![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-rxFnCldzJCU4tt35Xg3dCRHznWerFb9G19Ht44jzdYNZ-tpxDqfJMh-w5_aJBL0jcAo9lYqIkWIKW44v72WnE0X-BKU6XlKMPl_F4mKcrikNsZPotrjgI_EpAn5Aewb9kfcTn6LxphM/s320/oud+2.jpg)
I hung out with a small group of what would now be called hippies, in a little shack on a friend's property that skirted the railroad tracks in a rural southern California town, listening to the oud on our Crosley Stack-o-Matic.
The rite of passage obviously isn't the same for all young girls.
3 comments:
rural!?
Oud!?
Stack-O-Matic!?
Remember, Aaron, I'm talking about the 1950s. We were in love with the oud. The place belonged to Donald Byrd who now teaches art in LA, and the Stack-O-Matic? Well it speaks for itself.
Aaron stole my thunder. I must have been and divorced several times before I ever even heard of an oud, let alone listened to one. I'm impressed my dear.
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