Grabbing the Brass Ring!

That illustration above is connected to my post from the other evening, Memory Lane.

In case you aren’t American or don’t know what a merry-go-round is, or why grabbing the brass ring was a fun thing to do, or why I would want to save it for something like 30 years… ??? So I saw this illustration and thought it may help give you a happy “visual”!

Okay!! Onward to today!!

I did indeed finish editing Peitor’s book yesterday and sent it back over to him. but it took me a lot longer than I’d thought it would — mostly because it was incredibly hot & humid here yesterday and so I was having the breathing problems again.  But eventually, everything got under control and I got everything done.

Today is ALL ABOUT finally getting back to Letter #8 (“The Choice to Kill”) for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. Yay!

I’ve also started doing a good, old-fashioned aerobics routine around here. The tai-chi didn’t seem to be helping me at all with my metabolism. So between tai-chi and yoga, I was super flexible and super calm & relaxed, but not able to kick up my metabolism back to how it felt before I got the virus.

I’ve done yoga now for about 13 years, but I also always used to walk — a lot. After I began having hip joint issues, I became really tentative about doing too much walking anymore, even though the glucosamine supplements work great. They really do.

But, finally, the other day, it dawned on me to try going back to low-impact aerobics, which I used to swear by for years — many years ago. And, voila! It’s working!!

And even though maybe you’d think that the breathing issues and the high humidity (i.e., right now it’s 98% humidity and I can barely breathe) — you’d think that doing a bunch of aerobics would make the breathing more difficult, but I found that it’s the opposite. I actually breathe better when I’m doing aerobics and my heart is pumping more.

But since I can’t figure out, yet, how to sit at my desk and write (or post to the blog) while doing a bunch of aerobics, I’m sort of stuck with not breathing for most of the day — and praying for rain so that the humidity will disperse!

Well, okay!!

Let’s see. Right as I sat down at my desk, I got a text from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds (to me personally — I feel certain that I’m the only one who got it!!) that a new video had been uploaded to YouTube. It’s an instrumental, soundtrack piece by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis — very atmospheric, really lovely: Far From Men 2

I don’t know if it’s being added to Bad Seed TeeVee or not, but more new content has indeed been added to that channel recently, so check it out!!

Also, Nick Cave sent out such a beautiful Red Hand Files letter today — it was Issue #100 !! (They are called “issues” but I think of them more as letters, but he answers questions that people ask him, so they are “replies.” So that’s why a lot of the time, I call them “thingies.”)

Anyway, this reply was so endearing. Really, just so sweet. It’s another very short one so you can read it in about 5 seconds if you so choose. It is here.  (And it concerns another type of ring that would have sentimental value!!) (Probably more so than a brass ring from the merry-go-round at Coney Island, though.)

(It all reminds me of a sort of sad story about one of my wedding rings — my second marriage. We got engaged at Tiffany’s — the main store, the one on 5th Avenue in NYC, so my engagement ring and the matching wedding band came from Tiffany’s and were very valuable.  But then, after I had left my second husband, and the man I was living with after that, and very much in love with, turned out to have a severe gambling addiction that suddenly reared its ugly head, and before I had time to even discover it, he had gambled away my life savings — along with a $9,000 check I’d just gotten from the insurance company (I know, this sounds like a Joni Mitchell song) — and as part of trying to not lose the house, I had to sell my Tiffany engagement ring and the matching wedding band. I was divorced, so I guess it wasn’t the end of the world, but it still really upset me to have to do that. A lot.)

Anyway. In keeping with the recent happier trip down Memory Lane… Here’s a photo of the wedding rings from my first marriage.  The yellow gold one was from Macy’s Herald Square, and it was the ring we used on our wedding day. The ring beneath it, though, even though it hasn’t been polished in decades, is actually more valuable. It’s white gold and was a wedding gift from my husband’s parents in Singapore. They bought us matching rings.

Well, okay!

I’ve gotta get started here, folks. I leave you with my last-night-and-breakfast- listening music from this morning!! The awesome George Michael smash hit from 1987, “Father Figure,” from the album Faith. I will not explain why I was suddenly thinking about this song after all these years!! It is sufficient to say that I love this  fucking song!! I hope you do, too.

All righty! Enjoy your Friday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

 

“Father Figure”

That’s all I wanted:
Something special, something sacred
In your eyes.
For just one moment
To be bold and naked
At your side.

Sometimes I think that you never
Understand me (understand me).
Maybe this time is forever.
Say it can be, whoa.

That’s all you wanted:
Something special, someone sacred
In your life.
Just for one moment
To be warm and naked
At my side.

Sometimes I think that you never
Understand me (understand me).
But something tells me together
We’d be happy, oh, oh.

(baby)
I will be your father figure.
(oh, baby)
Put your tiny hand in mine.
(I’d love to)
I will be your preacher teacher.
(be your daddy)
Anything you have in mind.
(it would make me)
I will be your father figure.
(very happy)
I have had enough of crime.
(please let me)
I will be the one who loves you
‘Til the end of time (of time).

That’s all I wanted,
But sometimes love can be mistaken
For a crime.
That’s all I wanted:
Just to see my baby’s
Blue eyes shine.

This time I think that my lover
Understands me (understands me).
Please
If we have faith in each other
Then we can be
Strong.

(baby)
I will be your father figure.
Put your tiny hand in mine.
(my baby)
I will be your preacher teacher.
Anything you have in mind.
I will be your father figure.
I have had enough of crime.
I will be the one who loves you
‘Til the end of time.

If you are the desert
I’ll be the sea.
If you ever hunger
Hunger for me.
Whatever you ask for
That’s what I’ll be.

So when you remember the ones who have lied,
Who said that they cared,
But then laughed as you cried,
Beautiful darling,
Don’t think of me.

Because all I ever wanted…
It’s in your eyes, baby, baby.
And love can’t lie.
No.

Greet me with the eyes of a child.
My love is always tellin’ me so.
Heaven is a kiss and a smile.
Just hold on, hold on.
And I won’t let you go, my baby.

I will be your father figure.
Put your tiny hand in mine.
I will be your preacher teacher.
Anything you have in mind, baby.
I will be your father figure.
And I have had enough of crime.
I will be the one who loves you—
So, I am gonna love you—
‘Til the end of time.

I will be your father.
(I will be your…)
I will be your preacher.
(…father)
I will be your father.
I’ll be your daddy, whoa.
I will be the one who loves you
‘Til the end of time.

© 1987 George Michael

Gotta Be Brief, Gang!!

Okay, well, last night’s post — Memory Lane — is actually going to be today’s post, too! If you didn’t already read it, you can scroll down to the previous post (Memory Lane) or use this link.

I am almost done editing Peitor’s book, about 50 more pages to go, so I want to get that finished here this morning and get it back to him, then get back to work on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse.

But I wanted to alert you that, if you’re a fan of any of the stories linked up there in “From the Vault,” that whole section is being removed. I am doing new editions of The Muse Revisited Collection, including print-on-demand options to buy them in trade paper, so none of the stories will be available through the home page of this site. If you have direct links to any of the stories, they will still work, you just won’t be able to find them linked here.

So, just FYI.

Okay, I’m gonna close and get started here! However, I wanted to leave you with this very cool & very short video, for Nick Cave’s Stranger Than Kindness exhibit, FINALLY opening in Copenhagen on June 8th!! Enjoy!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!!

Memory Lane!!

Okay, gang! Good evening!!

Peitor’s birthday is in a few days, and I went looking through all my storage boxes for a photo he took of us at a rooftop party in the East Village in June 1986 for his birthday that year.

It was a beautiful photo and I remember we both looked so genuinely happy in it. That year, he and I were both dating guys who had the very same name — first and last name. Totally different guys. But so weird, right?

