I guess I'm continuing the angel theme. I know I have angels watching over me, letting me know of their presence when times are hard, helping me give praise for glorious times. Sometimes, I think of it as my gut instinct, helping to guide me along, make the right choice about a situation. Other times, I acknowledge that a force beyond my ken has stepped in to move me toward acceptance of events beyond my control.
Yeah, and there's that word again: control. I am fully aware that the only person I have control over is myself. Again: the only person I have control over is myself. I know this to be true. The same is true for everyone else, too. And yet... I would sure LIKE to think that I have control over the thoughts and actions of others, that I can get them to do my bidding about whatever I want, whenever I want. Not that I want anyone to have such control over ME. But I'm special, don't ya know? Am I not? Shouldn't I be able to control everyone that enters into my sphere of reality? Shouldn't I????
But of course I cannot. And that would be because my sphere of reality is not the only one out there. Mine intersects with those of my family, those of my friends, those of colleagues, those of strangers. All of us, whether we know each other or not, coexisting on the same planet, but having our own unique version of the meaning of life on that blue dot in this particular galaxy. That definitely makes things a bit more complicated when the issue of control is raised.
Maybe it would be better for me to look at control as a myth, like perfect or normal. Maybe, just maybe, I should limit the concept to certain things. I mean, everyone would agree that it's best to control one's temper, to control oneself from belching or farting or scratching certain areas in public, to control one's libido so you aren't humping everything with a pulse. Hm mm, okay, I guess that's a good place to start with control, though I'm sure a little gas may escape from time to time. Which just shows to go ya: control is a myth. Let it go.
How on earth did I wander from angels to control? Just what kind of beach is this, anyway? Maybe I had too many sweet treats at the Oscar-watching party tonight. Maybe I need more sleep. Maybe I need to have someone say: honey, turn off the computer and come to bed.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Thursday, February 19, 2009
angel
Mama and I used to have a telepathy with each other. When something of major consequence was going on, we could call each other and KNOW by the sound of the ring that it was the other of us calling. Mind you, this was WAY before caller ID and ring tones for cell phones; this was back in the 70's and 80's, when I was in the Navy and living half a world away. This telepathy was a very good thing, good for helping us feel close even when we were so geographically separate, and I only ever had it with Mama.
Tonight, I have reason to believe that my middle brother's daughter, the one who looks so much like me, may have a smidgen of that telepathy. Either that, or Mama angelically inspired my niece to check on me tonight.
It so happened that I was in the Cracker Barrel in Pooler, dining with friends after their daughter's fabulously fun dance show. The conversation turned toward my ex and his extramarital children and related issues. At any rate, the topic was bringing me way down, rehashing news that I thought I had shared with these friends some time ago, but had not. After dinner, we all left for our respective homes, me feeling absolutely bereft.
I no sooner get home than my niece calls. She and her husband are on the road and she thought she would call and say hey... something she hasn't done in months. And where were they? On the way home from... the Cracker Barrel in Pooler, where they had been dining with her husband's father. Whoa. And when? They had arrived before my party had and had been seated in the back section; we were in the front. Whoa. And when they left the restaurant, passing by the section where I had been seated, she thought of me. And we talked for almost an hour, leaving me calmed down and feeling loved.
Coincidence is an incredible occurrence. Thankfully.
Tonight, I have reason to believe that my middle brother's daughter, the one who looks so much like me, may have a smidgen of that telepathy. Either that, or Mama angelically inspired my niece to check on me tonight.
It so happened that I was in the Cracker Barrel in Pooler, dining with friends after their daughter's fabulously fun dance show. The conversation turned toward my ex and his extramarital children and related issues. At any rate, the topic was bringing me way down, rehashing news that I thought I had shared with these friends some time ago, but had not. After dinner, we all left for our respective homes, me feeling absolutely bereft.
I no sooner get home than my niece calls. She and her husband are on the road and she thought she would call and say hey... something she hasn't done in months. And where were they? On the way home from... the Cracker Barrel in Pooler, where they had been dining with her husband's father. Whoa. And when? They had arrived before my party had and had been seated in the back section; we were in the front. Whoa. And when they left the restaurant, passing by the section where I had been seated, she thought of me. And we talked for almost an hour, leaving me calmed down and feeling loved.
Coincidence is an incredible occurrence. Thankfully.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
phish phood
So, there I was last night, hopping along the bunny trail of myspace. Smelling the flowery phrases left by current friends. Discovering the haunts of old friends and inviting them to my neck of the woods. Checking out the flavors of events to come and updating my calendar. And then - BAMMM! I am whisked, post-haste back to my homepage! BAMMM! The gatekeeper Tom is pasted at the top of my page with a message: your password has been phished!!! You are forbidden to travel elsewhere in myspace until you change your password! Do it NOW!!!
