Posts Tagged ‘friends’

Well, yesterday was a glorious day.  Yim and I had Prantl’s burnt almond torte for breakfast with coffee.  It was left over from Yim‘s birthday celebration on Tuesday.  After breakfast we ran a couple of errands together.  We went to Home Depot for anchors and to Market District for lunch meat, rolls, Gerolsteiner and . . . Kennywood tickets!  (Yimmy loves it when I refer to Giant Eagle as Market District!  But, hey, my friend Alyssa calls it Hot Man Mecca!)

While I made a picnic lunch for us, Yimmy re-mounted my mailbox on the front of the house.  I’d given the mailbox a shiny new coat of black paint.  Incidentally, the mail has already come today, and the mailman opened the screen door and dropped the mail inside again, without any notice whatsoever of my newly painted and mounted box.

Once the chores were done and the picnic lunch was packed, Yim and I headed out to Kennywood.  The weather was phenomenal; clear, bright blue sky, dry warmth under the sun with wispy high clouds up above and a cool air circulating just enough so that one never felt uncomfortably hot.  The occasion was Yim‘s boy’s school Kennywood day and all three of his boys went there with their mother.  We shared the responsibility with her, trading off between the older and the younger so that everyone had the opportunity to ride.

Throughout the day Yim and I were prone to our own memories of childhood days spent running the park, from ride to ride, with our friends.  We didn’t leave until the park closed at 10pm and when we got home I collapsed on my bed, feeling the same satisfied exhaustion as I did at the end of a day back when I was 9 years old and had spent the hours running, laughing, riding and eating funnel cakes with Elisabeth.  I fell to sleep fast, with physical heaviness but mental levity, dreaming of all good things.

And so it was a great day, but there is more!

Yesterday marked the last day in the house of the Earth sign Taurus, which, other than my own Capricornian sign, I love the most.  It seems that so many of my favorite people have been born under the sign of the Bull:  Zia, Lord Mycol, Yim, and my brother, Rock.  If you follow the philosophy of the stars, it’s no wonder why.  Consider the following:

The Taurus and Capricorn combination is considered to be one of the best astrological combinations. When they unite there is a union of similar and positive creative forces and a subtle but powerful physical attraction. They understand each other’s weaknesses and strengths perfectly and act accordingly. Since both require a certain amount of acknowledgment of their positive qualities they do the same for each other. They fulfill each other emotionally, physically, intellectually and financially. Saturn and Venus the ruling planet of Capricorn and Taurus respectively complement each other. Taurus loves money and Capricorn wants security and sees financial stability as a way of security. Both are practical, sensual and calculative. They believe in hard work and success. So nothing can be better than this!!

Also, yesterday was, indeed, Rock’s birthday.

Before I get into wishing Rock a belated birthday I’d like to point out that I seem to have developed a habit of birthday posting, which puts a new kind of pressure on a person.  I no longer merely have to remember to check the calendar and get a card off in the mail, but now I must come up with some sort of brilliant tribute to the ones I love, lest any of them feel jilted.  This all started with a ridiculously fun post I wrote, a roast post, if you will, for the birthday of Elisabeth’s husband Dag.  It was one of the easiest and most fun things I’ve written to date.  On that day my blog stats reached their highest rating.  This created a two-fold reason to continue writing birthday blogs: 1) so as not to offend the others, hahaha, and 2) to strive towards beating my personal best where my stats are concerned (I’m talking about daily readership, folks).  This week I won some and lost some.  Let me put it to you this way; I beat my personal best on Tuesday, May 18th with “Feelin’ Good”.  That’s right, Dag, my post for Yim surpassed my post for you!  If I were a statistician I’d tell you by what percent.  On the other hand, I failed to put up a post for one of my most cherished Taureans, my brother Rock.  And so, short and late as it may be, without further adieu . . .

I’d like to tell you all the truth about how I feel about my brother.  I used to wish he was a sister!  I remember telling my mother that I wanted a playmate.  In my recollection of the past, like she’d waved a magic wand to grant my wish, the next thing I knew was that she’d gotten herself pregnant with a playmate exclusively for my sake.  Imagine my utter horror when, after months of giddy anticipation, she came home from the hospital with a boy-child!  What had gone wrong?  It went down like this:

One day my mother was so swollen with pregnancy that she could not find the energy to play with me.  I had no one else to play with at all.  I played imaginary games all by myself with my wooden farm set on the coffee table while she lie big on the sofa with heavy eyelids.  Then, in the dark of night in the middle of a spring rain, we had to leave the house.  There was a mild urgency – do you understand that? From the back seat on the way to my grandparents’ house I peered at blurry street lights through the rain drops on the windshield, glowing white, red, yellow, green, intermittently through the slash of the wipers.

