Retrospect- 12/8/2005

So I haven't done Retrospect in a few months, or maybe a year, I don't remember.
I don't feel normal today. This inexplicable thing? I'm a tortoise in winter.
I wish I were more. For everyone.
So I plan to tackle some reading & maybe clean up the Tivo a bit. :P

& It's suppose to be ten degree's tonite so let's say a little prayer for Marechal Niel, who is not exactly cold hardy; I have her all the same...if I can grow this one, maybe lemons are in my future.

Today I give you Five years ago this week- 12/8/05.

(I have always said if I could meet anyone living or dead, It would be John Lennon, so it seems I ought to talk about him on the anniversary of his death, but the person who actually dragged me to you this morning was someone else...)
Sometimes I wish I could just drive, unencumbered by where I had to be
or what I had to do. This morning is cold, but not too cold, probably low forties. It isn't a bad cold, it's the kind of cold where you don't have to scrape your windshield, but when you breathe the air in, it fills your lungs well; it's the 'steak dinner' cold. I was digging through the console for cds, trying to get away from the Christmas music for a minute, and found a taped copy of my old Lyle Lovett cd. It had been a couple years since I'd played it so I stuck it in. Driving music.
I remember when my love affair with Lyle Lovett started, back when the Joshua Judges Ruth cd came out, the very one I was playing this morning. I remember getting ready to go see him and Bonnie Raitt in concert, putting my suede shoes on. I remember the shoes, because it poured the entire time, and the concert was at an outdoor arena. Walking through the parking lot on the way back, the water was over my ankles. I never wore those shoes again.
I remember Jessie coming by my house. Not my brother Jesse, but the wild boy who once stole a horse and rode it down the Highway 41 to the parking lot of our income based apartment, because I said I loved horses. "What are you doing here so late?" I said.
"I wanted to show you something." And there it was. I never went out with Jessie, he was too wild for me. I'd had a crush on him in ninth grade and back then he made fun of my gigantic glasses. He dropped out that year and had a few run ins with the law- you can imagine why. But he had beautiful dimples, and we stayed friends for years. Anyway..
He showed up at my mom's apartment when I was running late for the concert. Steven pulled up and I put my suede shoes on and ran out the door, leaving him sitting with my mother. He had just gotten married, he said. I hadn't seen Jessie for years before that and I haven't seen him since. I hope he's happy and not in jail somewhere. I can really get off course, huh?
I was sucked in by Lyle Lovett. I adored him. Baltimore made me cry. She's Already Made Up Her Mind made me want to be her. Who was she? As an aspiring writer, sure, I'd love to sell books one day, but moreso, make someone feel something. A something that carries over, not just candied words that you can put down and never think about again. More. This is what Lyle Lovett did for me. I remember Steven and I going on a camping trip (again- rain!) and the day we got back, seeing Don Henley in concert. In between songs, Henley made an announcement. "I'd like to congratulate Lyle Lovett and Julia Roberts on their recent nuptials..."
While I'd been out in the middle of nowhere, in the rain, having to pee in the woods, pretending to enjoy exile from all forms of human civilisation, my 'other man' had married a Hollywood princess. I remember everyone saying Julia had to be crazy- Why would she marry Lyle Lovett? I knew why. And then, today, playing that cd, I remembered again. The funeral song came on at the same time I looked down and passed that flattened squirrel on our road. Yesterday it still looked something like a squirrel. Today, more of a spot.
Enough already. What else is new? I wrote eight query letters yesterday and one 'Thank you for your kind rejection' letter. I'm not so well versed in the art of the query letter, but I was really on a roll with the latter. You all would have loved it.
I lost my keys a couple weeks ago, and have come to the realization that they are gone for good. No more frantic searching, I'm letting go. It's weird, I bought this red leather monkey keychain a few months ago, and looked at my keys. What could I remove to make room for the monkey? There was the pewter Tahiti tiki that I got on my honeymoon ten years ago...and the graceland one from that great roadtrip we had. Various other ones, many keys, grocery store discount cards, and my sainted clicker. I came to the conclusion that nothing could go, and I would hang the monkey on my rearview mirror. That monkey came down and looked at me. "I want to be with you!" the monkey said.
"I want my clicker," I said.
"But I want to be with you more! And the power of monkey juju is stronger than the power of the clicker! OOO OOOO Ah Ahh! Screech!"
"Stronger than the power of Elvis?" I thought to myself. Apparently so. Damn that monkey juju. So I am unlocking my jeep doors the old fashioned way. There are some people who don't even have doors, who have never seen keys, I tell myself. But it doesn't help much.
And I haven't even covered the live raccoon I bought for ten dollars on Thanksgiving, or Hannukah at church, and the fact that I am the Latke Master. (That's the good thing about being Unitarian, we celebrate ALL the holidays). But I don't have time this morning. I hope everyone is happy, healthy & well. My love to you all :)

Random thoughts...

I'm having difficulty getting my 10 year old to go along with our Halloween plans. She thinks she's absolutely too grown.
"Can't I be a witch or a fairy?" she tells me. No. No, No, No. This year, we're going as a group project, we're building a special memory. Her trick or treating years are limited, isn't it a great idea to start building a special memory? And perhaps it's the toil of '09 that's made a family changed, we've been given a new sense of urgency & appreciation; Appreciation for things we would never do, and also things we said we may one day do but never took seriously.
We're in a way now forced to take life less seriously, because the fact is one of the greatest parts of taking life more seriously is taking it less so. (Yes, there you have my thought for the day. In order to take life more seriously, you must take it less seriously. It makes sense after awhile.)
Because sometimes folks stifle their joy in order to be serious.
So I believe we're going to have to pay her. She says she'll do it for $100, but we think it's steep. I have a month to talk her down to $25. Honestly though, if Steven can agree be Tinky Winky, then what's she got to worry about? (That's right, baby, there's four of us & four of them.)
With insurance and hospital bills, brain surgery and its after effects, is it so wrong to want to have one trivial afternoon? One day to be silly? Hmmm.
I had this strange dream last night. I was out with friends, shopping or hanging out (which is strange, because I do not have friends with which I shop or hang out. Not one, let alone 3-4. I'm honestly not that friendly. And perhaps living in the South, when someone fails to convert me to their religion, I get frequently sacked. It's no big deal.)
Oh! So anyhow, these friends and I go to an Indian Restaurant. I'm a huge fan of Indian food, so this is pretty normal. But then I'm glancing over the menu, and notice a strange item.

Raccoon Curry

"Is that actual raccoon?" I ask the waitress. "Yes," she informs me, "it is real raccoon in a curry sauce." Oooh, I am thinking and discussing with my friends, about to order the exotic feast! "I've never had raccoon before!"

Then I woke up.

Completely the end of my raccoon tasting experience. They say dreams are suppose to teach you something, or maybe they're symbols. I wonder what Raccoon Curry means, and for some strange reason the idea of it doesn't completely offend me.

My mother mentioned today she wants to read my blog. "How do I get to it?" she asks. Hmmm.

My sister brought us supper today (thanks, you rock!) and sat next to me at the table while mom repeated her eloquent reading of David Sedaris, this time a chapter from Holidays On Ice. That's where her money be, I tell her. Sedaris books on tape in her priceless accent. It's a money idea. Though this chapter ended with a baby named Satan Speaks washed and dried in a machine. Not very holiday friendly, Mr. Sedaris. Just plain wrong! Hope the next chapter, entitled Dinah, the Christmas Whore, is easier for my mother to read. :)

Thanks for stopping in ~ Have a really great day...