And I'm banished to a gray page. "Enter old password, enter new password, repeat!" No, you cannot update your status. No, you cannot check for new messages. No, no, NO!
Hmphf! Fine, fine, I'll create a new password. On the spot, just like that. Fine.
So, I did. I'm not sure I'll recall it later, but it is changed and that's what the gatekeeper demanded. Then I bugged out of there, cleared my temporary internet files, and closed the browser. And I'm debating whether I want to go there tonight... maybe tomorrow. The phisher should be long gone by then.
And I'm banished to a gray page. "Enter old password, enter new password, repeat!" No, you cannot update your status. No, you cannot check for new messages. No, no, NO!
Hmphf! Fine, fine, I'll create a new password. On the spot, just like that. Fine.
So, I did. I'm not sure I'll recall it later, but it is changed and that's what the gatekeeper demanded. Then I bugged out of there, cleared my temporary internet files, and closed the browser. And I'm debating whether I want to go there tonight... maybe tomorrow. The phisher should be long gone by then.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
irony
Revenge is a dish best served cold - but it takes so much preparation and is difficult to properly season. Irony, on the other hand, is a dish prepared for your benefit by someone else, and what's not to like about that?
Last night, I had a sumptuous feast laid out for me, a Valentine's Day gift from the cosmos. So very much prep work had to be done for this elaborate dish, and many hands were involved in getting it... "just so." First, I had to be familiar with the song "Cheater, Cheater" by Joey and Rory. Well, I watch music videos (VH1, CMH, GAC) on weekday mornings with my coffee and had seen that particular one a couple of weeks ago and really enjoyed it. It has special meaning for me these AD-1 days, especially the line "to lay your hands on a married man is 'bout as low as a gal can get," even for a "no good white trash ho." Choice lyrics. Of course, the reason I watch the videos is because I live alone now, thanks to a ho.
Secondly, I had to be an afficionado of karaoke and I am. In fact, I had wanted to go to my favorite karaoke corral last night, I had even been personally invited by my friend, the karaoke host. But I knew an unsavory character would be there, so I abstained. It helps to know, at this point, that said karaoke host will let you sing whatever you write on a playslip, whether he thinks you can or should do the song or not.
So, there we have the song, the place, the major players. Except one. I had talked with another friend of the "Singles Awareness Night" event to be held at the corral. Like me, he didn't think he would be attending. Then he texted me the one word question: "steeds?" I replied I would go if he were going and we agreed to meet there in twenty minutes. The timing was perfect: I had just gotten out of my car when he arrived, so we entered together.
And there she was. On the karaoke stage. Singing, of all things, "Cheater, Cheater." Wow!
Last night, I had a sumptuous feast laid out for me, a Valentine's Day gift from the cosmos. So very much prep work had to be done for this elaborate dish, and many hands were involved in getting it... "just so." First, I had to be familiar with the song "Cheater, Cheater" by Joey and Rory. Well, I watch music videos (VH1, CMH, GAC) on weekday mornings with my coffee and had seen that particular one a couple of weeks ago and really enjoyed it. It has special meaning for me these AD-1 days, especially the line "to lay your hands on a married man is 'bout as low as a gal can get," even for a "no good white trash ho." Choice lyrics. Of course, the reason I watch the videos is because I live alone now, thanks to a ho.
Secondly, I had to be an afficionado of karaoke and I am. In fact, I had wanted to go to my favorite karaoke corral last night, I had even been personally invited by my friend, the karaoke host. But I knew an unsavory character would be there, so I abstained. It helps to know, at this point, that said karaoke host will let you sing whatever you write on a playslip, whether he thinks you can or should do the song or not.
So, there we have the song, the place, the major players. Except one. I had talked with another friend of the "Singles Awareness Night" event to be held at the corral. Like me, he didn't think he would be attending. Then he texted me the one word question: "steeds?" I replied I would go if he were going and we agreed to meet there in twenty minutes. The timing was perfect: I had just gotten out of my car when he arrived, so we entered together.
And there she was. On the karaoke stage. Singing, of all things, "Cheater, Cheater." Wow!
Saturday, February 14, 2009
what a difference
"What a difference a day makes/ twenty-four little hours/ brought the sun and the flowers/ where there used to be rain." Esther Phillips may not have been the first to sing it, but her version is the one I hear in my mind when I think of this song.
Today is definitely a new day. After sleeping in this morning - a rare nine hours of rest! - I feel like a new person. Even though I awoke to rain and gray skies, I am not daunted. I can take on THE WORLD! Now, if I could just break away from this computer... Soon, I promise! The Irish festival awaits! I have free tickets, obtained by my promise to volunteer as a ticket-taker for three hours tomorrow. Cool beans! Exclamation points FOR ALL!!!