It was likely 4 days later when Mummy returned from the hospital.  It was a sunny spring afternoon.  My grandparents lived in a 3 story large Victorian house and my mother came in through the back door to the sun-lit kitchen carrying the swaddled babe.  The excitement and joy expressed by those around me could not befog the circumstance.  There’d been a dirty trick played and this was not my requested playmate.  As I ran up the dramatic staircase in the entry hall, I stopped two-thirds of the way up, stuck my little head over the banister and screamed past the chandelier, “Why didn’t you tell the doctor we wanted a girl?!”

Oh, the follies of youth.  I’d like to tell you now that I would have it no other way than to have my playmate be my brother Rock.  Despite a fight here and there we got along marvelously.  I love him so much.

In the winter time when we were confined to playing indoors a lot, we used to take his crib mattress and prop it against the bedroom wall.  We mimicked Muhammed Ali and Leon Spinks, sparring with the mattress, fancy-footing around the room and sticking our faces in the mist from the humidifier for the dramatic effect of profuse sweating.

We have been playing together since he could walk and talk and the fun has never come to an end.  There is only one person in the world who really understands what my childhood experience was all about and that is him.  And vice versa.

Still, I did dress him up as a girl and call him Rebecca for about 4 years, until Mummy made me stop.  There is photographic evidence to support this claim.  I suppose you’re wondering which years, as from 12 to 16 would be rather strange, huh?  Don’t worry, he was hardly big enough to defend himself.

I called my brother yesterday and wished him a Happy Birthday and he told me it was his second best to date, the first best being the day he was actually born.  I am so glad his wishes came true.  He met one of his idols, Dave Matthews, who, ironically, shares his birthday with mine.  You see how Taureans and Capricorns love each other?  Rock and his wife, Luvy, were granted a backstage audience (with photos) with Dave, Tim Reynolds and Jane Goodall before enjoying the show up close.  An ecstatic experience for my brother and I am happy for him.

Happy Birthday, Rock!  I love you, brother!


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Yim and I ran into an old acquaintance of mine while roaming the aisles of Home Depot.  Years ago, this guy, we’ll call him Adam, used to date a good friend of mine, we’ll call her Alice, who, by the way, I have lost touch with.

When Alice and I were friends, we spoke nearly every day.  She lived a few blocks away from me, and Adam lived a few blocks away from her.  When their relationship was at it’s height, perhaps a year into it, my 10 year relationship with my ex was at its mid-point.  With increasing frequency, I would call Alice to see if she’d like to make plans – walk our dogs together or window shop on Walnut Street, for instance, and she would turn me down in lieu of plans with Adam.  Or, even better, I would get no answer when I called her and then I would spot her walking hand-in-hand down my street with Adam.  Alice and Adam cooked great meals together, took walks together, went to see foreign films, and took bike rides together.  I was so envious of their relationship.  Alice seemed to have everything with Adam that I wanted in a relationship.  It’s hard to just be happy for your friends without the tarnishing thoughts of questioning why you don’t have what they have.

After 5 years together my boyfriend and I were just that: a boyfriend and girlfriend.  We had failed to progress beyond an exclusive dating stage.  Forget about engagement; we were still living 40 minutes apart and working our schedules around spending recreational time together.  I was vocal about what I wanted and needed from him, but there were always reasons why it was not possible.  Specifically, the problems were: a) he wanted to feel more financially secure before taking on the responsibility of a family, b) he wanted to live in the suburbs while I remained dedicated to city life with a country home, c) he had to work long hours and had difficulty managing his time efficiently enough to fit in activities with me.  These were the reasons why he couldn’t make it over in time to cook dinner together and then walk, hand-in-hand, to the independent theater to catch a foreign film!  So I did a lot of figuring on how to stay happy in that relationship.  You know, because I loved him!

