Every once in awile, especially if you're not paying attention, you'll pick up, osmotically, lyrics. Now, generally, lyrics are put to a tune and words are selected as much for their content as their ability to rhyme..uh...rhythmically. Moon and June and spoon..all those words that got beat up by "Tin Pan Alley" back in the day (as is the current phrase). Sometimes these mindless noodlings work well. Sometimes you get something icky.
"A younger girl keeps rolling 'cross my mind". John Sebastian (spelling?) wrote that...or at least sang it. It always made me feel like I was watching a predator, a guy who had a teeny-bopper on his radar and couldn't quite resist the allure of underage nooky. It made/makes me feel unclean.
But then, the same guy comes along and gives me "....for the great relief of having you to talk to".
After a very long weekend, Felashe got back Sunday morning, did her church thing, came home...did a church project thing...went back out...puttered about...and napped for a bit....we watched 3 episodes of "The Shield" and she collapsed.
On Friday and Saturday I had some difficulty. Fra had come out and coaxed me into playing. So, there I was, late night, drinking and watching old movies on TV. I was so bad, the need to feel and fill my night, that I even watched the Neal Diamond version of "The Jazz Singer" again. I watched all sorts of crappy old movies and one or two that were less crappy but still not anything I'd offer as a suggestion to y'all ('cause, after all, I like you). But, here's the thing, every once in a while, I'd turn to the empty space on her side of the bed, ready to point out a minor actor or remark on the plot or something foolish, and, wham, I'd be surprised by the vacancy. There was a spooky thing going on. It was palpable. The space was full of empty.
I dunno if you've ever felt that. A repulsive vacuum.
I guess it's one of those unspoken side affects of love.
I was greatly relieved, not by talking to her, but just by having her there to talk to. Know what I mean?
*******
In other news....I've been out and about a lot this last week. Spent a lot of time in and around Napa. Over the winter, all the vines had been cut back and cleaned up, leaving a stem and twin branches on each plant. Early last week I noticed that the plants were beginning to show green, the first signs of new growth. I was struck with a bit of internal conversation where the phrase "fruit of the cruciform" came up. Then I made a connection to the time of year. I went slightly religious then and flashed back to my earliest religous training. Funny how that works. The Jesuits are right: show me a boy at seven and I'll show you the man. Ecce homo.
For those of you of the Christian persuasion, "ecce homo" has significance and I do not mean to imply equivalency between Upton and that Man, who was/is the fruit of another cruciform. And, now that I think on it, I've babbled my way into a corner. Better bail out now while the plane is still flying.
Leaving now, after the religious conversation, makes you think I'm really not...
Upton Ogood (but I am)
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mruptonogood- mruptonogood
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I dunno if you've ever felt that. A repulsive vacuum.
I guess it's one of those unspoken side affects of love.
I was greatly relieved, not by talking to her, but just by having her there to talk to. Know what I mean?
I really, really do. I find myself doing the same when J is working all night or on a trip. When I turn and find him not there I get that oogey holy-crap-I'm-naked-in-public feeling. It's not about what I would or wouldn't say if he was there, only that I reached out and he wasn't. It's like touching the space where a tooth has been pulled...
Thanks
Upton