HARDER KNOWING IT IS DUE

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The sadness has not left me today, but that didn't stop me from running around all day. This kind of day, this kind of anxiety and pain reminds me that I, if not we, have pictures of ourselves in our heads as we go about our day doing things. In my mind's eye for the day, I was rather bent over in anxiety. I am fairly sure I was upright.

I did get up sometime after 5:00 to waft out into the backyard to see the moon. Either I was remarkably blurry eyed, or there was cloud cover here. I did see some pink. Perhaps I missed the red show. And I did try. But that middle of the morning, REM-sleep disturbing interlude kept me a-bed until later than I like.

My mom has been experiencing spaciness, as she calls it, again today. After taking her blood pressure this evening (see, I did get that errand done), she seems to be off. Fortunately, her regularly scheduled geriatric appointment is next Tuesday, so we can get her all checked out. She has been taking her meds fairly well. I suppose tweaking meds is part of the aging process. I feel fortunate to be only on the same two medications I have been on for decades, for sleep and depression.

That Butterscotch is certainly a caution of some kind. She is a cat with resting bitch face, for true. And she has some not-so-resting bitch attitude, also. On the other hand, she wakes me up every night for bread-making and purring, she wants plenty of morning pets, and follows me around all day, so go figure. She is now comfortably snoozing on one of my pillow, just being queen of the world.

All right, this will be short and not too philosophical as it is past my bedtime and I still have towels and Mom's underwear to fold. Is that the same as miles to go before I sleep?

Emmylou like to sleep in the hallway outside my room, which she also did in Brewster.

XCVII

While I was fearing it, it came,
     But came with less of fear,
Because that fearing it so long
   Had made almost it dear.
There is a fitting a dismay
   A  fitting a despair.
'T is harder knowing it is due,
   Than knowing it is here.
The trying on the utmost,
   The morning it is new,
Is terrible than wearing it
   A whole existence through.

Emily Dickinson

I got a line on you, babe.

FULLY, THE FOLLY

Now, let's see if this works. "This" is writing again. In the morning. Just after coffee. Before clothes and bed-making. I do need to do those things soon.

I never fell all the way asleep last night. That is quite frustrating, as I didn't stay up too late, nor drink alcohol, nor neglect to take my meds. Perhaps Butterscotch is soaking up all the available deep sleep vibes.

She's in with Janet tonight, so maybe I will get to sleep better. Zora Idris and Oona Minnie are still playing as I hear their bird bells ringing as they rush up and down the hall. (Butterscotch just walked in.)

I don't feel at all sleepy, just tired and sad. I managed to miss the SOTU but did read that fuckmonkeyshitgibbonexcrementtoupee is all excited about "clean coal." I had to stop after that as I was about to take to FB to rant. And why. My peeps are with me, and they are probably better informed than I am.

Part of my sadness is watching my mother decline, inch by inch. She was doing better there for awhile, then we took a break from her physical therapy and things seemed to go downhill. She has complained of light-headedness. I was going to take her blood pressure to see how that is, but the machine was not in the box ... and given the state of messiness in her room, it could be anywhere.

I think about aging all the time. I see it everywhere, well, because of course it is everywhere. But I feel it. I really think my denial brain had some illusions that my mother would "get better." I fully realize the folly of this, but the heart wants what it wants and it wants my mother more as she was.

She can be mean and trying, but I know I need to take even better care of her. I am very distracted with my own piles of crap (physically, morally, and spiritually). I need to re-prioritize so that I spend more time with her in the evenings. These things can be dealt with, however, I am just sad and whiny at the moment.

Do you all feel joy regularly? Contentment, if not happiness? I don't mean for flashes here and there, moments, hours and even days. I mean for a longer stretch, weeks or months, when your fallback is some kind of overall life groove. I have felt this. There were times when I was happy at my job for long stretches, even if there were ups and downs. Maybe a lack of outside-the-caregiving-identity is part of the issue.

My half-sister is on morphine now, so she will be gone in a day or two or three. That loss lurks on the outskirts of my consciousness most of the time. She hasn't had a happy life. She cannot recover from her condition, but, you know, she was the only big sister I ever had. I worshipped the ground she walked on when I was a toddler and she was a teenager. She was feisty and sexy and funny and sad.

We've discussed it before ... the darkness around us is deep.

