Jazz Grace

Walking outside and toward a local Starbucks, I cannot mistake the jazz saxophone greeting me from the speakers. Now, who is it? Is it Coltrane? Not quite. That means it is probably Dexter Gordon, although I have not heard the particular piece he is playing.

I asked the worker (who was my age, I wager) behind the register to tell me who was playing. She eagerly went back to check, and replied with a smile, "Dexter Gordon!"

"I have been listening to a lot of Dexter lately," I said. "Are you a jazz fan?" (One can sense these things.)

"Yes, I love the way jazz emotes one's feelings..."

We exchanged a few more words of jazz talk (not small talk) before I left. "My mother saw Duke Ellington in New York in the 40s and 50s," I bragged. "Oh!" she exclaimed with a smile while touching her heart with her hand.

Jazz grace strikes again (when needed; as it was).