Well, this Friday begins the last weekend of my summer vacation, and I'd like to spend it--as I've already spent much of it--relaxing, perhaps reflecting on how fine a summer it's been at the Hardy household. My family is happy and healthy; we were able to spend a wonderful weekend up in Oxford; we swam at Maw-Maw's house; Nicholas had fun sitting in the summer school classes Penny and I taught in Meridian; both my children enjoyed their birthdays (and the presents that came with them); we all played tennis a few times; we were able to clean out massive amounts of junk and clutter from the house; we visited the oldest existing convenience store in the state (and my children managed not to break any of the priceless antiques therein); my son and I saw several movies together; we all visited with friends from nearby Starkville and not-quite-so-nearby Pennsylvania; and for the first summer in years, no family, friends, or acquaitances passed away. It's been as fine a summer as we have ever spent.
As I'm typing, my son is up in the house playing with some of his birthday presents, my wife (who's now happy that--even though I was unable to find the drill--I finally hung the hat rack in the closet) and daughter are playing with the cats, and I'm at peace, and--for us--all is right with the world. I'm not trying to gloat, and I'm not trying to pretend that our life is perfect, and I'm not trying to ignore the numerous problems facing our country and our world, and I'm not trying to be insensitive to the lives of those who aren't as fortunate as we. I'm just trying to appreciate the happiness I'm lucky to have--while I still have it, for I know that hard times will surely come. My life will not always be as good as it is now. Unresolvable conflict, sickness, and death will one day rain down upon me and those I love.
This past summer, though, they did not, and for that I'm grateful. Thursday, July 24, 2008 will not last, but today will. This past summer may have passed by, but it's with me now, and it always shall be. To commorate this eternal moment, I've been listening, over and over, to one of the most beautiful records I've ever heard, late Cuban singer Ibrahim Ferrer's and producer Ry Cooder's rendition of "Perfume de Gardenias." I--and most of America--first became aware of Ferrer with the release of Ry Cooder's breakthrough Buena Vista Social Club in 1997. Ferrer's next album (his solo debut, in fact), Buena Vista Social Club Presents Ibrahim Ferrer was my favorite record of 1999. His aged voice is supple, tender, and passionate, and it conveys well the simple and sweet lyric.
The tune itself is a traditional romantic bolero, and Cooder's arrangement respects the Cuban style, but he adds a surprising element that--along with Ferrer's voice--transforms this bolero from mundane to magnificent: he eschewed Cuban background singers in favor of the Blind Boys of Alabama, the multiple Grammy-award winning gospel group (who released a sparkling record of traditional gospel songs and hymns this year). The Boys add a soulful, ethereal quality that both elevates the music and keeps it earthbound whenever the jazz accompaniment threatens to float away. These two disparate musical genres (Cuban jazz and American gospel)--and the heavenly voices exemplifying each--combine to create a record that transcends both genres, transcends space and time, and elevates the every day into something special. The two gardenias Ferrer sings of may one day die, but at this moment, their beauty is true, and when old age shall these gardenias--and this summer--and this day--waste, then this song shall remain (with apologies to Mr. Keats).
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