Uninterrupted Trending

The hallway I’m staring down is a long one.  There is an uninterrupted view of over one hundred yards in length.  Boxed in to this tunnel-like corridor, the distance seems much longer.  There are no options beside the left turn at the mid point.  The monotony of the hallway also makes it feel longer.  Every ten feet or so, there is a rectangular wall-light protruding on either side of the hall.  Between these lamps two boxlike fixtures drop down from the ceiling.  Recessed lighting makes the first few inches of each one glow.  The walls reflect as if made of glass and so these ceiling lights and the wall lights reflect off infinitely into the wall, trending ever closer to the end point they never reach, way down there at the far end.  Chairs, like the one I’m sitting on now, interrupt the view.  But they are stationary, like the now-need-to-be-taken-down Christmas tinsel snowflakes that hang between every ceiling fixture, successively down the hall, off to infinity.  People also disrupt the view.  They move.  Many people walk in a manner, compromised.  That man was fat and shuffled.  Another woman waddles.  This man now, is bow legged.  The young man who just walked by seems tidy and perturbed.  They’ve all just sat down.  It’s quiet at this end of the hall.  But down there, people keep chatting.  It’s far enough away to be imperceptible as anything other than noise, anything other than the absence of silence.

Later, I’m out of the hallway.  We take a cab home.  I make my older one a bit of food and then everyone leaves.  I’m home, by myself, with music and all that needs to be done.  The sun has disappeared, while my face was in this screen.  It happened so quickly.  It’s hard to believe.

I remember seeing Johnny Griffin down at the Blue Note in the Village.  This was probably the mid nineties.  He had a bit where he imitated being nagged by his wife, where he squawked out high tones that sounded like cajoling or scolding or yelling or sweet talk.  It was funny and he obviously liked the laughs.  I recall there were two Japanese businessmen talking to one another, above the music, during the performance.  One and then another person told them to be quiet.  They left, instead.

I’m listening to Johnny Griffin now.  Born in Chicago in 1928 I hadn’t realized he passed about eight years ago.  A friend once mentioned and I agree that his playing with Monk is always preferable to the more iconic Charley Rouse.  This album, “The Chicago Sound” recorded in 1957 I came across looking for albums with the bassist Wilbur Ware on it.   This album has an added treat with the loveable Junior Mance massaging the keys.   They’ve got their hands in my shoulders as I consider the uninterrupted trending of this and every week to come.