Just a quick note here, as I'm off to a long day of work and errands...
I'm going over to see "The Duchess" tonight over at the North Carolina Museum of Art in Raleigh. The show starts at 8pm, and it's a very good outdoor venue (that sells decent wine, too!), so I'm hoping for no rain today or tonight. Admission is only $3.
While generally I am not known for liking 'chick-flicks', I do have a fondness for films of some historical merit...although Lord knows some take 'history' and stretch it to unrecognizable limits. "The Duchess" stars Kiera Knightley, who portrays the headstrong Georgiana Spencer Cavendish, the Duchess of Devonshire, in 18th century England. Headstrong may not even begin to come close to an accurate description of Georgie: The Duchess was known to be quite outspoken at a time when women (even rich, politically powerful and titled ones) were not expected/tolerated to be; known to be quite a rebel (of sorts) within English nobility for her popularity with the common people and her leading fashion sense; known to be a quite the (unsuccessful) gambler; and then there was that whole known love affair not with her husband, the stuffy and boring Duke...but instead with the future Whig Prime Minister Earl Grey (yes, the real-life man attached to the popular kind of tea). The affair with Grey eventually produced a female child, which Georgiana was forced to give up to Grey's family to raise.
If parts of the above (save the out-of-wedlock child) all sound a bit all-too-familiar with another deeply loved member of English nobility, the late Princess Diana of Wales, you're visiting the same neighbourhood: the late Princess was a direct descendant of the Duchess. Sarah Ferguson, the recent former Duchess of York and Diana's good friend for a number of years, is also a descendant of Georgiana's (by way of the illegitimate daughter she had with Grey). (Talk about history repeating itself...drama seems to be a part of the family tree.) If you're really into the history of all things Duchess Georgie, try reading this witty, well-researched, and informative blog about all the characters (and many side acquaintances) of Georgiana's world: The Duchess of Devonshire's Gossip Guide to the 18th Century.
I'm hoping that at least some of "The Duchess" stays true to the facts, as it's a fascinating tale to read about in history books, let alone see on film. (With the exception of Lizzy Bennett from Jane Austen's "Pride & Prejudice"...and Lizzy is a fiction...the Duchess of Devonshire represents my favourite thoroughly modern woman in a not-so-modern world of proper society.) Since this is a British production, and since the dear Brits take their film making deadly serious, I'm confident Knightley won't be slaying her rivals with a gamma ray gun or doing inhuman-like acrobatics on the backside of a horse en route to meet her lover.
I was sorry I missed this movie when it first came out last year, but am glad I'm able to see it again on a large screen...albeit a large, outdoor one. A glass of wine, a small picnic basket of goodies, on the nice lawn at the NC M of A: it seems an excellent choice to take in the public and private affairs of a star-crossed English aristocrat. Hell, I might even bring along some Earl Grey tea and biscuits and do it all proper-like.
21 August 2009
20 August 2009
July 4: Fireworks at Kenan Memorial
This is a short post and video clip from this past Independence Day celebration, being published here for the first time. Slowly I'll bring these out, and maybe...someday...I'll get caught up.
Happy Fourth of July today, people!!
It's been a really great day and night tonight, remarkably pleasant after being so hot and humid these last few weeks. I just did some bumming around the house today (read: moving one bit of junk/mail/clothing to another), and listened to some really bad television while doing so. You know, just general indecisiveness/laziness that takes up your time, but doesn't really get anything done...which is a shame, really, as I have not one but two trips coming up (Grandfather Mountain Highland Games in western North Carolina next weekend, and then up to Chicago the week after that). Oh well, I'm not called Princess Procrastination without good reason. It will all get done, sometime.
No one except me is really around at the house this weekend, all of my neighbours having gone to the beach or out of town to be with relatives, or some combination of both. Under the assumption I had things to do (and I'd actually do them), I had declined all offers from friends to go someplace else for the day. That said, I hadn't really planned on doing much in celebration tonight, either, but at about sunset I was feeling stir-crazy enough to go venture out and see if I could catch something aflame in the night sky. I'm still a kid at heart with this day, I guess.
With a rare bit of good timing, I made it over to the UNC campus before anything really got started. In fact, apparently I was one of many, many others feeling the same way: late arrivals all to the show kept pouring through the entrances. (I think the numbers were such that the officials held back that start time, honestly.) In years past, I've went to Kenan Memorial (UNC-Chapel Hill's prized football stadium) to watch the show and not seen even half of tonight's crowd in attendance. I don't know if it's the economy or what, but a lot more people 'stayed home' it appeared. Added plus: it's free to attend (even for the parking, very rare indeed for a TarHeel-hosted event).
