watches the world go by on Sept. 9

  1. This is amazing. Great work on this video, Mark. And the story – I read it over and over.
    I like the future “me.”

    I actually had to look up Jimmy Heath. I can’t believe I didn’t know him! The Wikipedia article referenced Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, John Coltrane, Charlie Parker. I needed to know who this is!

    Mark. You’re such a loving, loyal friend. Always in my corner, rooting for me and Little Dude. Thank you for taking the time to get to know me, outside of our blogs. I hope someday our paths cross, for real.


    • You’re welcome. You’re welcome. You’re welcome. My pleasure. Thank you. And I sure as hell hope so, Samara. ❀

      Yes, Jimmy Heath! He and his brother Tootie, on the drums, have played with the best jazz artists in the world. For 60 years, these men have rubbed elbows with our those that built our musical heritage. I couldn't think of a better way to say happy birthday to your deep love of what shakes, rolls and grooves, my dear friend.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Well, I’ve met several bloggers at BlogHer. I’m meeing Mark next month at the Patti Smith reading.

        I’m going to Texas at the end of the month and meeting up with a bunch of the Sisterwives.

        It turns out, this love cannot be confined to online only. I’m sure we’ll meet someday. xoxoox


      • Yes. We’re too big for pixels only, aren’t we? Have fun with Mark at Patti and the Sisterwives in the Yahoo state. πŸ™‚ You must let me know if you return to the land of Gorges, you know. It’s 55 miles from me.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Pingback: She’s In My Heart | rarasaur

  3. If I didn’t know it was you, I would have thought it was her. Well done, Mark!

    And I remember that original jazz post, one of my favorites πŸ™‚


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