She's Eclectic

He loves her, really, honestly, forever loves her. But he’s most loyal to his creative impulses. As we all must be.

I think about Ginnie the astrologer, way back when I was seeing Bruce, 40-odd years ago, who told me that no relationship would work until I had my vocation figured out, until I was happy and OK on my own.

I managed to carve out a living for myself. I’m OK on my own. But, happy?

The enlightened ones like to tell us that “happiness” is not the thing to aim for. Either because it’s shallow or because it’s impossible.

But I don’t know. I tell myself I just want to be satisfied. But, the art. The quilts, the colors, the fabrics. I’m not happy yet. Maybe happiness only lasts a moment, but I want to get there anyway.

I wish she had told me it’d take until I was in my 70s. I might have relaxed a little and enjoyed the journey more.

One night, not long before Mom died, I drove her to CVS so she could pick up her prescriptions, but more importantly to roam the aisles looking for bargains and probably charming the staffers. I don’t know, because I didn’t go in. There’s nothing I hate much more than following someone around while they shop.

It was a nice night, so I sat in my car in the parking lot with the windows open, listening to the radio, probably KCRW.

I miss listening to that station, where I found a whole lot of the music I love. But I have such impatience with songs I don’t like anymore. I can’t stand to wait until a good one comes on. I’m spoiled, I know.

Anyway, this song came on, and also one by Hollie Cook (“Stay Alive” I think). They’re great songs, but they also remind me of one of the last, good, mundane times I spent with Mom.

So often I’m driving, a good song comes on, and I imagine her in the passenger seat. Love you, mama. (Sorry, that’s what I have to call you now. It’s like “mama” is the deeper, OK part of you that was always there no matter what. At least I’m not calling you Ma!)

In my 20s and early 30s, I was ready to choose this as my wedding recessional when the time came. Now, if it’s to be someday, I’ll just smile and hold my grizzled old lover close when it comes on.

This song is my lighthouse signal. If you get why it’s so wonderful, come on over and let’s be friends.

This song reached out of the 90s and grabbed me the other day. Maybe because I’m either sick from flu or covid or recovering, but I’m feeling vulnerable and the nostalgia is hitting me hard.

I am the nostalgia queen. I love to remember the past, always through a soft golden haze. It wasn’t necessarily even better then, it was just… not now.

 

I wish I knew a single word to encompass all the sorrow, joy, gratitude, love, awe, tenderness, grief, peace, acceptance, and hope this song brings up in me. The video is so perfectly evocative as well.

 

When the world has gone completely to Hell, but my iPod still works, this will make me feel better for 5 minutes.

 

Eric Carmen has passed. I just told my invisible friends: “I'll never forget parking with my prom date at the docks while ‘Go All the Way’ was playing.”

 

I once described her as "the goddess Aphrodite come to Earth." She's beautiful, open, and sexually free, like I can never be. This could be a cause of great pain and jealousy. Instead it just confirms to me that before we get here, we're equipped with the setting and traits to live the life we've chosen and agreed to.

Since I moved to California, I've been collecting songs that refer to it, both the state and Los Angeles. It's so weird to me how much I love it here. I still love Minnesota, but the me I was lived there. I'm not that girl anymore. It really feels like sometime in my 50s I became someone else.