MY KIND OF FUN: A Caravan of Music, Poetry & Picnics
Months of going up the learning curve of social media and book publicity, plus caring for my 94 year old mother, left me in dire need of some fun. So my beloved husband and I headed north to visit old friends for a few days. This is a little story of my kind of fun. What’s yours?
On the way up, we joined “Rumi’s Caravan” for an evening of poetry and music. After a madly healthy Middle-Eastern feast, we and the rest of the audience wound through an extravagance of dahlias and a glory of gladiolas, and took our seats around the large koi pond of a lovely Zen garden. Harp music wafted through the blue-dusk air from a humble stage, soon joined by drum, flute and viola.
Master musicians improvised music in tune with the moment, and with the flowing poetry spontaneously recited by deep delightful poets, quoting their own and other’ soulful poems – Rumi, Hafiz, Mary Oliver, David Whyte and more. We listeners sat awed and silent, drinking in delicate music and passionate words like thirsty flowers, turning our faces to the Sun of Love and the Moon of Sacredness, while swallows soared and danced in wild abandon through the clarity of a fogless California evening sky.
Soul-satiated, we traveled on to our play-date with our friends. Eating, talking and joking ensued, but we got serious about our pinochle and scrabble games. Next day, we took our picnic to a local folk music festival, very casual. No entrance fee; bring your own chairs or blanket. Read your book if you find the band boring, or jump up and dance if so inspired. Blue-grass; soul; Bulgarian or Celtic folk music; and much more.
Then there was the Beatles sing-along, led by two excellent musicians on guitar and keyboards. A hundred or so people of all ages singing Beatles songs, grins flashing, feet tapping, and having a grand time together. So much heart-full fun!
Last day, we strolled down a beach, finding beautiful pebbles, enjoying the view of mist-drifted, pine-clad cliffs, and dancing with waves rolling in and crashing gently, almost wetting our toes. We came upon delicate flowers growing out of the sand by a cliff carved with modern petroglyphs.
Then a picnic at a table surrounded by marshy reeds, watching goldfinches nibble on seed-heads of tall grasses. Driving back to our friends’ place, we saw a herd of tule elk, a buck with tall, velvet-clad antlers guarding his harem. The next morning, refreshed and satisfied on all levels, we headed south and home.