Caterwauling

I did a rare thing in the last post and talked about happy moments. I hoped there were actually more than I remembered in that space, and one (thankfully) popped into my head today.

I was driving to work and actually I was really stalking our new office space that we are moving to (don’t get me started on what a radical shift that’s going to be and how I will probably get fired because people can hear how much I really swear in an average day), and Janis Joplin came on the radio, belting out “Me and Bobby McGhee.” And I cried when I heard this part:

“One day up near Salinas, Lord, I let him slip away
He’s lookin’ for that home and I hope he finds it
But I’d trade all o’ my tomorrows for one single yesterday
To be holdin’ Bobby’s body next to mine.”

My grandfather was a brilliant guitarist and singer and just all-around awesome guy. He’s been gone a little more than a year now and while I knew life was going to suck when he was no longer in the world, I had no idea how much.

Oops, tangent.

Anyway, his guitar ended up in storage for many years while he was alive due to much family turmoil and moving and stuff, and eventually arthritis got the better of his hands. But he got that guitar out of storage a couple of years ago and man, he could still play.

I used to joke with him that I was going to unplug his amplifier and he could play all he wanted. But I teased. Really, he was good.

A cousin gave him sort of false hope that he was going to bring him onstage at one of his gigs. This cousin (ironically named “Bobby”) learned all he knew about music from his dad and from my grandfather, and he respected and worshiped him as an idol. As well everyone should have. 😉

Anyway, my grandfather wanted to showcase to me, on one of my visits up north, that he was playing again. And I don’t know how it came up, but I must have been humming “Bobby McGhee” and he effortlessly picked up that guitar and played it for me. Not to mention, he sang every lyric perfectly.

I was in shock. I hadn’t heard him play guitar since I was a little girl. I was so proud of him and thrilled that he’d gotten his hobby — the thing he kicked ass at — back.

While I will always wish that I had complimented him more and asked him to play more for me, I remember him absolutely beaming when he finished that song. Both he and my grandmother had the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen (Mom and I inherited my great-grandmother’s green eyes), and I remember wishing I could feel so good and have such a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction about something in my own life. But moreover, I was glad that he was finally doing well and feeling good.

“Feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues
Hey, feelin’ good was good enough for me, mm-hmm
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee.”

OK, as i just started crying happy tears, I’m going to close my office door while I still have one and let ’em flow.

I have his guitar now. I even bought a DVD course on how to play it. And one of these years, I want to actually pick it up.

I guess I just want to be able to play happy songs, to celebrate him, as right now I have no real song to sing. (And believe me, you wouldn’t WANT to hear me sing.)

But for a girl who sucks at Guitar Hero, I’ll admit I’m not in a real rush to suck at the real thing. 🙂

Lachlan did a lovely post awhile back on “What I’ll Remember.” And the reason why I fell in love with it was because it was neither about the bad stuff nor about the milestone events that are supposed to be significant.

For her, the things that made her into the beautiful, strong woman she is today can be attributed to the moments that take up residence in the memory — random, ordinary, seemingly insignificant moments — and those are the ones that a lifetime of “other” events cannot corrode the impact of.

And at a time when I need to hang on to all the hope I can, I wanted to share some of mine. But even if I can’t share the details that make these the moments I cannot erase from my mind, know that I’m smiling to myself as I type.

In no particular order, separated by song lyric:

“We ran off to the corn field
Just outside the county fair
There were butterflies in my stomach
And fireflies in the air.”

— Sarah Buxton, “Innocence”

I’d gone to happy hour with some colleagues, several jobs ago, and had left with my non-work friend to go elsewhere. But I had left my phone behind and the colleagues had changed bars.

I called the phone only to find out the guy I had a mad, mad crush on was in possession of it. He told me where to meet him. I walked to him — it was one of those “walking across a crowded room” scenarios where there was no one else in my line of vision.

We didn’t exchange a word — he handed me the phone, our fingers grazed, our eyes locked and I left. And yes, he came over to my place several hours later. 😉

“And there you are on the fence
With those lips I could spend a day with.”

— Amy Millan, “Skinny Boy”

Long ago and far away, I can’t get the look in his eyes out of my mind. And I will never know what it really meant or how I was supposed to respond.

