A Pocketful of Muses

Wow, gang. Yesterday was amazing. It was worth being incredibly exhausted for.

Peitor and I worked for 3 hours on the current micro-short film project and it metamorphosed into this incredible piece.  It went way beyond what we’d initially thought we were creating. And it’s still under 10 minutes long. And it’s still funny, abstract, absurd; and yet it has become something so much more. And it was just kinda jaw-dropping – how tuned in to each other we were yesterday and what resulted from that.

Most of what I do is so solitary and isolating, so I am really enjoying this collaborative effort with Peitor, so much. That feeling that my mind is wide open and completely connecting to someone else’s mind, and the pictures are coming to both of us at the very same time. It feels incredible.

Back in early 1984, I was studying with a Lakota Sioux Medicine Man out in Texas. (This is a long story that I’m going to make very short.) Part of my blood heritage from way back is from the BlackFoot Confederacy (Piegan Blackfeet Tribal Nation), and, in addition, I’ve always had this specific spiritual thread of healing that ran through my life.  I made the conscious choice to connect that energy to the radical Jesus Christ and so went to Divinity School and became a minister. And by radical, part of what I mean is that I believe 100% in the power of Jesus Christ to heal you. But I also believe 100% in your own power to heal yourself. You don’t need Jesus Christ or anyone else. I just personally made the choice to connect to him.

However, in my early 20s, when I was still trying to make sense of this healing thing I had, I came into contact with that Medicine Man and he saw this side of me and wanted to train me to take over his practice out in Texas.  In those days, my music was everything to me. I was always playing in clubs, writing songs, in the recording studio, what have you – but all of it was in NYC. It was my life. But I decided to give this Medicine Woman thing a chance. And so I went to Texas and stayed with him in his cabin in the middle of nowhere and I studied with him.

When I say cabin in the middle of nowhere, I mean that. We were miles away from everything, up in the hills, in the forest, no less. There were things like mountain lions, and stuff. There was a generator so we had electricity, but no running water. And as  fate would have it, I immediately got my period out there and had the most intense menstrual flow of my entire life.  And no running water, no shower, not even a  bathroom – all that stuff was done outside. Not even in an outhouse, or anything, just simply outside. In the forest, where there were mountain lions and stuff roaming around.

I have never been the kind of gal who was ever, at all, interested in my “womanhood.” So getting my period the minute I got there, and in such an indescribably “flowing” way,  was the most unwelcome thing imaginable for me. But he, being a Medicine Man, was, like, “You’re really in your power now. It’s a good thing.” Whereas I was, like, “No, what I am now, is pissed off.”

But anyway.

It turned out that he was right about my potential for being a Medicine Woman and I actually was  really good at it. And it scared the fuck out of me. I was only 23 years old. And I really did not know how to handle it.  He taught me, quickly, how to completely open up this sort of psychic channel in my mind and this whole other level just sort of swooped in. It was so frightening to me because “past/present/future” sort of bled into each other all of the sudden and I didn’t know how to handle it. How to differentiate between the things I was picking up on and sometimes actually seeing. And there weren’t any drugs involved or anything; this was literally my actual everyday mind.

I was so used to compartmentalizing everything that I perceived; to create psychic gatekeepers that didn’t really need to be there but I didn’t know yet how to let them go. So it scared the hell out of me and eventually I decided to leave and go straight back to New York. He was extremely disappointed in me for leaving, because he didn’t want his practice to simply die out with him and he was old already,  but I couldn’t handle it at age 23.

Well, one thing I really loved about that whole experience, though, was how it felt to connect psychically to that Medicine Man. He was nearly 60 years older than me, but our minds completely connected. And even through my fear, I could feel how exhilarating that was and have always wished to connect with someone in that way again. Part of why I live alone is because that type of connection doesn’t happen and I refuse to live with a “reasonable facsimile” of it.

I know this is why I find this project with Peitor so enjoyable. Because we have a complete and total psychic connection when we’re working on one of our films together. It just feels so good. Mentally, I mean.

Okay, well, I suppose I should get busy here, tapping into the muse. You know, in about a week, those Conversations with Nick Cave are starting up again, this time all over Europe and most of them are sold out.

You know, I wish I had a ticket that was good for every conversation he’s gonna have for the rest of his life. I don’t think that’s too invasive, do you? Don’t mind me, I’m just here listening to everything you’re saying, for the rest of your life… They could put “Rapt Listener” on my tombstone and just forget about all the other stuff I’ve ever been.

