If Martha hadn't called at the entirely reasonable hour of 10:30 so that we could finally have a proper Sunday chat, I'd probably still be cuddled with Cooder and Miep, watching the day go from beautiful bright to greybreezy. Green and grey do look nice together.
After some solitaire, music research, and other fiddling, I finally set down to some real work. Having stumbled across many of my old mixes (and I have 100s), I put on one all, with the word "sweet" in the title. (This one is volume 3.)
I suddenly began to get very emotional. Yes, James Taylor was singing, as if you can't guessed the song. But I am violently ambivalent about James Taylor and, in general, don't get too emotional about old hits. But this one hit me.
Carl died two years ago this coming Thursday. Both my mother and I are wafting in and out of ... well, a sadness that abuts depression. (My father died earlier, six years and a day.) Carl was only 50. He didn't really understand that his passivity, negligent choices, depression, and terrible self-esteem COULD actually kill him. He ignored his doctor's advice to see a therapist or go on anti-depressants. Instead of doing anything about his sleep apnea, he just didn't really sleep and was cranky to my mom. Instead of dealing with his kidney stones, he just took MASSIVE AMOUNTS of tylenol ... which ended up compromising his ... liver. His body could not take it. He died, not really wanting to.
At any rate, we had a hell of a wake for him. He would have loved it, no doubt. His close friend, bandmate, and musician soul brother, another David S., picked up Carl's favorite guitar and played some of Carl's favorite songs. And we all sat around, drank tequila, and sang and cried and sang and cried and sang and cried. Sweet Baby James.
Goodnight, my moonlight brother,
And rock-a-bye sweet little Carl.
Deep greens and blues are the colors you choose,
And we'll let you go down in your dreams.
And rock-a-bye sweet brother Carl.
We laughed some, too. So odd to have such a good time on such a terrible occasion. But it sold me on the necessity of wakes forever.
Here's a science experiment I pulled out of the refrigerator. I'm working on that project a little at a time.
I'll post a link to the sweet mix tomorrow, although I warn you, it is an odd mix.
Years ago, a handsome, talented, troubled kid, a good friend of my siblings purposely rode his motorcycle head on into a truck. How I will always remember him is with the song "Sweet Baby James" which he sang as we hiked into the Sierras in the rain; he sang it to get us all, tired and wet, up the hill. I can still hear his beautiful voice singing that song, singing us up hills, when he was unable to climb his own emotional mountains. What a song! (ps: the life forms you are creating in the bowl would probably thank you if they could).
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