Betty Moses

A few days ago as I was on my way home from work, something I saw made me do a double take. I was crossing the last bridge before I turned down my street.

This is a high bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway and the heavily-traveled road is four-laned.

To my surprise as I reached the top of the bridge, I saw a young man sitting on the side rail, strumming on a guitar, and he appeared to be vigorously singing.

I couldn’t hear him as I didn’t have time to lower my window, but he was obviously into the music.

What a strange place to make music, I thought to myself, and I forgot about him by the time I reached home.

The next day, at the same place and almost the same time, there he was again. Still playing and still singing.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Why on earth would someone lug a guitar up the walkway of the bridge? It’s no short walk from the nearest houses.

Was he a songwriter seeking inspiration, or was he learning to play “Bridge Over Troubled Waters”?

Maybe he was a reject from “American Idol” or maybe no chairs were turned when he sang on “The Voice” and this was a last desperate attempt to gain attention.

Or maybe he just loved singing on a high peak in the open air.

Creative people can find inspiration in strange places and at strange times, myself included.

I’m not calling my column — My Senior Moment — a creation, but it is my thoughts and skewed view of life in the golden years and I have to write it before you can read it..

And if you think I sit down at my desk in the afternoon, sip on a cup of tea and calmly type out the next week’s column, you couldn’t be farther from the truth.

I find myself unable to write except around 5 oclock in the morning when my alarm has shattered me out of a blissful dream, my eyes so bleary with sleep that I can hardly see the keyboard of my computer and as I gulp hot coffee trying to stay awake.

That how my creative juices flow and it’s not pretty.

A few years ago, I did a lot of painting and enjoyed it thoroughly. It was so satisfying using a brush and paint to make pretty pictures of places I have been and places I would love to see.

Sounds like a fun hobby. It was, but for some strange reason, I could only paint from 10 p.m. to much later — usually 3 or 4 a.m. — the witching hours.

And I could not paint unless I had a cup of coffee, a pack of cigarettes with an accompanying ashtray — and James Taylor playing on my cassette player.

A few times, when my mind and body became weary, my paint brush would end up in my ashtray and my cigarette in the water jar for my paint.

Strangely enough, since I stopped smoking, my painting has ceased also.

I have a few more idiosyncracies.

I’m not totally happy eating unless I have a book, Kindle or story on my computer screen to read.

And I cannot sing unless I’m wearing my Reeboks.

That being said, I can’t accuse the guitar player on the bridge of being strange.

But I can only hope he’s not practicing his swan song.

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