It was a good, almost joyous crowd, with a good warm-up band who did rather excellent renditions of most of KC & The Sunshine Band's greatest hits. Before ignition, I closed my eyes and took it all in: babies crying and wailing loudly, kids running around playing tag in the stands, Moms and Dads smelling faintly of freshly-cut lawns, fried food and maybe even the odd glass of cheap wine. And it was a mostly clear night, with just a slight southerly breeze coming in. In short, it was the perfect night in which to celebrate all the blessings we Americans all take so much for granted.
And luckily for us, the fireworks were nothing short of spectacular.
Enjoying the yearly fireworks show, 2009. Kenan Memorial Stadium, UNC at Chapel Hill campus, Chapel Hill, NC.
Enjoy the rest of your holiday weekend!!
Happy Fourth of July today, people!!
It's been a really great day and night tonight, remarkably pleasant after being so hot and humid these last few weeks. I just did some bumming around the house today (read: moving one bit of junk/mail/clothing to another), and listened to some really bad television while doing so. You know, just general indecisiveness/laziness that takes up your time, but doesn't really get anything done...which is a shame, really, as I have not one but two trips coming up (Grandfather Mountain Highland Games in western North Carolina next weekend, and then up to Chicago the week after that). Oh well, I'm not called Princess Procrastination without good reason. It will all get done, sometime.
No one except me is really around at the house this weekend, all of my neighbours having gone to the beach or out of town to be with relatives, or some combination of both. Under the assumption I had things to do (and I'd actually do them), I had declined all offers from friends to go someplace else for the day. That said, I hadn't really planned on doing much in celebration tonight, either, but at about sunset I was feeling stir-crazy enough to go venture out and see if I could catch something aflame in the night sky. I'm still a kid at heart with this day, I guess.
With a rare bit of good timing, I made it over to the UNC campus before anything really got started. In fact, apparently I was one of many, many others feeling the same way: late arrivals all to the show kept pouring through the entrances. (I think the numbers were such that the officials held back that start time, honestly.) In years past, I've went to Kenan Memorial (UNC-Chapel Hill's prized football stadium) to watch the show and not seen even half of tonight's crowd in attendance. I don't know if it's the economy or what, but a lot more people 'stayed home' it appeared. Added plus: it's free to attend (even for the parking, very rare indeed for a TarHeel-hosted event).
It was a good, almost joyous crowd, with a good warm-up band who did rather excellent renditions of most of KC & The Sunshine Band's greatest hits. Before ignition, I closed my eyes and took it all in: babies crying and wailing loudly, kids running around playing tag in the stands, Moms and Dads smelling faintly of freshly-cut lawns, fried food and maybe even the odd glass of cheap wine. And it was a mostly clear night, with just a slight southerly breeze coming in. In short, it was the perfect night in which to celebrate all the blessings we Americans all take so much for granted.
And luckily for us, the fireworks were nothing short of spectacular.
Enjoy the rest of your holiday weekend!!
19 August 2009
Night Out at The Colony: "Frank Zappa's 200 Motels"
Taking a small break tonight from updating/blogging as I'm headed out to The Colony Theatre over in Raleigh to see Frank Zappa's 200 Motels", as part of their Cool Classics at The Colony movie series. (More information on that diverse series can be found here.)
Promotional poster for Frank Zappa's 200 Motels", 1971. Copyright acknowledgment extended to its respective owners.
I've always wanted to see "200 Motels" for a variety of reasons, ever since I first heard about while studying film in college. Supposedly featuring the story of a band on tour going from town to town (although there is a lot more to it, Zappa was known for 'layering' all of his projects with a variety of messages), the film was cheaply made in just about a week, features some guest cameos from Ringo Starr to Keith Moon to Motorhead, and then somehow thrown together after several people involved in its production hastily quit. (The ever-smooth and nostalgic "Almost Famous" it ain't, people.) Combine that with an equally-rushed soundtrack, and it's a surprise that the film ever got released...but it did, and by United Artists no less. And, from what I have been told/read before, it's also full of surprises (some of which really worked...and some of which did not). I get the impression "200 Motels" will either work in some weird sort of way or else be an epic fail for me. But honestly, those are always the best films to watch.
It should be an interesting show, and perhaps a pretty interesting crowd in attendance as well. While I'm not a fan of Zappa's music per se (sacrilege!), I do appreciate all that he was trying to do, as confusing as that sometimes came across. If you put any time into reading about Zappa, you'll discover very quickly what an unappreciated, unconventional genius he was. Like his music, I don't suspect this movie will ever be confused with being 'mainstream'...but then again, 'mainstream' has always been highly overrated.
I'm all for giving new films, or old films that featured some 'new' ideas, a look...creativity in cinema seems to be a bit of a dying art these days, so best enjoy it when you can. Tonight's showing is scheduled to start at about 8pm, although The Colony always throws in a number of era-appropriate trailers beforehand, many of which are some of the funniest (intentionally and otherwise) ever made. (Truly, they have trailers that should be in the Trailer Hall of Shame, and they are simply not to be missed.) Admission is $5 (cash only), and the fresh popcorn is really good.
