If there is one thing I am good at it’s fighting battles. I often think my true calling is to be some kind of lady warrior because, as the Lord knows, I’ve got a real streak in me. Although, I do like to think I do not fight unless provoked. But if that happens well all I can say is watch out. I’m punching jugulars and thumbing eyeballs.
However, I am old enough now to admit I was definitely not born to plan said battles.
In fact, I almost always fall short in this department. But I am now trying to compensate for this with small attempts at s t r a t e g e r y.
One of my plans to survive this year in songs is “Categories”. So if in the unlikely event that I run out of crap to say I’ll have a go to pile.
For example: There’s Songs about Chicago. Or Edge Songs (songs so
insanely fun you have no choice but to come down off that ledge) Or
Number One Dance Party Jams. Or, songs about Sarah’s.
Which is about where this should start to make sense. Last weekend I had
the distinct pleasure of riding around Chicago laying flat in the bed of a pickup truck belonging to a lady who shares my name, sans the “h”.
It had perfect written all over it. A harvest moon, the upper architecture of buildings I’ve looked at a million times, thin leafless branches, a stereo that only plays cassettes. For an eternity, that probably amounted to no more than a half hour, I got to lay there and watch the town go by. It was like I was made up. And it was lovely.
It looks like the first song in this series is of the open ended persuasion.