I really need to get more sleep, obviously. I'm practically high just from having had so much peaceful sleep and no plans for this morning... no real plans for today... the true meaning of "open options." Yeah, I deserve to treat myself this way more often.
And now, I'm going to get in my car and see where it takes me... maybe the REAL beach?
Today is definitely a new day. After sleeping in this morning - a rare nine hours of rest! - I feel like a new person. Even though I awoke to rain and gray skies, I am not daunted. I can take on THE WORLD! Now, if I could just break away from this computer... Soon, I promise! The Irish festival awaits! I have free tickets, obtained by my promise to volunteer as a ticket-taker for three hours tomorrow. Cool beans! Exclamation points FOR ALL!!!
I really need to get more sleep, obviously. I'm practically high just from having had so much peaceful sleep and no plans for this morning... no real plans for today... the true meaning of "open options." Yeah, I deserve to treat myself this way more often.
And now, I'm going to get in my car and see where it takes me... maybe the REAL beach?
Friday, February 13, 2009
relax, dammit
This has been a hard week, though I have to admit I've been to blame for that. Dwelling on things I have NO CONTROL over: the past, my father's cancer, my mother's death. What the fresh hell? But I am a control freak, part of growing up in an alcoholic household, so they say. I say, take responsibility for your own self. If you're over the age of 18 and no longer living at home, then you are making your own future and shouldn't try to blame your parents for anything any more.
Hi, I'm Faustina, and I'm a control freak. I've worked to control (hah!) that tendency all of my life, generally to success. That is, as long as things are going well, I don't feel compelled to control every little thing around me. When times are easy, I can just go with the flow. La di dah!
But let things start building up, situations I don't get a say in, and when I realize that I don't have control, I nut up HARD. I try to overcompensate and micromanage every little thing. There's a difference now in how that manifests itself. I've noticed I've taken a turn for the worse: I let the dishes pile up for days, I don't do laundry for weeks, I'm almost late mailing out bills, I miss birthdays and anniversaries. This cannot go on. To paraphrase another Eliot, Faustina, this is stupid stuff (you eat your victuals fast enough). I need to have someone ride herd on me... and who better than a control freak like myself? I need to be like Glenda and use the power of control for GOOD. The only person I can truly control is ME and I haven't been doing that good a job of it lately. Definitely MY bad. So here's another resolution for this year: Accept that I only have control over myself.
Now, let's get this house in order, shall we? Yes, let's!
Hi, I'm Faustina, and I'm a control freak. I've worked to control (hah!) that tendency all of my life, generally to success. That is, as long as things are going well, I don't feel compelled to control every little thing around me. When times are easy, I can just go with the flow. La di dah!
But let things start building up, situations I don't get a say in, and when I realize that I don't have control, I nut up HARD. I try to overcompensate and micromanage every little thing. There's a difference now in how that manifests itself. I've noticed I've taken a turn for the worse: I let the dishes pile up for days, I don't do laundry for weeks, I'm almost late mailing out bills, I miss birthdays and anniversaries. This cannot go on. To paraphrase another Eliot, Faustina, this is stupid stuff (you eat your victuals fast enough). I need to have someone ride herd on me... and who better than a control freak like myself? I need to be like Glenda and use the power of control for GOOD. The only person I can truly control is ME and I haven't been doing that good a job of it lately. Definitely MY bad. So here's another resolution for this year: Accept that I only have control over myself.
Now, let's get this house in order, shall we? Yes, let's!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
snakes
Power sluts, fame sluts, money sluts: people who don't have it, so they f* people who do. I should be relaxed and content after my trip to Charleston, but I'm on edge instead. In truth, the edginess began on Saturday, when I was traveling and got lost not once, but twice, enroute to Charleston. If I had someone with me, they could have looked at the map and kept me on track... but I was traveling solo because of a slut. No way to look at a map and drive 80 mph, so there it was. Mind you, in keeping with my New Year's resolution, I had invited several folks to come with me, and all it would have cost them was their food, but no one was available.
So, with true delayed reaction, today I woke up with snakes in my head. Nasty, hissing, lashing out at anything that dared to move. The snakes started on Saturday, tiny little writhing things, easily pushed aside. I was traveling alone. I had already gotten a late start, hoping a friend would be able to join me. There it was, already mid-afternoon, and I was still in Savannah. So, off I went. And then I got lost, having taken an early exit from the highway and not realizing until I had lost at least thirty minutes backtracking. That's when the first little snake raised its head, forked tongue flicking, eyes glinting. Damn!
