Sunday, February 26, 2017

24 years, 1 Month, 26 Days, 8 Hours and 49 Minutes...

... but, who's counting?  In April I will have been married for 20 years.  (Pause while friends pick themselves up from the floor.)

My husband and I have known each other almost 25 years.

We play a game, probably not uncommon for people who can see the other side of the mountain, i.e., I Know Who Your Next Spouse Will Be.  His guess for me?  Mr. Nobody.  Mine for him -- well without giving too much away I finally figured out his ideal wife after having known the man for a long long time.  And, Dear Reader, she is not like me.

Marriage is many things, not the least of which is that it is a cosmic joke that many of us, no matter how many times we're told the punchline, just don't get.  And yet, every time the joke's set up, we listen expectantly, hoping this time, this time we'll be as delighted as everyone else.

We Are All Joe Wilson Now

President Trump will addresses Congress on Tuesday night.  Who among us will stand up and yell, YOU LIE?


Friday, January 20, 2017

Gone Quilting ...

A few random thoughts:

Wayne Barrett died yesterday,

Please, a certain strand of liberals, take off the hairshirts.  You don't owe those crackers an apology.

My head will explode if I hear or read one more superficial pundit talk about "the working class" as if it is only white guys who drive F-350s.

Read the history of the conservative movement's long march to power after Goldwater got crushed in 1964; and the Tea Party's ascendance to power.  If you are on your way to a state or national capital to protest in the streets, don't leave town without dropping by a politician's office.

My white husband never believes it's about race; it's always about race in these United States of America.

I can't go on.  We go on.

Sunday, December 11, 2016

Do Not Disturb

I've finally settled on what should be engraved on my headstone.

More than anything it's solitude I want.  I've learned in the past few weeks that it is the destination at the end of a causeway -- the road to Galveston -- and music will get me there.  I told someone after the election that now was the time to fall in line with art again.  Advice I've been taking my own damn self.  I own a wonderful record collection.  It's a combination of what I bought in my 20's when not only was I part of an innovative music programming organization at the University of Iowa, but as 20-ish people do letting musicians tell me (and others) who I was.  Then I inherited a friend's classical collection when she retired and then I got older, had a baby and fell into the abyss of dire poverty with seat-of-the-pants moves, and could no longer buy records.  Lastly, my boyfriend-not-yet-husband's hometown room-mate who DJ'd when he wasn't being a neurotic asshole moved out and left his collection behind.  (Which is why I own the music of Joan Jett, Béla Bartók, Johann Sebastian Bach, and Donna Summer.)

In my 30's I couldn't write fiction and listen to music, so I didn't play my records except occasionally, like when I struggled to keep depression at bay.  (I have some vague memory of 2 year old D. exclaiming, "Al Jahbay, Mommy, Al Jahbay!!!"  as she danced to Al Jarreau, who as I write this is sittin' on the dock of the bay.  Now in my 60's always aware that I will not much longer have ears to hear and eyes to see am slowly playing this deliberate and inherited collection before I will it to a friend.  It is the way to peace these days.

It is a paradox that life has gotten simultaneously better and harder.  I've always been a bit of a dreadnik but really, it seems like most personal news are tales of loss, damage, diminution and struggle.  I'm having to call on more skills to cope with it because if I don't I will not have a stomach left by year's end.  Music -- live and recorded -- helps a lot because it takes me back and away and opens me up to commune with a place beyond words and rational thought.  Now playing, Norman Connors' Love From the Sun.

Trigger warning :-}
In January I will be taking 2 classes because I'd been subtly warned that there's a sell-by date to getting my degree and you ain't getting any younger .....  I may be crazy by May.  (Editor's note:  make that crazier) and I doubt I will be posting much although godknows there will be plenty plenty to write about.

I wish us all luck.  And solitude.