I’m not 100% a silver-lining gal, but, in my book, there were a few good things to come out of last year.
One huge plus: Music makers making music.
I’ve been keeping some melodies to myself. Selfishly.
I think. At least that’s how I kinda feel about my hoarding/delayed sharing.
Sort of. Anyway. I’ve been digesting daily, ruminating repeatedly.
This here’s just the first of those COVID+’s I’m letting go, now. Because it’s a lot newer, and timeliness may matter.
May 28th, to be exact. Took a little longer to get to me; across the ocean.
Monday, May 31st at 13:05, to be exact. Through DHL, happily, and not some other hack-way delivery service that likes to leave packages places other than my front door or porch. (Yep, off track.)
Speaking of off-track, one of my favorite total freak-out fan-based things is B-sides and outtakes and the ‘what might have been’ of songs: mining the creative process and good humor.
Actually, there’s no mining when it’s handed to you on a silver-platter, or in this case, on a pink CD.
And, tempting packages for pre-order. (Dec 2020.) Bundles of every conceivable which-way, of which I chose:
CD: Fatal Mistakes
CD: Outtakes and B sides
Autographed insert (fan-girly, but it’ll look lovely in my office line-up.)
T-shirt. I probably didn’t need the t-shirt. Well, to be honest, I completely didn’t.
Don’t worry about my overstock. I’ll take advantage of the situation by off-loading one, holey, faded, stained monstrosity that I would never wear in public. Not even to the trash bin.
The kind of thing I’d only ever wear to cautionlessly paint or forcibly succumb to gardening pressures (if I had to.)
Hmm. Maybe I’ll keep that old one as a designated, doing messy, things shirt. Because I abs won’t mess in my new one.
If you’ve been trooping along with the band’s progress posts, you’ll have seen a few videos, heard a few previews of the floaty-sounds radio airplay will make, for sure.
If ya, haven’t been following, it’s not too late. The moral of the music is that you can go back and do it again – 20 years later. Successfully, wonderfully. Barry, bonnie, lovely. Platinum worthy.
Quote for the Week:
(Or vice-versa (3, 2) if you adventurously need an introduction to humor and the band.)
I walked home in the rain, yesterday.
It wasn’t a deluge. I didn’t try to catch it in a paper cup. It was necessary.
I keep a huge Kohl’s plastic bag in my work tote for occasions like this. When the weatherman gets it wrong. I carry a ball cap, too, even with the lack of thick hair to keep it on when the wind picks up. I really don’t care if my head gets wet, but I’ve noticed that hair actually does a pretty good job of keeping the water from running down your face. So, capping it is.
I’m sure I look a looney in my get up. I wear my go-to bonnet underneath my raincoat hood. My pea-head doesn’t hold up to the assumption that if you wear a larger size, your head must be larger-than-normal, too. Here’s the descript: Without the head help, looking straight ahead, I can only see from my nose down.
The sleeves are also about 2 inches too long. Helpfully, they keep at least one hand from cold-water pruning. The other one hoists my baggage. I likely drag along too much stuff for my two-days-per-week journey.
In my defense, I might want or need: phone charger, ear phones, sanitizer, chap stick, face powder that I could probably leave home since I have not used it in over a year. Also, coupons, reference paperwork, tissues, plastic bags, ball cap and a handkerchief. Paperclips, two pens, in case one does not work. Plus, the regular house keys, office keys, lunch box, water bottle, phone and masks. Yes, plural.
Anyway, yesterday. On my way out of my windowless work space, I hadn’t assessed the situation. Which led to having to assemble myself in the see-through vestibule. Bright pink, nylon-raincoat flap engaged, faded bluish bill sticking out, primed me for the silly-looking 5-minute trek home began.
That’s when I started thinking.
When was the last time I walked in the rain on-purpose? I knew it might rain today. Walking was a risk; a logic-balanced choice, though. Michigan Construction Season is in full-swing. It would take me 15-20 minutes to drive the alternate ‘detour’ route.