Back on the road again, I had looked at my trusty map and determined where I should exit, what road signs to follow, and off I went, enjoying my music. I wasn't going to arrive as early as I had hoped, but I should still handily beat nightfall getting into the downtown area. I made my exit, followed the signs... and missed one. Again, I went almost thirty minutes, too far to turn back, having to gamely continue on to reach the next major highway, after having stopped for directions at the police station in St. George. And just that fast, the little snake was whispering in my ear: this wouldn't have happened if my husband had left that slut alone. I wouldn't be on this trip by myself, no one to watch the map for me, iff...
Hell's belles. I wouldn't be on this trip anyway if I were still married. I wouldn't have heard this particular blues band at the Savannah Jazz Festival in 2007, primarily because he wouldn't have cared much for the blues. I wouldn't have realized how much I had missed the blues and brass and traveling to concerts... because I would have still been part of a team of two, a couple, iff...
So, I find my way downtown from the hotel, find a decent enough parking place, and set about trying to see the Holy City Sinners at the Mills House. After a half-mile's walk, I arrive. And I just missed them. Damn! The concierge did give me a program for the Lowcountry Blues Bash, so that was good. So, off I went to the next scheduled event, about a half-mile down the road. I was getting hungry by this time and thought I'd get something to eat while I listened to Beverly "Guitar" Watkins, a 70-year-old wonder woman. The place was packed, no tables at all, so I stood, with a bunch of others. I made way for a waitress to get to some tables blocked by the crowd... and this little chippie darts in front of me - and stops. She tried to get her girlfriend to come up by her, but I made sure there was no room for that nonsense. Next thing you know, the chippie's boyfriend, who has fetched her a beer, is on my right, trying to get up by her and in front of me. I said to him "Surely you don't think you're going to cut in front of me." He looks at me like I had materialized out of thin air and says "Um, that's my girlfriend, I was just trying to get next to her." "Well, she jumped in front of me when I moved for the waitress, but you're not going to." "I wasn't trying to block your view," the boy said, "I was just wanting to stand by my girl." Said girlfriend, by the way, has taken her beer and hasn't turned around even once to see what is going on right behind her. "Well, why didn't you ask that woman to move?", I said, pointing to the woman on my left. The boy said, "Well that isn't any of my concern." "Uh huh. But asking ME to move IS your concern?" He looked at me like I must be crazed and stepped back into the crowd. Next thing I know, the little chippie was no longer in front of me. I enjoyed the concert for an hour, then realized I needed to go if I wanted to get some dinner before Elliott and The Untouchables took the stage at the next venue, so I turned around to leave... and there was the little chippie behind me, none too happy to not be upfront where she can be seen. Out I went, feeling like I had won one against the users and abusers. Hiissssss.
The rest of the evening was wonderful. I met some new folks, a young cougar-hunter tried to pick me up, I danced and listened to my boys play and had every bit as good a time as I had hoped. Even when the people I'd been dancing with left after the first set, I still had a fine time. And after it was all done, I walked down to where I had left my car... and it was still there, miraculously, as I had apparently parked in a loading zone. Whew! I went straight back to the hotel, got up to my room, got ready for bed... and noticed the noises from the next room. Slither, slither.... hissss.
The trip back was to be leisurely, but I had gotten directions wrong - again- and by the time I could make the correction, I was going to be late for a family dinner in Glennville. Damn. As it turned out, I got there on time and we all had a good time in each others company, but... by the time I got to my house, it was already close to 6pm. On a Sunday night. And the edge began to creep all over me, the snakes gliding in the background, waiting to spring out, gathering momentum, waiting for this morning.
And now? The slitherers are gone. Drowned in the deep blue ocean, washed out to sea, leaving me calm on the beach again.
Breathe.
So, with true delayed reaction, today I woke up with snakes in my head. Nasty, hissing, lashing out at anything that dared to move. The snakes started on Saturday, tiny little writhing things, easily pushed aside. I was traveling alone. I had already gotten a late start, hoping a friend would be able to join me. There it was, already mid-afternoon, and I was still in Savannah. So, off I went. And then I got lost, having taken an early exit from the highway and not realizing until I had lost at least thirty minutes backtracking. That's when the first little snake raised its head, forked tongue flicking, eyes glinting. Damn!
Back on the road again, I had looked at my trusty map and determined where I should exit, what road signs to follow, and off I went, enjoying my music. I wasn't going to arrive as early as I had hoped, but I should still handily beat nightfall getting into the downtown area. I made my exit, followed the signs... and missed one. Again, I went almost thirty minutes, too far to turn back, having to gamely continue on to reach the next major highway, after having stopped for directions at the police station in St. George. And just that fast, the little snake was whispering in my ear: this wouldn't have happened if my husband had left that slut alone. I wouldn't be on this trip by myself, no one to watch the map for me, iff...
