Sometimes, even when I know that the stuff I’m trying to say is in there — inside my brain— I just can’t get a clear signal. You know, like a radio dial. I’m tuning and tuning, but not landing on that clear signal that lets everything come in crystal clear.
I’m talking about the final page of dialogue for the play— in case I’m not being crystal clear!
It’s not coming. So I’ve decided to focus on my Italian lessons instead. Just get my brain involved in something else. And then maybe when I shift my focus back to the play, the dialogue I need to hear will be there.
Even though I’m not sure now if the retreats will be held in Italy or England, I paid for a year in advance for the Italian lessons so I’m just going to keep studying it until either the year is up, or I end up needing to keep studying it indefinitely.
I am not very good at Italian. My mind still wants to shift back into French. And like any language I’ve ever studied, except for Mandarin Chinese, which I was strangely good at speaking, I just do so much better reading a new language than speaking it. So the moment I’m not actually looking at the Italian lessons, I forget everything I just learned. Yet the moment I take another quiz, even if it’s the monthly quiz that goes over everything to date— well, then I remember absolutely everything. So I have no idea why I can’t simply recall all this stuff when the lessons aren’t in front of me.
But anyway. I’ve decided to focus on Italian for awhile. Give the play a wee little rest.
It’s a beautiful morning here. It doesn’t seem to be as cold as it’s been the past few mornings.
The other morning when I was out in my car along the main road, this one group of cows that I really love did something so cute! If you’ve never been around a group of cows— meaning standing right with them or in their midst— they are quite curious creatures. They will all look at you, at the same time, the moment you appear. It’s a strange sensation, because they’re so large.
Anyway, I group the main road here by the animals. First there’s a huge group of cows on a hill. Then a smaller group of cows in a pasture right by the road. Then a group of chickens. Then horses with a couple of cows. Then another large group of cows on a hill. Then more chickens. Then you get closer to town.
Well it’s that group of about 20 cows that are near the road that I just love, because whenever I drive past them, they’re just so close. I love looking at them. The other day, the guy who owns them was installing some new feeders. Another guy was helping him. And all the cows were standing sort of in a circle, surrounding the men, just very curiously watching what they were doing. It was so funny looking! It was just the sweetest thing.
Anyway. I do love animals.
Okay, I’m gonna scoot. Have a great Sunday. Since I’m still in bed, I’ll leave you with a photo of my bedroom door, from the bed just now. I love how the light is hitting it. I’m not sure why I love this door so much, but I do. It’s one of the few doors that are original to the house, so the door and the iron door knob are 119 years old.
All right. Thanks for visiting!! I love you guys. See ya.
The view if my bedroom door from the bed just now.
Since most of my readers do not come from the United States, and are more likely to have a cognizant awareness of who Nick Cave is — I’m guessing that most of you already know that Ghosteen, the new album by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, has been declared the Album of the Decade, by Metacritic, which tallies the accumulated critical scores that a movie, album, or game receives. And Ghosteen received the highest ratings across the board, to land it in the top spot for the entire decade.
Ghosteen Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds
It’s a wonderful achievement, but it’s also an announcement that is just so poignant to me that it’s hard to be truly “happy” about it. I am glad, though.
Assuming this is not your first visit to this blog then you are well aware that I love this album, but still find it just devastating to listen to. I can rarely listen to the whole album all the way through. I usually have to stop it at some point and just breathe, you know? Walk away.
Sometimes I only get as far as “Waiting For You” before that happens — that’s only the 3rd song in. Most of the time, I can get as far as “Galleon Ship” and then I have to stop. I don’t know why “Galleon Ship” is so hard for me, but it is. I have a really tough time listening to that one without it totally breaking my heart.
I don’t know for sure if this is true, but I heard that their album Skeleton Tree is the #5 album of the decade. Of course, both of these albums have to do with the death of one of Nick Cave’s sons. But I think it’s accurate to say that a lot of Skeleton Tree had already been recorded before his son was killed. But Ghosteen — I don’t see how that album could have come into existence if his son hadn’t died, and so that’s why it’s just so hard for me to join in all the Instagram hoopla over it being the Album of the Decade. Honestly, I can only see the trade-off. And it’s too poignant. What the death of a child does to the parents, and to the family. Not to mention what it does to the child’s private world — other children; lives that have nothing to do with the parents or the family. Or with art.