UPDATE August 20..."200 Motels" review from last night: like Syd Barrett (the mentally ill frontman and founder of Pink Floyd) & Spinal Tap took a bad acid hit and then decided to make a musical, starring the The (adult) Teletubbies and Newman's (from the TV comedy "Seinfeld") hippie older brother. Pros: Keith Moon (from The Who) in drag as a nun. The "Ode to the Penis" part (actually it's called "The Penis Dimension") was pretty damn funny, too. Cons: the people up front should have shared what they had and passed it back, as it was needed by the rest of us. Even for Zappa, this was a bit much for me to completely appreciate. Recommendations: only watch if under the influence, perhaps heavily even.
I've always wanted to see "200 Motels" for a variety of reasons, ever since I first heard about while studying film in college. Supposedly featuring the story of a band on tour going from town to town (although there is a lot more to it, Zappa was known for 'layering' all of his projects with a variety of messages), the film was cheaply made in just about a week, features some guest cameos from Ringo Starr to Keith Moon to Motorhead, and then somehow thrown together after several people involved in its production hastily quit. (The ever-smooth and nostalgic "Almost Famous" it ain't, people.) Combine that with an equally-rushed soundtrack, and it's a surprise that the film ever got released...but it did, and by United Artists no less. And, from what I have been told/read before, it's also full of surprises (some of which really worked...and some of which did not). I get the impression "200 Motels" will either work in some weird sort of way or else be an epic fail for me. But honestly, those are always the best films to watch.
It should be an interesting show, and perhaps a pretty interesting crowd in attendance as well. While I'm not a fan of Zappa's music per se (sacrilege!), I do appreciate all that he was trying to do, as confusing as that sometimes came across. If you put any time into reading about Zappa, you'll discover very quickly what an unappreciated, unconventional genius he was. Like his music, I don't suspect this movie will ever be confused with being 'mainstream'...but then again, 'mainstream' has always been highly overrated.
I'm all for giving new films, or old films that featured some 'new' ideas, a look...creativity in cinema seems to be a bit of a dying art these days, so best enjoy it when you can. Tonight's showing is scheduled to start at about 8pm, although The Colony always throws in a number of era-appropriate trailers beforehand, many of which are some of the funniest (intentionally and otherwise) ever made. (Truly, they have trailers that should be in the Trailer Hall of Shame, and they are simply not to be missed.) Admission is $5 (cash only), and the fresh popcorn is really good.
UPDATE August 20..."200 Motels" review from last night: like Syd Barrett (the mentally ill frontman and founder of Pink Floyd) & Spinal Tap took a bad acid hit and then decided to make a musical, starring the The (adult) Teletubbies and Newman's (from the TV comedy "Seinfeld") hippie older brother. Pros: Keith Moon (from The Who) in drag as a nun. The "Ode to the Penis" part (actually it's called "The Penis Dimension") was pretty damn funny, too. Cons: the people up front should have shared what they had and passed it back, as it was needed by the rest of us. Even for Zappa, this was a bit much for me to completely appreciate. Recommendations: only watch if under the influence, perhaps heavily even.
18 August 2009
Merry Christmas, Everybody
This is another 'skipped' entry I'm bringing over, modified only slightly, and written on Christmas Eve last year.
A week ago, I was driving along on a lonely, dark rural road covered with fog. Wipers thrashing this way and that, I could still barely see in front of my hood...the rain showers were intermittent, but all the water and humidity surrounding me clouded my view still the same. Headed to the beach I was, hopeful that the weather would eventually clear and I'd get some much-needed relaxation and fun, if even for a day. I had made the mistake of starting this drive...a little more than four hours...right after my workday had concluded, and also during the 'drive home' rush hour (just for that extra little bit of stress). Traveling by myself, I had been lucky to that point, not too hot and not too cold, singing along with song after song until eventually one station and then another soon faded away into the ether. Eventually static took over everything that wasn't a religious sermon, talk radio, or Spanish programming and I just switched the radio off. Now, with an hour still to go before my cozy hotel room by the sand would come into view, I found myself driving over a lengthy bridge that crosses the Alligator River. With only the 'twhup, twhup, twhup' sound of rubber tires rolling over concrete engineering to keep me company.
There was not another car in sight, in either direction. And my shoulders were stiff and sore from concentrating on the road, on the rain, on the bridge with the water running alongside.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I crossed the Alligator and found a place wide enough for me to pull over my truck. I took several deep breaths and then eventually got out, doing neck stretches and arm pulls...anything to keep me more alert and loosen my aching, tense neck and shoulder muscles. For a couple of minutes I did this, looking around for another set of lights in the distance or maybe the rogue deer, but found nothing. I climbed back in for the last bit of the trek, not exactly renewed but far from dispirited now. Several more neck rolls and arm stretches happened as I started up, pulled away, and gradually built up speed again. Channels of water ran alongside both sides of the road now, as the highway crawled further and further into the welcoming shores of the Outer Banks. The rain let up, but the fog was thickening.