Anyway. I know for sure I still have the photo stored away somewhere but I could not find it. Instead, though, I found a ton of stuff to share with you here on the blog!!

Quite an eclectic bunch of memories, but here we go.

Me with my date, Michael, getting ready to go to my first prom. May 1977. (It was his senior prom.) We’re in my driveway, getting ready to get into his car. I’m 16 here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is the cork from a bottle of Moët Chandon champagne from my first wedding anniversary to my first husband (in NYC). April 1982.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is one of the very first publicity-type photos taken of me when I was a folksinger in Greenwich Village, in NYC. This was an advertisement for a special gig, but I don’t recall now why it was special. I am in a broken TV set with Frank Mazzetti — an older, more established folk singer, who “discovered” me at an open mic night at Gerdes Folk City. I am 21 here.

This is an ad from the Village Voice newspaper, where my really good friends (called here The Brunette Farmers, but that was not the name of their usual band) were opening for The Fleshtones at the Peppermint Lounge, in NYC. This is probably 1982  or 1983.

This is the (very rusty now) brass ring from the merry-go-round on Coney Island. I had spent a wildly intense and amazingly debauched day/evening there with the drummer from The Fleshtones (this was when they were famous — long after the gig at The Peppermint Lounge.) Bill (the drummer) grabbed the brass ring and gave it to me. I’ve kept it all these years, but I no longer remember when it happened.

 

 

 

 

Here is my best friend Paul who’s been dead now since 1999, when he was visiting me in NYC. I was already married to my first husband. Paul is fooling around with my electric typewriter. This was probably winter 1981. I still have this very same desk!! It was a wedding gift to me from my first husband. At this point in time, Paul was a set designer for an opera company but I don’t recall which one. He went on to become the set designer for the Woolly Mammoth in Washington DC (a famous theater company there), then for Hollywood movies.

Here , I have already separated from my first husband even though we remained married for a long time afterward (he moved to Honolulu to get a Masters Degree and I wanted to stay in NYC to pursue my singer/songwriting stuff). Paul was visiting for Thanksgiving and had bought me a Polaroid camera as a gift. This is the hellhole apartment in the tenement in the East Village. The bathtub was in the kitchen, but a previous tenant had built a makeshift privacy wall so that the bathtub wasn’t right next to the kitchen table. Here is Paul trying to take a bath in the really small, old, iron bathtub. I’m using my new Polaroid camera!! (Paul was very tall — about 6 foot 4 inches.) This is November 1984.

Here he has taken a Polaroid of me!! Same day. I’m 23 here. Paul was 24. (He was gay, by the way, and died from AIDS.) I am tall, too, so I never fit in the bathtub, either!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is that action figure of Keanu as “Neo” in the first Matrix movie. Remember how I was searching for this a couple weeks ago? I finally found it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A really close friend of mine was at a restaurant in Midtown Manhattan once and saw Papa John Phillips and got his autograph for me. It’s the only autograph of a famous person that I have. (Papa John was the main guy in The Mamas & the Papas, and wrote all those amazing songs. He’s dead now.) This is fall 1988. At one point, I had made an art project out of this. I made a collage where the autograph (which says “Good Luck”) was surrounded by every little paper fortune I’d ever gotten from a fortune cookie (those cookies that come with Chinese take-out food).

The first postcard I received from the Southern writer/ poet, Rosemary Daniell. I had written her a letter after reading her poetry collection, A Sexual Tour of the Deep South, and she wrote me back and I was so thrilled!! I loved that book so much and still have it (I have all her books). She and I actually eventually became friends.  She lived in Savannah, Georgia. This was November 1984.

Here is the back. She talks about some of her other books.