All righty!! Have a terrific Sunday, wherever you are in the world, gang! Thanks for visiting. I have always loved this Native American chant, Yeha Noha (wishes of happiness and prosperity), so I leave it with you today! Enjoy. I love you, guys. See ya.

Hell, no! I’m Not F*cking Exhausted!

Why would I be? Just because I never stop working?

Well, I guess there is that. But yesterday wound up being really cool. I got some great work done on Chapter 21 of Blessed By Light. And then Peitor texted, wanting an impromptu phone conference on one of our scripts.

That turned into a 2 hour call but it was fascinating, actually. He had more notes on our “big” project. And even though I love all of our projects, that particular one is going to be much more complex and I really, really love it. I think it is just brilliant in its absurdity, even if I say so myself.

All of our projects are Absurdist and micro-short: 3-, 5-, and 8-minute videos. And while they’re scripted, and have characters, we focus more on the absurdity of the premise of the story and the set-up of the shots.

The one we’re working on right now (today, actually, in a couple of hours) is very Bauhaus in terms of how we plan the shots, but more “absurd” than creepy – I guess, that’s not the best word to use, but a lot of that Bauhaus photography has that sense of doom or drama or creepiness in it. We do use those elements, and we use uncomfortable juxtapositions, and even though there is always an underlying theme or plot, mostly we just want to make ourselves laugh. So that underscores everything.

I love the Absurdist sensibility. I was 15 or 16 when I first began reading Ionesco‘s plays (in English).  And that was like having a wild wind come sweeping in from the Cosmos or something. It blew open all the doors of my mind and let some fresh air in.

Those were such difficult years for me. And even though I was very interested in music, film, theater, and poetry of all kinds and they were literal life ropes for me, my inner world was in complete chaos. Once I was released from the Mental Hospital, my life just went into this really dark, restrictive, messed-up place.  And I think the Universe decided I was in the best frame of mind for discovering Ionesco.

I love words, in general. But I really love when words are used in an unexpected way. Whether that’s in a really intense way (like Nick Cave), or in that whole other arena of Ionesco,  it really just thrills me.  Even while Theater of the Absurd, going back to Ubu Roi I think, was more of an outcry against restrictive social mores and abusive governments, the nonsensical stuff it creates can be really funny.

Anyway. Today, Saturday, is the day when Peitor and I have our usual, scheduled, conference call, and that’s another 2 or 3 hours, but dealing with our current micro-short project. And it’s mostly just setting up the shots in a script format. (You’ll never guess who does all that typing…Ibuprofen, anyone?)

Peitor is very good friends with a woman who is very famous – but not at all famous for anything close to what our main character in our current short is like. And because of that, I really, really want her to “star” in the project (I use that word “star” so loosely, gang). It would just be so inexplicably incongruous for her to be in that role, even though she could totally play it, and that’s what I love about it; it would just be so absurd. Normally, she would say yes to something like that. She has the best sense of humor. However, she’s just had a really tragic death happen in her family, so she might not want to come back to work yet, in any role at all. We’ll see.

Yesterday, I also discovered by “accident” (I don’t believe in accidents or coincidences or any of that stuff, so….) but I discovered stuff all over the Internet about my Helen LaFrance play, Tell My Bones, that really startled me and just sort of put pressure on me to make that the best possible play that it can possibly be – and as soon as possible. And then also some other stuff has come up re: the TV project I’m still developing out in L.A., and so, yes… I’m exhausted, gang.

Yesterday, I actually heard myself saying, Marilyn, you need to take a vacation. Which was really weird, because I never tell myself that. What would I do? Go somewhere  tranquil with my laptop and write? I’m already doing that here in the peace of Crazeysburg. There is peace and quiet, solitude and beauty all around me, 24/7;  I’m the one who brings the insanity the minute I wake up. My mind simply never stops. So why go on a vacation? I have too many deadlines looming anyway.

But maybe someday, right, gang? Can you even imagine it; me on vacation? No laptop, no nothing; just me, maybe in a cabin on a lake, sitting and staring at all the wonder of God’s creations? I honestly just don’t know what that would be like.

What I am gonna do right now is try to collapse for a little bit, drink my coffee and wait for Peitor to wake-up there out in West Hollywood so that I can get back to work!!