Hell's belles. I wouldn't be on this trip anyway if I were still married. I wouldn't have heard this particular blues band at the Savannah Jazz Festival in 2007, primarily because he wouldn't have cared much for the blues. I wouldn't have realized how much I had missed the blues and brass and traveling to concerts... because I would have still been part of a team of two, a couple, iff...
So, I find my way downtown from the hotel, find a decent enough parking place, and set about trying to see the Holy City Sinners at the Mills House. After a half-mile's walk, I arrive. And I just missed them. Damn! The concierge did give me a program for the Lowcountry Blues Bash, so that was good. So, off I went to the next scheduled event, about a half-mile down the road. I was getting hungry by this time and thought I'd get something to eat while I listened to Beverly "Guitar" Watkins, a 70-year-old wonder woman. The place was packed, no tables at all, so I stood, with a bunch of others. I made way for a waitress to get to some tables blocked by the crowd... and this little chippie darts in front of me - and stops. She tried to get her girlfriend to come up by her, but I made sure there was no room for that nonsense. Next thing you know, the chippie's boyfriend, who has fetched her a beer, is on my right, trying to get up by her and in front of me. I said to him "Surely you don't think you're going to cut in front of me." He looks at me like I had materialized out of thin air and says "Um, that's my girlfriend, I was just trying to get next to her." "Well, she jumped in front of me when I moved for the waitress, but you're not going to." "I wasn't trying to block your view," the boy said, "I was just wanting to stand by my girl." Said girlfriend, by the way, has taken her beer and hasn't turned around even once to see what is going on right behind her. "Well, why didn't you ask that woman to move?", I said, pointing to the woman on my left. The boy said, "Well that isn't any of my concern." "Uh huh. But asking ME to move IS your concern?" He looked at me like I must be crazed and stepped back into the crowd. Next thing I know, the little chippie was no longer in front of me. I enjoyed the concert for an hour, then realized I needed to go if I wanted to get some dinner before Elliott and The Untouchables took the stage at the next venue, so I turned around to leave... and there was the little chippie behind me, none too happy to not be upfront where she can be seen. Out I went, feeling like I had won one against the users and abusers. Hiissssss.
The rest of the evening was wonderful. I met some new folks, a young cougar-hunter tried to pick me up, I danced and listened to my boys play and had every bit as good a time as I had hoped. Even when the people I'd been dancing with left after the first set, I still had a fine time. And after it was all done, I walked down to where I had left my car... and it was still there, miraculously, as I had apparently parked in a loading zone. Whew! I went straight back to the hotel, got up to my room, got ready for bed... and noticed the noises from the next room. Slither, slither.... hissss.
The trip back was to be leisurely, but I had gotten directions wrong - again- and by the time I could make the correction, I was going to be late for a family dinner in Glennville. Damn. As it turned out, I got there on time and we all had a good time in each others company, but... by the time I got to my house, it was already close to 6pm. On a Sunday night. And the edge began to creep all over me, the snakes gliding in the background, waiting to spring out, gathering momentum, waiting for this morning.
And now? The slitherers are gone. Drowned in the deep blue ocean, washed out to sea, leaving me calm on the beach again.
Breathe.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Charleston
I was granted a brush with history last night. In a rare juxtaposition of stars, both stellar and entertainment, I witnessed Gary Erwin singing with my favorite blues band, Elliott & The Untouchables. Wow! And redheaded Kola Washington, a blues guitarist from Paris (that's France, not Tennessee) borrowed one of Elliott's guitars to add her stamp to this impromptu performance. Wow!
Gary Erwin, originally from Chicago, is the organizer of the Low Country Blues Bash in Charleston. He and Kola, both fresh from a visit in France, and had come by Wet Willie's to see how things were faring, check out the crowd, and had decided to stay for Elliott's second set. As it was already midnight, the audience had thinned out, just us diehards still thirsting for blues. Plus, as I had driven up from Savannah for this fix, I wasn't about to leave before the band was done for the night. Ya know?
So, there I was groovin' and consumed by the Waters-influenced tunes of Elliott, Naz, Sonny, Jimmy, and JT. My boys from Columbia, SC. Life was GOOD. I had arrived early, gotten my Voodoo Stew cd autographed, met some cool blues-lovin' folks and was dancing with them. Then, in the second set, Elliott introduced Gary, aka Shrimp City Slim, thanking him for bringing them to this city by the sea. Another song or two later, the man and the French sensation are up on stage, sharing the spotlight - not hogging it - with my boys. Magical, that's what it was. I left there on a cloud.
Ah, yes, LIFE is good!
Gary Erwin, originally from Chicago, is the organizer of the Low Country Blues Bash in Charleston. He and Kola, both fresh from a visit in France, and had come by Wet Willie's to see how things were faring, check out the crowd, and had decided to stay for Elliott's second set. As it was already midnight, the audience had thinned out, just us diehards still thirsting for blues. Plus, as I had driven up from Savannah for this fix, I wasn't about to leave before the band was done for the night. Ya know?