It reminds me of Patrick Dempsey’s “Dr. McDreamy,” especially how Chandra Wilson’s “Miranda Bailey” described him in a nutshell: “Lots of hair, too many women, likes elevators and long walks on the beach.”

Oh, to go back and do things over again. But was there really a “right” thing to do?

Cryptic much? 😉

“Well, for all the miles between us
And for all the time that’s passed
You would think I haven’t gotten very far
And I hope my hasty heart
Will forgive me just this once
If I stop to wonder how on earth you are.”

— Trisha Yearwood, “The Song Remembers When”

Another work thing, although we remained friends long after we exited that horrible place. He went on to get married and have two beautiful children, and yet both of us sort of committed to wondering for the rest of our lives if we weren’t leaving something special behind.

I remember I was having a birthday party at my place, and he and my two friends Kristin and Steve were the last ones standing. Kristin and Steve were awesome, awesome people. They decided to leave so I could be alone with my friend.

We were thrilled to have that time alone. We went in to kiss each other and *bam.* Holy shit, we cracked skulls and probably chipped some teeth. It was awful!

So we gave up on that pretty quickly and sat around chatting. We eventually migrated outside to sit on my front steps, just holding on to each other for what seemed like five minutes but had to be hours.

But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kristin’s car. And the bushes next to it (we had to parallel-park on my street) were moving.

Hmm.

Anyway, the boy and I said goodbye, and when he drove away, out popped Kristin and Steve from behind the damn bushes! They were walking bowlegged as they ran to me to hug me — they had gone for a drink across the street and were walking back to her car when they saw us. And they didn’t want me to see them pulling away lest I think they were spying. So they sat in my neighbor’s hedges for however long we were outside. Ha!

I never did see the boy again. We e-mailed and talked here or there, but that night was the end of an era.

“There’s things I remember and things I forget
I miss you I guess that I should
Three thousand five hundred miles away
But what would you change if you could?”

— Counting Crows, “Raining in Baltimore”

I have lots of memories, but the details are fuzzy. But when I try to think about times when I was happy, I must admit that there were usually people around.

Don’t get me wrong — if I had to say where I was happiest, it would be by myself, taking photos near a body of water somewhere. Of getting in the car, driving till I found “something,” whatever that might have been, and pulling over to enjoy it.

But when I was with my friends — as I was lucky to find some good ones in my day — you know what I remember most? Smiling till my cheeks hurt. I couldn’t quote you a single conversation (as I was, oh, shitfaced for most of them), but I remember feeling good … at least, until I woke up the next afternoon! 😉

I always had a knack for pulling the right combinations of people together. I was quite the consummate hostess back in my day. Yes, I had time to plan and cook for parties. The mind boggles at the very prospect. Of course, back then I was always looking for a reason to celebrate.

Maybe what I remember most was how the person I enjoyed the most was, well, me.

“Feel your hand close beside me
Hear the highway behind me
All by ourselves
We made love under
The sleeping moonless night
All by ourselves, we would run
Remember, baby?”

— Black Lab, “Time Ago”

I’ve gotta go cryptic here. But anyone who knows me would nod in agreement. I am a terrible flirt. I mean, I can go over-the-top with just about anyone I meet and make comments ranging anywhere from the suggestive to the salacious.

There’s nothing more electric than the moment when someone starts looking at you in a different way. And I cherish my collection of those times, because there are a handful of, “Oh my God, are they really looking at me like that?” And then there’s that moment of considering it and maybe even acting on it.

But if there’s one thing I kick myself over, it’s the fact that I cannot flirt with the people I most want to attract. It’s so weird. It’s the only time in my life that I get shy. I kick myself repeatedly over having the “right” thing to say on the tip of my tongue to really add some zip to a conversation, but never being able to let it out. Because, you know, what if it isn’t as well-received as you want it to be?

But here’s to the rare times that I had the right thing to say, that incited the right reactions. And here’s to hoping that I can either break the ice or flirt back the next time instead of being downright paralyzed between what I “should” (or shouldn’t) say as opposed to what I really *want* to convey.

I want to find me a carnival
Outside of town
A tilt-a-whirl set up
With a merry-go-round
Cotton candy fingers
And a snow cone mouth
I want to roll you in sawdust
Till they run us both out.

