Faking It

Tomorrow night I'll be faking jazz at a poetry reading and art show opening.  The organizer wanted art, poetry and music represented.  Sometimes I listen to Terri Gross interview famous jazz artists and often, on the way home from orchestra practice Tuesday nights, I listen to a jazz radio show.  How little I know! One semester in college I did an independent study, taking some lessons with a jazz pianist in Lima, Ohio, but I didn't get anywhere fast.  So yes, I feel like an imposter....

which is quite normal.  Maybe if I got into this deep enough, millions would throng to my blog.  But no, this is not one of those.  I'm still a stuffed shirt, holding secrets close to the vest.

A dabbler.  That might be a good description.  Someone who knows about a lot of things, but not a lot about any of them, enough to pull the wool over some people's eyes and watch some experts raise eyebrows or tolerate imitation.  In a way, I can identify with people like Bernie Madoff, without the suffering, and, on the whole, it's great fun.

Meanwhile, photographers probably wonder at the junk I post, like this picture of a cedar tree and its guest.

Leaves of three, let them be.

"Yeah, right," says Virginia.  "Talk about imposters."

"Do you think I can't count?" she asks.

"Black or red?" says she.

"Black, Doyles Thornless," I say.  "Three years ago I planted a few canes and now the patch is a forest."