Okay, have a wonderful Saturday, wherever you are in the world, gang. I leave you with this – the insanity I woke up with this morning at 5am: David Bowie singing Cracked Actor. Why on earth would I suddenly be thinking about a song that I haven’t listened to since like, 1973? And what a message it has! At age 59 (almost), a song like Cracked Actor has a whole different spin on it than how it felt when I was 13. What the heck was I dreaming about just before I woke up to make my mind be singing a song like that?

Actually, I was dreaming about Nick Cave. There was some sort of a code that you could put into the Internet somehow and then these really cool black & white video things of Nick Cave would come back at you, with another sort of personalized code.  In my dream, I was very excited by this, and I was waiting for my code to see what sort of video thing I would receive. And then in the middle of that, I woke up singing Cracked Actor and suddenly thinking about David Bowie. And my world was obviously completely back to normal so the day was underway…

Okay. Thanks for visiting! I love you, guys. See ya!

Do You Wake-Up Dreaming?

Or is it just the muse??

Wow, what an incredible morning. I awoke at 4am, just as the first birds were starting to sing. Now that all the windows in the house are open, the sound of the birds singing fills the whole house.

It’s so beautiful, because, by 5am, you can hear thousands of birds singing all at once.

Out here in Crazeysburg, there literally are no other sounds at this hour for many miles in all directions, except an occasional car (or the barrelling freight train with that awesome train-whistle scream, but that had already come through around 3am). The “peace in the valley” out here really highlights just how many birds there are. And it’s overwhelming when they all sing at once.

It’s one of the reasons why I don’t want to put air-conditioning into the house. Even though I had all the duct work and the furnace upgraded to handle air-conditioning. (The house is 118 years old, and didn’t even have electricity or indoor plumbing when it was first built.)  I can’t bear the thought of shutting out the sound of all those birds, or, as the summer goes on, the sound of the crickets and the cicadas.

The only time I even think about air-conditioning is when a heat wave comes through and my bedroom gets up to 102 degrees Fahrenheit and then in that soul-draining, mind-dulling, suffocating HEAT, I think, Why the FUCK haven’t I gotten this place air-conditioned yet??!!

But, anyway. I digress.

I awoke at 4am with the energy of the muses swirling all over me in the bed. It was breathtaking, really. It was such an erotic feeling. It made me think of how it might feel to spin a cocoon all around myself or something. Obviously, I don’t actually know if that would be an erotic sensation, having never spun a cocoon, but energetically, that’s what it brought to my mind. It was a really joyful feeling. Bordering on jubilation.

I have a feeling it’s going to be a really productive writing day if the muses are up and already so frisky at this hour.

The last thing I saw on Instagram last evening was a photo Dana Petty had posted of a butterfly landing on her thigh as she was sitting out in her garden. When I awoke today, in that incredible sort of erotic swoon, the first thing I thought of was that photo and it occurred to me that it was probably Tom Petty’s energy in that butterfly. Or his essence or something. Visiting her. Now that he’s off in the great beyond place, really “Learning to Fly.” That made me feel happy.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I usually meditate first thing in the morning, but recently I moved my meditation time to midday, right after lunch, and it seems to be helping me re-focus, or re-charge, in a more productive way.  And I come out of the meditations now inspired with a specific thing to do, so I get right back to work.

Yesterday, I came out of the meditation remembering that Peitor was waiting on me to send him a bunch of notes he’d lost on some scripts we were developing when I was in L.A. back in December. And I realized that all those notes were still in texts on my phone. So I went scrolling through 4 months of texts and got all those notes copied and sent to him, and then I remembered how, I don’t know, how sort of strange it was, when I was there in L.A. He was in his bed in the bedroom, I was on the futon in the living room, and we were texting each other script notes at 5am.

I mean, we could have easily spoken to each other if his bedroom door had been open. Yet we were texting. Still needing to communicate with each other even though neither one of us wanted to be out of bed yet; not wanting to commit, yet, to the day.

But what a great trip that was, oh my gosh. And I loved his apartment so much, the energy in it was so conducive to being creative. He used to have this great townhouse with a garden, by the corner of N. Fairfax and Sunset Boulevard. Then he and the guy he married got an apartment together right next door to the Sunset Marquis Hotel (which is such a cool hotel to hang out in),  and the new apartment is like straight out of 1967 or something like that. I didn’t think anything could be better than the townhouse was, but the new apartment is sort of magical – the energy inside it.

Plus, this trip, Peitor’s husband was off producing a TV show in Toronto, so we had the whole place to ourselves, which made us behave like unsupervised little kids or something.