Yet all of that had to happen for the art to have even needed to be expressed. And it is amazingly beautiful art — and I am glad that it’s getting honored everywhere. I am. But it’s still just so sad.
Okay, I’m going to get back to work here, gang. I’ll leave you with this, if you haven’t already heard it. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.
“Galleon Ship”
If I could sail a galleon ship
Long, lonely rider across the sky
Seek out mysteries while you sleep
And treasures money cannot buy
For you know I see you everywhere
A servant girl, an empress
My galleon ship will fly and fall
Fall and fly and fly and fall deep into your loveliness
And if we rise my love
Before the daylight comes
A thousand galleon ships will sail
Ghostly around the morning sun
As the city rises up
As the city rises up
As the city rises up
As the city rises up
For we are not alone, it seems
So many riders in the sky
The winds of longing in their sails
Searching for the other side
And if we rise my love
Oh my darling, precious one
We’ll stand and watch the galleon ships
Circle around the morning sun
It is a truly frosty morning out there, gang, so I decided to stay snuggled in bed a while longer. Drink my coffee. Watch the world get light outside the windows. Blog on the phone instead of at the computer at my desk.
I did indeed get the porches cleared off yesterday. Everything is put away in the barn. Everything is ready for winter. Me, as well. I guess I’m ready for winter. I sure hope my birth mom will come back and help me decorate for Christmas. I would love that so much. We’ll see.
The play is not finished, even though I really do only have about a page to go. I’m still not getting the exact understanding of it. There’s going to be a sort of cacophony of dialogue that builds from Helen’s past and I’m not exactly sure yet how to do that. But I know it’s in there — I can feel it trying to form inside me. I just need that moment of clarity and it will all come out.
Well, WordPress informs me that it’s our anniversary! I have been blogging with WordPress for 12 years already. Is that, like, insane or what??!! I maintained a couple different blogs here over the years that were not my “main blog”. The main one was at Go Daddy for a very long time before I switched over to WordPress exclusively. But wow — 12 years. That just kind of shocked me, I really hate when time just gallops away.
Oh, an interesting update on my insane bathroom scale! I actually gained 7 pounds this morning while standing on it. That was a first! The scale has actually been working just fine for a few weeks now, so I have no idea what causes it to suddenly go weird like that. But I thought that was kind of funny. I jumped off of it in a hurry, though. You know, thinking that if I stood on it for too long, I might gain 20 pounds, or something equally unwieldy…
Anyway, I have nothing really to report today. I’m just having a snuggly little morning. All’s right with the world here in Crazeysburg. My cats are quite cozy and enjoying having the heat kicking on all the time. They hang out primarily in the family room in colder months. I put fleece throws on everything and so they all snuggle into the various throws. It’s kind of cool to walk through the family room, en route to the coffee pot in the kitchen, and see 7 cats snuggling contentedly everywhere, just staring at me.
If it weren’t for these cats, I wouldn’t have this cool old house. Well, I had 8 cats when I bought the house. But I would have settled for something much more plebeian without them. I bought the house because I needed the space for all these cats! As you know, I, personally am either up in my room or in the kitchen. The rest of the house is for them. (To throw up in and cough up hair balls in and to shed all over. But they sure are nice to look at!!)
Okay!! Gonna scoot. I’m gonna think & stare for awhile and try to tap into the vibes of the play.
Have a super cozy Saturday wherever you are in the world, gang! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya!
the 3 feral kittens I rescued back at the old house— before they exploded into the colony I have now that no one would adopt!!
I feel like Friday is now my day to want to scream at people.
Neptune & Surf is not in the public domain or anything close to it. Even if you are an Asian gaming site currently offering free downloads of the alleged “Blue Moon” version of this book, it is not legal to do it.
I know that used copies of this specific edition currently cost anywhere from $45 to $125 — and who wants to pay that? Actually not me –however, it still doesn’t mean that the Blue Moon edition is legal to download.
Neptune & Surf, Blue Moon edition
While Barney Rosset is indeed dead and Blue Moon was shuttered many years ago, the rights to Neptune & Surf are controlled by Hachette UK, and if any of you gentle readers have not read Neptune & Surf yet, and feel the irresistible urge to read it immediately and cannot afford the 99 cents (or whatever paltry amount the Kindle edition costs) in order to download it legally; if it’s a choice between a humble bowl of soup and a lowly crust of bread, or legally buying Neptune & Surf — just contact me for godssakes.