So, there I was groovin' and consumed by the Waters-influenced tunes of Elliott, Naz, Sonny, Jimmy, and JT. My boys from Columbia, SC. Life was GOOD. I had arrived early, gotten my Voodoo Stew cd autographed, met some cool blues-lovin' folks and was dancing with them. Then, in the second set, Elliott introduced Gary, aka Shrimp City Slim, thanking him for bringing them to this city by the sea. Another song or two later, the man and the French sensation are up on stage, sharing the spotlight - not hogging it - with my boys. Magical, that's what it was. I left there on a cloud.
Ah, yes, LIFE is good!
Saturday, February 7, 2009
I feel the music in me!
I feel the music in me/ I feel the music in me/ I feel the music in ME! There's an upbeat tune and pretty much the mantra of my life. Music revives me, calms me, nurtures me, inspires me! These last few days, I've had music from varied sources feeding my brain and my soul.
Thursday, I was fortunate enough to snag a free ticket to the Savion Glover "concert," Bare Sounds. Mind you, ALL the tickets were free - incredible as that may sound and many thanks to the City of Savannah - but they were preferentially given to kids in the public school system, by lottery, as the venue was a bit small. So, on Thursday, with a list of other options in mind, I went to the Johnny Mercer Theatre about 75 minutes before showtime, hoping, hoping, hoping... and was fortunate enough to find a woman there who gave tickets not only to me, but to a couple there in line with me. Thank you, kind stranger!
The show was FABULOUS, all that I had hoped and more. Wow! Savion, the tap dancer extraordinaire, and his two proteges were incredible, seeming to float in the air, connected only by the sound of their feet to the earth. No instruments, no recorded tunes, just THEM. After two 45-minute, non-stop sets, I was absolutely energized and ready to go dancing myself!
Instead, I went out with friends to a new bar and slowed down. We sat up on the stage with Kyle, the lone guitarist, who was singing favorites from the past 50 years. Great range of songs, diverse genres, mellow voice to make it all work.
My musical odyssey continued. Friday night was the finale of the Psychotronic Film Festival and the faithful following - and even those not so - had been promised a rock-umentary to be named the night of the showing. A mystery! Those up on such things, and knowing the bent of Jim Reed's talented musical mind, were guessing what treat was in store. Me? I was there for the film, regardless of the talent showcased.
The film, an art circuit limited release, was "MC5", aka Motor City 5, among other acronyms. My fave was Much Cock 5. (Thanks, Wayne!) The band began with a fistfight between Fred and Robin... and ended about seven years later, again with a fistfight between the bassist and vocalist. Guys who just wanted to play music, who were fortunate enough to have a manager early on who knew how the system worked... and, in turn, worked the band for his own political gain. When the manager was imprisoned, the band's expansion apart accelerated, casting some more toward their growing families or others more into riding smack. The band's entity existed in the late 1960's and early 1970's and presaged the coming sounds of punk and metal of much later years.
I finished out the night with Barefoot Booyah at the Robin's Nest in Pooler. A young, modern, folk-pop duo, the band consists of a vocalist/guitarist and an innovative percussionist. To call Sammy a drummer would not do him justice - hey, the man plays FROGS, among other things. Definitely an upbeat way to end the evening and the night's musical consumption. And I may be biased, being the singer is my niece's husband, but I think they've composed some great tunes! Anyone wanna borrow the CD?
Thursday, I was fortunate enough to snag a free ticket to the Savion Glover "concert," Bare Sounds. Mind you, ALL the tickets were free - incredible as that may sound and many thanks to the City of Savannah - but they were preferentially given to kids in the public school system, by lottery, as the venue was a bit small. So, on Thursday, with a list of other options in mind, I went to the Johnny Mercer Theatre about 75 minutes before showtime, hoping, hoping, hoping... and was fortunate enough to find a woman there who gave tickets not only to me, but to a couple there in line with me. Thank you, kind stranger!
The show was FABULOUS, all that I had hoped and more. Wow! Savion, the tap dancer extraordinaire, and his two proteges were incredible, seeming to float in the air, connected only by the sound of their feet to the earth. No instruments, no recorded tunes, just THEM. After two 45-minute, non-stop sets, I was absolutely energized and ready to go dancing myself!
Instead, I went out with friends to a new bar and slowed down. We sat up on the stage with Kyle, the lone guitarist, who was singing favorites from the past 50 years. Great range of songs, diverse genres, mellow voice to make it all work.
