Earlier today I started a post about going last night to Northridge to see the philharmonic . The orchestra was from Wroclaw , Poland .The venue was the fabulous Performing Arts Center , like a mini Disney Concert Hall , on Nordhoff in the San Fernando Valley .
But , of course , as soon as I started I got sidetracked and began writing about CSUN , ( California State University at Northridge ) which is nearby on the same street . Seeing the school brought back memories of taking education classes there in the seventies on my way to a teaching credential . Someday I may write about that , about Ron Sima’s exceptional class on teaching methods , and about the other useless classes .
Someday I may write about finishing the credential work at Loyola-Marymount University and about the bogus history test there . I might mention going over to Pepperdine University to see if I could finish up there . My first attempt at writing the post got bogged down in the same bureaucratic mire and misdirection as I encountered back then on my way to a credential. So , I will spare you the details here .
As I was writing the post earlier today Tom drove up in his old Ford pickup with a couple of worn out chairs that a friend of ours was throwing out . There are two footstools , too. They’re Danish , from the 50s or 60s , and ” are worth a thousand ” Tom said . He’d found the chairs prices on a website .
They’re not worth a thousand now . Maybe the friend should have thrown them out . I need to refinish the wood and Ada needs to take the rest of the things to the apolsterer . They’ll be worth at least the hundreds we will have to spend for the work on them .
As Tom and I were trying to figure out how the chairs come apart so that I can refinish them our buddy Willie called to invite us to dinner . He called just after the window guys called to set up an appointment to do a couple of repairs .
And then Ada began asking if I’d seen the cat , Woodie . The cat had evidently peed on the CD collection . Again . ” Are you writing your blog ? ” Ada asked .
I’m trying too .
” No. Not any more .” By now Tom and I were sharing a beer and he was handing me a set of his wrenches to dismantle the chairs .
Last night we were sitting in the Performing Arts Center listening to Chopin and watching the orchestra play . We were listening to the music bounce off the blonde -wood walls and down from the curved wood panels hanging above the stage . For me listening to the music was like floating on a cloud for awhile , like a meditation , like an emotional yoga exercise for a couple of hours . It was musical massage .
I walked over to our bank after Tom left to be assertive with the loan officer who seemed to be giving us the run around again on the refinance . I had already called the 800 number to try to register a complaint and I had been told pleasantly by the woman on the line that she couldn’t help me . ” You need to complain at your local branch , ” she said . ” This is customer service . We don’t do that here .”
” But I’m a customer, ” I said . ” Give me the name of someone to complain to above the branch level .” It was no use .
Maybe if I had written the blog post while sitting in the auditorium last night in Northridge I would have finished with something amazingly ethereal and flowingly cohesive . That didn’t happen , though .