And, no doubt, the political stress continues to haunt us, like birds caught in a oil slick. Even Dawn won't wash off the despair, shock, and disappointment in ourselves as well as our government. There's the stench of embarrassment permeating the atmosphere, which is probably why some of us spend so much time wringing our hands and complaining loudly.

Baying at the moon, our eclipsed beings, our being eclipsed by stupidity, perfidy, lust, and concupiscent consumerism. More! More! More! Too bad I can't footnote.

Okay, I should wrap this up and try to sleep. I set my alarm to get up to look at the eclipse and all. I hate getting up at that time.

While it seems cruel to leave you with a disco song, I cannot find an adequate poem so ...

Ooh, how do you like your love
Ooh, how do you like your love

But if you want to know
How I really feel
Get the cameras rolling
Get the action going
Baby you know my love for you is real
Take me where you want to
Then my heart you'll steal

More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it
More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it
More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it

Ooh, how do you like your love
Ooh, how do you like your love

But if you want to know
How I really feel
Just get the cameras rolling
Get the action going
Baby you know my love for you is real
So take me where you want to
Then my heart you'll steal

More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it
More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it
More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it

But if you want to know
How I really feel
Get the cameras rolling
Get the action going

More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it
More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it
More, more, more
How do you like it, how do you like it

SUDDENER THAN WE FANCY IT

The first rain in quite a long time here. And it really is hard to call it rain, more sprinkling and overcast, but I imagine the dried-out garden appreciates it nonetheless. The cats are less appreciative as they cannot go about their regular bird and butterfly watching activities without incurring some dampness. Emmylou came in with quite an expression of disgruntlement and Oona keeps appearing at my closed window as if she can't accept the situation.

This was also an opportunity to give myself as pass at swimming, although it is really warm enough being 71 or 72 degrees. I will try to make it over to the senior gym for a bit of bicycling in a bit.. 

Oh, later that same year.

Remind me to never do this again. This? This is a tooth that needs to be pulled along with a significant cold. At least, I am not throwing up. I am a little feverish. I never thought I would be counting down the hours until a dental appointment, but that's the tune in 2018. Toothaches are no fun. I mean, I like a good sneeze as much as the next person, but it can get a bit tiresome. I just hope my cold doesn't get in the way of getting this tooth out.

On the other hand, I get to watch many episodes of Nashville. And do some reading in and out of tv. 

And so I try again.

Tooth out. Cold over. And now trying to be productive. 



Here we are again, with me struggling to tune into that interior voice that manages to be interesting from time to time. 

I am at least back to working at my desk, which means I have accomplished some cleaning up. Of course, there are piles of books that I have dragged back from thrift stores in the last few weeks that  needs find shelf space. Oona prefers that I spend my evenings on my bed watching tv or reading so that she can be comfortably nearby. As it is, she is prowling the room, nearly knocked over all of my earrings, and bedded down in my slightly ajar jeans drawer. Maximum shedding opportunity as there is sure to be black in there.

SNOW

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes —
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's
   hands —
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

— Louis MacNeice, found in Modern Irish Poetry: An Anthology, Belfast, Blackstaff Press Ltd., 1995

"The world is suddener than we fancy it ..." Hell to the yes, as the young people say! The suddener things in my life? My mother's growing frailty, which isn't really suddener but my realization comes in suddener waves. My older half-sister's December stroke and her current debilitated state in hospice. My sister-in-law's 95-year-old mother having fallen and now in hospital. It can happen at any time.

There are some other great phrases in this poem which I may well return to. The anthology was desultorily picked up in a thrift store, and agonized over as books are overflowing capacity in my rooms. I am not getting reading done fast enough. However, we are in the final stretches (less than 100 pages) of Moby Dick. After that I can more comfortably snorkel around other books without feeling so guilty.

And so it goes. The lyrics work, too. Check out the second verse. (I love Nick Lowe.)

