I was half asleep while attending something in the middle of the night. Was it a noise outside that awoke me, or a cat going through the pet door, or just something in my nervous system? Tag it with ‘things I’ll never know’.
But, momentarily awake (with Tucker licking my knuckles and purring) (did he wake me?), I drifted through fragmenting dream memories. Lyrics from “Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in My Hand” (Primitive Radio Gods, 1996) join the dream memories.
The song is slight, mildly catchy in a hypnotic sort of way but I enjoy reflecting on the lyrics and their twists. What’s usually most memorable from this song for me is B.B. King singing, “I’ve been down-hearted, baby, ever since the day.”
Contrary to world expectations, I’ve been, um, feeling good? How else can it be put, but I’ve been experiencing a rising sense of hope and optimism. It permeates everything I’m doing and thinking.
Rationally, I can’t account for it. I can say that I’m less stressed because I’m not out there socializing and fighting traffic. I can attribute it to kind weather gods; May, June, and July have been pleasantly mild for the most part, keeping anxieties about wildfires and smoke tamped.
But then there’s COVID-19 and what it’s doing to the world. And there was the death of a sweet, shy cousin, too young, just fifty-one, dead from cancer, leaving two sons behind, succumbing to the disease after a four year struggle. In my mind, she remains bright-eyed and smiling with an impish impulse.
And there was Dad, being rushed to the hospital mid-week, Dad who is rarely sick but has a full metal jacket of stents (installed a few years ago) and moderate CPOD. He is almost eighty-eight, though, so there’s always expectations and worries. We are talking about the life train. It always pulls in at the same final stop.
Writing, though, has been a wonderful escape, of course, taking me on an unexpected ride as the characters evolve and the story goes in directions that I didn’t expect. That’s always a pleasure, innit? A good writing day can propel you over many obstacles.
So…
Feeling good. Optimistic, hopeful, even joyous.
Against this backdrop, I’m hearing “Bell Bottom Blues” by Eric Clapton (1971). Two aspects of the song stay on a loop in my head: “I don’t want to fade away,” and “I don’t want to lose this feeling.”
No, I don’t want to lose this feeling. It’s too good. I wish I could package it and share for free with everyone in the world. Others should know these sensations. They’re powerful stimulants.
Enough of my babbling. Here’s the music, a later live acoustic version that I think does more justice to the song.
There has to be four things today because it’s the Fourth of July, Independence Day in the U.S., right?
Best fourth of July celebration for me is the first one with my wife. She wasn’t my wife or girlfriend yet. I was fifteen and she was fourteen, and she was just a girl I’d just met a few days before. Yep, just a smart, long-haired girl who captured my attention from the first time I saw her. Fortunately, I had the same impact on her, she claims. Guess it was fate.
I subscribe to the Hulu service with commercial breaks. I don’t like spending money on streaming services. They’re an indulgence, so I try to minimize the cost. I’m watching two shows on Hulu, “Cardinal” and “Justified” (again), so I don’t think it’s worth paying more for it. They’re like an awkward, gamboling puppy with their commercial breaks, erupting in odd points in a scene (butchering the tension or mood). They usually show two or three commercials, and they usually cut off , and then cutting off the last twelve seconds of the final commercial. If I was that advertiser, I’d be demanding better service. My cynical aspect (which occupies about ninety percent of my mind) suggest Hulu does their breaks deliberately to motivate me to pay a few more dollars a month to avoid commercial breaks.
Watched Hamilton on Disney Plus last night. Had the captions on, and it’s a good thing. It’s a continuous flow of life, song, revelations, and relationships, and worth every damn piece of praise that I’ve read or heard. I recommend it to you so you can witness for yourself.
Gonna be a mellow day in spirit. I’m going for a walk in a little while…after I write. A pair of jets did a flyby to mark the moment when the parade would’ve begun but there are no parades in town, although our friend and state rep did a singleton parade. Pam Marsh wears the Statue of Liberty outfit every year, has for years. The mask is new…so is the Black Lives Matter sign…and the coronavirus on a chain… We’ve watched the town parade from her front year for the past ten years. It’s a potluck where everyone attending brings a food or drink. We’ll miss the parade but Pam is carrying the torch for it (yeah, get it?). We’re fortunate to have such an intelligent, energetic, and concerned person as our friend and rep. Did I mention her sense of humor?
Yeah, got my coffee. Yes, it’s a holiday, and it’s time to write like crazy, at least one more time…
I’m full of memories today. Birthday is tomorrow and today is a holiday. Both, though, pale because they remind me of meeting my wife.
