The lunar year

It is Ramazan again. You hear the complaints of ex-pat friends regarding the drums in the wee small hours of the night, that awake them as well as awaking the faithful to their first predawn meal before the daily fast. The Gene Krupa-esque enegy of the drummers pounding on that sheepskin intrudes into the oud music coming over the earphones from your computer: you are comforted by the sound, the raw adolescent voices of the drummers and his companions chanting what-you-do-not-comprehend to rouse the observant in this neighborhood; for they are apparently forbidden to do so in more "modern," upscale areas. Going out on your small balcony overlooking the street, you see a slightly older man--oddly akin to a scout leader--exhorting the younger drummers to do their work carefully, properly. Somehow that only makes the efforts of these folk seem more caring, more human. It is their important time, not yours, and you must respect it.

Comments

[Tracey]

I googled "paris walters" on the internet and your blog seems to be the only one that references him. I knew paris in 1995 when he was a patient of my father's. I remember all of his stories about being a talent scout in hollywood in the 1930's -50's and his travels. He was young at heart and I loved him dearly. Do you have any information of him?

Sincerely
Tracey

[Ronald Strickland]

Hi Tracey, I knew Paris well beginning in 1962. I'd be happy to hear from you at 781-275-7215. Happy trails, Ron Strickland