I tried the radio again, and was pleasantly surprised that a reception from a Virginia station came in loud and clear. The voice, familiar in some ways but not immediately identifiable to me (and on commercial break was discovered to be none other than rock n' roll showman Alice Cooper on his syndicated show), was talking about favourite Christmas songs...songs that have been huge hits, songs that have survived all sorts of social change since their initial release, songs that always pull on the heartstrings year after year. The usuals ("White Christmas" by Bing Crosby, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" best known from Burl Ives, "Blue Christmas" from Elvis Presley, etc) of course made the cut. As one rainy mile rolled into the next, Alice got me thinking about my favourite Christmas songs...or, rather, why I don't have one especially.
Indulge me a moment while I give you my Christmas back story...
I am the only child of parents who never really had time or energy to properly celebrate the holiday. My beloved father coped with a terminal illness for most of my life and worked full-time while doing so; my overwhelmed mother took care of him and me while (eventually) working two full-time jobs herself. He first became ill when I was just six years old and he was initially given just a handful of months to live...a diagnosis that both of my parents flatly refused to accept from the onset. That illness, though, would rule our lives forevermore. For months on end, we would all pack up the old Mercury Marquis at 3 in the morning and head two hours south for his training and treatment. Mom and Dad would train in an area I was not allowed for 4-5 hours, whereas I would stay in the hospital lobby alone downstairs with my books and crayons. (As reckless as that last bit sounds now, I caution to say it was 1976 and things were much different then, and also that a security guard stopped by to check on me every half hour. I never once felt scared or had anything bad happen to me, although I did get lonely a good deal.) After treatments were completed, we'd all pack up again and head home once more: me to watch TV and call my teacher for missed lessons, Mom and Dad off to work with me tagging alongside Dad or off to a babysitter. Even after the travel subsided a bit, this schedule was our norm.
That first year of his illness and training was especially tough on us. He became very sick over Thanksgiving, with doctors concerned that he would not see Christmas at all. Things so readily alleviated now were major obstacles back then...an infection that would not lessen, the building up of toxins within his system, a fever that would come and go without warning. My father was scared but resolved, my mother was helpless but strong...and I was clueless and wanting to talk about my Christmas list. With painful clarity, I remember serenading him and my mother and the nurses with "Silent Night" on a very rare visit to see him in the his room, located almost in the ICU. Even then, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but I was proud of myself when I saw him and Mama tear up. For years afterward, I thought I had provided a happy moment.
During that same hospitalization, nurses and others tried to keep my spirits up while also trying to help me understand the severity of Dad's situation. But I was a Daddy's girl and I was in denial...Dad and I had made plans, you see, and nothing like a little kidney failure could stop that. He and I had a routine: country walks on Saturday, new car visits on Sunday, reading the newspaper and watching TV together the rest of the week around studies and work. He and I were inseparable, as I was the apple of his eye whereas I thought he hung the stars in heaven just for me. (Dear Mama was the long-forgotten third wheel, I hate to admit.) But someone, and I still can't really remember who as I've blocked much of it out, finally communicated how close I was to losing him. And somehow that Christmas wish list held no significance anymore, even though it had dominated our conversations for weeks.
So the next time I saw him in his room I held his hand like I always did and sat there until he woke up. When he did, he asked what changes had happened to the list...what did I want now from Santa, he asked from a tired and bloated face. For you to make it through Christmas and be with me, I answered. Fully awake now, his eyes met mine and, at that moment, he knew that I knew. And we smiled at each other, through tears.
From that day forward, we became a unified team once more...not only that day, not only that Christmas, but for twenty more Christmases to come. He never hid any future illness from me, nor did my Mama on his specific request. And I never really pursued gifts for the holiday after that, as the whole 'list' lost its appeal in light of the bigger wish for him to completely recover...a wish that would never be granted in this world. Dearest Mama, a woman who was created specifically to shop for and enjoy the Christmas holiday, would try her best to fit in all the traditional 'other family' routines: an overly-decorated tree, an Elvis Christmas album she played constantly, visits to relatives I didn't know for dinner. Dad and I, peas in a pod that we were, would tolerate it all as best we could, but never got into the spirit much. For he and I, surviving through Christmas was the goal, and once another season had passed by uneventfully, then did we feel joyous. In some respects, I see now we probably got that all wrong.
I lost my best friend ever eleven years ago, soon to be twelve, but not a day goes by that I don't think of Dad. Or about holding his hand, walking with him, talking with him, laughing with him. There are so many things I want to ask his opinion on, or ask for his advice on...and the silence of his lost voice is deafening. I have worn a ring of his every day since that horrible horrible day in March, but it's the only thing I still have of his. That ring and the memories.