A few days ago I read something on Mighty Girl that reminded me of what it was like to be strained in a relationship like that:

-”…People often start negotiating from what they think they can get, not what they really want–so even if the other person says yes, they are still disappointed. …People should start by being honest about 100% of what they want. My partner and I use this all the time, for things big and small. ‘My 100% would be having dinner before we see the movie.’ ‘My 100% would be to move to a bigger house in two years.’
…One thing that is surprising is how often you can have your 100%–and then you feel really lucky and happy and loved. And you also have the satisfaction of knowing that you gave your partner what they _really_ wanted. On the other hand, if the 100% isn’t possible and you have to negotiate down from there you at least know that what you wanted was heard.” –Not that Girl

In my relationship with my ex, I got tired of hearing ‘no’ all of the time.  Eventually, I unwittingly gave up earnestly asking for what I wanted and then objectively considering the results and, instead, quietly submitted to dumbing down my negotiations in an effort to get something.  I began to mistake complacency on my part for satisfaction, all the while feeling a constant, subtle uneasiness.  *Gasp*  I’d learned to live with it!  So while I yearned for couple-ship, I spent a lot of time hoping and waiting for that ship to reach shore with him, and before it did, it sank.

Sound ridiculous?  Especially from a confident, aggressive, proud gal like me?  I know. But when your heart is in it, you somehow find a way to put weight in those empty promises made in the name of eternal love.

As for Alice and Adam, their ship sank, as well.  I watched as Alice experienced horrible heartache and I was there for her to lean on me.  In the end, everybody in this trilogy moved on.  Alice actually moved out of state and lost touch with many of her old cronies.  Adam bought a house in the same neighborhood and is now engaged to be married.  And Yim came along to pick me up out of the rubble that was my break up.  And this is the point:

When Yim and I ran into Adam the other day, I remembered all of these things.  As I relayed the tale of the past to Yim, I was stricken by the shedding of all feelings of envy I have experienced.  I thought about how I have personally matured, i.e., I will never again accept anything less than exactly what I want, and I want what I have now.  Of course, with maturity comes the wisdom to know just how much of a compromise can be made before that line is crossed, and in a good relationship, that line never even nears.  As the excerpt above suggests, I voice my 100%, whether it is a want or a need.  The thing about Yim and I is that we seem to always want the same things.  We maintain our individual perspectives, but our goals are so very alike.  This relationship is easy.  Right now I can hear the advice proffered me from my elders over the years on the subject of love.  Sometimes I regret that I did not slow down and try to heed some of that advice.  On the other hand, to each his own, and everything really does happen for a reason.

In love, what is allowed to be taken has a higher price than what is given. — Petit-Senn

And remember:

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned. — Congreve

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Roller Coaster

It is Wednesday and I think I need a day of R&R.  I do not mean Rock ‘n Roll.

This past Saturday, Yim and I attended our friends’ wedding reception.  Great time had by all!  We celebrated with old friends we’d not seen in a while, friends we see everyday, and new friends, too.  The reception was held in Jay Verno Studios, which is wild; the place looks like a movie set.  In the back they had a photo booth and a table full of props.  In the reception area, the photo booth images were projected onto the wall in real-time.  Everyone had so much fun.  The photos were printed in duplicate; one for the guest book, and one to take home.

The party took its toll on me, though, and by Sunday morning when I awoke I was not feeling my best.  My throat hurt and my glands felt swollen.  I hung in there, keeping positive and drinking miso soup.  Monday morning I was still fighting.  It helped that I was looking forward to some home improvement plans, evening guests, and jazz at Ava LoungeYim and I had scheduled the day for changing ceiling fixtures.  It’s too long a tale to tell under the circumstances, which are that I am not in the mood to reiterate, but this leg of the roller coaster story ends badly and we can just skip forward to that part.

So, despite feeling slightly under the weather, I was still high from the weekend’s festivities and the prospect of spending the day with Yimmy doing our thing.  He moved the coffee table, he moved Lord Mycol’s bed.  He put up the ladder in each room necessary and prepared for a plumber to come and take care of the gas lines in the ceilings before we hang our fixtures.  But as the day wore on, it started to look like the plumber wasn’t showing up.  I have a tendency to put so much hope and excitement into a thing that if it doesn’t pan out, I come crashing down to utter despair and pessimism.  Pessimism is not good for your health.  And actually, I am still pissed at that plumber.  He was a no call, no-show.  By the time I realized that, I no longer had any interest in participating in the rest of the evening – which was to include friends stopping by for a drink before heading out to Ava Lounge for jazz.  But people were depending on me and that is always when I come through despite how I feel.  So instead of breaking something in anger, I went to the store with Yimmy and got some mint and soda water for mojitos.  Don’t mojitos make everything better?  Before you answer that, read on.