My musical odyssey continued. Friday night was the finale of the Psychotronic Film Festival and the faithful following - and even those not so - had been promised a rock-umentary to be named the night of the showing. A mystery! Those up on such things, and knowing the bent of Jim Reed's talented musical mind, were guessing what treat was in store. Me? I was there for the film, regardless of the talent showcased.
The film, an art circuit limited release, was "MC5", aka Motor City 5, among other acronyms. My fave was Much Cock 5. (Thanks, Wayne!) The band began with a fistfight between Fred and Robin... and ended about seven years later, again with a fistfight between the bassist and vocalist. Guys who just wanted to play music, who were fortunate enough to have a manager early on who knew how the system worked... and, in turn, worked the band for his own political gain. When the manager was imprisoned, the band's expansion apart accelerated, casting some more toward their growing families or others more into riding smack. The band's entity existed in the late 1960's and early 1970's and presaged the coming sounds of punk and metal of much later years.
I finished out the night with Barefoot Booyah at the Robin's Nest in Pooler. A young, modern, folk-pop duo, the band consists of a vocalist/guitarist and an innovative percussionist. To call Sammy a drummer would not do him justice - hey, the man plays FROGS, among other things. Definitely an upbeat way to end the evening and the night's musical consumption. And I may be biased, being the singer is my niece's husband, but I think they've composed some great tunes! Anyone wanna borrow the CD?
Monday, February 2, 2009
once upon a time
Once upon a time, I was his princess and he was the man I adored. Then I got older and he made mistakes and my parents divorced. I found out he wasn't the man I had thought he was and I grew up... and I kept in touch, because he was my one-and-only Daddy, warts and all, and I was his one-and-only ever-lovin' daughter.
I eventually got old enough to understand that the divorce had nothing to do with us kids. The marriage was between him and Mama. The truly bad patterns of behavior were between him and Mama. The divorce, also, was between him and Mama. No one can know what goes on in a marriage except the two people wed by law to each other.
We four kids stayed with Mama. Daddy remarried, not once but twice. The third marriage was the charm, as they say, and they are still married and have two sons who know nothing of the man Daddy used to be. He truly did change: no more wild drinking, no more reckless gambling, no more heavy-handed actions. His third wife laid down the law to him and he agreed to abide by her rules. Incredible how people can change when they choose to do so.
Now, Daddy is dying, having caught hold of the awful Cancer virus. Fortunately, he has little pain and has a doctor who graciously supplied him with pills to make sure he can enjoy the time he has left with his now-grown children and his new grandsons.
Daddy is taking advantage of the short time he has left on this planet. He has mended the rift between our side of the family (me and my brothers) and his one-and-only sister. I look forward to someday soon seeing my three cousins, two I haven't seen in almost 40 years and one I've never met. Strange how such rifts develop between grown-ups and the children are the ones who have to deal with the consequences.
My middle brother has made his peace with Daddy, too, finally, after all these years. I had made sure he knew of Daddy's health, knew time was short, and he decided on his own that he needed to make the move. I believe it will make a difference in his life, a positive shift. I hope it will.
We are all trying to share more quality time with each other. No talk of dying and death, just good times and laughter and hugs. As long as Daddy still has his sense of humor, he's still enjoying the good life and I'll be right there with him as often as I can. Meals shared, old memories too, and new memories made, making the most of this second chance to rewrite the ending of our history together.
I eventually got old enough to understand that the divorce had nothing to do with us kids. The marriage was between him and Mama. The truly bad patterns of behavior were between him and Mama. The divorce, also, was between him and Mama. No one can know what goes on in a marriage except the two people wed by law to each other.
We four kids stayed with Mama. Daddy remarried, not once but twice. The third marriage was the charm, as they say, and they are still married and have two sons who know nothing of the man Daddy used to be. He truly did change: no more wild drinking, no more reckless gambling, no more heavy-handed actions. His third wife laid down the law to him and he agreed to abide by her rules. Incredible how people can change when they choose to do so.
Now, Daddy is dying, having caught hold of the awful Cancer virus. Fortunately, he has little pain and has a doctor who graciously supplied him with pills to make sure he can enjoy the time he has left with his now-grown children and his new grandsons.
Daddy is taking advantage of the short time he has left on this planet. He has mended the rift between our side of the family (me and my brothers) and his one-and-only sister. I look forward to someday soon seeing my three cousins, two I haven't seen in almost 40 years and one I've never met. Strange how such rifts develop between grown-ups and the children are the ones who have to deal with the consequences.
My middle brother has made his peace with Daddy, too, finally, after all these years. I had made sure he knew of Daddy's health, knew time was short, and he decided on his own that he needed to make the move. I believe it will make a difference in his life, a positive shift. I hope it will.
