Had Bobbie’s company on the walk this morning! She told me about a song she had researched, wanting to get the lyrics because they were fading in her memory (she’d learned it as a child). She sang me some of it, and it’s a catchy tune. Then she told me about a club where, back in the days of segregation, white people would go in order to listen to jazz and funk music. Those styles were considered sketchy at best by the so-called ‘higher society,’ but black-and-tan nightclubs were extremely popular from the twenties to the sixties.
The specific one she was talking about was burned down; a tragedy that apparently led to the fire code that says doors in public buildings must not be locked when the building is occupied. Since this place was similar in nature to a speakeasy, nobody wanted to be caught attending, so the entrances were controlled and generally hidden. Not a good idea in the case of a fire.
Bobbie also said that she walked the Bluff yesterday, and was impressed with how few pauses she needed in order to get to the top. I was pleased for her. I remember that moment, earlier in the year, when I realized the same thing. The more you do something, the closer it becomes to normal. The closer a task gets to being normal, the better you get at it. You get used to it, and that can make all the difference.
And then next step for Bobbie is realizing how little recovery time she needs, in the fewer instances when she needs a breather!
We got to see a barge parking alongside the shore, too. It really is amazing, how the tug crews maneuver those large, heavy, current-catching ore-carriers across the river to a specific spot on the shore.