Here is a photo of me in the recording studio, back when Marilyn’s Room, Inc. had launched. One of the partners in Marilyn’s Room was a 24-track recording studio in Midtown Manhattan, and this is where we recorded all the interviews with filmmakers, artists, poets, writers, and publishers who were featured on MarilynsRoom.com. And we taped the readings of the poets and writers here, too. I was the Executive Producer on all of that stuff. Even though I have a degree in audio engineering, I was not the engineer on any of it. I was, instead, the person who went insane trying to stay on top of everything. This is sometime in 1998. (I cannot believe how huge my glasses are!)

And here is something I’ve never shared anywhere. It is the first letter I received from the writer Hubert Selby, Jr (called “Cubby” by his friends). His famous book, Last Exit to Brooklyn, was the inspiration for my first book, Neptune & Surf, so when my book was published in spring of 1999, I sent him a copy, along with a letter telling him how much his book had inspired me. When I received this letter from him, it made my day!! Or week. Or year! He and I eventually became friends, too, and I had lunch with him at House of Pies once in Los Angeles. He has been dead now for a long time. But I have a whole collection of the letters he wrote to me. (He was a lot older than me — married, loved cats!). I’m letting you read the entire letter here. This is the first time anyone else has ever seen it.  I’m always very private with my correspondences. But since he’s been dead over 15 years now, I guess it’s okay.

Okay, gang. I hope you’ve had fun! Have a wonderful night. I love you guys. See ya.

 

And This Is How I Feel About That!

Well, yesterday was a really unfortunate eye-opening sort of day.

I was more than happy to participate in the black lives matter hashtag because I do believe, with every fiber of my being, that the civil rights of black Americans need to be respected without question, 24/7.

However, I also believe that about every American. There are, unfortunately,  a whole lot of Americans who are indeed treated like second class citizens, at all times. That’s gone on for as long as I’ve been an American.

Civil liberties are extremely important to me, and because of that, I’ve learned the really difficult part of that — and that is that sometimes I have to support the rights of people I absolutely do not agree with but it’s the underlying foundation of being part of a Democracy.

It’s a really delicately balanced give & take, and because of that, America’s destiny has always been fraught with extreme emotions and outright violence. But I don’t support violence. I am a complete pacifist. And I don’t support racism of any kind.

I chose not to participate in the Black Out on Instagram yesterday because it felt a little like being forced by the Union to walk the picket line, even when you see some huge holes in the agenda that you can’t get on board with. For instance, the violence. And the underlying anti-white agenda that’s going on there, too. And the militant thinking, etc.

Not everyone is in all those camps, but all those camps were under the banner of that agenda yesterday.

Signing on for the Black Out meant you were supporting the whole kit & caboodle, and I’m not such a generally-sweeping kind of gal. I prefer to stand back and be a critical thinker and throw my support behind each specific thing that I truly believe in.

But standing back, allowed me to see some of the really inexcusable stuff that went on. For instance, people choosing to not participate in the Black Out but posting their own meaningful posts about nonviolence instead, were slammed as racists.

Sean Ono Lennon springs hugely to mind. He posted an incredibly thoughtful post, in line with his Buddhist beliefs in nonviolence, and that nonviolent revolutions bring on more substantial change, and instead of being praised for being his own person and having his own mind, he was treated like a racist by total strangers slamming him on Instagram.

So, that kind of stuff, I can’t participate in. Anything militant, I can’t participate in, regardless of nationality, race, gender, religion, etc.

But the hugest hole in all of this is that I wouldn’t vote for Joe Biden if you paid me. So where are all these protest leading?

Anyone with an ounce of critical thinking can see that Biden’s sleazy and ineffective — and yet much more controllable than any of the other candidates who were vying for the job — and, if elected, he will likely just be a puppet President for the Democrats to prop up and stand behind so that they can then get down to practicing their own brand of dirty politics, business-as-usual. Because Democrats are just as guilty of that stuff — Hilary and Obama seem to have led the pack during their final year in the White House, based on what seems to have come to light in the Senate Judicial Investigative Committee on Mike Flynn.