That morning that he and I were texting at 5am, I had just discovered that Nick Cave’s The Ship Song sounded unbelievable in the earbuds of my new, upgraded iPhone and I was playing it over and over and over. It was mesmerizing, how good it sounded. I couldn’t believe I had waited so long to upgrade my iPhone. And the song had played “by accident.” I was listening to We Call upon the Author to Explain on Youtube, and I missed the repeat thing, and so The Ship Song suddenly came on and, it was like, Holy Fuck this sounds SO good!! It was like the Universe decided to suddenly give me this amazing gift, and the sun wasn’t even up yet. I had always loved that song, but this time I felt enveloped by it and the beauty of it was so powerfully overwhelming in those earbuds. And then I couldn’t stop playing it until Peitor finally came out of the bedroom.

So, you know, meditating midday not only helped me remember that Peitor needed those notes, but then all those beautiful memories unfolded, like a double gift from the Universe in the form of total recall.

Okay, well. I’m gonna get this day started over here. Chapter 21 in Blessed By Light awaits its erotic unveiling. I leave you with this really sexy little Tom Petty song from 1978, Casa Dega. I’ve been playing it down in my kitchen the last few mornings while having my breakfast. So, enjoy! It’s such a cool & sexy little song. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you! See ya.

Well the clouds go by in the big blue sky
As the sun beats down on casa dega
And the moon pulls the tide and the tide brings night
But night is more than just a night in casa dega
Oh baby now I think I’m starting to believe the things that I’ve heard
Cause tonight in casa dega I hang on every word
That she said to me as she holds my hand
And reads the lines of a stranger
Yeah and she knows my name yeah she knows my plan

In the past in the present and for the future

Oh honey now I think I’m starting to believe the things that I’ve heard
Cause tonight in casa dega I hang on every word

That she said…

Baby fools pay the price of a whisper in the night in casa dega
Time rolls by, night is only night, can I save you?

Yeah more than just a night…

The Inexplicable Explained

I keep thinking about that comment I made on my post this morning about how I “inexplicably” moved to California in 1979.

It’s not like I woke up in California and couldn’t explain how I’d gotten there. What was inexplicable is why I had thought it was a good idea to go there in the first place.

I moved there because I was in love with a  girl who lived there. And she kept calling me long-distance , which was expensive back then, saying, “come on, come on, come out here!” So I finally hopped a Greyhound bus and went.

It was the worst possible idea. I had been in love with her since I was 15 and she was 16. She was living briefly in Ohio when we met. She was my first real girlfriend. The first girl I had sex with, and I was crazy about her. I was very, very attached to her, and I would do anything she said.

But, truly, she was nothing but trouble and full of bad ideas, and every single solitary time we did one of her bad ideas, we got caught. And for some reason, her stepdad hated me and thought that I was instigating everything.

And oddly enough, there was another older girl that I was very close with, but not in love with, who also had all sorts of bad ideas that I would go along with. And with her, we actually got arrested and taken to jail in handcuffs and a cruiser. When her father came to the precinct to get her, the only thing keeping him from killing me was the fact that we were, in fact, in a police station.

For some reason, he also really hated me and thought that everything his daughter did was my fault.

But that first girl, the one I was in love with and eventually moved to California for – she persuaded me to steal a car with her.  I didn’t care about cars, I didn’t know how to drive yet, I thought it was a dumb idea to steal a car, but we did it anyway and boy did we get caught. By the Sheriff. And I already had that arrest, mentioned above, on my record so I was looking at Grand Theft Auto and a couple years in Reform School.

I wrote on the blog once before about how it feels when a Sheriff, at 3 o’clock in the morning, all dressed in black, with his badge, and those guns in his holster, says, “Girls, you’re in big trouble”  — it really resonates. For a lifetime.

Thank God the man who owned the car dropped the charges. But my girlfriend’s stepdad was so angry, he had her sent to a boarding school clear across the country so that she and I could not ever get up to anything crazy again.

So when she persuaded me to move to California, even though I was 19 already and she was 20, I should have known better. I should have known it would be a fiasco from the start. And it was. She met me at the bus station with her new boyfriend. Her fucking boyfriend. And she said, “This is Ray. I’ve told him all about you and I’ve assured him that it’s over between us.”

Wow. I will never forget that moment, those words. They also resonated for a lifetime.

It had taken 5 days to get to California from Ohio in February – the dead of winter, where a lot of roads out West were impassable. I had run completely out of money halfway there and I was starving.