Alison, her boyfriend Chris, and Anna showed up around 8.  We made our small talk, poured some drinks and moved into the living room to get comfortable.  Anna mentioned my post, When Chafed, Buy a Chafing Dish.  Thus, the conversation turned to collecting vintage kitchen ware.  We were unanimous in our appreciation for the stuff, but Chris said that fear of breaking his vintage finds would keep him from using them.  That’s when I piped in, trying to explain that the majority of my finds are durable and not so rare that I wouldn’t use them; this in an effort to convince my audience to be more active in their acquisition of retro kitchen ware that would remind them of their childhoods and a time past.  I was feeling less dejected by now from the plumber’s failure to show up, thereby putting off the mounting of my new ceiling fixtures, so I boldly went to the dining room to fetch the perfect example of a lovely vintage find that is not so rare that I won’t use it every chance I get, without fear of breaking it!

I marched back into the living room with my yellow and gold Hall’s covered casserole and promptly threw it down on the floor, breaking one of the gold handles from the side.  (I didn’t actually throw it down, it slipped from my hands!)  I COULD NOT BELIEVE what just happened.  As if I was getting too big for my britches, the universe stepped in and smote me down, just like so.  Do not be a braggart!  That is what I thought to myself as everyone in the room expressed true sympathy for me and the complete irony of the situation.  And if that weren’t enough, while searching the floor for the missing piece of handle, I realized my finger had been cut in the chaos.  I eased myself back into conversation, but once my guests left, I couldn’t help but mull over what had happened, how and why, over and over again until there was nothing left to mull.

I ended up reneging on plans to go out and listen to jazz and, as always, Yim was caring.

Tuesday wound up being the high point of the coaster, restoring joy and order to my world.  A day designed perfectly to my sensibilities, it was perfect from beginning to end.  I will post about it tomorrow.  Until then, as I said, today is Wednesday and I am in need of some R&R.

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Last night I finally went to a Storytelling Night with Yim.  He’s been asking me to go almost as long as he’s known me and somehow it has never worked out.  So after dinner last night I drove out to Border’s Bookstore and met up with him.  I didn’t expect that all of the stories would be children’s tales, but the best thing happened!  Storyteller Barbara Guger told the Brothers Grimm fairytale Snow White and Rose Red.


As a child, I had a Tale Spinners album (I think it was Tale Spinners) with Snow White and Rose Red on one side and The Goose Girl on the other.  I listened to this story so many times that when I heard it told again last night I recognized every bit of it, and it was just as wonderful as ever.  I realized that I had a vivid picture in my mind of every scene in the story; a result of the effects of listening to a story and using your own imagination as opposed to watching a story play out on screen.  I loved every word of it.

I feel really good today because I have gotten a lot of things done in the past week and therefore I am extra confident that I will accomplish even more in the week to come.  I’ve made my lists and systematically crossed things off.  I’ve managed my time wisely.  My motto is “If I rest, I rust.”  I have gardened with Yim, broken bread with the Italian Ladies Social Club, cleaned the house, renewed library books, cooked delicious, whole food, written, brought good company and lunch from Pho Minh to dear friends recovering from illnesses, gone to Storytelling Night with Yim and his boys, had the roof repaired and entirely resealed, and started a new home improvement project myself.

In the coming weeks I hope to post all about the Easter holiday with my family, the garden that Yim and I have started, and I’d like to review all of the remodeling and decorating efforts I have made over the past 2 years.

Yesterday I started to remove the wallpaper from the entry hall with the stairs to the second floor.

My goal is to paint the walls a light gray, re-shellac the woodwork where needed, and pull up the carpet.  So far I think the floor beneath the carpet is in good condition, but we shall see.  This wallpaper has been the worst I’ve ever removed.  It is not vinyl, washable, cloth-backed paper.  It is glue-backed paper and it is stuck like skin to the wall.  First, I perforate the paper by running my utility knife in a criss-cross pattern all over the area.  Then, I spray the wall with a warm water and vinegar solution.  After it sits for about 10 minutes I start to go at it with my scraper, trying to pry up edges and pull back the sections as well as I can.  Mostly the paper starts to peel in layers and I have to re-spray and re-scrape until it is all gone.  The upstairs hallway has the same paper and I’ll get to work on it once this hall is finished.  I can’t wait.

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Last night, after a long and glorious day in the garden, Alyssa hosted another fantastic “Italian Ladies Social Club” dinner party. 

