The Kiwi Who Fell To Earth

After "Pirates Of Penzance" on Saturday, and after the usual gathering afterwards, it was time to return to Sacramento and give Sparky his usual evening walk, at 2 a.m. We followed the usual well-worn paths, and walked the same streets, for the umpteenth time. Everything was exactly the same as always, exactly and precisely normal. We had just passed the house with the big American flag, when, all of a sudden, there was a tremendous clatter and crash, just behind me.

I quickly turned around. It took me a few seconds to figure out what had happened. Adjacent to the porch of the house there was a small 8-foot-tall tree, a fragile bit of shrubbery. A man had stepped off the porch, directly into the tree, and had knocked both himself and the tree onto the bricks below. Cursing, he unsteadily began rising from the ground.

I hesitantly asked, "are you all right?" Unconvincingly he said, "I'm all right, mate." There was *something* familiar about his accent. So I asked "you wouldn't be Australian, would you?" With a broad Australian accent he replied, "I'm a Kiwi, mate!"

I introduced myself, and we started talking. He was a percussionist on extended holiday in the U.S., originally from Roratua, but staying with his brother in this house. He had spent the last nine years in Australia (hence the accent). He loudly invited me to sit, drink some bourbon, and talk about the evening.

We talked a lot about bands of the 80's, and a usual assortment of topics. He became wistful, thinking about how he had set up a woman he met at a bar that evening with a friend. "I've had three houses and lost three houses Down Under," he said, "but I don't understand why it was my fate to come halfway around the world, in order to play matchmaker." I assured him that life can have many unexpected roles for us to play.

Abruptly, he asked both me and Sparky inside. The Lady of the House was understandably perturbed to have visitors at 3 a.m., but not as perturbed as this fellow's brother was, who eventually appeared to rebuke his brother: "don't you have any consideration?" The Lady anxiously whispered "your brother has to work in the morning! You must be quiet!" The Kiwi said "I'm a percussionist! I can't tell if I'm pianissimo, or forte!" (suffice to say, for a bourbon-fueled 3:15 a.m., he was way, way too forte).

I had lost track of Sparky. He had wandered into the kitchen. Presently, Sparky trotted back out, followed by the brother, who opened the door for Sparky, and commanded, "OK, you two, out now!"

We have a loose plan to get together again, the Kiwi drummer and myself. I talked with him about the community theater scene in Sacramento, and he said: "I remember the Operatic Society of Mackay, in the Pioneer Valley. Always good for a laugh!" So, we'll see what happens here....