Selfish, is it?

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 28^th, to be exact. Took a little longer to get to me; across the ocean.

Monday, May 31^st 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.

Ok.

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:

1. Current Fav Track: It’s Feelings
2. Next, Start here: You Can’t Go Back
3. Then, Go Back here:  Roll to Me

(Or vice-versa (3, 2) if you adventurously need an introduction to humor and the band.)

Maybe Anything

I’ve had a week of weirdness. Unrelated things and people converged. Like heavily collided. Like the Universe has picked me up, moved me a second and set me back in the exact same but more aware-ly connected place; same space.

Yep, I’m gonna vague the details. Broadly, though, I was up until 1:00 AM last night plunking keys trying to connect the linear lights, random thoughts and rigid letters into a sphere of a story.

I tried an hour of editing. Tried to respectfully cloak it in anonymity. You know – so the players won’t know. Tonight’s tweaking didn’t take it to where it truly needed to be. So, it’s still incubating and I’m not letting it go. Yet. Be kind to me. I’m still so up on it, 24 hours later. Hoppy, happily awed at the alignment.

Goose bump similar, going/coming back. Retro. I’m in it like 2007, when a series of well-planned, well-placed God-smack coincidences sent me missioning to New Orleans with 49 strangers. Yeah, it’s like that. He’s got a plan and I’m waiting for it, excited. I’m going somewhere. Maybe only metaphysically. Maybe long haul. Maybe temporary. Maybe anything…

Hyped-up; like downing a mega-coffee specialty cuppa on an empty stomach, at midnight. Sort of odd since I’m off coffee on doctor’s orders. Glad, I unknowingly had that last fling with the Cola-Cola concoction.

It’s day 5 of nothing from a cow, nothing with gluten. I’m the way opposite of withdrawal. Go figure.

Comically, I scrolled into a Starbuck’s “Want!” inducing ad. Pistachio. Latte. So desirable, I may have whimpered, but since Nala-Lala thought I was talking to her, I’m gonna go with that. Hey, Universe – do your thing. Make that potentially tasty run last a little while. Please.

Make this run last a little while, too, please. Something’s happening here, and it feels so good.

Thought for the Week:

+

Moving On. The Challenge.

On October 13, 2020, I told you this: Last week, someone I don’t know said something that changed everything.

There’s been a change in the playlist.

The internet loves challenges like I love music. It thrives on them. It discovers dozens each day. But, only a few are worth it.

Mmmm. Like this one. #blueoctober #movingon #challenge .

I prefer not to start in the middle, but in this case, urgence of participation (gasp) makes sense.

I’ve had the wrong song in my #1 will-do spot for decades. Not my fault.

The right song hadn’t been written, yet. Now, it has.

Moved out of the first slot: I’m Moving On.

I believe in this song. For many years, it’s been an anthem excuse of self-promising, a someday in-waiting. Not an action wanting.

A melancholy sing along, every time, where I want the words to be real. A prelude to the reach, wanting lets me waltz. Feelings play along with well-curated reels in my mind. I can picture it, but I can’t do exactly that.

Now seen for what I really want it to be: the after, the explainer. Not every line is perfect. Some are so false that I’ll address them, later.

Moving into First Place: Moving On, though, is a rearranger – an artfully arranged mind-matter mover with an oddly perfect, happy melody.

Brought to me by Tuesday Night Recovery. Live weekly sessions hosted by Justin Furstenfeld of Blue October, featuring steps and music and supports.

Yes, plural. Discussions, viewer comments, one-day-at-a-time preaching. I have no idea how I got God-smacked into this mecca of inclusive anonymous help, where my anti-social not-group-joining self can join-in and be communed, but unobserved.

If it hadn’t been explained, I never would have though it to be what it is. To the writer, it’s not a love gone-wrong song. It’s a get-out-of -my-life I am never going back to (insert vice here.) It’s a sterner, angrier, get off of my life, pulling away from the surround, bursting my own bubble song.

Reminded me so much of this. Re-capping, quickly; a grief therapy session, where someone else said something that clicked.

Discussing my already 8-year-old grief. “Sometimes, I can’t keep it in.” I admitted. “It. Just. Wants Out.”

“Well, what do you want?” was the question, asked.

Firmly answered, “I want it gone.” “So,” he astutely concluded. “You and your grief want the same thing.”

I have to move on. I’m not saying goodbye to you or our memories or our friendships or him.

I’m saying goodbye to my crippling 15-year-old cloak in full-on ‘What Not to Wear Style’. It’s coming with a cost though.

