Good Morning, Glories!!

Those Welsh people don’t bandy that word “God” about too easily. They seem to prefer words like “man” and “myth.” Which, of course, still means that everyone in Wales loved the Conversation with Nick Cave that took place there last night. Even people who were as “far away as they could possibly be,” seat-wise, said that it was an incredible night.

Yes – same suit, or 1 in 1700 that look exactly the same . This is clearly a “conversation” suit.

My favorite Instagram photo of Nick Cave to come out of the weekend, though, was not from the concert, but taken at a service station somewhere with Paul Weller. I don’t know where they were, I only know that it was black & white there. Or maybe it was just the photo that was black & white… Anyway, I love that photo and I wish that I could somehow get it off my phone and onto my wall.

Yesterday was a really, really good day, gang. Some good news came in over the phone. Unfortunately it was business-related stuff that I can’t blog about yet. But I just felt so happy all day.  It has to do with one of my plays and one of my TV pilot projects. I will, of course, keep you posted.

I did indeed chat on the phone with Peitor for a few hours yesterday, too. Not work-related, however.  We won’t resume working on the scripts until next Saturday.  Just lots of “life” going on there in his world.  Some of which I didn’t even know about. It’s so interesting how you can know someone really well – I would say that Peitor is my closest friend – and still not know a whole lot about what might be going on in his head.

Of course, he is a man who always manages to keep things under control. He never leaps to emotional weirdness, like some people we know (who live alone in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of haughty yet beautiful cats).  He’s always perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, perfectly been-at-the-gym every day, perfectly gone -off-to-the-meditation-place where they have those tranquil-sounding ringing bowls ; just always perfectly perfect.

So even if he’s disturbed about something, he’s perfectly calm and well-groomed about it.

I, on the other hand, leave grooming to those days when I think I might actually see somebody, you know? (I’m exaggerating, of course; I’m stupefyingly vain.) But my “emotional” stuff – wow, right? You usually don’t have to wonder if something might be bothering me, or if there “might be” something on my mind. You can’t accuse me of being passive-aggressive, either, that’s for sure. I’m not gonna tell you one thing and secretly harbor a totally different feeling.

But one thing I really, really value about Peitor is how even-keel he is, emotionally.  It helps keep me centered; it grounds me. Even though most of the stuff I go through I keep to myself, sometimes,  when I feel like I’m going to explode, usually from exasperated confusion over the entire human race, I’ll text him:

ME:  r u someplace where u cn talk right this second?!!!!

HIM (usually): yes

ME: [punching numbers on my phone]

(phone rings)

HIM: “Hello, Marilyn.”

ME:  [great big bunch of indescribably intense emotional gobbledygook weirdness]

HIM (talking very, very, VERY calmly): “You sound angry.”

I just love shit like that because it stops me in my tracks. It completely derails whatever outburst is going on in me.

Anyway. Yesterday was nothing like that. It was a good day. It truly was, on all fronts.

It’s a quiet, rainy Sunday morning here. I woke up in another one of those erotic euphoria things again — it has been several days since that has happened, so it was really nice. And I hope it’s gonna just set the whole tone for my day around here.

It is, of course, Father’s Day. Here’s a photo I love:

This is, of course, Tom Petty in socks & PJs, playing a harmonica. I don’t know which daughter this is. (He had 2, kind of far apart in ages, and then later in his life, when he re-married in his 50s, he adopted a son named Dylan.)

And here’s a photo closer to home, though from a very, very long time ago:

The photo has no date, but I’m guessing it’s my 3rd birthday, which means my dad is 33 here and that it’s 1963. (My adoptive dad.)  That’s our first house in Cleveland.

Okay, the church bells are ringing right now outside my window, which means that Sunday morning is really getting started here in Crazeysburg.

As the picture way at the top indicates, I am doing laundry here right now and I’m gonna go finish all that up, get more coffee and get the day underway!! I am getting dangerously close to actually finishing Blessed By Light, gang. Hard to believe. But then I have to seriously hit the ground running with revisions on the play.

Thanks for visiting. I hope you have a blessed and beautiful Sunday, wherever you are in the world.  I leave you with one of my all-time favorite songs, gang. Truly. Just one of my favorites. I hope they play it at my funeral really loudly and that everybody is happy about lives well-lived. (It’s one of those songs that makes me think very fondly of Gus Van Sant Sr although it was a favorite song long before I met him.) Okay. I love you guys! See ya!

“Begin the Beguine”

When they begin the beguine
It brings back the sound of music so tender
It brings back a night of tropical splendor
It brings back a memory ever green

I’m with you once more under the stars
And down by the shore an orchestra’s playing
And even the palms seem to be swaying
When they begin the beguine

To live it again is past all endeavor
Except when that tune clutches my heart
And there we are, swearing to love forever
And promising never, never to part

What moments divine, what rapture serene
Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted
And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean

So don’t let them begin the beguine
Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember
Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember
When they begin the beguine

Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, please make them play
Till the stars that were there before return above you
Till you whisper to me once more, “Darling, I love you”
Then we suddenly know what heaven we’re in
When they begin the, begin the, begin the beguine

When they begin the, begin the, begin the beguine
When they begin the beguine

c- 1935 Cole Porter

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