This is getting really annoying….
Please do not patronize pirates. I’d really appreciate that, gang.
First of all, Ghosteen, the new Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds double album, is officially out today!! Go buy it, perhaps along with one or more of its various and sundry merchandising options!!
Ghosteen Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, out today
I was indeed informed yesterday that my very own copy of the CD was put in the mail to me yesterday (I can even track its shipping progress, if I’d like to), and it is guaranteed to arrive on Friday November 22nd !!!! WTF!!
I mean, it is totally my fault for being so impatient. Pre-ordering it from the UK, instead of waiting until it was available for pre-ordering at Amazon US (which was something, like, later that same afternoon). And then, of course, God knows I was too busy to go into Amazon UK and cancel the pre-order and then re-order it at Amazon US — because that would have taken about 5 minutes, and I usually save those 5 extra minutes I have each day for using the bathroom…
Anyway. When I got the cheerful email yesterday, alerting me of the CD’s successful send-off somewhere in my general direction, I was really irritated with myself. That’s two weeks away. It’s like how shipping was in olden-times…
However, it’s not as if I don’t constantly listen to it already on my phone and on my iPad, and have it practically memorized. I don’t actually need the CD in my life. So I’ll just look on it as a happy little perk — one day, in the mysterious and far distant future, I’ll look out my kitchen door, and there it will be, sitting happily on my porch in the wilds of Muskingum County, after its long, and no doubt colorful and adventure-filled, voyage from England.
(Meanwhile, all 14 of my neighbors here in Crazeysburg, 33% of whom work at the Amazon warehouse 25 miles from here, will have been happily listening to their own US-distributed copies of the Ghosteen CDs that whole entire time…)
Okay. One more Nick Cave thing…
He sent out another Red Hand Files letter-thingie today; a sort of follow-up to the one he sent out a couple of days ago, about Transcendental Meditation. You can read it at that link there, if you so choose. I would say that his response today was charitable (which is an adjective, meaning “apt to judge others leniently or favorably” and which is probably why he meditates).
And so, onward.
Yes!! I made amazing progress with the play yesterday — finally. I made it through that chunk of dialogue — and I was really happy with it. And then a great big bunch of stuff poured out on its heels, that I was also really happy with.
And today, I have maybe a page left?? Honestly, I am that close to finally being done. One page. (Until they need more rewrites, that is.)
And on that note, I’m gonna scoot. I have to pay some bills here before I totally forget again and have a bunch of hard-working office-drones from hither & yon politely wondering if I’m asleep or dead or on drugs. (None of the above. What I am is super day-dreamy these days.)
So I’m gonna pay bills. Then I’m gonna put on my Wellies, and my scarf and mittens and my arctic coat, and drag all the various flower pots and summer lawn accoutrements back into the barn for the winter (the frost and snow flurries did indeed arrive, and now all the impatiens are done). Then I’m gonna pour myself another cup of coffee and sit my quite comely behind back down at the computer and FINISH THE PLAY!!!! (Again!!!!!)
Have a wonderful Friday, wherever you are in the world, gang! Thanks for visiting. I leave you with this — but, you know, go BUY IT. (I can’t really link your purchasing options here because my readers come from all over the world. But I’m sure you know where you buy your music.) All righty! I love you guys. See ya.
“Bright Horses”
The bright horses have broken free from the fields
They are horses of love, their manes full of fire
They are parting the cities, those bright burning horses
And everyone is hiding, and no one makes a sound
And I’m by your side and I’m holding your hand
Bright horses of wonder springing from your burning hand
And everyone has a heart and it’s calling for something
We’re all so sick and tired of seeing things as they are
Horses are just horses and their manes aren’t full of fire
The fields are just fields, and there ain’t no Lord
And everyone is hidden, and everyone is cruel
And there’s no shortage of tyrants, and no shortage of fools
And the little white shape dancing at the end of the hall
Is just a wish that time can’t dissolve at all
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, well, this world is plain to see
It don’t mean we can’t believe in something, and anyway
My baby’s coming back now on the next train
I can hear the whistle blowing, I can hear the mighty roar
I can hear the horses prancing in the pastures of the Lord
Oh the train is coming, and I’m standing here to see
And it’s bringing my baby right back to me
Well there are some things that are hard to explain
But my baby’s coming home now, on the 5:30 train
I will not linger here this morning, since I was not only here on the blog 3 times yesterday, but I was also online, texting & emailing a LOT yesterday because of Helen’s birthday stuff. And so today, I must go into the isolation booth and remain there…
My biggest challenge right now –and all week — has been one single chunk of dialogue, if you can believe it.