Which, because I was fifteen and she was fourteen (we married four years later), reminds me of my youth, and the way life was for me. Sort of interesting. My parents were divorced. I lived in Pittsburgh, PA, with Mom. Dad, in the Air Force and newly returned from Germany, was stationed in Ohio. They generously accepted my request to live with him, leading me to meet my wife. She was my Dad’s best friend’s daughter.
Which brings me to us, almost fifty years later. But those are other tales. We’re here for the music today.
Since the memory jukebox has landed in 1971, I selected a song from that time. There are a lot of great tunes but “Me and Bobby McGee” has wedged itself into the stream. Although written by Kris Kristofferson and originally sung by Roger Miller, I like the Janis Joplin cover best, as much for her style as for its impact as a marker in my life.
A cool mountain wind came by late yesterday, serving to dispatch summer’s edgy warmth.
Such a welcome combo. I was relaxing after another wall-painting session. I wanted to take a walk but was ambivalent, mostly because it was about eight PM.
(‘Take a walk’ is an interesting expression. When I hear/write/read that line, I often imagine people with numbers waiting in line. You know, take a number, take your place, take a seat, take a walk. Just word associations.)
Decided not to go walking, but as I was thinking and enjoying the mild, cool wind and watching the change from day (distant apricot sunset in the west, indigo sky rising at the zenith, the moon, clear and shiny, riding the southern sky), a Scorpions song came to mind.
“Wind of Change” (1991) is such a mellow song, it definitely answered the moment.
The wind of change Blows straight into the face of time Like a stormwind that will ring the freedom bell For peace of mind
Took a walk into the steep hills of southern Ashland, where you lean forward like you’re walking into a hurricane gale to progress up the incline. Looking back over the browning valley, across to where vineyards sprawled under a blue sky and the Interstate snaked by with semis full of goods, the song, “Bullet the Blue Sky” by Oasis (1987) stole out of memory into consciousness.
And i can see the fighter planes i can see the fighter planes Across the mudhuts as the children sleep Through the alleys of a quiet city street up the staircase to the first floor Turn the key and slowly unlock the door A man breathes into a saxophone Through the walls we hear the city groan Outside is America Outside is America
Not surprising. I’d be writing in my head as I walked, picking up where I’d stopped for the day, moving the chains to the next day. As my story companions travel, they stop and watch things and wonder.
Basically, as I was doing today, wondering about the past, the future, the present, politics, you know…the world.
Floofs del Río(floofinition) – Spanish floof pop (floop) duo formed in 1962, sometimes also called Río Floofs, or “river floofs”.
In use: “Although formed in 1962, Floofs del Río made it big in 1995 with a song called “Floofarena”, which makes them a definite one-hit wonder to date.”
Today’s song, “Where Is My Mind?” by the Pixies (1988) is an old favorite.
I didn’t learn about the Pixies until I read comments Kurt Cobain made about them, and how they play soft/loud. After hearing that, I went in search of. Listening to “Heart Shaped Box” reminded me of that.
So they were in my mind’s forefront when my wife wondered last night, “Where is my head?” That was enough for my mental Alexa to play, “Where Is My Mind?”
With your feet on the air and your head on the ground, Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Floof Without Hats (floofinition) – Floofnadian floof rock (flock) band with a synth-pop, new wave sound developed through heavy electronic processing.
In use: “Floof Without Hats achieved their most widespread success with “Safety Floof” in the 1980s.”
Someone said something about complaining. I thought, oh, boy, a new complaint.
I guess my mind’s Alexa thought that I’d requested a song with those lyrics. Next thing in my mind was Kurt Cobain shouting, “Hey! Wait! I got a new complaint.” Then it was on, and Nirvana’s “Heart-Shaped Box” (1993) was raging.
Such a dark song it is. Despite the morning’s sunshine, these feel like dark times. We were being pretty self-congratulatory about flattening the curve. Rona said, “Hold my beer.”
Out here in our little semi-rural county, we’ve seen a jump. Announcements came today that the jump was traced to a party. The original carrier was found to be from out of state.
Hey! Wait! I gotta new complaint.
I was reading about the chaos in other states yesterday. There’s little consistency between counties and cities. There’s no consistency between states or across the nation. The Golfer-in-Chief is more concerned about his rallies, convention, and poll numbers to bother about doing something decisive about the friggin’ rona.
Hey! Wait! I gotta new complaint.
In an ironic twist, the GOP, at Trump’s urging, dumped Charlotte, NC, for the convention site because, masks! Now Jacksonville, Florida, new site of the convention in eight weeks has ordered, masks!
Hey! Wait! I gotta new complaint.
Give me a little time. I’ll think of it. Here’s the music.