Alyssa is always the hostess with the mostess.  She is fail-proof in choosing simple, yet simply delicious, dishes to feed the masses.  Keeping to our theme of cultural heritage, she served eggplant parmigiana – a simple meal – which she personalized with her homemade sauce.  This is part of what makes her a great hostess.  The main dish was accompanied by salad tossed with olive oil and vinegar and a Tuscan loaf of bread.  Before gathering “a la tavola” (like Mary Ann Esposito always says), Alyssa served special Italian cocktails made with prosecco and amaretto with an orange zest and sugar rim.  She knows I like amaretto!  This is another part of what makes her a great host.  The recipe comes from Giada De Laurentiis . . . appropriate, no?

The “Italian Ladies Social Club” was conceived of about 2 1/2 years ago.  Many of us see each other often, so it’s not always necessary to make special arrangements to socialize.  But it is always fun.  The original “Ladies” are card carrying members.

However, new Italian Ladies are welcome.  Alyssa invited her cousin Natalie to join us.  We had lots to talk about as Natalie is a writer with the online magazine  twodaymag.com.  Also, she’s a vegan and healthy food nut, so I told her about Yimmy and everything that he and I are always saying about food.

Some of the Italian Ladies were missing at this gathering, so there were seats to be filled.  Alyssa broke from tradition and invited some fellas to join us.  Not to worry, we had a grand old time, traditional or not.  I wish I’d taken more pictures, but you’ll just have to take my word for it.

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Knit Picker

Growing up, I’d seen my grandmother knit or crochet a few Afghan blankets and footies, but I didn’t learn to crochet myself until I went to boarding school and I housed with girls who would sit around making blankets when they weren’t doing chores or homework.  They taught me how to crochet a granny square, and I soon made my first baby blanket.  Next, I made a throw for my mother, and then I quit making anything with yarn for, oh, 20 years.

Four years ago I found out my brother and his wife were expecting their first baby and the first thing I thought to do was to make a baby blanket for this child.  I like the idea of crafting something from your own hands and heart to give to those you love most.  I visited a local yarn shop, Knit One, that carries really unique (and expensive) yarns and carefully selected my material.

The yarns in the shop were so varied and beautiful, I was inspired to learn how to knit just so I could work with them.  A friend and I signed up to take a 2 hour knitting class offered at the store.  I purchased this wonderfully soft Malabrigo kettle-dyed Uruguayan yarn and knitted my very first piece.

Isn’t it amazing what you can turn a simple string into?

This is my friend Alyssa, who took the class with me:

Alyssa and I started a virtual trend, and soon others were crocheting and knitting, too.  We got requests, we searched new patterns, we collected books on yarn crafts.  We also agreed that the knitting class we took was not worth the cost and I have since learned all of my advanced stitches either online or from a book.

Alison saw this interesting pattern in an Etsy shop and asked if I could replicate it for her.

Baby blankets are always in demand:

And I saw a girl wearing a hat I really liked, so I went online and searched for a pattern.  Now I get compliments on this hat almost every time I wear it and I love to say, “I made it myself!”

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There is a radio in my bathroom that remains plugged in.  This way, when I hit the light switch, voila, I have music as well.  I’ve always kept it this way, no matter where I’ve lived.  I just love to hear music as often as I can, even if it is in the can.

Sometimes a song will take me straight back in time and remind me of everything about a moment in my past, and this is the best kind of sometimes.  Songs are like smells that way.  They can trigger your memory to recall all the details of an instance.

All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments. — Walt Whitman

I thought it would be fun to make a list of all the songs I can think of that have this effect on me, share the list with you, and ask you to post a comment with your own songs and the memories they induce.

Here are mine:

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head” – sung by B.J. Thomas

In my memory this song is forever linked to the nursery rhyme

It’s raining, it’s pouring,

The old man is snoring,

He went to bed and he bumped his head,

And couldn’t get up in the morning.

When I was three years old we lived in an apartment on the third floor of one of the big, old Victorians around here, and from our window I could see the steeple of the Gothic Presbyterian church in East Liberty.  I was three, so I can’t explain anything about the memory other than if I hear the song “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head,” it most definitely always triggers the memory of the nursery rhyme and the view of the steeple from our window.

Suicide Is Painless” – theme song from M*A*S*H*.

I’m sure that many people my age can remember their parents tuning in to M*A*S*H* every week on TV.  It was one of my mother’s favorite programs, and I understood that it was funny, but most of the time the only thing that I could really laugh at was Jamie Farr in drag.  So it would make sense that the theme song would provoke memories of the show.  What I remember when I hear this theme song is my 5th grade music class at Liberty Elementary School.  That year we learned to sing this song and I can still clearly visualize the wide-ruled paper I wrote the lyrics on in pencil.