The character’s name is: A White Man From Mississippi. And he is the type of art gallery owner that both gouges the art buyer and rips off the artist (one step away from being a thief). But he is also a carnival barker. So everything he says has to come out in that exhorting, intensely fake, creepy/menacing loud way.
However, he has to sound genuine — not just like a buffoon or something. And in this specific chunk of dialogue that is really vexing me, he’s confronting one of Helen’s grandson’s, who is fucked up on pills and booze, and has just robbed Helen of her life’s savings and caused her to have a paralyzing stroke, so she can never paint again.
The White Man From Mississippi (gallery owner/carnival barker) is belittling the grandson for being such a loser; his petty thievery killed the goose that laid the golden egg. Whereas he, the White Man From Mississippi (more of a master thief), has access to all the golden eggs if he wants them and can buy & sell them, over & over & over, eternally, at whatever prices the market can bear.
And then the staging is such that the White Man From Mississippi is sort of like God & the Devil, talking down to the intoxicated grandson from Heaven, while all of Helen’s dead loved ones and ancestors, sing a really slow and drawn out stanza from the slave hymn, “I Want to Be Ready to Walk in Jerusalem Just like John.”
It’s gonna take up maybe 3 minutes of stage time, but it’s taking me FOREVER to get it right!!!!!!
I was bordering on not wanting to get out of bed at all this morning, I am getting just so frustrated with it, but here I am. So, onward.
Oh, if you saw — the music has been switched out again. It’s another one of my folk songs that was on vinyl. It came out in 1982, and is now on Smithsonian Folkways Records — the specific record is “Women in Song,” from July 1982.
My song, “One Thing Leads to Another,” is about a roommate I had while in the mental hospital, whose dad had been raping her regularly, until she became a drug addict and sort of went crazy.
It was really strange to hear her talk about her life because she was so matter of fact about it. And the rapes always happened on Thursday nights, because it was her mom’s bowling night — that little fact always struck me as just so creepy.
I wasn’t super nice to her, because I thought she was really strange and I was, you know, forced to share a room with her. Of course, we were both only 15, and I was seriously fucked up with my own mental problems, so I couldn’t really grasp (until a few years later) what her problem really was. She would talk about sex with her dad as being really fun and exciting, so I thought: well, then what’s the big deal?
Something like that. I wasn’t totally heartless, or stupid, but she was so hard to talk to. She was really in denial and way off in la-la land, but I couldn’t really empathize because I had all my own issues that I was drowning in.
Anyway, so that’s that song.
Okay! I’m gonna scoot!! And try to nail this thing before I totally lose my mind.
Have a wonderful Thursday, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with more breakfast music from Angel Clare — and this one is just too cool. It’s a medley that is just brilliant and really just messes with your whole soul, in a truly glorious way, but you have to hear the whole song.
Oh, which reminds me! Amazon UK informed me that the arrival of the Ghosteen CD (Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds) is imminent in my very near future!!! (Yes, it is being shipped to me from the UK, because I pre-ordered it the moment it was available to pre-order, and didn’t wait the handful of moments for it to be available for pre-ordering in the US, and so, rather than have it shipped to me from the Amazon warehouse that is literally 25 miles from me, it’s shipping to me from the UK…. Well, that’s me, in a nutshell.)
Okay, enjoy!! Thanks for visiting. I love you guys! See ya!
I am actually (kind of) working! I’ve also been texting everybody I know some of those wonderful photos of Helen (see post below this one), and so, got distracted. (And made dinner — macaroni & cheese!!)
But I am getting back to work here, and in honor of snow coming our way tomorrow, I have officially switched from the black chemise to the winter PJs and have lowered the heat (a little bit). (You can tell by how my desk chair is scooted out from my desk, though, that I actually am sort of working…)
Okay, see ya! For real this time… I love you guys! Enjoy your evening, wherever you are in the world!
Goodbye to the chemise until next spring!!Hello to practicality… (heavy sigh) (but stylish winter PJs!!!) (This is actually my 12th winter in these PJs!) (Perhaps I should go shopping one of these days…)
Here is a selection of photos of Helen that Wanda took at Helen’s 100th birthday celebration in Mayfield, Kentucky this past Saturday. There were over a hundred photos to choose from, so I’m just choosing a few of Helen herself.
I just love this black & white portrait. She looks so regal.A nice close-upHelen at the church where her celebration was heldA version of Helen’s famous “Church Picnic- Homecoming” painting is held up above her. She made many “Church Picnic” paintings over the years. Gus Van Sant Sr owned a version of this painting, it was displayed over his fire place, and there were 150 distinct tiny people painted at the picnic! It was an incredible painting to see in “real life.”
I’m so glad to see Helen looking so lively and alert. She looks just wonderful.
Okay, with this lovely incentive, I’m gonna get back to work here… See ya!
Yesterday wound up being pretty okay. Even though, by the time I actually was able to sit at my desk and really focus on the play for a few uninterrupted hours in the evening, it turned out that my extensive notes on the new dialogue were better than the actual new dialogue, so I closed the computer and just decided to wait until today.
Two things happened yesterday that were interesting.
My phone chat with my ex-husband in Seattle revealed that he was in some sort of depression — something having to do with the state of the whole world and its economy. A view I don’t share because I don’t stare at the stock market all day — or ever.
But it was weird — he’s not someone who has ever been prone to actual depression. He has certainly had his struggles in life and had things that have really challenged him. But depression was not something he ever succumbed to.
I just let him talk, you know. Express whatever he needed to express, without trying to change his point of view on anything. But I didn’t share any of his views and that felt so weird, because we usually have similar views on life, in general (which was why we got married, a million years ago). The stuff he was focused on yesterday — well, I couldn’t have felt more different about that stuff.
And then I had an email exchange with a friend in Europe who was talking to me about my new novel, Blessed By Light. He likes the concept a lot (in an extreme nutshell, the novel documents a love affair that takes place in the final year of life of a fictional American rock & roll legend — and it’s told in Second Person, throughout). But he didn’t like the title at all.
And I found that both interesting and sort of amusing, since “Blessed By Light” refers to God, and somewhat to Jesus, and to that light we go toward when we die (or so people in near death experiences attest to), and then the actual spotlight of fame — and all of it relating to the character in the novel, who strongly believes in God. And since it’s totally uncool to believe in God anymore, I thought to myself, that’s interesting that the title is bothering him so much and he doesn’t even know yet that it refers to God.
People seem to like that my characters have a lot of sex and take drugs and are challenged by moral dilemmas, but you know — God. Not sure we appreciate going there.
It’s definitely an American novel, though, that’s for sure.
But aside from those two strange things, yesterday was actually really nice. Nowhere near as annoying as I thought it would be.
As soon as I left to go vote, the sun came out big time; the sky cleared up and it was a gorgeous day to drive around in. I voted, and everyone at the voting place was in good spirits. I went to the Honda dealership and everyone there was in good spirits. I went to get my groceries and the check-out girl said, “wow, I love what’s in your cart– you buy all the things I like.” Then I came home and vacuumed the house, etc., etc. It was just a really nice, easy day. Not annoying at all.
I also changed the furnace filter — I knew it had to be getting bad because my breathing issues were getting more pronounced. I usually have to give myself a little pep talk before I go down into my basement, though. It’s not the creepiest basement I’ve ever had but it is second in line. Once I’m down there, though, I’m actually okay. Much like this entire house, even the creepy 119-year-old unfinished basement has good vibes to it. (Assuming you don’t mind spiders, which I don’t.)
In fact, while I was down there changing the filter, I took a couple of photos for you!! One is of what’s left of the 119-year-old coal bin under the stairs, and the other is the coal shoot, which has been sealed up, but it’s still technically there. I just love old stuff like this — you know, actual remnants from the man who built this house. His water well is still outside my back door and is only nominally covered over, and the barn of course is still there, with all its original insides, including the hand built cupboards, and the old hand-built pass-throughs for feeding the horse. People just layered the new stuff around the old stuff over the years. And I just really love that.
The remains of the 119-year-old coal bin under the basement stairs.The sealed-up coal shoot at the top of the stairs. Don’t want to wear your fetish high-heels on these old stairs, that’s for certain!
Well, after I had that full day, and got no productive writing done on the play, I just did yoga and then listened to Ghosteen on my phone while I played solitaire on my iPad, and wondered how musicians feel about people listening to all their hard work on a phone. But still, it just seemed like a good day.