— Melissa Etheridge, “All the Way to Heaven”

I have to end it on a funny note, because this has been a running joke for years.

My best friend and I used to go out drinking every Friday and Saturday night at Bennigan’s, which was next to the pit of brimstone and hellfire where we worked. We were regulars there, and one of the memories I will always have is how men would just FLOCK to us, and we were too busy talking to give them the time of day. That was OUR time, damn it. Not that we weren’t aware of them, but they were digging us because we weren’t stalking them like some of the other female regulars.

But the best day was the first day we went out. We closed the bar (which would become our tradition) and once outside, my friend realized she really needed to pee. Now, we probably lived within three blocks of the place. But in our uber-inebriated state, that just seemed WAY too far away.

So, we drove next-door to our workplace, and she pulled down her pants and peed in the bushes. I laughed so hard I probably wet myself, too. It just seemed like a fitting first outing for us — and a totally appropriate end to the evening. I knew we were going to be friends for life.

And fuck that stupid workplace — they deserved to be crapped on in the same way they did to us during the next couple of years. I’m just glad my friend made her pre-emptive strike!

So I spent three days restoring world order, and have otherwise been living the life of a goddamned saint for several months. Cracking was inevitable, although it was less a volcanic eruption than a steady slice through a carefully crafted glass veneer.

I was recently discussing my theory of “I’d rather be alone than wish I were,” and my friend had said he fluctuates between feeling the very same way and also not wanting to be alone at all. And I surprised myself by saying, very firmly, “I don’t.” Meaning, if I can’t be in the company I want, then I don’t want any.

I’ve spent a lot of time alone and wasn’t the slightest bit lonely. And now I find myself not alone and, yet, lonelier than I ever was. It’s disquieting, to say the least.

I was parting ways with this same friend not too long ago, where we said goodbye and hugged. And I probably deflated his lungs, I squeezed him so hard. I couldn’t help it. I’ve been fighting so hard to remain standing, to keep from exploding or even imploding, and to do it without having anything steady to hold on to.

And for that fraction of a second, I felt myself relaxing — that I was actually, finally, leaning on someone stronger than me. Like, I could almost breathe because the precarious balance of the world wasn’t going to collapse if I took a moment’s break from holding it together.

And my friend is another one who takes on the weight of the world. I suppose people like us recognize that in each other. Perhaps only the strongest people can support each other, because we’re used to protecting weakness but otherwise repelling it when it’s our turn to be in need.

“The broken locks were a warning
You got inside my head
I tried my best to be guarded
I’m an open book instead.”

— Lifehouse, “Broken”

My friend noted that I’m different lately. I forget the adjective used, but I found myself not certain whether to feel disappointed in myself that my stress is so apparent to someone other than me or awestruck that someone noticed and maybe even cared that I’m feeling so overly, utterly captive to whatever is plaguing me.

I don’t want my stress to be apparent. Not that I wanted all these stressors in the first place, but I was rather happy, thinking everyone thought I was so adept at privately dealing with everything and hiding it from the world. Oh well. I do like to revel in my illusions.

My friend told me to envision the good things coming my way. I said quite honestly that I keep trying to believe in them, and that I see them so very clearly. Yet, I find myself watching them pass me by.

I’m not kidding when I say I’ve got a very strong vision of what I want. I can tell you down to the detail of how my nails will be manicured in this amazing dream that keeps me going. But, as I said, “Apparently, it’s not my turn yet.”

In any case, I thank the universe profusely for sending me this small glimmer of understanding that I’ve been needing for a very long time. I know it was just a moment, a feeling, an “a-ha” moment that I’m really not alone, but I hope to pay it back someday.

As a matter of fact, I don’t know how I’m holding it all together. But I think I can hang in there just a little while longer.

I’ll keep waiting my turn for those good things I know have to be on their way. I just feel like I’m holding No. 78 and the celestial deli is now serving No. 14.

But at least I know exactly what I want when my time to order comes up. I’ll know that I will have deserved the best service possible as my reward. And I won’t lose faith that this day is coming … eventually.

“The broken clock is a comfort
It helps me sleep tonight
Maybe it can stop tomorrow
From stealing all my time.”

My friend D. hooked me up with this story today:

“Woman takes husband’s ashes to Steelers game.”