Ray was really nice to me, though. Extremely kind and cordial. He was a lot older than us and he knew I was in love with his girlfriend and that she had lured me into some sort of wild goose chase. He let me stay there  with them for 2 weeks, until I decided that I wasn’t gonna stay In California, after all.

So that was my inexplicable California trip. My New York City trip in 1980 was just so much better. I stayed in NYC almost 30 years.

But I think a whole chapter of my memoir, Dirty Girl Beautiful Mind, will be devoted to the crazy girls I was in love with in my teens, and why on earth everybody’s fathers were always thinking that everything was my fault. I think they were projecting, you know? Something, like, Wow, I hope I don’t meet that girl in 10 years because she’s gonna be nothing but trouble for me. Perhaps it’s best if we just squash her right now.

But I didn’t want to be squashed. A conundrum, indeed.

Man, those fathers made my life so difficult.

Okay, maybe I was never THIS angelic…

The Muse Redux

Last  night, around 8:15pm, I completed Chapter 20 of Blessed By Light. Not only that, but on its heels, an overview of Chapter 21 came right into my head. If I hadn’t been worn out from writing for 12 hours, I could have easily begun writing Chapter 21.

Isn’t it awesome when the Muse is like that?

Loyal readers of this lofty blog will no doubt recall that this particular novel is sort of being “dictated” to me by the Muse from some nonphysical place, so I never know what’s coming beforehand.  And perhaps you will also recall that as soon as I got the opening paragraph for Chapter 20 last week, I knew it was going to be an emotional chapter.  A contemplative one. And it was. In a most unexpected way.  It was just beautiful.

It’s a chapter where he (the Muse who is dictating this) is talking about the sudden, unexpected death of his best friend.  They’d been friends for 40 years and, although they’re both American musicians, from New York City, they met at a gig in London.

Obviously, I was thinking the chapter was going to deal with this intense, sad death, but most of it actually dealt with stuff about his first wife. Really sweet, moving stuff, and up until Chapter 20, anything having to do with his first wife is pretty brutal, emotionally.  So it was completely unexpected, for me, that his mind would suddenly dip into this beautiful place about this woman he now despises, while he’s grieving the death of his friend.

And then the closing paragraphs circled back to George (his best friend) and completely floored me. Only because I just wasn’t expecting it. I literally have no idea what’s coming in this novel until I type the words onto the page. (Closing paragraphs of Chapter 20; he’s talking about the mid- 1970s):

The world was really changing then, coming out into the open, and London had it all on display.

I think that’s why George and I hit it off so well right from the start. We were both kinda pretty looking, you know? Rough but pretty and so the boys in London came on to us. Boys. Until then, neither one of us had ever had that happen. It happened a whole lot after we each got really famous, but up until then?

We were hanging out together, backstage, smoking. Just shooting the breeze. Other bands everywhere, waiting to go on. We barely knew each other yet and then here come these London boys. Really pretty boys. In make-up and all, wearing jeans and tee shirts and high heels. And they came up to us and wanted to, you know. Go to the loo with us and give us oral sex.

We were, like – well, you hear that word ‘blowjob’ and your first thought is not to say ‘no.’ Still. He and I were simply into girls. That’s just how it was. So it was weird that he and I bonded over not wanting boys in make-up to give us blowjobs.

I think he might have changed his mind a little bit about that as time went on. He was just a man who eventually tried everything. But I was just never into it.

I’m vanilla; like you said, honey.

Oh well.

Your mouth is the only one in the world that I want, that’s for sure.

I just totally wasn’t expecting that.  And I thought it was so simple and beautiful. And suddenly I recalled how exciting the 1970s really were, musically. Even though I hated a whole lot of the music, so much change was in the air. I was a teenager in Ohio and I just wanted to go to New York City so badly. (I finally moved there in 1980 after going to California first, for some inexplicable reason, in late 1979.)

After I finally closed the laptop,  I did some yoga because my neck and shoulders and wrists were killing me from 12 hours of being hunched over at my desk.

Then I re-read all of Chapter 20 and was once again in awe of the whole creative process. The chapter is just so sweet, so moving. And I’d had no clue whatsoever that any of it was coming.

But I do have the framework already for Chapter 21 and I know it’s going to be short but very erotic. So I’m sure that’ll be worth tuning into.

I lit some candles, then, turned out the lights and just played music. The night was so beautiful. It had gotten up into the 80s yesterday so all the windows were open, a breeze was blowing through. The streets in this little town were completely quiet. An occasional car. Birds singing their final goodnight songs in the trees, you know? And I sat on the floor, looking out the windows, just talking to the Muse. Just so grateful that he chose me to tell this story through.

