I live on a block that has all of the residents parallel parking on an alley way. And, my next door neighbor obviously never learned how to park his car. Which means that my bumpers bear the scars of his efforts.
Those of you who have visited my home (for Shabat dinner? for a holiday party?) or just read my blog routinely know that I LOVE art. My home is replete with paintings, drawings, sculptures, and crafts. Dali, Max, Erte, Agam, Egbi, Imber are among the many different artist’s compositions hanging on my walls, in cabinets, or on the floor.
When I was a teenager, there were a few guitarists that grabbed my attention every time they played. Jimi Hendrix. Eric Clapton. Mike Bloomfield. Larry Coryell. They played blues, rock, and jazz- all music that I enjoyed- immensely. Jimi Hendrix died when I was barely still a teenager- of a drug overdose, but in mysterious fashion. Mike Bloomfield (of Butterfield Blues Band fame, in case you forgot) also died mysteriously in his car back in 1981. Eric Clapton is still playing. But, Larry died last month in a hotel (of heart disease; he gave up stimulants years ago).