So where does that leave someone like me? Voting for an Independent candidate again, which means — in the eyes of many — a wasted vote. No Independent candidate is ever ever ever going to be elected President of the United States.

Anyway, my point is, the protests (which are beginning to become more peaceful in some cities), are only throwing way more voters into Trump’s lap. And leaving no strong leader-type candidate to oppose him.  None. Zippo.

That’s a huge gaping leaky hole in that boat that’s organizing both violent and nonviolent protests all over the country. You know — what is all this massive (and justified) unrest leading to? Joe Biden? And is there going to be a Presidential debate between Biden and Trump? In what universe is Biden ever going to win that? Honestly, we all know he has trouble forming coherent sentences.

And so where does that really leave people like me, who are nonviolent, who don’t support racism, who do support the complex inter-balance of civil liberties across the board…

So, yesterday was not a pretty picture at all, in my opinion.

And then something else happened that appalled me beyond belief.

A white man connected to my play, Tell My Bones — a play about the 100-year-old black  painter Helen LaFrance — was using Helen’s incredible painting, “Canning Peaches,” as his wallpaper during a Zoom meeting the other day, and he was accused of being a “white Master on a slave plantation” and told to remove the painting.

Is this really what we’re coming to in America? Such extreme intolerance between the races? Helen’s painting couldn’t be more magnificent — especially if you’re lucky enough to see the painting in person. Her use of light, of primary colors, and her unbelievable attention to detail and perspective just stagger the eyes when you really look at it. (And she’s a Memory Painter, which means, she paints everything from her memories — she uses no live models or actual landscapes.)

Are we really saying that only black people are permitted to stand in front of, or be depicted in front of, any of Helen’s paintings that feature black people in them? (And in the case of “Canning Peaches,” it’s Helen and her mother. They aren’t slaves or even sharecroppers. They’re in the farm house that Helen grew up in — on the farm her family owned.) So, really?

Well, it happened, gang. Just this week.

Canning Peaches by Helen LaFrance. Permanent Collection of Kentucky Folk Art Center at Morehead State University

You know, I wrote, first, the screenplay (Tell My Bones), and now the play, about Helen LaFrance because I fell in love with her paintings. And I wanted to try to help the world find out about her art.

And when I secured a chance to actually meet her in person (through Gus Van Sant, Sr.), I had a 15-year old beat-up car, with 150,000 miles on it, but I threw an overnight bag into it and just took off. By myself. And it was a 10-hour drive. Plus, back then, I was suffering from acute anxiety disorder and I had a dread fear of crossing bridges. But I had to drive over so many fucking bridges to get to the farthest south-western corner of Kentucky, where Helen lived (in a nursing home) — including the enormous bridge spanning the Ohio River just to get into the State of Kentucky.

But I drove and drove and drove. And drove and drove and drove. And crossed many, many bridges that made me feel like I was going to have a heart attack. And when I finally arrived in Mayfield, and the woman who handles all of Helen’s business affairs, took me in to meet Helen, Helen was not at all interested in talking to any white person. She was cold as stone, suspicious, and not friendly at all. (She was working on a painting and would barely look at me.) (She paints with her left hand now, because she is paralyzed down her right side.)

You know, some white people have been of great help to her career, but a number of white people have exploited her terribly. So she was absolutely unimpressed with me and my white girl enthusiasm.

But I stuck with it and eventually I guess she could see that I was genuinely in love with her art and that I wanted to write about her life. And by the time the trip was over, she had given me the Life Story Rights to write about her life, and the okay for me to have access to her handwritten journals.

So when this man told me on Tuesday that he was accused of being a “white Master on a slave plantation” because he used “Canning Peaches” as his Zoom background and being forced to remove it — Jesus. I didn’t know whether to cry or to scream or to shoot myself. (And this was an educated white person accusing him of this, btw.)

What has happened to critical thinking in this country? I just don’t know. But it really hurt when he told me that. It really upset me. Plus, it was so humiliating for him — he couldn’t be more in love with Helen’s paintings if he tried.