I remember one night the kid cut off his right arm
In a bid to save a bit of power
He got fifty thousand watts
In a big acoustic tower
Security's so tight tonight
Oh they're ready for a tussle
Gotta keep your backstage passes
'Cause your promoter hired the muscle

And so it goes and so it goes
And so it goes and so it goes
But where it's goin' no one knows
And so it goes and so it goes
And so it goes and so it goes
But where it's goin' no one knows

In the tall building
Sit the head of all nations
Worthy men from Spain and Siam
All day discussions with the Russians
But they still went ahead
And vetoed the plan
Now up jumped the U.S. representative
He's the one with the tired eyes
747 put him in that condition
Flyin' back from a peace keepin' mission

And so it goes and so it goes
And so it goes and so it goes
But where it's goin' no one knows
And so it goes and so it goes
And so it goes and so it goes
But where it's goin' no one knows

In the air there's after-shave lotion
In the wake of a snake-hipped Persian
On his arm there's a skin tight vision
Wonder why she ain't mine she is his

And so it goes and so it goes
And so it goes and so it goes
But where it's goin' no one knows
And so it goes and so it goes
And so it goes and so it goes
But where it's goin' no one knows

But where it's goin' no one knows
But where it's goin' no one knows
But where it's goin' no one knows

EVERYTHING THING COMES AND GOES

"Everything comes and goes
Pleasure moves on too early
And trouble leaves too slow"

Joni Mitchell’s Court and Spark was hidden amongst some unappreciated cds in the living room. As I was sorting, shifting, and de-accessing some of this collection, I put it on the top of the pile and grabbed it while heading out to Palm Springs for Christmas. It was in the car CD player for about three days. And this song, Down to You, has resonated for days and days beyond.

Everything comes and goes
Marked by lovers and styles of clothes
Things that you held high
And told yourself were true
Lost or changing as the days come down to you
Down to you
Constant stranger
You're a kind person
You're a cold person too
It's down to you

You go down to the pick up station
Craving warmth and beauty
You settle for less than fascination
A few drinks later you're not so choosy
When the closing lights strip off the shadows
On this strange new flesh you've found
Clutching the night to you like a fig leaf
You hurry
To the blackness
And the blankets
To lay down an impression
And your loneliness

In the morning there are lovers in the street
They look so high
You brush against a stranger
And you both apologize
Old friends seem indifferent
You must have brought that on
Old bonds have broken down
Love is gone
Ooh, love is gone
Written on your spirit this sad song
Love is gone

Everything comes and goes
Pleasure moves on too early
And trouble leaves too slow
Just when you're thinking
You've finally got it made
Bad news comes knocking
At your garden gate
Knocking for you
Constant stranger
You're a brute, you're an angel
You can crawl, you can fly too
It's down to you
It all comes down to you

Certainly seems like a good New Year song to me. I have listened to it five times since I posted it. Now, I have moved on to Amelia. Sigh. Not sure where this is all going, so I will leave you to listen to these two songs and these beautiful lyrics and check back with you later.

I was driving across the burning desert
When I spotted six jet planes
Leaving six white vapor trails across the bleak terrain
It was the hexagram of the heavens
It was the strings of my guitar
Amelia, it was just a false alarm

The drone of flying engines
Is a song so wild and blue
It scrambles time and seasons if it gets thru to you
Then your life becomes a travelogue
Of picture post card charms
Amelia it was just a false alarm

People will tell you where they've gone
They'll tell you where to go
But till you get there yourself you never really know
Where some have found their paradise
Others just come to harm
Oh, Amelia it was just a false alarm

I wish that he was here tonight
It's so hard to obey
His sad request of me to kindly stay away
So this is how I hide the hurt
As the road leads cursed and charmed
I tell Amelia it was just a false alarm

A ghost of aviation
She was swallowed by the sky
Or by the sea like me she had a dream to fly
Like Icarus ascending
On beautiful foolish arms
Amelia it was just a false alarm

Maybe I've never really loved
I guess that is the truth
I've spent my whole life in clouds at icy altitudes
And looking down on everything
I crashed into his arms
Amelia it was just a false alarm

I pulled into the Cactus Tree Motel
To shower off the dust
And I slept on the strange pillows of my wanderlust
I dreamed of 747s
Over geometric farms
Dreams, Amelia, dreams and false alarms.


... dreams and false alarms, ahoy!

Many many days later.

The New Year has started and I am scarcely organized. I had a hard week with La Mama, but things have smoothed out. Today I managed to stay out of the nap mode, although I almost succumbed. I wasn't very focussed, but I did make progress in a hither and thither manner. I even started cleaning up the garden and patio, both of which are big tasks.

But now, I need some sleep.