Tag: memories

Friday’s Theme Music

Candlebox’s 1993 tune, “Far Away”, is with me today. I’m in a reflective mood, so the song fits. It’s all about the growing distance between friends.

The song came out in 1993. I was in the military then, stationed at Onizuka Air Base, Sunnyvale, California, right off of highway 101. I worked in a building called the Blue Cube. I’ve been thinking about all the people I worked with there. I’m friends with some on Facebook, and we keep up with one another. Others have veered far right politically, so we’ve distanced ourselves from each other. A few have died. Others have fallen off the map. None, that I know, live in the same place, i.e., Mountain View, Sunnyvale, Santa Clara, etc. All have left that area.

Life is poignant with change, isn’t it? Let me sip my coffee, look out the window (the smoke is back; air quality has been hazardous for the last three days), and speculate.

Cheers

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Three songs have been jumping in and out of my attention stream during the preceding twelve hours. You may have heard of them: “Purple Rain” by Prince, “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart, and “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summers. All were pop hits in their respective years, 1984, 1978, and 1979.

Each had a different reason for being in my head. “Purple Rain” was kicked into mind by a photo of Jacaranda trees in South Africa on Facebook. Purple dominated in beautiful fashion, stirring thoughts of Prince’s song. It’s a glorious, hopeful song from my perspective.

“Hot Stuff” came about from my spicy dinner burrito. I bit into something and my taste buds squeaked, “Hot stuff.” The song then gained traction from its use in the 1997 movie, The Fully Monty”. Four of the main characters are in line in the unemployment office during a low point in the movie. The song comes as background music, and they grudgingly start moving and dancing to it.

“Do Ya Think I’m Sexy” just popped into my head, though. A spoof on the disco scene, the song was ubiquitous that year, heard on television and radio, a staple in humor from people on the streets to late night comedians.

While three strong choices are there as amusement for my head and theme song for the day, “Purple Rain” wins.

Honey, I know, I know, I know times are changin’
It’s time we all reach out for something new
That means you too
You say you want a leader
but you can’t seem to make up
your mind
And I think you better close it
and let me guide you to
the purple rain

h/t to Metrolyrics.com

Yep, the times are changin’. Time to reach out for something new in 2020.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

I’d been writing and reading yesterday. Returning to this world was like being a ball and having all my air slowly released. I felt disconnected and out of sync, and wanted to return to the book worlds.

There were things to do. Eating, errands, housework. When I drift off into the writing/reading world like this, my wife seems to grow annoyed. I suspect she wants me to do more around the house, be more social, talk more. This is how she defines humans and husbands, so I end up being short on both scales. I’m happy but she’s resentful. Or so it feels.

A song from my youth answered my thoughts. “Eight Miles High” by the Byrds came out in 1966. I was ten. Its psychedelic sound appealed to me back then. So did the lyrics, which come into play with my feelings.

Eight miles high, and when you touch down
You’ll find that it’s stranger than known

h/t to Genius.com

Yeah, I felt like I’d touched down, and it all seemed strange.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

I sat down at my computer without any idea of what today’s music was to be. A Scorpions’ song, “Winds of Change” drifted through my dreams but I just did it a few weeks (or months) ago and didn’t want a repeat. Well, not so soon.

When I put hand to computer to enter password, The Tubes 1983 song, “She’s A Beauty” began. I believe I used it as a theme song several years ago. Couldn’t confirm that in a casual search, so here it is, a past blast about talking to a naked girl in a booth.

Have a great day, and please wear your mask and distance. Cheers

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Friday’s Theme Music

I was riding a good cycle yesterday — write, read, exercise, check news, do other net things, play games, do chores, repeat. I’m reading Red Rising, an entertaining science fiction book while I navigate writing my own novel. With both hands functioning, I’ll write and edit six to seven pages a day, but the recovering left hand tires easily.

As always, reading — especially fiction — stimulates my writing. Also, my to-read list is piling up. After this is finished, I have Sansom’s Tombland awaiting on loan from the library, and Who Fears Death, and a stack of others.

Chores are always there, kitchen cleaning, vacuuming. We have three cats, males, who seem to be amazingly dirty, dragging bits of the outside in and gifting us a hairball.

Then news. Elections. Debates. COVID-19. Wildfires. Weather. Local issues. We’re mulling a move from the area, so we check places on line and think about the challenge of moving. A constant flow of information to absorb is flowing through the day.

In the middle of this, my brain decided to stream, “If You’re Gone” by Matchbox Twenty from 2000. Not unusual; my brain often likes to distract me with remembered news, music, or historic facts. Sometimes the roots to the why can be traced, or they’re readily apparent.

Not so, this time. Worse, it graduated from being a casual inner streaming distraction to a full-blown earworm. After burrowing in, it quieted for the night and then resumed this morning.

Urgent action required, I’m sharing “If You’re Gone” about Rob Thomas meeting his future wife with you to compel it to leave my head. It’s worked in the past.

Cheers

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Monday’s Theme Music

Guess I’m in a nostalgic mood. Perhaps it’s the day. With gusty winds, leaves turning yellow and gold and dancing as they leap from trees, a blue sky so clear you can see tomorrow, and a bit of balmy warmth creeping in, it feels like a perfect autumn day. At least, this is how I remember perfect autumn days. They make me want to go somewhere, do things, visit with friends, and chat with nature.