So. Anyway.

Now I will talk about Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds!

According to Instagram, today is the 35th Anniversary of the release of  Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ astoundingly amazing album The First Born is Dead.

The Firstborn Is Dead - Wikipedia

This is the record that totally blew my mind and made me a life-long believer in the utter genius that is Nick Cave. (I’ve written in detail about this before — getting off the subway train in Hoboken, NJ, to visit my girlfriend, finding that tiny record store along the way, which was filled with impossible-to-get (expensive) imports, and finding The First Born is Dead, taking it home, playing it, and becoming eternally stupefied.)

So anyway. Let us celebrate that, okay??!! Not so much my stupefication, but the album, over all. And let’s celebrate that it’s June, and that somehow, someway, everything always kind of works out all right. All things considered.

I’m gonna leave you not with the really, really famous song, “Tupelo,” but another favorite of mine from that album, “Train Long Suffering.” So listen and enjoy.

Thanks for visiting, gang!!! I hope you enjoy your Wednesday, wherever you are in the world today — regardless of your race, nationality, gender, sexual preference, religion, education level, or state of your bank account!! Yay! Seriously, though. Thanks for visiting.  I love you guys. See ya!

“Train-Long Suffering”

Woo-wooooooo Woo!
In the name of pain!
(In the name of pain and suffering)
In the name of pain!
(In the name of pain and suffering)
There comes a train!
(There comes a train)
Yeah!
A long black train
(There comes a train)
Lord, a long black train

Woo-woo! Woo-woo!

Punched from the tunnel
(The tunnel of love is long and lonely)
Engines steaming like a fist
(A fistful of memories)
Into the jolly jaw of morning
(Yeah! O yeah!)
O baby it gets smashed!
(You know that it gets smashed)
O baby it gets smashed!
(You know that it gets smashed)

I kick every goddamn splinter
Into all the looking eyes in the world
Into all the laughing eyes
Of all the girls in the world
Oooooo-woooooh
She ain’t never comin back
She ain’t never comin back
She ain’t never comin back
She ain’t never comin back
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
The name of the pain is
A train long-suffering

On rails of pain
(On rails of pain and suffering)
There comes a train
(There comes a train long-suffering)
On rails of pain
(On rails of pain and suffering)
O baby blow its whistle in the rain

Woo-oo Woo! Woo-oo Woo!

Who’s the engine driver?
(The engine drivers over yonder)
His name is Memory
(His name is Memory)
O Memory is his name
(Woooooo-wo!)
Destination: Misery
(Pain and misery)
O pain and misery
(Pain and misery)
O pain and misery
Hey! Hey!
(Pain and misery)
Hey! That’s a sad lookin sack!
Oooh that’s a sad lookin sack!
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
Ooh the name of the pain is
A train long-suffering

There is a train!
(It’s got a name)
Yeah! It’s a train long-suffering
O Lord a train!
(A long black train)
Lord! Of pain and suffering
Each night so black
(O yeah! So black)
And in the darkness of my sack
I’m missing you baby
(I’m missing you)
And I just dunno what to do
(dunno what to do)
(Train long-suffering)
(Train long-suffering)
(Train long-suffering)
(Train long-suffering)
O she ain’t never comin back
O she ain’t never comin back
O she ain’t never comin back
O she ain’t never comin back
And the name of the pain is…
And the name of the pain is…
The name of the train is…
The name of the train is
Pain and suffering

© 1985 Nick Cave

Okey-Dokey! Sorry, Gang!!

All righty! Well, I’m a little bit late posting here today.

What a gorgeous day here in Crazeysburg, gang! I ran out of a couple things in the fridge so I decided to go ahead and drive into town and do the marketing this morning.

What an incredible day for a drive into town.  Just lovely.  And so now the marketing is done for the week.

I hope this finds all of you faring well during all the riots and unrest we’re having, Stateside. (And, I don’t know — if you live somewhere other than the States and are having riots and unrest, too, well I hope you’re okay, also!)

