It's been cool, cozy, and cloudy in LA this week. So much so that when I left the apartment this morning, I actually recognized that the sun was shining. Sadly, the continuous sunshine can get a bit old, and it's nice to have the variety. And because of that statement, I now have no friends east of Denver. And we wonder why Angelenos are so self-centered. We are spoiled in every possible sense, even in the weather.
Another delight of this week is the return of what I call the "purple carpet trees." I don't know their actual name, and even if I did, I would prefer my own title. The purple carpet trees have these beautiful periwinkle purple little blooms and when they are done blooming, they drop onto the ground right below the tree such that the ground looks like it's covered in purple carpet. My roommate has a photograph of the blooms on asphalt which I simply must enlarge and put on a wall. I love the trees that much. It's a remnant of spring in this endless summer place, so I hold onto it. And in a city which survives on asphalt the way that we survive on blood in our veins, it's nice to see a simple, beautiful piece of nature, and purple at that, covering up the gray. Maybe I'm attracted to the seeming defiance of the purple carpet trees--in spite of traffic on endless mazes of streets, in spite of endless summer, in spite of our inability to slow down, we will bring temporary beauty to cover over the junk that lands in the gutter and take your breath away, even if for only a moment. And in that, I am reminded that in spring, life is new, and that beauty can be temporary, so squeeze it until it is bone dry.
This past Sunday was also Big Sunday, which is a city-wide volunteer day, which I was on the steering committee for last year. Last year there were over 300 projects and 50,000 volunteers. This year, I wasn't able to participate as fully, and wasn't sure how I wanted to participate at all. I ended up helping my steering committee friends from last year on the events that they helped plan. So I assisted with a "BasketballFest" (right next to "SoccerFest") and got to see BJ Armstrong, former Chicago Bull, up close.
I've also realized this week that Mother's Day is looming in a few days. I see the flowers and cards and balloons and advertisements everywhere. I know it's coming. But I'm not really preparing, if that could even really be done. I figure it will be a hard day and that I'll plan to be with friends and I'll deal with stuff as it comes up.
My dad goes on a Mediterranean cruise tomorrow. I'm so proud of him, of who he's become in the wake of all this. He was saying it's been a year exactly since their last big trip--they came out for my grad school graduation, which coincided with Mother's Day, and they went on a Mexican riviera cruise. So the preparations (which mom would typically take care of) have been difficult. But he's going. He's seeing Rome and Istanbul and Athens. And I'm jealous. Ha! Some day.
I've realized I am in a great mood and have a great day when I brainstorm and day dream about nice things to do for other people, which is what I think I'm going to do tonight. Yay!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Saturday, May 3, 2008
S & G
I closed at Starbucks tonight and had some delightful conversations. It was slow, so it was OK to take the time to meander through cleaning tasks and have conversations, one with a woman from Kansas City who's a writer working on a feature-length cartoon script, and another with a pair of guys from Italy on holiday. And all the while, the soundtrack tonight was good--somehow the usual lineup got out of sync and the playlist tripped into new territory--mellow, easygoing, melodic territory which made working even more enjoyable tonight.
And, as is typical in the music rotation at Starbucks these days, a little Simon and Garfunkel played over the speakers. I noticed that whenever the excerpts from the new live album released under Starbucks' Hear Music label would play, I would have a better shift. So one day about a month ago when I knew I would be driving a lot to and from Orange County, I bought the CD on a whim. I love Simon and Garfunkel. We had the Bridge Over Troubled Water tape growing up, and then a friend got me their Greatest Hits CD for my 16th birthday. When my mom told me she'd seen them live in the 60's, her cool points went way, way up.
So as I listened to the music that day with the windows down, Mrs. Robinson, Scarborough Fair, 59th Street Song (aka Feelin' Groovy) and on and on, I was so happy. The songs were connected to so many memories--the way my roommate at a summer academy my sophomore year in high school would sing the "whoa whoa whoa" in Mrs. Robinson or the moves of my gymnastics recital piece set to Feelin' Groovy. All the songs on the album are live from 1969, right before they released the Bridge Over Troubled Water album. You can hear Garfunkel say right before the sing that song, "This is one of our new songs. It's called 'Bridge Over Troubled Water.'" Can you imagine when that song was new? Hearing it for the first time? Hearing it live? Do you think people knew then how epic it would be? Did they know they were listening to a piece of music history? And so I blasted that song that day as loud as my little Ford Focus speakers would go.
And pretty soon, I could hear my mom's voice singing next to me. We had sung that song and so many other Simon and Garfunkel tunes together, riding in the car, on a road trip or on our way around town. And I lost it. Going 80 mph. At least I've become accustomed to operating a vehicle in this state--at high speeds through tears--so it isn't terribly abnormal. The lyrics were so fitting as well, as if my mom would be singing them to me, especially the bridge:
Sail on, silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
And I thought back to talking to my mom after I'd gotten home, the day before she died. I'd asked if she'd like me to sing to her. She said, "You could sing 'Happy Birthday.'" (My birthday was the following week).
"You're right, Mom, I could."
"Well, we have to get this taken care of before then," she said in a moment of strange clarity amidst confusion. Whether it was painkillers or cancer spreading to her brain, she was in an altered state those last days. But in this moment she was strangely aware and lucid. She was wanting to not detract from my birthday, in a way literally laying her life down in death as she had done so often during her life. Doing what she thought was right for the benefit of others. She was gone in less than 24 hours.
It all makes the lyrics that much more fitting. As though mom were singing them just to me:
When you're weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all.
I'm on your side.
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard,
I will comfort you.
I'll take your part.
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Sail on silver girl.
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
Oh if you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Some days it still doesn't seem real. That I could call her up. Being so far away from home makes the reality of it less tangible. And oh how I wish she were here to dry my tears. How I wish she were here to see me shine and to see my dreams on their way. And so I will continue to blast Simon and Garfunkel and I will continue to think of her--to remember the person she was and the person she hoped I would be. How it hurts my heart that I will never hear her voice again, to sing, to call me Annie.
My dad leaves on a Mediterranean cruise next Saturday. He and mom traveled a LOT these past several years--to Antarctica and the Arctic Circle, Russia, Germany. And this Mediterranean cruise was the last one they wanted to do, but they didn't quite make it. Dad said he still wanted to go, though, so he will be traveling with Sue and Melvin--my folks' 10-year traveling companions. He has surprised me in so many ways, with the ways he has stepped up. He even baked a carrot cake from scratch for a meeting he was hosting the other day. Who is this culinary man? Maybe for each of us through all of this we will become people we didn't even know we could be.
And, as is typical in the music rotation at Starbucks these days, a little Simon and Garfunkel played over the speakers. I noticed that whenever the excerpts from the new live album released under Starbucks' Hear Music label would play, I would have a better shift. So one day about a month ago when I knew I would be driving a lot to and from Orange County, I bought the CD on a whim. I love Simon and Garfunkel. We had the Bridge Over Troubled Water tape growing up, and then a friend got me their Greatest Hits CD for my 16th birthday. When my mom told me she'd seen them live in the 60's, her cool points went way, way up.
So as I listened to the music that day with the windows down, Mrs. Robinson, Scarborough Fair, 59th Street Song (aka Feelin' Groovy) and on and on, I was so happy. The songs were connected to so many memories--the way my roommate at a summer academy my sophomore year in high school would sing the "whoa whoa whoa" in Mrs. Robinson or the moves of my gymnastics recital piece set to Feelin' Groovy. All the songs on the album are live from 1969, right before they released the Bridge Over Troubled Water album. You can hear Garfunkel say right before the sing that song, "This is one of our new songs. It's called 'Bridge Over Troubled Water.'" Can you imagine when that song was new? Hearing it for the first time? Hearing it live? Do you think people knew then how epic it would be? Did they know they were listening to a piece of music history? And so I blasted that song that day as loud as my little Ford Focus speakers would go.
And pretty soon, I could hear my mom's voice singing next to me. We had sung that song and so many other Simon and Garfunkel tunes together, riding in the car, on a road trip or on our way around town. And I lost it. Going 80 mph. At least I've become accustomed to operating a vehicle in this state--at high speeds through tears--so it isn't terribly abnormal. The lyrics were so fitting as well, as if my mom would be singing them to me, especially the bridge:
Sail on, silver girl
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
And I thought back to talking to my mom after I'd gotten home, the day before she died. I'd asked if she'd like me to sing to her. She said, "You could sing 'Happy Birthday.'" (My birthday was the following week).
"You're right, Mom, I could."
"Well, we have to get this taken care of before then," she said in a moment of strange clarity amidst confusion. Whether it was painkillers or cancer spreading to her brain, she was in an altered state those last days. But in this moment she was strangely aware and lucid. She was wanting to not detract from my birthday, in a way literally laying her life down in death as she had done so often during her life. Doing what she thought was right for the benefit of others. She was gone in less than 24 hours.
It all makes the lyrics that much more fitting. As though mom were singing them just to me:
When you're weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes
I will dry them all.
I'm on your side.
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard,
I will comfort you.
I'll take your part.
When darkness comes
And pain is all around
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Sail on silver girl.
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
Oh if you need a friend,
I'm sailing right behind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Some days it still doesn't seem real. That I could call her up. Being so far away from home makes the reality of it less tangible. And oh how I wish she were here to dry my tears. How I wish she were here to see me shine and to see my dreams on their way. And so I will continue to blast Simon and Garfunkel and I will continue to think of her--to remember the person she was and the person she hoped I would be. How it hurts my heart that I will never hear her voice again, to sing, to call me Annie.
My dad leaves on a Mediterranean cruise next Saturday. He and mom traveled a LOT these past several years--to Antarctica and the Arctic Circle, Russia, Germany. And this Mediterranean cruise was the last one they wanted to do, but they didn't quite make it. Dad said he still wanted to go, though, so he will be traveling with Sue and Melvin--my folks' 10-year traveling companions. He has surprised me in so many ways, with the ways he has stepped up. He even baked a carrot cake from scratch for a meeting he was hosting the other day. Who is this culinary man? Maybe for each of us through all of this we will become people we didn't even know we could be.
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