Lovely day — sun drenched, kind of warm air, patches of snow on mountains a few miles away, no clouds — yesterday. Went for beers with my friends (our weekly meeting, which I don’t always attend). We sat out on the deck under thinning sunshine for a few hours. Medical updates for a few were provided, then politics, books, science, and plays (Oregon Shakespeare Festival is beginning) were discussed. For a while, we put troubles and worries aside.
Afterwards, walking home (just under a mile up a long, steady hill), and feeling mellow as the night swallowed the sunset, Ray LaMontagne’s song, “Trouble” (2006). It’s a mellow, bluesy song and fit the day well.
This song kicked in yesterday afternoon after I’d finished my writing session. Walking through the day, enjoying the increasing warmth and sunshine, admiring the buds on the trees and the blooming daffs, Donovan began singing “Mellow Yellow” (1966). The song stayed in the stream through the night and dominates it this morning.
And why not? It’s about being laid back. Yes, be vigilant, but stay mellow. Relax. (Well, that’s another song. We’ll save it for another day.)
West coast. We wake up to news of stock market plunges, oil price wars, cancellations, and falling gas prices. They’re talking about $2 a gallon gas in Florida as a real possibility, ignoring that falling demand drives that price.
COVID 19 cases are up in Oregon. As other governors have done in other states, Governor Brown declared a state of emergency this week as they scramble have people tested and monitor the situation.
Amidst all of this (and my dreams) one song popped into the stream and stayed: “Give Me Love (Give Me Peace on Earth)” by George Harrison, 1973. I chose the video from a concert that celebrated George, with Jeff Lynne (ELO) singing.
In Costco yesterday. It was a convenience stop for us. It’s down the Interstate, so if we go over there, we generally stop in. Nothing essential was required. We gassed up and bought mixed nuts looked at the books. Their book selection has significantly changed, and it’s disappointing to us.
Costco was busy despite its new ‘no food samples’ policy. Costco was ready for it with every register manned (and do you know that Costco now has self-checkout registers?). I heard at least three mothers tell their children, “Don’t touch anything. Keep to your hands to yourself.” Those are words I used to hear all the time, but had seemed to fade away as parenting styles changed. Was it always being said, and I missed it? Or was it being revived as part of Coronavirus awareness?
Saw perhaps a half dozen people (including employees) wearing gloves, and about five wearing masks. I wondered, thinking about the cancellations of multiple world events, the corporation’s shutdown on travel (airlines are losing money), what was going to be the effect on Costco’s stock? On the one hand, business is booming. On the other, the global supply chain on which it depends and the consumerism that fuels it are going to be slammed. (Costco and other corporations have already said they’re scrambling to find supplies, but where do you turn in a global crisis?)
At the intersection of these observations, R.E.M.’s 1987 release, “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” was released into my stream.
It’s the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it (I had some time alone)
It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine (time I had some time alone)
I feel fine (I feel fine)
Planning the day, thinking about doin’ a little drivin’, I thought of Sniff n’ the Tears.
Don’t know much about this band. I could look them up, but I didn’t. I remember listening to the radio somewhere on a Texas Interstate, coming back from Austin (we lived in on Randolph Air Force Base, just outside of San Antonio) and hearing this song, “Drivers’s Seat” on the radio. And the announcer – it was the weekly countdown – said, “That was Sniff n’ the Tears moving up in the countdown.” My friends and I, hearing that band’s name, started laughing, and then we were coming up with other band names.
Anyway, the song mentions being doin’ a little drivin’ on a Saturday, which I’ll be doing. I’m sure many others will be out there. As they used to say on Hill Street Blues, “Let’s be careful out there.”
“The trouble with you is the trouble with me,” I thought. I was dealing with a cat (“You don’t want THAT food? What is it that you want, because I don’t understand”), but it applies to life partners, politics…yeah.
With that line of lyrics, hello, “Casey Jones”. The 1970 Grateful Dead song jumped head first into my thinking stream.
Not a bad song for the day. While it’s a song about a train engineer high on cocaine with a train coming toward him on the wrong track, I always see it as a metaphor, modern warnings to all of us. Watch what you’re doing, give it some thought. Be alert because the potential for trouble remains all around us.
Walking, of course, requires a lot more vigilance than the drives are employing. This seems especially true with weather shifts. Weather shifts change energy; drivers, feeling it, become distracted. Just my theory, but I see it all the time, you know? Lot of anecdotal evidence.
With COVID-19 also traveling person to person, nation to nation and town to town, it’s a good time to be aware of that threat and mitigating steps you can employ.
A double-whammy brought this song into the stream this morning. First were dreams about photographs. Then, as I’m sitting at my desk thinking about the dreams, I see a photograph of my wife on the desk. Taken of her in Christmas, 1981, it was our first Christmas in Okinawa, Japan. A note on the back in her writing says, “I was sick as a dog.” She looks wonderful, though, in a bright purple short-sleeved top. Her hair is bobbed short, as she wore it for a number of years.
Between the dreams and memories, Ringo Starr’s old hit song, “Photograph” (1973) arose. About the only thing in common between the song’s lyrics and sentiment, the dream, and the photograph on the desk is that word, photograph. Everything else is quite different.
I was ’bout to go outside (and let a cat out) (it’s Boo’s morning habit to go out, do his business in a corner of the yard (the far left side behind the bushes, thank you), and then groom in sunshine) (unless it’s raining or snowing, of course) to gauge the weather (it looks pleasant and warm) when I stopped. Hand on door handle, I watched through the glass at a profusion of birds. The many birds me from opening the door and disrupting the little sparrows’ and jays entertainment.
Boo really wanted out, chittering and chattering at the birds (they were a joyfully noisy congregation). I wondered what’d brought them here.
The juxtaposition of birds and weather reminded me of an instrumental song, “Birdland” by Weather Underground (1977). I used to listen to this in the Philippines while burning candles, reading books, and sipping wine, a pleasure combo.
After the birds abruptly departed, I let the house panther (and jigsaw puzzle expert) out to do his thang, and then came in and re-acquainted myself with “Birdland”. That song always prompts a grin. Hope you hear it and grin, too.
My mental iPod shuffle (completely wireless) played many songs today, starting with some Pink Floyd and Boston. Much of this was provoked by reading others’ posts, including one about the song, “King of the Run” by Roger Miller. I once dressed up as a hobo (I don’t think it was for Halloween), and using a candy cigarette, imitated Roger Miller doing his song (yeah, I’d seen it on television). After some Carly Simon and Jewel, I stepped outside and began walking.
That changed the stream. As I breathed the air, more Pink Floyd popped in, but the stream finally settled on U2, “Beautiful Day” (2000). So here we are.
After watching David Byrne’s performance on SNL last night (very entertaining) and then viewing some clips of Concert for George (2002) (oh, a few more of them were gone), today I have Aerosmith with “Back in the Saddle” (1977). Monday morning – where else you supposed to be? Ride on.
This live version rocks, just like classic rock should. Defiant and bold, sing it loud, and it’ll take you fearlessly out into the day.
Michael Seidel, writer 