Christmases, unfortunately, have carried on for me since his death just as they did when he was still here: very little fanfare with a few gifts for Mama, the occasional card mailed, the odd decoration put up. Christmas has been something to be overcome, not something to be relished. Mama still loves it as much as she ever did, but she's given up trying to convert me to her enthusiastic approach.
And I'm thinking about all of this, and like now having a bit of a cry, as I'm barreling down NC Highway 64. Wishing I had Dad with me to see the Atlantic...did he ever see an ocean, I wonder, as I don't know...but also remembering with a chuckle how much he hated the cold and rain in his later years. Wondering, as I sometimes do, if he would be happy with me now, supportive of my decisions, curious as to what he would criticize. Meanwhile, Alice has played some traditional Christmas tunes (well, rock-modified ones, anyway, this is Alice Cooper, after all) and he's now talking about how some of the best holiday songs are the least known here...and how it takes people some time to find their 'perfect' song.
"Yes, Alice," I said as I pulled into the outskirts of Manteo, wiping my eyes. "Yes, we all need a 'perfect' Christmas song." Mockingly, I said this aloud in the dark but warm cabin of the Nissan. I was thinking I needed to change the channel, and pull myself out of this momentary depression.
Then Alice played this song, something I had never heard in its entirety before, although apparently it's been like the Most Popular Christmas Song in the UK since its release back in the early 1970s. It's from Slade (yes, that Slade), and it's called "Merry Christmas, Everybody". (Video from YouTube.)
Slade performing "Merry Christmas, Everybody". Circa 1973.
And so I listened, singing off-tune as usual a bit, wiping back the occasional tear as I slowly passed garlands and wreaths displayed on car washes, churches, and the random fast food sign. The rain had subsided to a light mist now, although the fog still shadowed the lampposts and traffic lights. At the end, as I turned left going into Manns Harbour, I fully admit I was belting away at a loud volume...and I did not want the song to finish. Play it again, Alice, play it again. It's tough to cry and smile and sing all at the same time, but I swear I did all three. I have virtually nothing in common with any of the lyrics, but no matter, it was what I needed to hear right then. Is it the 'perfect' song for me, or even for the mighty Christmas season? Probably not, but perfection is only judged so in relation to the moments it appears. And for that moment at least, it was a perfect Christmas song for me, and it helped clear my emotional deck...helping me enjoy my very limited time away from work.
So, Merry Christmas, everybody, and I mean that genuinely and deeply from my heart. I may not be infused with the Christmas spirit per se, but I am wise enough to appreciate the good friends and family I am so deeply blessed to have. May tomorrow be a great and peaceful day spent with your families.
And, speaking of family...thanks, Dad.
A week ago, I was driving along on a lonely, dark rural road covered with fog. Wipers thrashing this way and that, I could still barely see in front of my hood...the rain showers were intermittent, but all the water and humidity surrounding me clouded my view still the same. Headed to the beach I was, hopeful that the weather would eventually clear and I'd get some much-needed relaxation and fun, if even for a day. I had made the mistake of starting this drive...a little more than four hours...right after my workday had concluded, and also during the 'drive home' rush hour (just for that extra little bit of stress). Traveling by myself, I had been lucky to that point, not too hot and not too cold, singing along with song after song until eventually one station and then another soon faded away into the ether. Eventually static took over everything that wasn't a religious sermon, talk radio, or Spanish programming and I just switched the radio off. Now, with an hour still to go before my cozy hotel room by the sand would come into view, I found myself driving over a lengthy bridge that crosses the Alligator River. With only the 'twhup, twhup, twhup' sound of rubber tires rolling over concrete engineering to keep me company.
There was not another car in sight, in either direction. And my shoulders were stiff and sore from concentrating on the road, on the rain, on the bridge with the water running alongside.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, I crossed the Alligator and found a place wide enough for me to pull over my truck. I took several deep breaths and then eventually got out, doing neck stretches and arm pulls...anything to keep me more alert and loosen my aching, tense neck and shoulder muscles. For a couple of minutes I did this, looking around for another set of lights in the distance or maybe the rogue deer, but found nothing. I climbed back in for the last bit of the trek, not exactly renewed but far from dispirited now. Several more neck rolls and arm stretches happened as I started up, pulled away, and gradually built up speed again. Channels of water ran alongside both sides of the road now, as the highway crawled further and further into the welcoming shores of the Outer Banks. The rain let up, but the fog was thickening.
I tried the radio again, and was pleasantly surprised that a reception from a Virginia station came in loud and clear. The voice, familiar in some ways but not immediately identifiable to me (and on commercial break was discovered to be none other than rock n' roll showman Alice Cooper on his syndicated show), was talking about favourite Christmas songs...songs that have been huge hits, songs that have survived all sorts of social change since their initial release, songs that always pull on the heartstrings year after year. The usuals ("White Christmas" by Bing Crosby, "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" best known from Burl Ives, "Blue Christmas" from Elvis Presley, etc) of course made the cut. As one rainy mile rolled into the next, Alice got me thinking about my favourite Christmas songs...or, rather, why I don't have one especially.
Indulge me a moment while I give you my Christmas back story...
I am the only child of parents who never really had time or energy to properly celebrate the holiday. My beloved father coped with a terminal illness for most of my life and worked full-time while doing so; my overwhelmed mother took care of him and me while (eventually) working two full-time jobs herself. He first became ill when I was just six years old and he was initially given just a handful of months to live...a diagnosis that both of my parents flatly refused to accept from the onset. That illness, though, would rule our lives forevermore. For months on end, we would all pack up the old Mercury Marquis at 3 in the morning and head two hours south for his training and treatment. Mom and Dad would train in an area I was not allowed for 4-5 hours, whereas I would stay in the hospital lobby alone downstairs with my books and crayons. (As reckless as that last bit sounds now, I caution to say it was 1976 and things were much different then, and also that a security guard stopped by to check on me every half hour. I never once felt scared or had anything bad happen to me, although I did get lonely a good deal.) After treatments were completed, we'd all pack up again and head home once more: me to watch TV and call my teacher for missed lessons, Mom and Dad off to work with me tagging alongside Dad or off to a babysitter. Even after the travel subsided a bit, this schedule was our norm.
That first year of his illness and training was especially tough on us. He became very sick over Thanksgiving, with doctors concerned that he would not see Christmas at all. Things so readily alleviated now were major obstacles back then...an infection that would not lessen, the building up of toxins within his system, a fever that would come and go without warning. My father was scared but resolved, my mother was helpless but strong...and I was clueless and wanting to talk about my Christmas list. With painful clarity, I remember serenading him and my mother and the nurses with "Silent Night" on a very rare visit to see him in the his room, located almost in the ICU. Even then, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, but I was proud of myself when I saw him and Mama tear up. For years afterward, I thought I had provided a happy moment.
During that same hospitalization, nurses and others tried to keep my spirits up while also trying to help me understand the severity of Dad's situation. But I was a Daddy's girl and I was in denial...Dad and I had made plans, you see, and nothing like a little kidney failure could stop that. He and I had a routine: country walks on Saturday, new car visits on Sunday, reading the newspaper and watching TV together the rest of the week around studies and work. He and I were inseparable, as I was the apple of his eye whereas I thought he hung the stars in heaven just for me. (Dear Mama was the long-forgotten third wheel, I hate to admit.) But someone, and I still can't really remember who as I've blocked much of it out, finally communicated how close I was to losing him. And somehow that Christmas wish list held no significance anymore, even though it had dominated our conversations for weeks.
So the next time I saw him in his room I held his hand like I always did and sat there until he woke up. When he did, he asked what changes had happened to the list...what did I want now from Santa, he asked from a tired and bloated face. For you to make it through Christmas and be with me, I answered. Fully awake now, his eyes met mine and, at that moment, he knew that I knew. And we smiled at each other, through tears.
From that day forward, we became a unified team once more...not only that day, not only that Christmas, but for twenty more Christmases to come. He never hid any future illness from me, nor did my Mama on his specific request. And I never really pursued gifts for the holiday after that, as the whole 'list' lost its appeal in light of the bigger wish for him to completely recover...a wish that would never be granted in this world. Dearest Mama, a woman who was created specifically to shop for and enjoy the Christmas holiday, would try her best to fit in all the traditional 'other family' routines: an overly-decorated tree, an Elvis Christmas album she played constantly, visits to relatives I didn't know for dinner. Dad and I, peas in a pod that we were, would tolerate it all as best we could, but never got into the spirit much. For he and I, surviving through Christmas was the goal, and once another season had passed by uneventfully, then did we feel joyous. In some respects, I see now we probably got that all wrong.
I lost my best friend ever eleven years ago, soon to be twelve, but not a day goes by that I don't think of Dad. Or about holding his hand, walking with him, talking with him, laughing with him. There are so many things I want to ask his opinion on, or ask for his advice on...and the silence of his lost voice is deafening. I have worn a ring of his every day since that horrible horrible day in March, but it's the only thing I still have of his. That ring and the memories.
Christmases, unfortunately, have carried on for me since his death just as they did when he was still here: very little fanfare with a few gifts for Mama, the occasional card mailed, the odd decoration put up. Christmas has been something to be overcome, not something to be relished. Mama still loves it as much as she ever did, but she's given up trying to convert me to her enthusiastic approach.
And I'm thinking about all of this, and like now having a bit of a cry, as I'm barreling down NC Highway 64. Wishing I had Dad with me to see the Atlantic...did he ever see an ocean, I wonder, as I don't know...but also remembering with a chuckle how much he hated the cold and rain in his later years. Wondering, as I sometimes do, if he would be happy with me now, supportive of my decisions, curious as to what he would criticize. Meanwhile, Alice has played some traditional Christmas tunes (well, rock-modified ones, anyway, this is Alice Cooper, after all) and he's now talking about how some of the best holiday songs are the least known here...and how it takes people some time to find their 'perfect' song.
"Yes, Alice," I said as I pulled into the outskirts of Manteo, wiping my eyes. "Yes, we all need a 'perfect' Christmas song." Mockingly, I said this aloud in the dark but warm cabin of the Nissan. I was thinking I needed to change the channel, and pull myself out of this momentary depression.
Then Alice played this song, something I had never heard in its entirety before, although apparently it's been like the Most Popular Christmas Song in the UK since its release back in the early 1970s. It's from Slade (yes, that Slade), and it's called "Merry Christmas, Everybody". (Video from YouTube.)
And so I listened, singing off-tune as usual a bit, wiping back the occasional tear as I slowly passed garlands and wreaths displayed on car washes, churches, and the random fast food sign. The rain had subsided to a light mist now, although the fog still shadowed the lampposts and traffic lights. At the end, as I turned left going into Manns Harbour, I fully admit I was belting away at a loud volume...and I did not want the song to finish. Play it again, Alice, play it again. It's tough to cry and smile and sing all at the same time, but I swear I did all three. I have virtually nothing in common with any of the lyrics, but no matter, it was what I needed to hear right then. Is it the 'perfect' song for me, or even for the mighty Christmas season? Probably not, but perfection is only judged so in relation to the moments it appears. And for that moment at least, it was a perfect Christmas song for me, and it helped clear my emotional deck...helping me enjoy my very limited time away from work.
So, Merry Christmas, everybody, and I mean that genuinely and deeply from my heart. I may not be infused with the Christmas spirit per se, but I am wise enough to appreciate the good friends and family I am so deeply blessed to have. May tomorrow be a great and peaceful day spent with your families.
And, speaking of family...thanks, Dad.
16 August 2009
Elvis Costello, June 14 @ Koka Booth Amphitheatre
This is the first of my 'catch-up' posts...items I've written about in my journal since the spring, but am just now bringing over to the blog. Have some patience with me, folks, as I get them all moved over...
Every so often, I get to see God, live and in person. Now when some people say that, it generally entails some further explanation about a religious epiphany that has occurred to them. In my case, it's a tad bit more humble and a far bit more accessible to the modern man and gal: it just means I've seen an Elvis Costello show.
I had such a pleasure this past Sunday (June 14), out at the Koka Booth Amphitheatre in Cary. Ideally, Koka is not a great venue for 'big draw' concerts, but given this was God's tour with The Sugarcanes (promoting his latest album, "Secret, Profane & Sugarcane"), a smaller venue such as this worked really, really well. The material on this album, as well as some of his more recent releases, suits a 'quieter' venue much better than the mammoth Walnut Creek would in comparison, or even in comparison to the new (and dare I say it?) and sterile-feeling Durham Performing Arts Center (DPAC). This album mines from a more bluegrass, traditional, Americana-like stream, but still features God's poignant and brilliant lyrics. (I occasionally read an interview with some new 'up and coming' talent who says he/she just also wants to be a great songwriter. Until someone actually says they've studied under the tutelage of God and His pen, I really can't take them too seriously. He's that damn good.) Add to this that Koka probably has the best acoustics of any largish-size venue in the area, so having a good show was almost a given before arrival.
A bit to my amazement, the show did not seem like a complete sell-out. I always buy lawn seats there, as you can bring your own chair (and, depending on the event, can often bring in your own food and drink), and there were more than a few 'empty' spots near the back. 'Tis a shame, really, for those that missed it, but was a full-fare show for those that did make it out...and many of us are/were die-hard fans. God, who over the years has been both relaxed and uptight talking in the shows of which I've been in attendance, seemed in particularly good spirits Sunday. Not such a hard place to be, really, as The Sugarcanes (featuring Jim Lauderdale) were in fine form and his audience more than receptive to any number of small errors. It was not a perfect show to be certain...but I've rarely been to a live show that was...but its few imperfections made it all the more human and great.
All told, age and newly rediscovered fatherhood has served Him, and His musical ventures, very well. Whereas other contemporaries have long since come and gone (and perhaps even tried to come back again in the form of a reunion tour or something), or perhaps have seen their lyrical impact fall on deaf years,Mr Costello He keeps cranking out gems here or there that still have relevance, still creating a devoted following. Considering that some of that following (myself included) have been fans for 30+ years now is quite a testament. Further, the fact that He and His audience would/could still consider themselves 'young' and 'still questioning' is quite a revelation: either as a sign of greatness still to come or as a sign of our mutual utopian hope for the world to improve itself.
Elvis Costello and The Sugarcanes do a cover of the Grateful Dead's "Friend of Mine" at Koka Booth Amphitheatre, Cary, NC, June 14, 2009.
God's voice sounded strained mid-song a bit at times...I don't know if it was a cold or allergies or age taking a toss at him...but he gave a very full, diverse set. The few 'classics' he whipped out from his many previous incarnations..."Allison", "Indoor Fireworks", and "King of America"...had been slightly modified to fit more easily within The Sugarcanes 'sound'. I've seen him on three continents so far over the years...and should I win the lottery, I will go see him on any other applicable ones...but his steadiness remains throughout. As I enthusiastically told a friend of mine tonight (a friend who plays regularly with a local bluegrass band), it wasn't so much as a band playing God's songs, backing God, as much as it was God sitting in on a really great bluegrass jam session, desperately wanting to contribute in any way he could. The success of shows such as Sunday's reaffirms that His disciples, like the leader Himself, refuse to be genre-typed or boxed in musically. And we're all damn well better off because of it.
The tour continues through the summer months, so go see them when it rolls through your neck of the woods: like fine-aged whisky, the blend of age with Elvis only tastes sweeter as it spreads out through your brain, your heart, and even your soul. Check out the tour schedule here.
Every so often, I get to see God, live and in person. Now when some people say that, it generally entails some further explanation about a religious epiphany that has occurred to them. In my case, it's a tad bit more humble and a far bit more accessible to the modern man and gal: it just means I've seen an Elvis Costello show.
I had such a pleasure this past Sunday (June 14), out at the Koka Booth Amphitheatre in Cary. Ideally, Koka is not a great venue for 'big draw' concerts, but given this was God's tour with The Sugarcanes (promoting his latest album, "Secret, Profane & Sugarcane"), a smaller venue such as this worked really, really well. The material on this album, as well as some of his more recent releases, suits a 'quieter' venue much better than the mammoth Walnut Creek would in comparison, or even in comparison to the new (and dare I say it?) and sterile-feeling Durham Performing Arts Center (DPAC). This album mines from a more bluegrass, traditional, Americana-like stream, but still features God's poignant and brilliant lyrics. (I occasionally read an interview with some new 'up and coming' talent who says he/she just also wants to be a great songwriter. Until someone actually says they've studied under the tutelage of God and His pen, I really can't take them too seriously. He's that damn good.) Add to this that Koka probably has the best acoustics of any largish-size venue in the area, so having a good show was almost a given before arrival.
A bit to my amazement, the show did not seem like a complete sell-out. I always buy lawn seats there, as you can bring your own chair (and, depending on the event, can often bring in your own food and drink), and there were more than a few 'empty' spots near the back. 'Tis a shame, really, for those that missed it, but was a full-fare show for those that did make it out...and many of us are/were die-hard fans. God, who over the years has been both relaxed and uptight talking in the shows of which I've been in attendance, seemed in particularly good spirits Sunday. Not such a hard place to be, really, as The Sugarcanes (featuring Jim Lauderdale) were in fine form and his audience more than receptive to any number of small errors. It was not a perfect show to be certain...but I've rarely been to a live show that was...but its few imperfections made it all the more human and great.
All told, age and newly rediscovered fatherhood has served Him, and His musical ventures, very well. Whereas other contemporaries have long since come and gone (and perhaps even tried to come back again in the form of a reunion tour or something), or perhaps have seen their lyrical impact fall on deaf years,
God's voice sounded strained mid-song a bit at times...I don't know if it was a cold or allergies or age taking a toss at him...but he gave a very full, diverse set. The few 'classics' he whipped out from his many previous incarnations..."Allison", "Indoor Fireworks", and "King of America"...had been slightly modified to fit more easily within The Sugarcanes 'sound'. I've seen him on three continents so far over the years...and should I win the lottery, I will go see him on any other applicable ones...but his steadiness remains throughout. As I enthusiastically told a friend of mine tonight (a friend who plays regularly with a local bluegrass band), it wasn't so much as a band playing God's songs, backing God, as much as it was God sitting in on a really great bluegrass jam session, desperately wanting to contribute in any way he could. The success of shows such as Sunday's reaffirms that His disciples, like the leader Himself, refuse to be genre-typed or boxed in musically. And we're all damn well better off because of it.
The tour continues through the summer months, so go see them when it rolls through your neck of the woods: like fine-aged whisky, the blend of age with Elvis only tastes sweeter as it spreads out through your brain, your heart, and even your soul. Check out the tour schedule here.
15 August 2009
It's...ALIVE!!
Okay, enough of this damn slacking. It's time to get back to this blog, at long last...even if I'm the only reader. I'm much happier person when I write, and I have a right to be as happy as the next person (maybe even more so). I want to, so I shall.
And I have lots to write about...it's been a very busy summer so far.
Let's get this baby started up again and pulled back out on the road.
And I have lots to write about...it's been a very busy summer so far.
Let's get this baby started up again and pulled back out on the road.
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