Say a Word For Lou

Say a word for Jimmy Brown
He ain't got nothin' at all
Not the shirt right off his back
He ain't got nothin' at all

And say a word for Ginger Brown
Walks with his head down to the ground
Took the shoes right off his feet
They threw the poor boy right out in the street
And this is what he said

Oh! Sweet nuthin'
She ain't got nothin' at all
Oh! Sweet nuthin'
She ain't got nothin' at all

Say a word for Pearly Mae
She can't tell the night from the day
They threw her out in the street
Just like a cat she landed on her feet

And say a word for Joana Love
She ain't got nothin' at all
With every day she falls in love
And every night she falls
And when she does, she says

Oh! Sweet nuthin'
You know she ain't got nothin' at all
Wow, oh! Sweet nuthin', hey, hey
She ain't got nothin' at all
Oh, let me hear you

Oh, say a word, say a word for Jimmy Brown
He ain't got nothin' at all, not a thing
Not the shirt, shirt on his back
No he ain't got nothin' at all

And say a word for Ginger
He walks with his head to the ground
They took shoes, took the shoes, from his feet, from his feet
And threw the poor boy right out in the street
And then, he said

Oh! Sweet, sweet, nothin'
She ain't got, she ain't got
She ain't got nothin' at all
Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet nothin'

She ain't got
Sweet, sweet, nothin' sweet, sweet, nothin'
Nothin' at all
Sweet, sweet nothin', got nothin'

Oh! Sweet nuthin'
Oh, oh, oh, ain't got nothin' at all
Oh, let me hear you

(Oh! Sweet nuthin' ain't got nothin' at all)
Oh! Sweet nuthin'
(Oh! Sweet nuthin' ain't got nothin' at all)

She ain't got nothin' at all
She ain't got nothin' at all
She ain't got nothin' at all
She ain't got nothin' at all

She ain't got nothin' at all, sweet nothin'
Ain't got nothin' at all, sweet, sweet nothin'
She ain't got nothin' at all


Click the album cover for a treat.

Joshua Tree Birds

Just got back from a brief stay in Joshua Tree with my darling - beautiful peace and fauna, and a big old steak from Pappy & Harriet's.  We enjoyed ourselves the whole time despite the park being closed for the federal shutdown.  (Someone should fire those jokers and bring in replacements who will do the work.  Seriously.  But that's not what this post is about.)

But one of the things we enjoy most about JT is the bird life.  We're not birders, per se, but we do find our feathered friends fascinating and entertaining and we can watch them for hours.

Here are a couple we managed to catch on film this trip:

Scrub Jay on top of a yucca:

Desert Quail Series:

The Gift

Be worthy of the love you got
whether it turned out the way you wanted it to
... or not.

Sometimes love is the only gift
that someone can afford to give
... but it is priceless.

Anxomnia

Shadows fade and blend

along the edges of the room.

Normal people are sleeping

but I am not normal.

I do not trust sleep.

I cannot submit my senses

to the deathly void of darkness.

I dare not surrender

my mind to dreams.

For I do not trust sleep.

For sale, baby shoes, never worn.

The title of the entry is a 6-word story that is often called the worlds shortest novel.  It has been attributed to Hemingway, although most likely in error.

On my quest for simplicity, this is a good example to keep of how to say more with fewer words.  That suits me just fine because I'm not really a chatty person.

I'm also seeking a zen level of minimalism with the music I've been working on, though that can be difficult when there are so many sounds and ideas to play with.  Still, I think I can do something along those lines using an idea I've had bouncing around my head for the last couple of weeks.  This song would (hopefully) contain some deep emotion by making use of dramatic sweeps with an almost bird-chirpy-like vocal line, although I intend to put something in there that bubbles up from beneath.

In the meantime, I think I'll continue to work on refining my messages until I have that magic combination of short phrases that speak volumes.  That is my goal.

A poem I composed after looking at my shirt.