Two years ago, I regularly walked in the evening and on weekends. Walked the long way to work, 4-5 times a week. Checking my photos, it looks like my last deliberate rain-tread was a weekend morning. May 2019. Based on my shots, I’m sure it wasn’t a hard rain. Not likely was a drizzle, either. I remember making the choice to go.
I took a lot of rain-brightened pictures of flowers and leaves. Overcast skies and water make nature’s colors pop. I enjoyed the way the misty air kissed my skin.
Maybe it’s time to stop the basement cycle. I don’t take any photos down there on my perpetually-circular treadmill trips.
I’m kinda wishing for a wet morning this weekend. Just so I can conquer the walk, for the first time this year.
And ramble some. And take some cheery rain-soaked photos.
Question for the Week:
The Jesus and Mary Chain Happy When it Rains
Aaron Neville Can’t Stop My Heart From Loving You (The Rain Song)
It’s been an unbelievable year since the dusty little furball I now call Nala-Mia showed up.
She’s been with HBlu and I during some rough times. She was with us the day that leashed Blu was attacked by an unleashed dog. Interestingly, she showed no fear, waiting and watching. She followed us home, as she had been for a few weeks. I already worried about her at night; was relieved when she’d show up for breakfast. Was overjoyed the first day she let me touch her; the first day she ate from my hand.
We’ve been through a few twists and turns, barely avoiding craters of disaster. When she showed signs of respiratory distress, I feared the worst. I wasn’t able to get her into the carrier the first two times I tried. The third time wasn’t easy or graceful, but, it was successful. I figured she’d be annoyed with me, after that. I didn’t figure she’d be lost for three days in an animal hospital, and end up traumatized and unexamined.
Much like Harley Blu after his encounter, she just wasn’t the same when I got her back. She’s still a bit skittish if I move too fast toward her standing up. If I’m sitting, reclining, sleeping – she’s a love-bug.
Much like Harley Blu, I want her back the way she was before she was damaged. He’s getting there with the help of meds and chiropractic therapy. She’s in love with him, and he seems to be more understanding of that, lately.
I’ll confess, at times, I feel badly for them, both. HB was an only cat-child for almost 9 years. His breed has a preference for being the sole focus of attention. She just doesn’t completely understand the cat world. She has learned to play – as opposed to being terrified of strings and catnip mice. She has learned to interpret the exact moment when Blu has had enough play, and she scurries away.
I know Blu doesn’t like sharing. I know Nala-Mia wanted back out for several months. She’s not pursuing that as much. With hope, I interpret that as she is comfortable rather than defeated. I also know that the pre-yawn snap of her isn’t a real reflection of joy.
It is however, a real reflection of my joy. It is a comfort that she is safe – not hungry, not frozen, and bot likely to get run-over by a car.
I’ve mentioned before, COVID gave me the time to be patient with her. Afforded me hours of adjustment while working from home. So, I was particularly excited to see a call for Pandemic Pet Adoption stories. Our short-story appeared in Michigan Medicine Headlines this week. In fact, that brief (very brief), 223-word, 2 paragraph “caption,” turned into a more concise 165 word account.
So, maybe it may not have had to take as many words to summarize.
The struggle to reduce is still real. I’m still all for details, and, maybe, mildly less distrustful of edits.
My big-picture presentation will always be a gloriously detailed meal. Though, I concede, an edit is admirable as a taste-tempting appetizer.
Find our shorter story here: Pandemic Pet Adoption – Mia’s Story Short
Quote for the Week:
Happy Anniversary to Us!
I cannot be concise.
I try. Truly.
In fact, today, I sent out a brief (very brief), 223-word, 2 paragraph “caption.”
Details tell the truest story.
Seriously. I went to the store for milk.
I drove Granny’s beat-up powder-blue Buick to the corner market for milk to go with the Happy 99th Year birthday cake we ordered – in the shape of her car, including rust! The baker just had to have a photo!
Ok, well, anyway…
As usual. It’s all about how you look at it.
And how many layers you have to scrape through to find simplicity.
And the fact that you don’t know the strata sequence.
Or how many vision changes it took to finally finish.
Medium manipulation: words, paint, notes.
Stories, images and sound: Art.
Quote for the Week: