Radiogurl a la Carte

Thursday, Sept. 15, 2005
Olde and Newe Ere I Be Through

You know it's past time for your weekend when:

  1. You desperately want to go to lunch two hours early and you're not hungry.

  2. You spend virtually the whole day with people in a queue to see you; they're sitting on a sofa in a reception area that's bigger than your office, waiting their turn, and the most important visitor is someone bringing you copies of duplicate paperwork that has already been faxed to you twice.

  3. You are making plans to go somewhere with friends this weekend - anywhere, as long as it's AWAY.

  4. You're not a drinker but when you finally do go to lunch, you spend several minutes debating if you should order a glass of something alcoholic, even if it leaves you too impaired to function for the next several hours. When you reluctantly decide against it, you resolve to buy a bottle of booze later to take home and become completely shit-faced.

  5. You're so frazzled by the time you finally go to the store you forget to BUY said bottle and arrive home, groan, and try to decide if it's worth it to drive back into town and get it anyway.

  6. Even though you love your job, you would rather be anywhere than at work, all day. Yes, that's redundant. So is the echo of the fact that keeps bouncing around in your brain for all those hours.

One.

More.

Day.

Nothing serious happened today to put me into a funk (unless you consider the steady stream of people into the studios.) Maybe it was the weather: gorgeous blue skies, temperatures are warm but not too warm. Nobody in their right mind wants to be working on days like today.

I did in fact make plans to go out of town this weekend, intending to hit a rock shop, taking along a friend. I invited M, she was excited at the prospect, and I was looking forward to it. Then suddenly M's spouse and grown daughter were coming along. I didn't ask or plan on that... Guess going forward I'll know. Invite M anywhere, family is part of the package. Got it. But I may beg off this weekend. Not sure I'm up to a family affair.

I'd have preferred a trip to Tucson instead, as I'd dearly love to see a couple of friends there. Not possible this weekend, unfortunately. Hopefully somewhere down the line before TOO long. But I am going to try to go to Poolagirl's play, which open in a little over two months. Given the price of gasoline these days, that means I have to watch my P's and Q's (and dollars and cents) in the interim.

A quick thanks to selfbiased here on Diaryland - I finally got the CD in from a kid named Jake Shimabukuro. (Selfbiased referred me to the performer initially.) Outstanding musician, plays ukelele. Just not like any ukelele you ever heard before. He does a rendition of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," for example. Jazz. Rock. Ballads. Classical or close to it. The kid does it all. His publicist sent me a promo copy of his new CD, called "Dragon." It really blew me away. With his earlier stuff you could tell you were listening to a ukelele, at least most of the time. With most of the newest effort, you'd never guess; the end result sounds like a hybrid, a cross between mandolin, guitar and banjo. Well worth listening. There are some excerpts on his website to give you an idea. Click on the thumbnails of the album covers to listen to short samples.

I'm still waiting to hear from another performer - again, someone recommended by a Diaryland buddy. Hopefully her publicist will get something to me in the near future, too.

I stopped while writing this to read a post from nicim. It brought back a bittersweet mix of memories. I remember the ice-cold coke she described, in tiny (or so it seems now) glass bottles, and how wonderful it tasted. I remember living on a farm with no indoor plumbing and out on a gravel road in northeastern Iowa. I remember wearing the dresses my mother made for me.

I remember holding onto the back of a tractor to get home when our car went into a ditch in the dead of winter. I also remember crying inconsolably during that tractor ride, because I had no gloves and the tractor was metal and so cold it burned my skin. My mother was holding my little brother, but I had to hold on for myself. There was no one to hold me but me.

I remember the beatings and doing whatever it took to avoid my father. I remember hiding under the porch to get away from him, wondering if I could stay there forever. Hunger wasn't as important as avoiding the fists and the belt, both of which were applied at whim. I think I turned five years old after we moved from there. I remember my fourth birthday there, where I received a plastic "pearl" bracelet from a family friend.

I remember seeing a rainbow that terminated in the garden in back of the house. Working from the perspective of a child, I remember it as a vast field, though I'm sure it was really a modest-sized cultivated plot.

I remember the battered old upright piano in the living room, where I plunked out the melody to "Jesus Loves Me," using one finger to pick out the notes.

I remember my little brother having grand mal seizures, including one that lasted for more than an hour and sent him to the hospital. I assumed it was because my dad was always hitting my little brother in the head. I hadn't been educated about epilepsy at the time. Now that I know about epilepsy, I still think it was because my dad was always hitting my little brother in the head.

I remember my dad yelling... always yelling. And I remember not so much being afraid of him as I was weary, a four-year-old feeling like a million years old. I was frightened, too... but even then, there was a sense of resignation. I was in many ways an adult long before I started school.

It wasn't my intent to take that particular jaunt down memory lane. Interesting timing. The darkest moments play a huge part in shaping who we are, don't they?

Before - After

In the grander scheme of things, no soul can truly be replaced. Each one of us has a place in the universal tapestry. We each contribute our own color and texture. When one thread is snipped too soon, it distorts all the threads around it. Other lives can unravel and tear. If the wrong thread is ripped away, the whole fabric of life becomes dangerously fragile.
- LeiLani, aka Radiogurl aka Bright Opal (1957 - )