Song Saturday - When October Goes

Reflection.  There's not a year that goes by that I don't linger and listen to this song when the calendar page turns to October.

Barry Manilow was one of Tim's guilty pleasures, although he was not the type to feel guilty about his choices.  This song embraces the poignancy of this time of the year for me - my favorite season and memories of my favorite guy, all in one brilliant Johnny Mercer lyric paired with a beautiful minor key melody from Manilow.

September in my hometown still evinces summer -- the heat of the valley, the trees still desperately clinging to their green facade, people in sleeveless shirts and shorts listening to that last summer concert in the downtown square or cruising the Farmer's Market.

October signals the cycle of change and preparation.  The initiation of autumn, rather than the end of the year, is my time of deepest reflection and planning.

I notice the avenues of trees and watch for them to put on their finest colors and then slowly undress.  I wait for that first full moon that breaks through the naked branches.  I try to anticipate November, our birthdays month, and gauge if another year down the road of grieving and loss has moved me farther along the path to release.  He'd surely tell me, "get on with it."  He did.  I think I'm almost there. The leaves will drop; the rains will come. I will still hate to see October go.

I should be over it now, I know.  
It doesn't matter much how old I grow.
I hate to see October go.





Art: Maxfield Parrish - "Dream October"

Spirit in the Sky

I'm posting Song Saturday on Friday on the off chance the world is ending.  Of course I know it won't because the Mayans have pointed us to 2012 and I haven't finished my spring cleaning. 

The billboard around town has been touting this harder than a studio gearing up for the Oscars. To believe it, the faithful will be snatched up and the rest of us will be left here to endure a hellish experience - the selection of a credible GOP presidential nominee.  I guess the most memorable ascendant experience I had was witnessing from afar Hunter Thompson's ash launch.

Both big fans of his writing, especially his trenchant analysis of American politics, Tim had spent time with him in the 80's in San Francisco.  Those were the days of Hunter's stint with the Mitchell Brothers and the 1984 Democratic Convention which nominated Walter Mondale (running the spectrum from titillating to boring). 

Our trip was eventful - Tom Petty concert at Red Rocks, I-70 closed due to rockslides, side trip to the Broadmoor, Rocky Mountain National Park and Hall of Fame for Figure Skating.  When I-70 was finally opened, we zipped through and were on the down side of the continental divide narrowly missing a small plane near Vail that skipped off the freeway in front of us before coming to a rest by the side of the road.  Typical of the strange brew that seemed to be our travelling companion, most particularly on that trip.

It was not unusual that John Kerry walked by in a baseball cap on his way into the Woody Creek Tavern.  No entourage, just a lone figure who was recently a Presidential nominee.  He looked down - I remembered the swiftboating.


That night, the tower with the peyote fist started glowing then spinning and then came the fireworks and the launch of his ashes.  Going out with a bang.  To the strains of Spirit in the Sky and Mr. Tambourine Man. Tim's comment:  "I can smell the bastard."  Said in love, yes.


I won't forget watching the spectacle that 
August night from our selected spot on
the side of the opposite mountain.  Another memorable vacation.  They always were.


It must be Saturday somewhere and I am still typing.  Another much-hyped non-event like Y2K.  

 

Ho-hum.  Another day, another dollar to extract from believers to fill the coffers anew.  Another day, another way to explain why Jesus didn't come this time.

 

No doubt it's Obama's fault.

For your listening pleasure:  Norman Greenbaum's
Spirit in the Sky - love the fuzztone opener.

Leon Russell - Still Performing at the Speed of Light

Sometimes the messy threads of life unravel and re-form into a great big bow.  Sometimes you unknowingly attach to something that lasts, permeating your consciousness with such force that even a slight nod to that memory brings a special kind of bliss.  Those moments suspend time, destroying momentarily its linear power. 

Leon Russell's music is one such thread in my life.  College years - blasting his first solo album down the halls of my old dorm and out the windows toward the banks of the Fox River on a spring day.  Wearing down those grooves - repeated playings - joyous movement.  Innocent times, good times.   I moved those vinyl albums faithfully through the years because I couldn't imagine parting with them.  Old friends those songs.