Oh, yesterday, Nick Cave sent out another Red Hand Files letter. You can read it here. It’s about the benefits of Transcendental Meditation, and how it transformed him from the horribly wonderful man he used to be into the wonderfully wonderful man he is today! (I’m paraphrasing, of course, because I am incapable of thinking so much as a disparaging thought about Nick Cave.) However, he was eloquent and interesting, as always.
And now I am going to get back to work on the ending of this play!!! See if I can come up with some actual dialogue that is as good as my notes are.
Still doing the Angel Clare thing at breakfast around here, so I leave you with a truly gorgeous piece of production work today, “Old Man”. A song written by Randy Newman, about a mean old man, a father, dying alone — almost. If you’ve never heard it before, you should listen to it (turn it up). It’s the kind of soaring, devastating singing that Art Garfunkel is famous for. Okay. Thanks for visiting, gang!! I love you guys. See ya.
“Old Man”
Everyone has gone away, can you hear me? Can you hear me?
No one cared enough to stay, can you hear me?
You must remember me, old man, I know that you can if you try.
So just open up your eyes, old man, look who’s come to say, “Goodbye.”
The sun has left the sky, old man, the birds have flown away
and no one came to cry old man, goodbye, old man, goodbye.
You want to stay, I know you do, but it ain’t no use to try,
because I’ll be here, and I’m just like you, goodbye, old man, goodbye.
Won’t be no God to comfort you, you taught me not to believe that lie.
You don’t need anybody, nobody needs you, don’t cry, old man, don’t cry.
“Playtime in Pussyland!!” I just wish. But no, this pussy always has to work.
Okay.
Today has all the earmarks of being annoying. I’m already doing the laundry. I have to wash my hideous hair, then shave my legs, all that. Be indescribably presentable, even though I am always here by myself. Then I have to VOTE because it’s election day here in these fine United States. Then I have to drive 25 miles to the Honda Dealership to get my permanent plates, because my temporary tags expired two weeks ago and they neglected to tell me. After that, I have to drive another 10 miles in a different direction and buy groceries because I’m down to one tomato, some arugula, a protein bar, and a bunch of dark chocolate-covered espresso beans. I have to do yoga, of course. And I have to vacuum — in the colder months, I have to vacuum all the time because the windows are no longer open and the accumulation of cat hair gets unbearable and I am actually allergic to cats (hence my dependency on Flonase for all my breathing needs).
And already, I can feel a new segment for In the Shadow of Narcissa creeping in at the edges of my brain, and daily, I get more and more intimations for Letter #5 (“Hymn to the Dark”) for Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse (the section I began writing last week or something like that and then deleted because it felt too plebeian.) Neither of these can I pay attention to right now because I must complete the revised ending for Tell My Bones.
I hate when I have all these niggly little things to do in one day because it keeps me from being able to sit at my desk and focus for uninterrupted chunks of time. The actual “writing” might take only 2 or 3 hours, but there’s tons of hours before that where the words are trying to fall into place. So when I’m running hither & yon, my brain gets jumbled and time gets wasted.
Oh, and here at 9:30am, one of my ex-husbands is calling to chat. He lives in Seattle now and always gets up in time for the stock market to open on the East Coast. Today, he’s calling for our annual “Thanksgiving” chat. (We always chat around every imaginable holiday — yes, even the Chinese New Year because he happens to be Chinese. From Singapore, originally.) Well, I love chatting with him, so that’s not annoying or anything. He always makes me laugh. And we never chat for long because I guess the stock market needs a constant sort of “looking at”. But it’s just, you know. Another thing going on today.
Well, on another note.
Apparently Helen LaFrance’s 100th birthday was a huge & happy success. Wanda is going to be sending me photos from the celebration, which I will then have posted to the Tell My Bones web site. Plus, there are also some large Helen LaFrance murals in several of the churches in Mayfield, Kentucky, that people there are restoring. So donations can be made to that (in the event you would want to contribute) and I will try to have some sort of link for that on the TMB web site, too. Although, for tax reasons, I’m not entirely sure how to do that. But anyway. It’s a project that is underway. I believe the murals are 40 or 50 years old now.
Well, the remaining leaves on my maple tree are turning that golden-yellow color. It’s usually December before the leaves really fall off the tree — in one big sort of swoop, down they all go. Some day, I’ll have to remember to take a photo of how huge this tree is. It is easily twice as tall as my house. It’s just huge and has, as you can imagine, tons of leaves.
