THANKSGIVING TRIFECTA – PART TWO
Dear Mr. Kurt Niesman
All I can say in this moment is: How Dare You. How dare you crush me in such an obvious way? There I was, peacefully minding my own business, nonchalantly hanging out with friends trying not to be swallowed up whole. I am a busy lady with many affairs to attend to, most importantly of which is the green bean casserole that I have not yet not only not made, but have not even procured the ingredients for, yet am wholly expected to show up toting to the the Thanksgiving celebration that I am attending tomorrow with my family at the ungodly hour of 2pm.
Do you even realize what you have done? I mean really. Really? Are you so cold that you didn’t even consider that a Canadian Children’s Choir performing one of the all time greatest Stevie Nicks suites wouldn’t do anything but gut me to the core? Did you think that me excusing myself from the bar long before last call was some kind of carte blanche for you to send me home with the arduous task of digging through unalphabatized Rubbermaid containers for a CD I am sure I own by none other than one of the greatest gifts of song that mankind has ever been issued? Did you just choose to ignore the fact I retired early because I already knew I was going to spend an hour of my short life, if not more, wholeheartedly typing the contents of my head? And on the eve of such a joyous celebration nonetheless? You, Sir, if I can even refer to you as such, show a mean hand and I for one will not be fooled again by your boyish good looks.
Defiantly, I present you with Song 21b. May God shine his undying mercy upon your soul.
Sincerely your “friend”
THANKSGIVING TRIFECTA – PART ONE
In what seems like a forever ago yesterday I stood with my only brother on Thanksgiving night at the side of my Aunt Ronnie’s hospital bed watching her sleep in at what that point was tentatively being referred to as some sort of trauma induced coma. We stood there in silence for quite a while before I noticed the tears streaming down his face.
It is hard to live far away from your family. Even when they drive you balls ass crazy. Even when you are following the dreams they want nothing more in this world but for you to find.
Less than a month later I went to see Aunt Ronnie in her hospital room. She was awake and reading letters and numbers aloud that weren’t there from a face towel.
On Christmas I went to see her and she was in a wheelchair chatting up a nurse. She even knew the name of my brother who wasn’t there. We recorded a Christmas greeting and sent it to him via email.
A long time ago, way before all of this, I went to the mall with my family and at some point ended up in the record store where my Aunt Ronnie bought this cassingle.
A week or so later she gave it to me because it was too weird.
No matter where you go dude we will find you.
Happy Thanksgiving Mark.
Aunt Ronnie and I can’t wait to see you this Christmas.
Last night my roommate wasn’t home so I slept in her bed. I am aware this is strange. But thankfully so is my roommate.
I hadn’t spent the night up there before and I wanted to test a couple of theories…
A. It IS several degrees hotter up there.
B. She DOES need darker drapes.
C. There ARE ghosts up there and they DO have a really weird sense of humor.
Song 20. I didn’t even know I knew you.
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.
Yesterday I was sad. So I went to see my friend’s band.
Sometimes, it’s as simple as that. Poof.
I love this song but it used to belong to a very different memory in my head.
Sometimes, it’s not that simple. No Poof.
Sometimes, you gotta take back the night one barefoot swamp jam at a time.
Song 18. Let me remember things I love.
Today is a real no brainer.
Graham Nash.Graham Nash.Graham Nash.
Killing me softly with his song.
There were many choices, but this little squirt took the cake.
I had no doubt that I’d end today with at least one song all lodged up in there.
Since both Levee and Urszula are already tucked safely in their respective beds I figured it would be best if I just sent this little fella straight out into the ether.
Godspeed dramatic jam. Godspeed.
Nothing like going to bed with at least one thing scratched off the to do list.