Anxious kitty
sends his coat exploding outward
like a celebration;
adorns my shirts and pillows
with clouds carrying asthma and itchy eyes,
then serenades the world with constant meowing
accompanied by the rhythm of my coughing.

There is no true love

There is no true love on this earth that is against my religion.  None.

The more love, the merrier.

Spread it around.

Yay for creativity, warmer weather, cuddly kitties, pancakes, and good hair days.

I'm feeling pretty nice, listened to some new QOTSA this morning and it's utterly rocking.  Bought a ticket to fly to Seattle for MMT 2013 and visit with my mom.  I like taking a special trip to take a mystery trip - it makes packing rather interesting.  Last time I planned an MMT I caught this:

 

I like houses in odd places.  I make up stories about the occupants in my mind.  I would do a complete photo series on oddly placed houses if I had the time to travel.  Desolation is romantic.

We've done some pretty fun trips on the MMTs.  I've only planned 2 so far, the one with the house (Long Beach, WA) and one to Catalina Island - I tried to keep the mystery up, but it was tricky since it took place in CA instead of WA.

I'm glad I'm going to Seattle in August - that way I won't freeze and get made fun of.

The beasts in my house.

Monk in his natural head space

Game of Box Thrones.  Jerry won.

Frick and Frack demand a larger pagoda!  Don't make them come out here!

UPDATE: Frick and Frack left me this past weekend to move to that big pond in the sky.  Farewell fishes, it was nice having you.

Inscription on a Goblet

If I had to come up with a brief description of my life, I think the following would work nicely:

"There’s death in the cup—sae beware!Nay, more—there is danger in touching;But wha can avoid the fell snare?The man and his wine’s sae bewitching!"
-- Robert Burns

Road Trip - a recap

I wrote this a while back under the title "Grandma Memories".  I thought I should put it back up - it's really one of the better stories I've come up with.  Enjoy!

-----------------------------------------------------

I’m in a bland car, riding with a bland woman who is listening to bland music, and I am thinking of grandma. The woman in the backseat isn’t bland at all, she is very aware, and she is the reason for my current train of thought. She looks nothing like my grandma but that doesn’t matter because she gave me the same look grandma used to give me when I came to visit, and that was enough. You are up to no good. I know this because I was up to no good when I was your age, and I can recognize the other outlaws. She’s right, of course. I am up to no good.

-----------------------------------------------------

At the rest stop, when the bland woman had asked me where I was headed it startled me because the old folks don’t pick up hitchhikers. “Eugene,” I had replied in a shocked voice. “I can get you to Salem, will that help?” she said. “Thank you,” I murmured in relief as I gathered my bag. Salem would be a big help.

Now, my visor is down because it is daytime and I am cursed with silver eyes that hate the sun. I glance briefly in the vanity mirror and catch her looking at me. “What are you going to Eugene for?” she queries in an ancient, gravelly voice.

“Mother!” says the bland woman. “That is impolite! It’s none of our business.”

“I’m going to visit my sister,” I respond weakly, because it is a half-lie, and I cannot lie to this woman any better then I could lie to grandma. She arches her eyebrows at me but says nothing. I flush because the lie is so obvious. She is letting me stew in it; I remember this trick. I struggle not to spill everything.

-----------------------------------------------------

I am going to see my sister, but she doesn’t know I am coming. She wouldn’t welcome me if she did know because the only reason I would visit her is to take her home, away from Adam, who feeds her addiction. I am plotting a kidnapping, masquerading as a rescue mission, and she would know this. She may be a junkie now, but she is a smart junkie.

The woman in the back begins humming along to the radio. It sounds like a song by the Carpenters. Grandma used to hum in the car to Captain and Tenille I think. She would have found this bunch very boring.
I am not boring though; I have a borrowed pistol in my bag, and that makes me a girl on the edge. My sister is smart, she can be reasoned with, but she is also helplessly ensnared in Adam’s addiction trap. I am horrified at myself for having a gun. I am terrified about bringing it because I know I’m going to use it if the need arises. I’m going to do anything I have to in order to get my sister back home, and this old outlaw woman can see it all over my face.