I didn't sense he had stepped off the big stage because I often returned to those tunes.  By the time I met Tim, technology had advanced and, sharing our love of Leon and Tim's chronic need to downsize, we eventually ditched the bulky albums and stereo for replacement CD's and hand-selected mixes great for road trips of our own.  Good times, not as innocent times.

Whatever Gets You Through the Night

I wrote the following in August 2006 when New Orleans was still abandoned, the citizens still relocated, the housing still debris one year after Katrina rolled through and the levees were breached. 

Now approaching the five-year anniversary, it's still difficult to gauge what has been lost forever.

In my visits to New Orleans, what impressed me most was the unique vibrancy that was completely a creation of the culture fusion of its people.

It was the 80's - my job was the victim of the Reagan-era mergermania of corporate interests, but I was offered a transfer to the new headquarters, located directly across from the Superdome.  After several trips, and tours of the neighborhoods and investigation of options for my family, I declined and parachuted out to California.  Later, when I thought of thousands trapped in the Superdome, it gave me shivers.

It's Delovely - Song Saturday

Bush ManLove

From Waterbro blog
June 8, 2007

The public discourse shouldn't be about the governmental role in hetero marriages while limiting gays to "civil unions." Rather than seeking to alter the Constitution, a strict constructionist would see that civil unions should be available to all, while marriage is something private and more religious than governmental. Mexico is an example of a country where some want beach, or even underwater weddings, but they must also take the drive to an oficina where the legal aspect is addressed separately from the religious or ceremonial bonding, which may or may not be solemnified by a ceremony.


The least intrusion possible into personal lives is the proper role of government. Many people's civil unions are separate from the ceremony and religion of marriage. I have performed many marriages by the authority granted me by sending in an application for ordination taken from the classifieds section of Rolling Stone Magazine. These arrangements are legally sanctioned and valid, made so by the Universal Life Church and its tenet that government has no say over who can or cannot perform marriages.


It's pure silliness to distract voters with the "threat" of gay marriage while spending so many billions on destruction and massively irresponsible tax cuts. It's a civil rights issue that the elements of civil unions be made available to all, absent discrimination, and then if people want their pastor, rabbi, mullah or whomever to sanctify the union in a marriage ceremony, the religious aspect (if chosen) is completely separated from any inappropriate governmental role.

~~ Tim Carroll

I've reposted this Tim-blog, complete with this original and politically ironic selected picture depicting man-love, because it still makes sense.  I can't recall what was happening that moment in 2007, but it was no doubt connected to the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA) and the ever-popular wedge issue of gay rights.

Marriage in the old days was more like a transfer of chattel, a convention to pass off a woman to a man, in some traditions with the gift of livestock as dowry for the lucky groom.  "Here's your goat - where's my ring?"  There are as many definitions of marriage as there are religions and cultures. 

Well, we've come a long way baby and modern marriage in America has changed with the times. 

Song Saturday - Nobody Knows You - Alberta Hunter

When in doubt or the two unscathed brain cells just won't compute for a long piece, revive a Y360 blogging prompt and share a favorite piece of music for your daily pensee....The photo, well, the dog is enough like my constant compnion Buster that I just have to use it.


The song, by Alberta Hunter, still kickin' it in her 80's in this video, is a great bluesy tune that Clapton revived for the younger generation....hey, that's me!


It calls to my mind the many today disenfranchised in America, most particularly the population afflicted by homelessness (if we peg them "the homeless," it only separates and stigmatizes).  Those seeking shelter today include families with children, veterans, people who sunk after being upside down on their mortgages and not just those stereotypical figures who used to be called vagrants, bums, hoboes and so on.

Today's tip, from a shelter provider:  Drop some sunscreen by your local shelter.  In most parts of the country, it's blazing hot and for those who don't have the luxury of air-conditioned comfort, particularly children, being out in the sun all day only adds to the misery index.

You'll feel connected....and that's what improves the human condition and changes hearts.

Take it away, Alberta.