[Miscellany]

I didn't intend on the hiatus.  No, really I didn't.  All I can think of by way of explanation is that it became hard to breathe again.  Not that I need an explanation of course, except perhaps to myself.

The beginning of October saw the 19th anniversary of my father's death.  It was the hardest milestone to live through that I can remember. Some years go by with barely a thought but last year was different.  I felt his absence, almost as badly as I felt it 19 years ago. I felt it in every pore and every thought.  I felt it with a deep, intense sadness that sticks around even today. I wish I could let it go.  I feel that by hanging on to it, I'm hanging on to his ghost somehow and stopping him somehow from finding peace.  It makes me feel even worse as I try to extract myself and to loosen this grip that seems to be so strong around him.

The thing is, I don't remember much about him; I've lived more than half of my life without him and time only ever moves forwards, not backwards.  I will never know more than what I know now and what does a 16 year old know about her father anyway?  I have been thinking a lot about the things I missed out on though and the things I learnt too early but wished I hadn't.  Things like; men leave.  I know it's not a truth, but it is my truth and it's something I learnt the hard way.  That notion has shaped my adulthood.  I can't change it.  I can't take it back.  I can't bring back the lost years either.  Time is difficult to deal with and though I am conscious of the ridiculousness of some of the notions I have they are also not without basis and therefore all the more difficult to let go.

I'm not even sure why, but I've thought about my father every day for the past 3 months since the anniversary of this death.  I've thought about the funny things he would say, or his smile or his advice... none of it is real.  It's all nostalgia - memories changed and I'm sure some made up completely.  The dead take on a ripe glow; all the past mistakes forgotten.  You forget the things you hated and you revere the things you loved until they become an object of only love.  It's not real and it's unfair for those left behind but this is what happens. Meanwhile, I didn't know grief could still feel this bad but it does.  It feels awful.  I wish I could go back for one last hug.  A real one.  It feels like a long, long time since I had a real hug from someone who really loved me.

I suppose the other reason I've been absent is the perpetual elephant in the room An awakening of sorts for me.  But what an awakening - every piece of my heart sings or sinks at any given moment.  On the one hand it's lovely to wake up to it but on the other hand - tear my heart out why dontcha?  I'd forgotten about this part... I'm reminded of John Hughes' movie 16 Candles.  The dad gives a newly 16 year old Molly Ringwald some fatherly advice:

Sam: "I know, but it hurts..."
Sam's Dad: "Thats why they call them crushes, if they were easy they'd call 'em something else."

And so from someone who lost their father at 16 and who never had the chance to have a bit of fatherly advice; thanks John Hughes.  I get it.  It hurts.  Everything at the moment hurts.

Labels: boys, death, love, love or lust, memories, memory, nostalgia

posted by M at 1:39 am 5 comments

I'm a tourist when it comes to Alice in Chains.  I don't often seek them out but over the years I found myself accidentally encountering them on soundtracks, in clubs, on  the radio, while watching video clips etc. until I couldn't help but deny the obvious fact: They are brilliant. I can't help but be mesmerised by them.  Layne Staley has a voice to be believed.  I am a fan of screamers who can actually sing (Chris Cornell, Kat Bjelland etc.) and Layne was one of the best.

Alice in Chains definitely had a 'heavy' sound but there was something also very contemplative or melancholic in the strum of the string and the build up in many of their songs.  You can almost meditate to Rooster, for instance.

One of my favourite songs of theirs is also one of their best known: Would.

When I was a teen it was played on "alternative" radio and I can't remember loving it at first listen.  The song is a slow burn, or perhaps it was for me.  It took a while to love and by the time I did I couldn't imagine not ever loving it.  In fact, now can't imagine my personal musical history without this song in it. By the time we turned 18 and the friendship group graduated to going to pubs it always seemed to be the song that got everyone up on the dance floor.  I suppose this is indicative of the types of places we frequented (ie: dives) - grungy places where bands played and the music was so loud that you couldn't hear yourself think.  Let me make this clear; Would is NOT the kind of song one dances to but somehow we managed to. I listen to it now and wonder how we even moved to it.  I guess we were shitfaced and loved singing along while getting even more shitfaced.  I have a lot of very good memories with this song as the sole soundtrack.  It makes me smile to think of the mischief we all got up to.

What is it about this song?  I don't think I can quite articulate how the vocals bury somewhere in my sternum when I listen to it; hitting somewhere primal and deep.  Where does that voice come from?  Not this world I don't think. I'd put it in my top 100 songs of all time.

Would - Alice in Chains

Labels: grunge, loud, memories, memory, music, musical monday

posted by M at 10:37 pm 6 comments

It was last night's appalling "Britpop" episode on Idol that had me on my knees reaching into the darkest corners of the second bottom shelf of my cd library and blowing dust off those old cds looking for something to listen to. In my world you can't call The Beatles Britpop and I stand by that even if Noel and Liam disagree (oi!). In my world you also can't sing anything by Amy Winehouse while looking like you just stepped out the front doors of church on Sunday. No sir. It's only about Rehab if even the gentlefolk are calling you a crack-head, honey - and they ain't, no ma'am.