We are all trying to share more quality time with each other. No talk of dying and death, just good times and laughter and hugs. As long as Daddy still has his sense of humor, he's still enjoying the good life and I'll be right there with him as often as I can. Meals shared, old memories too, and new memories made, making the most of this second chance to rewrite the ending of our history together.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
touch
I almost went barhopping last night, but realized that what I wanted I wouldn't really find. I wanted touch. That's all. Not sex, not wild thrusting, not a casual hook-up with a nameless face. I just wanted to have someone hold me through the night. But how do you ask for that and not have the person think they're gonna get some action?
I do understand that part of the reason folks go to bars is to get laid. Of course, if you have to get drunk to be able to get laid, then you're doing it wrong. And if you have to get someone else drunk in order to get laid, then you're doing it incredibly wrong. But getting drunk gives a person an out: oh, I would NEVER have done that if I wasn't drunk. Lemme tell you, you do the same things when drunk that your head thinks about when sober, but the alcohol just helps you give yourself permission to do something you know isn't good for you. Been there, got the T-shirt many years ago when I was young and could write it off as experience gained and lessons learned.
But this week has been hard on me and I was wanting companionship last night. So, off I went, to hang out with others and have a drink or two, sing a song or two. And, amazingly, I did have a good time and I did make connections with folks. Some of the other regulars there chatted with me, some new folks really liked my singing (go figure), and I even got to dance a nice slow one. That was a bonus and a big help - kudos to Ken for his kindness. But at the end of the night, I still felt I needed something more and very nearly went in search of it. Instead, I took my silly self home and turned on the mattress pad. Thank God my bestest best friend turned me on to that night-time aid in fall of 2007. Cold beds can chill the heart and the mind.
I know I'm not wired right. This is a topic that comes up repeatedly. I know I don't go for the usual girl songs when I sing, I know I don't go for the usual karaoke songs that anyone sings. That's okay: I sing the songs I choose because I want to hear them, even though I may not get them quite right. I don't know of a single radio station that plays songs by only women or only men, so why should my song list be artificially limited when my ears are not?
I know I'm not wired right. It bears repeating. I know I don't care for the usual girl stuff, like roses and diamonds and Valentine's day forced displays of love. I have never cared for those things: ask anyone who knows me. It probably has a lot to do with being a 1976 high school graduate, believing the sky was the limit and women had the same opportunities as men. It probably had a lot to do with being the only girl in a house full of boys. That doesn't mean that I can't be girly, that I don't want romance; romance is actually very important to a hopeful romantic like me. I just don't want THINGS that a commercial society pushes men to buy for women as expressions of love, THINGS that a woman is supposed to want in order to feel loved. What nonsense.
I know I'm not wired right. I want touch.
I do understand that part of the reason folks go to bars is to get laid. Of course, if you have to get drunk to be able to get laid, then you're doing it wrong. And if you have to get someone else drunk in order to get laid, then you're doing it incredibly wrong. But getting drunk gives a person an out: oh, I would NEVER have done that if I wasn't drunk. Lemme tell you, you do the same things when drunk that your head thinks about when sober, but the alcohol just helps you give yourself permission to do something you know isn't good for you. Been there, got the T-shirt many years ago when I was young and could write it off as experience gained and lessons learned.
But this week has been hard on me and I was wanting companionship last night. So, off I went, to hang out with others and have a drink or two, sing a song or two. And, amazingly, I did have a good time and I did make connections with folks. Some of the other regulars there chatted with me, some new folks really liked my singing (go figure), and I even got to dance a nice slow one. That was a bonus and a big help - kudos to Ken for his kindness. But at the end of the night, I still felt I needed something more and very nearly went in search of it. Instead, I took my silly self home and turned on the mattress pad. Thank God my bestest best friend turned me on to that night-time aid in fall of 2007. Cold beds can chill the heart and the mind.
I know I'm not wired right. This is a topic that comes up repeatedly. I know I don't go for the usual girl songs when I sing, I know I don't go for the usual karaoke songs that anyone sings. That's okay: I sing the songs I choose because I want to hear them, even though I may not get them quite right. I don't know of a single radio station that plays songs by only women or only men, so why should my song list be artificially limited when my ears are not?
I know I'm not wired right. It bears repeating. I know I don't care for the usual girl stuff, like roses and diamonds and Valentine's day forced displays of love. I have never cared for those things: ask anyone who knows me. It probably has a lot to do with being a 1976 high school graduate, believing the sky was the limit and women had the same opportunities as men. It probably had a lot to do with being the only girl in a house full of boys. That doesn't mean that I can't be girly, that I don't want romance; romance is actually very important to a hopeful romantic like me. I just don't want THINGS that a commercial society pushes men to buy for women as expressions of love, THINGS that a woman is supposed to want in order to feel loved. What nonsense.
I know I'm not wired right. I want touch.
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