Colliding With the Past

Serendipity and synchronicity collided for me in the late 50's, when I was a little bitty kitty. It was then my future piano theory teacher, very hip beat jazz man Merv Kennedy, had Steve Allen as a piano student. Steve was then the host of the Tonight Show, and booked the far out, groovy, jumpin', wild Richard "Lord" Buckley, who speechified jazz for the ladies and gentlement of Steve's court.
My brother Billy, with a lazer eye for cool, introduced me to Lord Buckley long after his death in 1960 - first, with his word-for-word rendition of "The Naz," then later, by giving me his treasured copy of Hiparama of the Classics, Lord Buckley's interpretation of Shakespeare and other fly cats from storydom.
Meanwhile, I was preparing to meet the smart, beautiful women who would befriend me at at work, and be dear to me for decades. These foxy babes are closing in on retirement now, and some are concerned about what they'll do with their lives. To them, I say this.
Had it not been for the luxury of time available to begin writing, I might never had picked up Lord Buckley and fallen in love with his gracious, faultless command of the language of hip. I may never have found many of his lesser known works, compiled and transcribed by another favorite - frantic, wild, axe cat Frank Zappa.
Served up too early in my life to appreciate, all these magical coincidae would have fallen by the wayside, had I not de-gigged and de-wigged to dig the glorious ecstacy of Cathedral-headed beauty, rattlin' on my bookshelf and tappin' on my CD player. All that screamin', stompin' and wailin' to stash the booty and the looty takes time to cool out, my babies.
But this I know. When you're real sweet, rarified and delightful in your gig, it pays down the line. Merv, His Lordship and Frank have swooped off the satellite now, but they gassed while they could. Have faith, mi'ladys.
Your finest hours await.