Through early morning fog I see
visions of the things to be
the pains that are withheld for me
I realize and I can see…


That suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please.

I try to find a way to make
all our little joys relate
without that ever-present hate
but now I know that it’s too late, and…


The game of life is hard to play
I’m gonna lose it anyway
The losing card I’ll someday lay
so this is all I have to say.


The only way to win is cheat
And lay it down before I’m beat
and to another give my seat
for that’s the only painless feat.


The sword of time will pierce our skins
It doesn’t hurt when it begins
But as it works its way on in
The pain grows stronger…watch it grin, but…


A brave man once requested me
to answer questions that are key
‘is it to be or not to be’
and I replied ‘oh why ask me?’

‘Cause suicide is painless
it brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please.
…and you can do the same thing if you choose.

Such deep and gloomy lyrics to teach to a classroom full of children.  Obviously, I can’t forget it.

“I Think I’m Turning Japanese” – The Vapors

“Life in Tokyo” – Japan

Music will often play a kind of soundtrack to your life, especially to the good times with good friends.  I think it’s strange and interesting that there is an Asian theme to these two songs that will eternally be linked to my friendship with Elisabeth.

When I was 7 years old, I was walking back to my house from playing up the street.  The summer day was coming to an end.  It was just dusk outside.  My roller-skates with the pink rubber wheels were slung over my shoulder, tied together at the laces.  Sounds cliché, but it is 100% true.  I could see my mother sitting on the front porch with my 3-year-old brother.  And waiting to cross the street on the opposite curb was some lanky boy I’d never seen before.  As I got closer to home I saw this boy cross the street and go right up onto my porch and talk to my mother.  And as I got closer still, I realized that boy was a girl.  Elisabeth was taller than me but had shorter hair than me.  She was long and skinny.  She was wearing a t-shirt with horizontal alternating navy and white pin-stripes.  She had bubble-gum stuck to her shirt.  She had a white gauze bandage taped to her ankle – a burn from the exhaust pipe of her uncle’s motorcycle.  We became quick friends and over the years these songs were used in group choreographed dance contests we had at her birthday parties.  “I Think I’m Turning Japanese” can absolutely be considered our theme song.

“King of Pain” – The Police

I guess I must have been 12 years old when I read Cujo by Stephen King.  By this time we were living in that huge, drafty house that I did most of my growing up in.  My bedroom was on the first floor, while my mother and brother slept upstairs.  I’ve mostly always read in bed before switching off my bedside lamp and going to sleep.  I’ve not always read with the radio on as well, but that is what I was doing then.  Cujo was so scary and I felt so alone and vulnerable on the first floor.  I had the radio on quietly beside me as I read so as to comfort me.  And then the DeeJay played “King of Pain”.  It was the first time I’d ever heard it.  It was just as dark and eerie as Cujo.  I put the book down and listened to the lyrics and got even more creeped out.  Don’t get me wrong, I really love this song a lot, and part of it’s appeal is what it did to me that night.

“Need You Tonight” – INXS

“Tell It To My Heart” – Taylor Dayne

Okay, I just watched these videos and listened to the lyrics and got a little embarrassed.  Oh my.  Well, you can probably guess that these songs, and the videos, trigger my memories of my “dawn of womanhood”.  Let’s just say that the mature feelings expressed by the lyricists inaccurately describe my experience, but nonetheless, I am transported in time to a certain weekend of my life.  And we’ll leave it at that.

“Big Mouth Strikes Again” – The Smiths

When I married Mike in Oregon we spent a few nights in his mother’s guest bedroom before and after our “honeymoon”.  We listened to The Smiths in the damp coolness of Oregon’s November on the Columbia River.  It sounds slightly romantic, but I assure you, the lyrics should be “sweetness, I wasn’t joking when I said I’d like to smash every tooth in your head.”  I actually love Morrissey and The Smiths and think their lyrics are brilliant, but listening to this one is somewhat bittersweet.

I’m not trying to be morose here, there are songs by the dozens that take me back to happy, happy places.  I just felt this was a nice sampling to share, even if the last few do seem to remind me of things less than ideal.  C’est la vie.

Now it’s your turn.  In the comments section of this post, tell us about a song that transports you to another time and the memory it triggers.  More than one?  Great!  Let’s hear them!

Without music life would be a mistake. — Nietzsche

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