I still like Elvis Presley more than many of my friend cohort. I have no idea where the other boomers fall on this question. What I hear from most of my friends is an unyielding affection for the Beatles, Stones, and Zep. It is also true that most, not all, of the people who will even entertain a conversation about music are males. I say that without judgment or malice as music was so ridiculously macho-ized (thanks Jann Wenner) that music did a good job of excluding female points of view. Clearly, these are broad and personal statements, which would require deeper exposition and a good deal more thinking.
But I am not here for an exegesis on popular music. A minor Elvis song came into my mind this morning and has remained there. Only The Strong Survive.
And then ...
That was thirteen days ago, fresh into the New Year with hope and resolutions. Doesn't always work out that way.
Happily happily, the rains have come to Los Angeles. Given my special powers to mitigate and qualify everything, this would be even better news had I been able to work on my garden this year. Having moved all my worldly goods to one place and the various realities (expenditure of resources, space, future living accommodations, contraction/constriction of my life/dreams) has stopped me from anything other than baby steps and new levels of procrastination/denial.
I did attempt to write, but I just looked at the clock and realized that the plumbers are coming to look at the leak under the kitchen sink in 20 minutes and the kitchen is a hot (well, cold today) mess. And the plumbers called to say that they are on their way.
So, I will just post this and see if I can begin to build some writing momentum.
And then ...
That was thirteen days ago, fresh into the New Year with hope and resolutions. Doesn't always work out that way.
Happily happily, the rains have come to Los Angeles. Given my special powers to mitigate and qualify everything, this would be even better news had I been able to work on my garden this year. Having moved all my worldly goods to one place and the various realities (expenditure of resources, space, future living accommodations, contraction/constriction of my life/dreams) has stopped me from anything other than baby steps and new levels of procrastination/denial.
I did attempt to write, but I just looked at the clock and realized that the plumbers are coming to look at the leak under the kitchen sink in 20 minutes and the kitchen is a hot (well, cold today) mess. And the plumbers called to say that they are on their way.
So, I will just post this and see if I can begin to build some writing momentum.
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| Butterscotch advocat(e)s the unmade bed. |
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