Here in Crazeysburg, all is well.  And sometime this week (I think) I might be getting that brand new barn door!! I’m going to hear from the Amish guys sometime tonight to get the firm date. But I am so excited, gang!! I cannot wait. And I can’t wait to see Kevin’s face when he gets back from Montana in the fall and sees how great the barn will be looking by then!

And the other Kevin in my life — the director of my play, Tell My Bones — should be calling sometime today to go over the plans for the Zoom staged reading that we’re taping sometime this month. I’m excited to get the update on that, too. (And I’m going to try to persuade him and his husband to come out of lockdown and meet me for dinner one night soon at the Granville Inn!!! We’ll see what they say…)

And Peitor texted a while ago and wants to do more Abstract Absurdity Productions work today, so I said okay.

So between that, and the editing I’m still doing on Peitor’s book (more than halfway done with that), and any work I can get done on Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, my day is just about over!! Or so it seems…

On an unrelated note… loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that I had to finally unfollow the Keanu hashtag on Instagram recently because it was literally jamming my feed with endless, endless, endless photos of Keanu. (And doing that has now allowed tons more photos of alpacas, bears, birds of the world, and the Rolling Stones to flood into my feed!!)

But interestingly enough, there is an “official” Keanu Instagram account that I discovered by way of the Johnny Depp official Instagram account — (and there’s also an actual Johnny Depp account that he personally posts to once in a blue moon and when he does, in a nanosecond 65,739 viewers have already viewed it…)

Anyway, I thought that was interesting. An official Keanu account. So I clicked “follow” and it turns out that they have to approve you! Clicking “follow” is merely a request. You don’t get to just follow him, willy-nilly!! (Probably because the average Keanu fan is just indescribably rabid about Keanu.) Well, the other day, I got approved! I now get to officially follow Keanu’s official account! And they only post maybe one photo every 3 days…. much better than that other stuff.

Okay, so.

Life here is just really good, gang. What can I say? Perfect weather. All my many projects are moving ahead again. My heart is as happy as can be right now. And my refrigerator is full of food!!

And my dad is slowly coming out of lockdown — he’s doing his own grocery shopping now. Throughout the first 2 and 1/2 months of the quarantine, his grocery shopping was done for him by people who work at the Nursing Home-compound-place where he lives.  He still has to wear a mask and all that, because the virus is still really prevalent in the county where he lives, but he is really enjoying at least being able to go to the store now.  And plus he gets some dinner invitations from friends, now, too. So that’s nice. (If you’re new to the blog — my dad is about 90 years old, and his wife of over 30 years died in mid-January. So not only was he alone in the quarantine, but he’s still grieving the loss of my stepmom. So all the isolation has been rough on him.)

But things are moving forward — at least, here in Ohio, they are. I hope it’s similar where you’re at.

All righty, on that note — it is now after 12-noon here, so I’m going to get started on the editing.

I hope you have a great Monday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang! This morning, on the intothelightadventures blog, she mentioned a Cat Stevens song that I used to love that I hadn’t thought of in years (“Moonshadow”), so it got me into a Cat Stevens mood again. So, today I leave you with a really gorgeous “live” version he did of the song, “How Can I tell You I Love You?” (a song that means a lot to me, gang). So, I hope you enjoy it. Have a great day. I love you guys. See ya!

How Can I Tell You

How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
But I can’t think of right words to say
I long to tell you that I’m always thinking of you
I’m always thinking of you, but my words
Just blow away, just blow away
It always ends up to one thing, honey
And I can’t think of right words to say
Wherever I am girl, I’m always walking with you
I’m always walking with you, but I look and you’re not there
Whoever I’m with, I’m always, always talking to you
I’m always talking to you, and I’m sad that
You can’t hear, sad that you can’t hear
It always ends up to one thing, honey,
When I look and you’re not there
I need to know you, need to feel my arms around you
Feel my arms around you, like a sea around a shore
And – each night and day I pray, in hope
That I might find you, in hope that I might
Find you, because heart’s can do no more
It always ends up to one thing honey, still I kneel upon the floor
How can I tell you that I love you, I love you
But I can’t think of right words to say
I long to tell you that I’m always thinking of you
I’m always thinking of you….
It always ends up to one thing honey
And I can’t think of right words to say

c – 1971 Yusef Islam

Happy Sunday!!