“PITTSBURGH, Pennsylvania (AP) — Richard Desrosiers never made it to Heinz Field to watch his beloved Steelers play football, but his widow helped him fulfill his dream in death.

Thanks to some help from sympathetic donors, Kathleen Desrosiers attended Sunday’s game, bringing an urn with some of her late husband’s ashes, as well as his ring and two pictures of him. He had died in March of a brain tumor.”

I was sort of waiting to read that they scattered his ashes on the field, or at least in one of the, oh, three nearby rivers. But I guess he made the travels with her and went home to New Hampshire.

And that’s why this story means so much, not (just) that it’s about a Steeler fan but because of how he got there:

“Amy Litterini, a western Pennsylvania native who now lives in New Hampshire, was the couple’s counselor during Desrosiers’ yearlong battle with cancer.

She arranged for the purchase of the two tickets to Sunday’s game and raised money for Kathleen Desrosiers and one of her sons to spend a night in a Pittsburgh hotel.”

I really needed to read that today, to believe that those who have passed on are still with us somehow — even if not in spirit (which I hope they are) but in influencing the things we grow to love. I guess, in that regard, we can’t help but let them live on.

And it also warmed my charred little heart that someone would be so kind as to make this dream possible, when anyone else would have walked away and not done anything like this for the family. Shit, my grandfather’s brothers have (thankfully) evaporated into thin air — not a one has sent so much as a Christmas card, although I hear they’re all bitching amongst themselves that Mom doesn’t call any of them. Fools.

The greatest gift that family can give is the gift of getting the hell out of our lives, and I’m eternally grateful for that. Although … I wouldn’t let them know that they were doing us a favor, because they’d probably have to end the peace and call to antagonize us!

I’m stealing Tiff’s idea to post this but damn it, it’s not the holiday season till I see the Eat & Park Christmas star commercial.

I’ll be the one in the corner, dabbing a tissue at her running mascara. Don’t mind me over here. *sniffle*

Got this nugget of inspiration from the amazing Barbara J. Winter in my inbox last night. Shows we don’t need any special magic powers to make a difference in this world:

Another source of inspiring stories is the highly under-acclaimed CBS SUNDAY MORNING. … Last Sunday introduced me to a young man I can’t get off my mind. After Hurricane Katrina struck, City Park in New Orleans was left in shambles and abandoned by the city. This bothered 13-year-old Jack McShane who decided something needed to be done. So every Saturday Jack and his crew of Mow-Rons tackle the 1300 acres with their push mowers. Interviewer Steve Hartman said to Jack, “Aren’t adults supposed to take care of this?”

“Yes,” said Jack, “but nobody was so I had to.” The Mow-Rons motto is Weeding by Example. “Our original motto was, ‘The Mow-Rons are in the park. The idiots are in city hall,'” Jack says. “But we thought that was inappropriate.”

Jack has also actively recruited the other mowing volunteers. His father says Jack didn’t get his passion for community service from him, but that he’s learned about the importance of volunteering from his son.

So there’s that old formula for success again: find a need and fill it. Not waiting for somebody else to give directions or permission is at the heart of every authentic entrepreneurial undertaking. It never fails to inspire me.

I just don’t have it in me to pontificate tonight, so Tiff saves me by having her YouTube video ready (already!) from her Saturday night comedy performance. Her first paying gig! w00t!

Click here to view it if you’re checking this out from your favorite feed reader, or watch it below. Go, Tiff!

I Can Haz iPhone?, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

How much of a freaking DORK am I that I am sitting at my computer but surfing the Internet on the iPhone? I’m also listening to my headphones on it — not like I don’t have five thousand songs in my iTunes that is, again, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

And the first song I listened to on my iPhone? Barbra Streisand, “Comin’ In and Out of Your Life.” Rocking the suburbs, I tell ya. At least Kadie’s rockin’ the pop music and having a grand old time with the newest addition to the household.

Oh, yeah, and I submitted it to I Can Has Cheezburger’s photo bucket. 🙂

The newest addition to the kitty cousins’ network is Macro. Who, I understand, was almost named Lol so he could be called “Lolcat.”

LOL. 😉

Isn’t he kyoot?!?! All tuckered out from meeting all the party guests yesterday. (Forgive the cell-phone-quality shot — I couldn’t pass up this snoozy windowsill shot.)