So, anyway I dig out the old mid-90s feel good albums and make my way through the ones that tickle my fancy - which of course instantaneously takes me back to better times. I'm not quite sure why they are better exactly but I do know that nostalgia plays tricks on old minds - maybe that's it. I come across a couple of songs I haven't listened to in years. I feel the excitement that I felt then - about life, love, learning etc building up in my heart and pounding through my veins. Music is wonderful isn't it? It's a time machine for emotions and memories long since buried.

I'm smiling even now at the lyrics to End of a Century: the mind gets dirty as you get closer to thirty remembering myself back then, wondering whether that would ever be true of me, wondering indeed if I'd ever get there - close to thirty, in this new century - and yet here we are: 2007. It seemed much too far away to be true back then.

Indeed, funny that the young girl I once was seems too far away to be true to me now. The ribbon that binds us together is now grey and fraying dangerously along the edges. I'm desperately tying knots to keep her close but she's all but disappeared that one. She was so untouchable and so ready for life to happen. She was ...unaware, and that's good - that's a very good way to be says the present older me, who knows a little too much to be so objective about life's little surprises now. The lesson has been learned.

I'm listening to the song and remembering her blissfully dancing at the Blur concert (for it was always blissful this kind of dancing, completely self absorbed) - some time in the mid nineties - and suddenly looking upwards and laughing as a turret of water is poured into the overheated crowd - indeed over her, drenching her to the bone in a shock of cold that is quickly enveloped and turned steamy by the dancing masses. She looks over at her friends and they all laugh and clasp hands and jump into the air, shaking wet hair everywhere and screaming whilst not missing one beat.

I wish I could get her back. I miss her.

End of a Century - Blur



This MM wasn't going to be about this, but I'll just leave it there anyway.

Labels: memories, memory, music, musical monday, musings, nostalgia, wonderings

posted by M at 8:56 pm 11 comments

As a child I spent a lot of time playing by the windowsill. I remember rainy days with my head pressed against the glass, breathing onto the window to make it fog up and then drawing happy faces, flowers and houses into the condensation there. Drawing idyllic domestic scenes was a favourite past time of mine, besides it seemed like it was always too wet to go outside.

I remember autumn days sitting by the windowsill, reading a book while the wind whipped the brown and orange leaves into a whirling frenzy outside. Pulling my too big jumper over my knees and right down over my toes - stretching it until it hung low and baggy. Too cold to go outside and who could be bothered anyway?

I remember setting up house by the windowsill for my dolls and lego. A windowsill is a perfectly straight bench with finite parameters and perfect for a temporary toy laden lodging. I'd play there while the sun shone outside, or even if it didn't just playing and always keeping my eye on the outside world, just in case.

I remember being a child waiting by the window, with my chin resting on the windowsill watching the sun disappear behind the rooftops of the houses opposite ours. Waiting for Dad to come home from work - always wondering whether he'd make it - always thinking that he wouldn't. My view from the windowsill a reminder that things don't always happen on time.

I remember sleepless nights, as a teenager awake way past the witching hour. 2am, 3am, 4am, 5am would see me with headphones in, and my cheek pressed firmly against the coldness of the glass as I watched the street light illuminate the corner block. Indie music on an obscure AM radio station blared into my open eyed dreams as I wondered about the sleeping world outside my window.

Spring now, a kaleidoscope of sunlit hues playing on the windowsill and tinkling brightly into the room. I'm still keeping my eye on the outside world from this windowsill. I'm just not quite ready to go there yet.

Labels: memories, memory, musings, stunted, window

posted by M at 11:24 pm 18 comments

The girl asked once, the story of her birth and was told. When her mother was pregnant she had a dream and the dream was of her unborn child - a daughter. She dreamed a snake had come to the back door, threatening and hissing and when the snake raised it's slender head he told the mother that she would give birth to a girl. The mother woke up. Not long afterwards she went into labour and that labour produced a girl - hissing and slithering into the world.

The young girl took this in. She wasn't sure that she liked being a snake. She wanted to be a butterfly or a unicorn.

The mother told the story of the girls brother. How the mother pregnant again, took a bath one day and saw a bird on the windowsill. It was tiny and blue and beautiful. The bird sang a gay tune - you will soon have a son - it whistled. The mother went to fetch a towel to grab the bird with, to send it outside but when she turned back around the bird had disappeared. She searched the house but the messenger had gone. It was a happy day when her new young son entered the world, feathers slightly ruffled and a bit blue.

The girl understood that her brother was like a bird and she was like a snake. She internalised the symbolism of the snake - and the hate. She never asked for the story again but was told it anyway. Numerous times. It hasn't been forgotten.

She felt weird. She knew that being a snake was bad, but she didn't feel like a bad person - not really. Sometimes she was bad though, and whenever she was bad she remembered how she was a snake and that truly there must be some part of her that was rotten and evil and festering away inside her. By contrast her brother was good, even when he was bad - but she loved him anyway because who wouldn't love a bird? It's only snakes that are feared and hated. Rightly so, horrible creatures.

The girl has come to understand that there are worthy and unworthy people in the world. Maybe some are made that way - whether it's by birth or otherwise.

The Diamond Sea - Sonic Youth

Labels: memory, musical monday

posted by M at 11:15 am 35 comments