I just love this tree, though. It means so much to me. And early this morning, as I sat on the side of the bed, with my cup of coffee, looking out the window, I noticed the leaves were truly changing now and it made me wistful. (All the other trees in town change their leaves long before my silver maple does.) But it also made me excited for spring to come again. And for the leaves to return.
I will only say, briefly — because I do not like to dwell — but when “the man” was still alive and we would lie on my bed in the dark. Well. It was the height of summer and so all the windows and the blinds were open. And the tree shielded us from everything. It was just beautiful. We could do whatever we wanted and it wasn’t as if anyone could see in. The tree is just massive. All those leaves made everything so private. That summer was just so lovely.
One night, in particular, will stay with me forever — and I try not to cry when I think about it, yet I do think about it because it was so monumental to me. It was like one of those moments in time that you feel as if it’s all you will ever really need — you know? You can die after you have that moment. But of course, you don’t die. Life goes on, which is why you remember it and try not to cry. But we were lying across my bed, naked, staring out the window at the night. He was lying on top of me, we weren’t doing anything, just sort of lying there, looking out. The night was so still & beautiful & quiet. The streetlight was coming in the through the leaves on the tree. It was dark in my room. We were listening to the live version of “Mary Jane’s Last Dance” by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers — the best summer song they ever did, ever. And suddenly here comes the freight train. Just barreling through.
It was the most amazing moment. I begged him at that moment to never, ever leave me. And I meant it with all my heart, even though we already knew he was going to die. (Plus, he was married, for god’s sake. Happily married. If he weren’t dying, he wouldn’t have even been there to begin with.)
However. It was too poignant for words. And he did die. At home with his wife — in their bed, whatever that looked like. And a whole other summer came and went since then.
But my tree — you know, it shares my memories. It truly does.
And for some reason, I’ve stopped wearing my summer PJs, and instead of moving on to my winter PJs, I’ve gone in the other direction and started wearing a little black chemise to bed. I’m not sure what’s come over me. It means I have to crank up the heat! Because it really is getting cold at night out there — down into the 30s and even into the 20s Fahrenheit. A chemise is not the thing to be wearing right now. Apparently, on some level, I still cannot let the summer go.
So, sitting there early this morning, on the side of the bed, with my cup of coffee, looking out the window and wearing a little black chemise… I did indeed see that the leaves were truly changing and that winter is going to be right around the corner here, any day. And I’m gonna have to get into those winter PJs or my heating bill will be a fortune!
I’m hoping my birth mom will come back in early December and help me decorate the house for Christmas. Last year was supposed to be my first “happy Christmas” in my new house, but I was grieving. This year, should be lots better.
Okay!! Gotta go. Phone will be ringing here soon. Thanks for visiting, gang. Have a terrific Tuesday wherever you are in the world. I leave you with the obvious, even though I haven’t played it in a while. (This is the best version of the song, ever. And now has more memories than my heart can contain.) I love you guys. See ya!
“Mary Jane’s Last Dance”
She grew up in an Indiana town
Had a good-lookin’ mama who never was around
But she grew up tall and she grew up right
With them Indiana boys on them Indiana nights
Well, she moved down here at the age of eighteen
She blew the boys away, was more than they’d seen
I was introduced and we both started groovin’
She said, “I dig you baby, but I got to keep movin’ on
Keep movin’ on”
Last dance with Mary Jane, one more time to kill the pain
I feel summer creepin’ in and I’m tired of this town again
Well, I don’t know, but I’ve been told
You never slow down, you never grow old
I’m tired of screwin’ up, tired of going down
Tired of myself, tired of this town
Oh, my my, oh, hell yes
Honey, put on that party dress
Buy me a drink, sing me a song
Take me as I come ’cause I can’t stay long
Last dance with Mary Jane, one more time to kill the pain
I feel summer creepin’ in and I’m tired of this town again
There’s pigeons down on Market Square
She’s standin’ in her underwear
Lookin’ down from a hotel room
Nightfall will be comin’ soon
Oh, my my, oh, hell yes.
You got to put on that party dress
It was too cold to cry when I woke up alone
I hit my last number and walked to the road
Last dance with Mary Jane, one more time to kill the pain
I feel summer creepin’ in and I’m tired of this town again
Marilyn's Room 