And I said, “Look at it out there. Summer’s coming. It’s gonna be the best one yet.” I haven’t been this happy in a really long time, gang.

Legs to Die For!!

And in this humble instance, gang, I am talking about my own!!

Legs, that is.

If you’re on Instagram, like me, perhaps you are bombarded with ads for BetaBrand Dress Yoga Pants.  A couple months ago, I bought a pair of them, because I do yoga, and I also liked how the pants looked in the ad.

Gang, I would never do yoga in these pants! They are just too fucking sexy. They fit like a glove – if you wear gloves all over your legs, I guess. But, seriously, they fit like nobody’s business. I bought a specific style that they don’t seem to sell anymore but they really slide on like a second skin.

My legs are really long to begin with, but these yoga pants make my legs look about 12 feet long. And I bought the boot cut so that I could wear my new (vegan-friendly) cowboy boots with them, and those have a 3-inch stacked heel.  I am over 6 feet tall when I wear those boots. So the combined effect of the boots and the pants are just ridiculous. And I mean that in the best possible way. I look like nothing but long, skinny legs, towering over everybody.

Long story short, this is what I was wearing when I went to the Honda Dealership yesterday and it was un-fucking-believable. There are 2 female employees there and about 50 guys.  And I think every single one of those guys came into my field of vision yesterday.  And I’ve been going there twice a year for 3 years already. Never have I had such attentive service, even when I was there the first day, giving them thousands of dollars in cash. Good to know that long skinny legs still trump hard cold cash. (You know, I wonder, if I’d gone into that sales rep’s little office yesterday, closed the door, called him ‘honey’ and asked him real quietly if I could have some of my cold hard cash back – I wonder what he would have said??!! Perhaps something like, “I’ll try my best to arrange it” ??)


From there, it was off to that journey deeper into the country to go pick up the little clay imprint of Daddycakes’ paw from the vet. What an incredible drive it was.

It was drizzling rain, but still spring, you know, so all the trees everywhere were either in full blossom or that incredible shade of green. I decided to go the back route the whole way. It took me right through the town where the huge lake is, which, in summertime, is a town just insanely exploding with boats and flip-flops and cut-offs and muscle cars and booze and weed and music and hormones.

Yesterday it couldn’t have been more quiet, or more lovely in its springtime stuff and its drizzling rain. I didn’t see a single other person as I drove through the town.  All the little shops and cafes and bars and churches technically open for business, but not a soul was there. And once you drive through the town, it becomes just a winding road through empty cornfields and nothing but sky.

I was playing Jesus of the Moon again, over and over (see yesterday’s post) because the groove just fit. It was all too perfect. Even though the mission I was on was bittersweet – the last time I was out there at that vet’s office, Daddycakes was still alive, though barely. It was still just an awe-inspiring day.

And then I spent the evening working on Blessed By Light and got some really good writing done.

Today Is May 1st, which was not only Elvis’s Wedding Day but mine, as well!! In fact, we got married on May 1st in honor of Elvis and we went to Memphis on our honeymoon. That box of matches featured above is my treasured souvenir from Graceland – even though, by the time we got there that day, the last tour had already left and so we didn’t get to go inside. Got all the way to Graceland, finally, and stood in front of a locked gate!! But what a fine gate it was, gang.

Yes, 26 years ago today, I married my second husband. It lasted 14 years, although I physically left after 10. And even though loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I was not any kind of a wife that you’d probably ever want to have, I did try to leave that marriage 3 times in those 10 years. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that I had a personality that was way too large for that marriage and that i was driving both of us crazy. However, I was always persuaded to stay and to try to make it work. Until it was just way too apparent that to try to live like some sort of Upper West Side happy housewife was driving me out of my fucking mind…

But here’s how I looked on my wedding day, 26 years ago. Long before all the silver hair arrived!!

In honor of Elvis, Marilyn Jaye officially became Marilyn Jaye Lewis on May 1st, 1993!!

Okay, gang!! I’m gonna get back to work on the novel here. Drink a little more coffee, eat some chocolate. I hope you have a wonderful day, wherever you are in the world!!

As a memento of yesterday, I leave you with this heartbreaking song – one of my favorites of all time, when I want to have my heart broken a little bit! (Trust me, even though my marriages don’t work out, I’m still capable of loving with all my soul and missing all the ones who got away.) Okay. Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you! See ya!