-----------------------------------------------------

We are at another rest stop, just north of Portland. Apparently it wasn’t fate that brought the old woman to me, just a weak bladder. Either way, I am grateful for the ride. I bend over to scratch a bite on my ankle, and when I stand back up she is there next to me. I feel my insides turn to jello. I know she is about to say something that will change my life, and I am afraid to hear it. She lets out an impatient sigh.

“Silly girl, you are carrying a wrecking ball in a bowling ball bag. You should set that puppy down before you break your back." She looks at me piercingly and continues. "Remember, once you've done it, you've really gone and done it.” She nods, satisfied. She has imparted her wisdom and is done. She moves away from me.

I stand there silent as she makes her way slowly back to the car. I feel tears starting to fill my awful, photophobic eyes. I can hardly breathe.

Two hours later

I look longingly at the northbound rest stop vending machines, and stare sadly at the two quarters in my wallet. It’s not enough. I feel slight regret about turning down the bland woman’s offer of five dollars for lunch, but I can’t see my way to taking money from old women on pensions.

I have stopped thinking of her as the bland woman and started thinking of her as the motherly woman. She was very concerned when I thanked her for the ride and told her I had decided not to go to Eugene after all. I wished her and her mother well and watched them drive away, the wise old woman smiling and waving at me from the back seat. She must like it back there where she can see everything in front of her I think warmly.

The gun is buried in a garbage bin at the southbound rest stop, across the freeway from me. As punishment for loaning it to a fool like me in the first place, the person I borrowed it from will now have to learn to live without it. My sister is smart, eventually she will get herself away from Adam. My becoming a felon is not going to help her learn to help herself. I have a life that needs living - I can’t afford to take these chances, even for her.

I am somebody too. A somebody who needs lunch and a ride home.

I just can't eat anymore chocolate.

My darling showed up on my doorstep this past Thursday with the biggest box of chocolates I have ever seen.  Ever.  I was touched, amused, moved, horrified, and deeply in love all at the same time.

I know what you did there.  You wanted to make sure there was enough for two.

So, this unexpected and incredibly romantic gesture caused me to consider the nature of our love for each other.  We enjoy surprising each other and making the occasional sweet gesture, but after this many years in our relationship our romance is not the traditional stuff that fairy tales are made of. 

When Jeff and I first began our courtship, I was frequently consumed with my infatuation to the point where I would lose sleep and my appetite.  His name showing up on my caller ID had the power to shatter any concentration I had at that moment, and hanging up the phone was like asking a drummer to play to a click (inside joke).  Now those breathless days of pounding hearts and sweeping each other off our feet are behind us, but we have created something as soft and comfortable as a favorite t-shirt and steady as the sun.

Romance has evolved into my running to the store for milk when he doesn't have any left for his coffee, and him filling up my gas tank after he drops his son off at school so I don't have to stop on my way in to work. 

It's getting turned on by flirting with each other in the morning before we have showered and brushed our hair or teeth.  Lust is random opportunities when we're not busy doing other things, even if we have to do a little extra work to get there.

Happiness is when we are doing things we enjoy together, like finding new music, watching movies or Youtube videos, watching hummingbirds chase each other, or going to the coffee shop for lattes.  Happiness is pretty economical these days, but not out of necessity.  We just like sharing simple, meaningful, and natural things.  That's who we are.

I like knowing what he is thinking when he randomly looks up at the sky and says "Betelgeuse."  I like picking up a conversation we started 4 days earlier without any preamble.  I like not having to explain my sudden urge to blurt out "Scarlett Johansson," because he already knows why.

I like that we are so familiar and in tune with each other that a raised eyebrow or wink is an entire conversation.

I like that I love him, and I love that I like him.  I love us.

Sunshine on a Cold Day

This photo always makes me happy and reminds me that it's time to get out to Joshua Tree.