After having a couple of really lovely hours yesterday evening — up in the 70s Fahrenheit, sunny, warm, gorgeous — the temperature is plummeting now, down to the 40s. And it is now cloudy, windy and grey.
But it’s okay, because God knows, I’m not going anywhere.
I can’t tell yet if I feel better today. I’m breathing better, but I am ridiculously tired. My main complaint remains the short battery life of my blue tooth speaker. The hard-wired speakers for my iPad are down in the kitchen. And up here in bed, I rely on a cute little blue tooth speaker that, while aesthetically pleasing because it is a pretty frosted pink color with a really pretty blue light, it in fact cost me all of five dollars and, you know, needs re-charging quite frequently and, of course, the outlet is a mile away from the bed.
I have finished watching all the episodes of DCI Banks, and am now working my way through the most recent Agatha Christie re-makes from the BBC. And even though this current batch of remakes are my least favorite adaptations of Agatha Christie novels that I have ever watched, they still draw me in because the acting and the sets are incredible, but — truly — as if on cue, the very moment the episode reaches its zenith of suspense, the little speaker shuts off and needs to be re-charged.
It’s actually funny, its that reliable.
Anyway. So I’d already watched The Pale Horse before I got sick, then I watched The ABC Murders — and even though I love John Malkovich just generally, it was my least favorite Poirot adaptation of all time. There was way too much bloody murder and lurid sex in it! I know — normally lurid sex is a deeply wanted commodity, but not in Agatha Christie, for godsakes!! It’s like an affront to the senses. I really found it incredibly annoying, although the very same scenes in some other writer’s TV-movie adaptation would have been really desirable and I would have thought: Wow, that scene was really well done (because, actually they were really well written, dark and troubling sex scenes, just not for Agatha Christie…).
And now I am watching Ordeal By Innocence (2018), which, so far, is the best of the lot. I am trying to pace watching it with my constant need to sleep, so that the blue tooth is re-charging while I am doing the same!
All righty. That said, I need to go collapse in bed again. I leave you with another John Prine song, Spanish Pipedream (aka Blow Up Your TV), from off his debut album in 1971. (John Prine died late Tuesday night from complications with COVID 19. He was 73.)
Even though the song is really old, I identify with this particular song a lot at this stage of my life — and not because I identify with strippers, or Vietnam War draft-dodgers on their way to Canada, or with peaches, or having lots of children. I identify with this song because when I moved out here to the country and bought what I consider to be my first true home ever, I gave up my ministry. And I also got rid of my TV service.
Before I moved here to Crazeysburg, I had my little black shirt with the white collar, and I used to work a lot with the elderly, make home Communion visits to the housebound (or in nursing homes), and counsel people, mostly for grief & loss. But I knew that the path I was on with Jesus was leading me farther and farther away from what “regular” Christians needed from me as a minister — and that is putting it mildly.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, with no more formal ministry of any kind — I have done a whole lot of communing with Jesus privately, wherein I don’t have to answer to any established dogma.
So I love how the chorus of this song sort of reflects what I personally went through when I moved out here to the country. It’s such a joyful song.
All righty. Thanks for visiting, gang. Enjoy your Maundy Thursday (Jesus’s Last Supper) wherever you are in the world!! I love you guys. See ya.
“Spanish Pipedream (Blow Up Your TV)”
She was a level-headed dancer on the road to alcohol
And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal
Well she pressed her chest against me
About the time the juke box broke
Yeah, she gave me a peck on the back of the neck
And these are the words she spoke
Blow up your TV throw away your paper
Go to the country, build you a home
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches
Try and find Jesus on your own
Well, I sat there at the table and I acted real naive
For I knew that topless lady had something up her sleeve
Well, she danced around the bar room and she did the hoochy-coo
Yeah she sang her song all night long, tellin’ me what to do
Well, I was young and hungry and about to leave that place
When just as I was leavin’, well she looked me in the face
I said “You must know the answer.”
“She said, “No but I’ll give it a try.”
And to this very day we’ve been livin’ our way
And here is the reason why
We blew up our TV threw away our paper
Went to the country, built us a home
Had a lot of children, fed ’em on peaches
They all found Jesus on their own
© 1971 John Prine