Have a bit of Oasis in my stream this morning in the form of “Champagne Supernova” (1996), just cause, you know, smelling the smoke of someone getting high, landslides, the sky, and the eternal question, why, why, why?
Don’t know why – perhaps because I’ve been battling with a cold and flu the last few days, and have finally seemed to be winning – but an old Stones’ standard has flooded the stream. Maybe a sense derived of snuggling in bed under heavy blankets during the day, when I’m supposed to be out adulting, contributes to a mood of being a little kid again, eating buttered toast and drinking warm fluids to soothe my throat and head.
Here’s “19th Nervous Breakdown” from 1966.
I encountered a friend on the street. He was coming out of a store and I was walking by. Eighty years old, his wife is two years younger. She’s having medical issues.
Married for fifty years, his only spouse, he seemed like he was going through the process of thinking about life without her. They’ve downsized their home twice in the last eight years, but her mobility is going, as is her vision and her mental acuity. In his words, “It all seems to be falling apart for her.”
Sad, and an often heard story. I commiserated with him, but what struck me was his comments about being nothing without her. He said, in his thinking, everything that he’d done after getting his college degree was about her, and then their family that they created, and their life together. It was his constant motivation.
After we parted and I thought more about what he’d said, “Bring Me to Life” by Evanescence (1995) slipped into the stream, a song about being nothing without another.
Thinking about disasters as I was walking yesterday. Australia is struggling to catch a break this year, going from bushfires to rain to flooding. Indonesia continues having a tough time, quakes in Puerto Rico, and flooding in Chicago.
Then there’s the snow. A winter storm passed through here, giving us a couple inches. Trudging through the aftermath, we’re grateful because it helps the snowbanks, an important source of summer water, even while many mildly rue and curse the snow. Come on, it’s snow, and disrupts our easy ways and pleasantries with its cold intrusion.
It’s impressive how tiny flakes can add up. Our flakes went from normal or average sized to supersized flakes, back to normal before dropping into tiny. All still added up.
These thoughts took me to a Kate Bush 2011 song, “50 Words for Snow”. I enjoy her but I’m mostly aware of this song because Stephen Fry is the one giving the words. Fry delivers them like he’s tasting the expressions. Then Kate goes on with a chorus, “Come on, man,” telling him how many more words he has to go. I don’t hear this song often, originally hearing it by chance on NPR (“Is that Stephen Fry?”) but have since listened to it on the ‘puter, trying to understand all the words for snow. I find it satisfying and contemplative.
Today’s theme music comes via a movie and the cats (but not the movie, Cats). The movie was Fighting With My Family. Featuring a strong cast, I’d wanted to see it when it came out but it went through our town’s theater like a gust of wind. Fortunately, it’s shown up on Epix, so I was able to enjoy it the other night.
Much of the music played during the movie jarred movies out of my brain and into my stream. One particular one was “Born to Raise Hell” by Motörhead (1994). I’m more familiar with the Cheap Trick cover, but the song reminded me of an airman who worked for me on the battle staff at Onizuka.
Such a demure, quiet person, with a southern accent, it was surprising to discover that she was a joyful metalhead. I love those sort of surprises, when preconceptions and stereotypes are overthrown.
The cats came into it as I was talking to my young ginger boy this morning. He’d been getting up in Boo’s face. Boo is a bedroom panther with issues. After speaking the magic words that stopped the conflict (“Stop it now, or you’re going out, Papi,”), I talked to the ginger and told him, “You’re just born to raise hell, aren’t you?”
“Yep,” he mewed back.
So this is for them. Feel free to sing along. Cheers
The dreams were too cra-cra to even begin to parse more than snippets of scenes. They were all about some kind of business some people where people wanted me involved, and stars. Shooting stars, nebulae, and galaxies seemed like a heavy theme. Sometimes it seemed like I was in a spaceship looking out at stars, galaxies, and nebulae somewhere, except there wasn’t a spaceship. Just me and the stars. Those scenes stayed interspersed with the business scenes and other scenes that are mere flickers — on rocks by water, a flower, the sun.
Okay, from it, memories introduce Deep Purple playing “Highway Star” (1972) from the album Machine Head. It’s a fast-tempo song. It’s Deep Purple, so there is a large infusion of keyboards, but it’s Deep Purple, so it’s hard-rocking with guitars and drums, a perfect song to have cranked up on a cold night when you’re cruising in a car with your friends.
Today’s song is by a Canadian group, “The Guess Who”.
“Hang On to Your Life” was released in 1971. It came to me today out of one of the lines, natch; it’s a common occurrence when I’m walking around town, speaking to the cats, or visiting with my dreams. This one came out in conjunction with mutterings about writing (wrutterings, I suppose), and the quest for a better novel. I figured, “Maybe I can sell my soul.”
Burton Cummings answered in “Hang On to Your Life”, “but don’t you sell it too cheap.” Then I just meandered down some memory lanes about age, life, and choices. Yes, all while sober and not smoking anything. Listening to it, it seems like a perfect 1970 radio rock song, featuring raging lyrics in a taut voice backed by electric guitars and heavy drumming.
Gotta love it.
You’d think that today’s song, with a cat in the title, was inspired by an interaction with a cat. Nope; didn’t happen that way.
“Honky Cat” by Elton John (1972) came to me because of the line, “Change is gonna do me good.” I was asked to help another. Helping them would force a change to my comfortable, protected routines. But I wanted to help, hence, I told myself, “Change is gonna do me good.”
Turned out, my help wasn’t needed, etc. By then, though, “Honky Cat” was roaring in the stream. Not that I mind that. Its jaunty sound fit my mood.
Now I’m gonna go look for gold in a silver mine, then drink a little whiskey from a bottle of wine. Always enjoyed those lines.
Six thirty in the AM. Post winter solstice and not too cloudy so there’s a little daylight, but still, overhead lights are required for this important task, feeding the cat.
I used to regularly be up at this hour, often at work by now. Since retiring from the USAF and leaving IBM, I’ve chosen not to be up at this hour. I’d rather be sleeping.
But the cat – Pepper, the neighbor’s old cat – has come in through the pet door and is begging for a meal, so I get up to indulge her. Won’t be but a minute. Another cat, Boo, comes in asking for some food as well, so I set him up.
Boo alternatively stares at me and the bowl of food like, “What’s this? What’s going on?”
“It’s your food, Boo. You were just asking for it.”
“Food? Food? What is food?”
I don’t know what game he’s playing and I want to return to bed. Maybe he’s thinking, “This isn’t what I ordered.” Don’t know. So I tell him, “If you want it, here it is, come and get it.” But I know Pepper. She’s gobbling her food down and will head to this bowl afterward. She’s already giving it a side glance as she’s eating. “You better hurry cause it may not last.”
Which was all that my brain required to introduce the 1969 Badfinger song “Come and Get It” from my childhood memories to my conscious stream.
If you want it, here it is come and get it
Mmmm, make your mind up fast
If you want it, anytime I can give it
But you better hurry cause it may not last
h/t to Genius.com cuz’ cut and paste is easier.
It’s weird to think of this as a Badfinger song. I think of them as rock poppers. Yeah, I know its history about Paul McCartney, The Magic Christian, etc. And that’s it, I guess, it has the Beatles sound (or the McCartney sound), but not the Badfinger sound.
The food was eaten when I got up an hour later, and also regurgitated on the foyer rug, highlighted in its own little patch of sunshine.