Totally lifts my spirit even while I hunger to beg off the usual routines, jump in the car, and be off. With some amusement, as I did the dress-feed the cats–make breakfast and coffee routine, I was humming sotto voce. Catching the tune, I put words to it with surprise.

The song was from 1981. I was twenty-five then, feeling good about life and prospects. The year’s beginning had us living in base housing at Randolph Air Force Base in Texas, driving a new metallic copper Pontiac Firebird we’d bought the year before. Aunts, uncles, and cousins had moved here from Pittsburgh, PA, and lived nearby, giving us family to visit. Life had an easy rhythm.

By May, we’d sold the car and taken up a new assignment at Kadena Air Base, Okinawa, Japan, a three year tour which began with us living for a few weeks in the base hotel while we bought a used car and found a place to live off base. It was a great adventure.

Here is Santana’s 1981 cover of “Winning”, a song from that time.

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Licorice & Coin Dream

I was taking a class in something somewhere, and hanging out with relative strangers. During lunch break, I sat with some, looking at my schedule and talking with them. As I delved into the schedule, I scrolled down and discovered a hidden section. Using sorting options, I gradually realized that it was the future.

After checking out my future and listening to others, I began telling them their future. “How do you know that?” several asked.

I told them what I’d found and began showing them how to do it themselves. Most struggled with it, though.

It was lunch time and I still hadn’t eaten. A bunch of us went walking to find food. It seemed like we walked through an outdoor mall. Food options were there but they were expensive and time-consuming, and none appealed to me. I complained, nostalgically remembering when I’d take college classes in the military and run into the exchange to buy a two-dollar cheeseburger.

We came to a dusty little shop. I entered with a few others. Still looking for something to eat, I found a bag of licorice for two dollars. Not nutritious, but I could share it with others, was cheap, and would stave off my immediate hunger.

As I was buying, I realized that taxes would make it $2.01. Looking for a penny and asking others if they had a penny so I could avoid getting ninety-nine cents in change, I found a huge gold coin on the floor. I thought at first it could be a shiny new penny, but it was two big, and it was gold, not copper. Picking it up, I examined it. Besides being gold, it had copper segment in it. About the size of a silver dollar, a geometric design surrounded the best of a man, and an unrecognized language.

I concluded that it was token, not a coin. Holding it up to the shopkeeper, I asked with some cheek, “Can I use this?” In good humor, he replied, “I’ll take it off your hands.” Something about how he said it made me think it was worth more than I was assigning it. I asked him what it was, but he never answered. My transaction was finished. I opened the bag of licorice and offered some to others.

The dream ended.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

I have another Seger offering. As I was checking out the sunset last night — not too red, not too many particulates in the sky — I remembered other sunsets in other places, not so much exact moments but the sense of time. Foremost was being in California, watching sunsets in Half Moon Bay. Too much thule fog kept most of our sunsets from being spectacular.

Even so, infrequently one would slip through. Occasionally, we’d encountered the perfect triad of temperature, sunset, and ocean experience to elevate it to something wonderful that I could draw on for the rest of my life.

That’s where I was last night. Out of that sense of remembrance came Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band with “Hollywood Nights” (1978). That song captures a sense of fundamental change. After such an experience, nothing is seen as the same again.

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A Year of Change

That smell of wet, burnt wood from a large fire bristles in my memories.

1971. I was fourteen. Dad had just returned from an overseas military assignment and took me in, a refugee from an unhappy time with Mom and her husband then. We lived in Dayton, Ohio, first in an apartment, and then in Wright-Patterson AFB base housing, in a place called Page Manor. We lived there from the beginning of July to the end of August. Then, an opportunity came up. He retired from the military to start a new chapter to his life.

He and I moved to West Virginia and he began his new job. Housing was limited so Dad bought a mobile home. A space was found for it in a trailer park. School started. A month later, the trailer burned up. Days were spent trying to recover what we could from the trailer. I carried a smoky odor around my clothes for months.

Dad’s co-worker let us crash at their place, but it was crowded, and the co-worker had a young wife and a new baby. Goaded by her disenchantment to be rid of us — nothing personal, and I understand it — we found a new place to live within a month.

Coincidentally, that was the same time that I met the girl who would become the woman who would become my wife. We married in 1975, less than four years after meeting. We’ve been together since then, although we’ve had separations and struggles. Amazing to think that I’ve known her since 1971 and have been married to her since 1975. It seems like a lot longer… Bet it seems even longer to her.

It’s all sharp in the head, strong in the memories, that period, a time of destruction, change, and beginning. I can’t say that I don’t look back; I’m always looking back, then turning around and looking forward, re-establishing where I’m at, and moving on.

Or trying to.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

A rough night culminated in late slumber that ended with a dream and music.

I’ve posted “Highway Star'” by Deep Purple here before, but it was in my dream, so I thought I’d stay with it. It was the live version from their Made in Japan album, 1972. I had that album and used to listen to it at ear-bleeding levels. It’s a damn intense, unrelenting song, an eruption of unapologetic rock, almost to such levels that it’s parody.

Here it is, the looonnng live version, fresh from ’72.

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