Assuming, of course, that you’re not living somewhere that’s paralyzed by both the virus lockdown and now the riots.

What a mess.

Here, it is another cool and gorgeous day.  However, by “cool” I mean that tonight it’s supposed to go way down to 42 degrees Fahrenheit — not enough to kill my flowers, but still pretty cold. So we’ll see how they manage.

Currently, if you’re into space travel stuff, the historic NASA SpaceX launch and DRAGON hookup is streaming live. You can watch it here.

And aside from all the riots right now reminding me of Cleveland, all this NASA stuff reminds me of my childhood in Cleveland, too. We always watched all those Apollo launches on TV, and if the launches took place during a school day, we dropped everything and watched it on a TV in the classroom.  Black & white, of course. (Back then, all of our classrooms had television sets, but it was primarily to watch PBS educational broadcasting. I’m guessing they don’t do that anymore…)

This is how our classrooms actually looked in Cleveland in the late 1960s. And notice the Girl Scout over on the right!! I’d forgotten that we always had to wear out Girl Scout uniforms on days when our troop had its meetings after school. Ah well. Yesteryear.

Oh! And in case you’re interested! Here is my actual Girl Scout sash from those long ago days. Considering I will be 60 in about 6 weeks, and that I was a Girl Scout when I was 9… this sash is pretty old. (And I sewed on each of those little merit badges myself.)

My Girl Scout sash, from Troop 1334. Circa 1969

Okay! So.

Yesterday, Peitor and I got some great work done on Abstract Absurdity Productions stuff. It really felt like we were back on schedule now. And like the lockdown stuff was really coming to an end. We shall see.

(Of course, now the riots in LA are sort of screwing all that up — mandatory curfews there again, etc.)

Here, in Muskingum County, the lockdown is essentially over. We have had a grand total of 40 cases of the virus so far, with no deaths (about 86,000 people live in Muskingum County) .

To give you an idea of how unlike most of Ohio this is, where my dad lives, they still get dozens of new confirmed cases every day, and have over 1000 people with the virus right now — just in his county alone (about 383,000 people live in his county — huge difference).

However, here in Crazeysburg — which, more & more, feels to me like some sort of dreamland — the gasoline prices are on the rise again ($2.09 a gallon), no one has to wear masks anywhere (in the town), and you no longer have to stay 6 feet apart from anyone if you don’t want to. And the local factory is back in business, but at 50% staff.

I still have to leave the county once a week to get my groceries — and even though I’ve had the virus already, I still wear a mask when I go into the next county, because I’m hugely paranoid about catching it again. But other than that, it at least feels completely normal around Crazeysburg now.

Well, all righty. I still have some book editing to do for Peitor — I’m halfway done with that. And then I want to spend the rest of the day working on that new segment for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse. So I’m gonna close this and get going.

Have a happy Sunday, wherever you are in the world. I forgot to mention a while back that the new Einstürzende Neubauten album did indeed come out (Alles In Allem). Over on the a1000mistakes blog out of Australia, he mentioned a song off the album today called “Wedding,” which I also like, so I’m leaving you with that today!

The song is in German. I have no idea what it’s about, except that I’m guessing a wedding factors into it somehow. (But with Einstürzende Neubauten, you don’t really know that for sure. You’d simply have to understand German to really know.) I just like how it sounds. I like the whole album, too. So listen and enjoy! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya!

The world of author Marilyn Jaye Lewis