pianogonzology: carefree

Showing posts with label carefree. Show all posts

Thursday, July 27, 2017

Complexity . . .

Childhood is so gloriously simple, for those fortunate enough to have caring, loving and providing parent(s). I was fortunate. I can still recapture, or should I say remember, that carefree feeling that was my life for, what now in reality was, a few short years. There is no deep-seated desire to return to those times. They were wonderful for what they were. . . a beginning. An introduction. A primer. I recall a time when I perceived all adults to be 'wise' (for lack of a better word) simply by virtue of their years. And rightly, thanks to Mom and Dad, accorded them the proper respect that adults were due as a result. I'm not certain when, but at one point, most probably shortly after entering school, I realized that things would not remain as easy going as in the past. The status quo was about to be shaken. There would soon be additional responsibilities, or complications, in my simple, carefree life. Again, rightly so. Now, in addition to having to decide in which direction I would ride my bike, whether I wanted grape or cherry-flavored bubblegum and what television program I would watch upon my arrival home, I had to integrate several hours of school, some homework, new friends and a social component to which I was quite simply not accustomed.

It's Complicated
©2017 Raymond M. Jozwiak

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Tuesday, July 25, 2017

The World . . .

. . . was my oyster . . .

. . . as full of wonder and joy; as carefree; as full of potential but more importantly, full of fun. With a bicycle practically a permanent part of my anatomy, the neighborhood provided (what seemed like) endless miles to explore, numerous friends with whom many adventures were undertaken. Safe, secure, content and not a care in the world. . . except for possibly 'in which direction do I ride today?' One day, with some friends (who sometimes possessed less-than-noble motives), my bike and I ventured to the property of a nearby box-manufacturing facility. In the yard of the property, which was not secured by fence, wall or canine representatives, were stored rolls of paper (a necessary component of cardboard boxes) of all sizes and weights. For some reason which does not readily or otherwise come to mind mind now, we dismounted our vehicles and came in personal contact to a relatively small roll which was probably about four and a half feet tall, not very big in diameter, yet quite heavy; a fact which I was later to discover first-hand. Our close contact with the object eventually involved changing its position from vertical to horizontal. As we proceeded in our endeavor, the roll of paper somehow managed to attain its horizontal orientation upon the tip of the big toe on my right foot. Upon my return home and my walk through the living room where my parents were watching their evening television, I resorted to limping somewhat to relieve the pain of the injury I had sustained. When questioned about my unusual method of walking, I assured Mom and Dad that nothing was wrong. This for two reasons: 1. I was hoping the injury was minor and would not require any significant attention; 2. House rules said that my wanderings were to be confined to our neighborhood and I was NOT to cross the major thoroughfare to where the box company was located. Eventually I 'fessed-up.' The nail of my big toe on the injured foot was severely bruised (nothing broken, thank goodness). It eventually fell off being replaced by a brand new one.

My Oyster
©2017 Raymond M. Jozwiak

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Friday, October 14, 2011

Ah, back when we were. . .

. . . all young and relatively carefree, and more frequently than was wise, a gig would turn into a party. . . for the band. Jay remarked more than thirty years later that the band consisted entirely of alcoholics, with the exception of me. In truth I had my moments, but never drank beyond reason during a paying gig, at least that's MY story. One such gig ended badly and practically in fisticuffs. A four-hour was broken-down into time increments as follows. We performed for about one hour, took a twenty-minute break, performed forty minutes repeating the last scheme for the remaining two hours. During this particular job we somehow, and I'm not sure if it began with the first break or later, we simply extended the breaks so that they exceeded, or practically exceeded the actual performance time. At the end, the gentleman with whom we contracted (our contracting was exclusively verbal) did not let our lapse of professionalism go unnoticed. In fact, he wanted to withhold our payment in its entirety. A first, and fortunately for us and future paying customers, a last. We somehow escaped the situation unharmed and if I'm not mistaken, still compensated. Another engagement involved continuous bickering between Greg (sax/vocals) and Jeff (drums) and numerous threats to resign from the organization, all due to excessive imbibing.

NIGHT TRAIN (written by Jimmy Forrest/performed by Ful Treatment circa 1976)

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