An emotionally expensive fear, which I have avoided (or so I thought) until now. Because moving on is terrifying and de-cloaking is soul exposing.

I’ve taken advantage of grief to be comfortable, to exist in solitary. Guaranteeing no furtherly inflicted love or loss.

I have no faith that things will be different in six months.

I have faith that I will be. Different. In six months, when my grief turns 15.

This Week’s

Exploration Links:

Blue October: two videos, because something worth doing is worth doing, again and again. One of them will speak to you. I’m sure.

Moving On Live Tuesday Night Recovery Version

Moving On Fan Participation Video Version

And then there’s this one… Fear

Kelly Clarkson  I’m Moving On  False: “They’ll never allow me to change.” You’ve all always wanted me to change.

sneak up, with love…

Blu’s not feeling great.

While I was struggling to figure tonight out, he plopped in front of my keyboard. Knowing this, I let it go for a bit.

Watching his quietness turn into sleepy eyes broke my heart a bit. He’s always tired. Yeah, I know he’s 9, but 9 isn’t old enough to be old.

About two weeks now, he’s been over-grooming, sporadic about eating, still showing me he’s peeved about Nala. I keep thinking about that part, hoping and worrying about it, too. Was it really the right thing to do? Disrupt HBlu’s one-cat, one-human breed-preference world? Force Nala-Lilly to adapt to my vision of a new indoor world where I knew she’d be safe?

Anyway, Harley Blu has an appointment on Thursday afternoon. You see, when I scratch his lower back (ok, the top of his butt) something goes wrong. He presents like he expects it to be an enjoyable languid stretch, but it’s not. I doubt whatever is happening is not enjoyable to him.

A backward stroke behaves as if I am tugging an invisible string, invoking a jerky head movement. If I stop the stroking, he stops the bobbing. If I keep going, he’ll start with licking and then attempt to bite his own chest. I’m not too concerned he’ll do any self- damage with one canine and 5 tiny teeth, total. It’s still disturbing, though, and obviously quite not right.

I’ve also noticed his tongue slides out to the right when he eats or grooms or occasionally licks Nala after a not-so-playful tackling bite.

She still wants to be his friend and imitates him lovingly. I’m thankful for this because she’s never even attempted to jump a counter or my breakfront. HBlu doesn’t jump.

Amusingly, when he was a one-year old kitten I arrived home to an interesting scene. I didn’t really forget it, but a FB reminder popped up this past and startled the shit out of me.

Trust me, it’s worth the swear. You see, just the Friday the 13^th night before, (night at 5:30 sucks, btw.) I heard a small ‘eek’ and a thud and nothing else. I peered through the pass-through and couldn’t see anything amiss. Still the silence was concerning, so I rounded the wall and blinked.

I knew they were sparring, likely not lovingly on HBlu’s part judging by the missing meow voice Nala-Mia was throwing. The octave she lost this summer is more like a breathy “keh-keh,” now.

The over-turned real-retro orange arm-chair reminded me of that time I came home from work and found the exact same scene. Only that was when Miss Fred was Blu’s companion. She didn’t want much to do with him, but he still wanted to be her friend.

Trust me, I’ve reminded Sir Harley of that and admonished him he’s being crotchety like Freddie. I do understand there’s no talking reason to a cat, but I try anyway.

My theory about that day had been the Blu was behaving badly, trying to make the jump from the chair back to the counter. He’s had a few a-little-too-short experiences, which I strongly suspect is why he doesn’t leap much. He’ll do the desk top, if I’m already sitting there. Hasn’t curled up on the dry sink for a while now, though.

Anyway, my 11-14-2012 theory might have been knocked out of the water by the knocked over 11-13-2020 scenario.

Maybe they were playing, too. Blu might have been playing. Miss Fred the Misread likely was not.  

I jumped up for a glass of water just now and found another semi-eerie situation. When Freddie’s health was failing, Harley would wait until she fell asleep and then crawl close to snooze near her.

Tonight, Blu was sleeping and Nala was nearby. I don’t like the comparison.

.

The song that lullabye-d Blu tonight: Hallelujah covered by Justin Furstenfeld of Blue October, of which I could unfortunately not locate a viable share for you.

However, Enjoy this Week’s New Songs for Soul Survivors: (aka playlisting, treadmill time.)

Nik Kershaw Roundabouts and Swings released 10/16/2020

Dylan Fraser The Storm released 10/23/2020

Quote for the Week: