The Wind Beneath My Wings
OK, first, I really dislike that song. I know a lot of people find it very meaningful, yadda, yadda. But it annoys me. HOWEVER, it suits my purposes today. Two things I aim to do with this here post: thank some people, and do the music meme that I've seen at Nilbo's, Squirl's and Bucky's.
I don't like "The Wind Beneath My Wings" because . . . wind. Who wants to be called "wind?" Like, "You blow." Or "You're a fart." You know? I don't want to be anybody's wind!
BUT . . . I guess it sort of means . . . "you lift me up."* And that's a lovely sentiment. So that's what I want to say to many of you reading this. I've written a couple of emails in the last 24 hours, saying so, but there are a lot more people I want to say it to. In very many ways, you people, most of whom I've never met, and (as much as it hurts my heart a little bit to write this) I never will meet, are more of a support to me than my IRL friends. That's not anything against my IRL friends. I have some stellar friends, who would do anything for me. It's something about me. I've never been one to ask for help. I've been one to offer help. But somewhere along the way, in the last many months here, I've learned to ask for help. And I've gotten it.
My IRL friends would come over and cook, clean, whatever. If I'd let them. (Some of you have offered to come here, from Texas, from Washington, to help out . . . and I swear, I think you would if I'd give you the OK.) I like to feed people. I like to make people laugh. I like people to feel like their spirits have been warmed when they visit my home. I can't produce those effects right now. And I KNOW it's me. I know it's my "issue." No one expects me to produce for them; that's not why they're coming around. But it's hard for me to have visitors and not do those things. It's something I need to grow through, get past, I know. But I'm not there yet.
I can come on here and rant, and cry, and bitch, and be scared. And you don't get in your cars and show up at the door when I don't have any cookies for you. And that works for me, dammit. I couldn't sleep last night/this morning. I went out visiting about 4 a.m. Some of you, I left a note or two for. Some of you I just laughed, or prayed for, or sent you some love, and quietly left. And I didn't wake you up in the process. I'm not going to call or visit an IRL friend at 4 a.m. And I don't want them visiting me. You all visit me when it's convenient for you. I don't worry about imposing on you; I know you're only here because you want to be.
Many of you have sent encouraging notes, funny pictures, jokes and such. Many of you, some who don't even comment, have sent me ideas about what might be wrong with me. And not ONE of those ideas have been off-the-wall, or . . . negative in any way. All thoughtful, reasonable, worth checking into. We're talking about strangers online, people! Isn't that amazing and wonderful? I surely think so. And then, all those of you who send me love and healing energy. And those who pray. And those who have said, in some form, "I don't pray; but I'm making an exception for you." And those whose little ones are praying for me. OK, now you got me misty. Thank you. I PROMISE it makes a difference. I promise I feel better than I would otherwise because you're doing what you're doing. That is what I believe with my whole heart. And sooner or later, one way or another, all will be well. And you helped make that so. BIG SNIFF. Thank you. God bless you.
Now. Where's that meme thing?
What is the first music you remember hearing?
Two things come to mind. I had a little record player with some big, thick orange vinyl 45 rpms. A nice lady sang "A Tisket, A Tasket" on one; and at the end of it was the rhyme:
There was a little girl
Who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead
When she was good, she was very, very good
When she was bad, she was horrid!
I aspired to that. The other thing I remember from very, very early, is my mother, singing at the kitchen sink. Hank Williams, Patsy Cline. And with six kids and no dishwasher, she was at the sink a lot.
Did you come from a musical family?
No one played an instrument. But both of my parents sang a lot. Not formally. Just when they were doing what they did. Mom washing dishes. I remember my father singing while he shaved. Which, this moment, I find rather odd. But, he did.
Do you remember a lullaby from your childhood? If so, what is it?
I remember my mother singing the mockingbird song. "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird..."
What song(s) changed your life?
This one is tough. Songs keep changing my life. I almost always have a song in my head. God speaks to me through the radio. A lot of hymns come to mind. "Amazing Grace" (btw, a blogfriend sent me herself singing that; how beautiful is that?), "Be Thou My Vision." And some pop songs. Steve Winwood's "Higher Love." That's what we all want. "I will wait for it . . . I'm not too late for it . . . " OK, if you didn't think I was nuts before, you will now: When LG was a tiny baby in the crib, she "sang," perfectly in tune, gibberish syllables to "Ode to Joy." It was just a tad eery. We did not (to my knowledge) play that song at home. We heard it maybe once or twice a year at church . . . but my baby was "singing" it. Daily. She talked very early, and when she was old enough and I heard her singing "her" song, I asked her, "Where did you learn that song?" And she said, in 18-month-old speak, "From the little brown-haired girl who comes in my crib when you and Daddy are asleep. She teached it to me." Insert Twilight Zone music. I'm just telling you what the kid said. Believe it or not. I can't say it "creeped me out," because, I find it quite lovely. I guess it confirmed my belief that we arrive here on the planet with access to a lot more knowledge, more truth, more beauty, than we have by the time we are adults and those avenues of access have been blocked somehow.
If you could have dinner with three dead musicians which three would you choose and why?
Well, I will clarify, as Nils did, that I ain't sitting down to a meal with no damned dead-ass people. (But Nils didn't say it like that, because he's a professional communicator, not a Snoop Dogg/Dr. Phil hybrid.) But if they came back to life for the occasion . . . let's see . . . Elvis. Marvin Gaye. Handel. Elvis, because . . . handsome, brilliant, kind, in need of a good shrink. Marvin Gaye because . . . brilliant, sexy, Dude, your father SHOT YOU? What's up with THAT? And Handel . . . well, I never get over marvelling at the Messiah. I want to know, from one in the know, what it feels like to be possessed by that kind of intense, concentrated brilliance.
You are stranded on a deserted island. You are allowed the complete musical works of one band and its members. Which band or musician would you choose?
This one isn't too tough for me. The Neville Brothers. They have everything. They are a blend of so many different kinds of music. They have music that makes me think; makes me dance; makes me feel like rebelling against something; makes me feel like I've been to church. I loves me some Nevilles.
Does music play in your head? If so, what is playing right now?
Ohmygosh, yes. Whether I like it or not. Right now . . . Melissa Etheridge, "Keep it Precious."
Can music truly soothe the savage beast? If so, what music soothes your beast?
OK, as others have pointed out, the quote is actually "savage BREAST." But I think you're supposed to pass the meme on with the original error intact. Either way, though, yes, music can truly soothe the beast, the breast, the beast's breasts, whatever. This is tough, because I don't often use music to alter my mood. I'm more likely to choose music that matches my mood. And maybe that helps me move through the mood, if it's an unpleasant one. I know when I have insomnia, I'm always tickled to find an infomercial for the Time-Life Soul Ballads Collection. Or even the *gasp* disco collection. Maybe nostalgic music soothes my beasty breasts. Breasty beasts. Soul music. R&B. Funk. They're probably the most likely genres to change my mood for the better.
So, you wanna do the meme? Do it here or at your place, and tell us about it :)
*OK, it occurred to me as I wrote that, I could have used Josh Groban's "You Raise Me Up," which is not a bad song at all, and I could have totally avoided the objectionable "Wind Beneath My Wings" thing. But then I would have had no excuse to say, "you blow," or "you're a fart," and really, what would this rambling post be without those two bits of profundity? Hmm?
file under: &Memes &Meta-blogging &Partial Nudity