That’s a copy of my album Tapestry by Carole King. I was scrolling through Instagram, where the album is being celebrated for its fiftieth year since release on February 10, 1971. It was suggested people share their stories on a fan wall.
I already shared a story about “It’s Too Late” from that album. But before the incident described there, I can remember the first time I heard a song from the album, though I didn’t know the names of the artist, the album, or the song.
I was walking from Lynne’s house in our small town to my boyfriend’s house. I passed a field in front of apartments where college students lived. A bunch of them were outside enjoying the spring day, sitting on blankets or tossing a football.
Someone’s stereo was cranked up and the song I heard as I walked past was “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman.” I had one of those “totally in this moment” experiences. I was young, happy, strong, and healthy, feeling like a pretty little hippie, going from my best friend to the boy I loved, my first love.
I knew that bliss wouldn’t last forever, but Carole assured me:
When my soul was in the lost-and-found
You came along to claim it
I didn’t know just what was wrong with me
Till your kiss helped me name it
What time, experience, and age would teach me is that a kiss is not always a kiss. A kiss is a good metaphor for whatever gives us that feeling of exhilaration in BEING, in knowing that we ARE. That day, that kiss came from a Carole King song, and I have never stopped loving her for it. She and her music have long outlasted my first love and love’s first sorrow.
When I think about it, my album, as shown in that image drowned by Harvey and headed to a landfill, is a great symbol. We survived a flood. I can get a fiftieth anniversary copy of Tapestry on vinyl, and I can listen to Carole again. Sadness to joy is always possible.
…whether or not to share what I think.
…whether or not to share what I believe.
…to understand that I hold contradictory viewpoints.
…to understand that I don’t fit neatly into anyone’s categories.
…to know that perception is NOT reality.
…to apologize when I know it’s warranted.
…not to apologize insincerely.
…when to participate in a conversation and when not to.
…to believe that actions have consequences.
…to do what I believe is right.
…to evaluate risks before I act or speak.
…to believe that most people are good humans.
…to believe in redemption.
…to understand that we are all flawed.
…to freely say I am wrong when I realize I am.
…to listen with an open mind even if I don’t appear to hear.
…to form opinions of what I see and hear.
…to listen without being compelled to respond.
…to know when someone is trying to manipulate, goad, or push me and keep that knowledge to myself.
…to resist being manipulated, goaded, and pushed.
…to know when I am being lied to and whether or not to say I know.
…to withdraw trust from people who lie to me.
…to practice self-restraint.
…to let go of anything that does not serve my better self.
…to laugh.
…to cry.
…to be who I am.
…to believe myself about who I am instead of someone else’s opinion of who I am.
…to resist the influence of any other human, organization, or institution to define what I believe is wrong as right.
…diplomacy over aggression.
…forgiveness over revenge.
…creation over destruction.
…compassion over cruelty.
…solutions over cynicism.
This is a love song, but expresses something I’m feeling.
ETA: As a point of reference as to what prompted this post, an almost ten-minute video and an in-depth article in The New Yorker. Powerful. Enlightening. Will be ignored by those most in need of them, leaving me with feelings that I counteract by reaffirming to myself that I remain who I know I am.
Recently someone talked about being ghosted, and while I was working on something today, I started thinking about it. The term is used often because the Internet makes ghosting easy when people interact mostly online, especially after an initial meetup between a couple looking for a possible dating relationship, or after sexual hookups that either didn’t go well or went well but then the other person “disappeared.” (A thoughtfully fun romance by Alisha Rai, The Right Swipe, deals with this exact situation.)
From Wikipedia:
Ghosting is a colloquial term used to describe the practice of ceasing all communication and contact with a partner, friend, or similar individual without any apparent warning or justification and subsequently ignoring any attempts to reach out or communication made by said partner, friend, or individual.
Based on that definition, I tend to regard it as applicable to longer-term relationships, whether romantic or as friends, more than online hookups or meetups.
Have I been ghosted? Yes, definitely.
The first time was in 1975 (friend since 1971) and left me confused and heartbroken. The idea that someone could stop all communication was unthinkable to me, although I did get a “don’t call/don’t write” letter (bet I still have it). The end of the friendship came out of the blue, and any attempts I made to reach out and understand it were rebuffed. I’m not sure I was ever angry, just confused as hell and desperate for someone, anyone, to tell me if this was normal in any way. (I was young.)
I hoped never to have to go through it again.
The next time was in 1988 and it was an absolute ghosting. In fact, the person, a good friend for seven years, was supposed to be coming to Tom’s and my apartment (by this time, we lived in cities about three hours apart) and never showed up, never returned a call, never got in touch again after the last phone call arranging the visit. To this day, I have no clue what happened. Tom and I moved to Houston shortly thereafter, and later attempts to find this person via the Internet–if for no other reason than to know the person isn’t dead–have been futile.
I went on with my life, but I probably will go to my grave trying to figure out that mystery.
The next time was in 1995 and ended a friendship of four years. After a few weeks of being stonewalled, I did get a letter (still have it, yes) of explanation, but as it was obviously written under a great deal of stress and pain, I never felt anger, never even considered striking back, although the letter leveled some untrue/undeserved accusations at me.
It was ultimately a vindictive ghosting, but maybe I’d learned some things by then, and all I could feel was compassion for this friend’s misery and growing isolation (I was not the first one ghosted). I let it be. The pain didn’t end with the person’s bitter goodbye but with death not many months later. I was grateful for the unwavering support I received from Tom and Amy throughout the ordeal. (Other friends helped, too, and I’m also thankful for them, but Tom and Amy maintained a near-constant effort to support me through it, and both were careful to help me move forward without anger.)
From that experience, I can say that it may feel good when other friends trash your ghoster with you, but if it’s someone who was special to you, feeding your anger, anguish, pain, revenge thoughts, etc., does you no favors. It’s okay for you to feel all the things you feel. Coping with the death of a relationship goes through stages just as an actual death does. But your wiser friends will listen, extend compassion, and find ways to help you get through and beyond it. Wallowing in it, dwelling on it, holding on to it, is a waste of your time and energy and gives way too much power to your ghoster. Learn what you can learn and let go. I have no evidence, but I believe if you can’t let it go, you risk getting yourself into similar destructive relationships. It may also erode your trust in people and cheat you out of future friendships.
I have sometimes tried to figure out if I’ve ghosted anyone. I don’t think so. Some friendships have ended without a whimper or a bang, just the natural progression of people moving on to different things or in different directions. Some relationships ended in high drama, and either the other person or I made the reasons for the ending abundantly clear. Twice that I know of, I’ve called a complete halt to communication but they had to know it was coming. One left me alone, as asked, the other had to torment me a while because that was part of the pattern that ended the relationship in the first place.
In yet another case, that person also had to know it was coming as a result of bad actions on their part, no explanation from me required. I’m usually forgiving (you might not believe how forgiving, while those on the receiving end do know), but sometimes just a big GO AWAY AND DO NOT RETURN choice is the right one.
For a couple of years now, I’ve kind of felt like someone has ghosted me. I’ve made tentative efforts to reach out, but no response. Again, bewildering, and I’ve ransacked my brain for anything wrong I might have said or done, but maybe it’s just one of those “drifting apart” things again. I do miss the person and send well wishes and positive thoughts for good things for them.
When I write my ghost novel, it will NOT be about relationship ghosting, but a real ghost. Because ghosts are real, right?
DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS OF REAL PEOPLE and not just the ghosts of bad relationships?
It occurred to me, when Tom and I met Lynne before and after Thanksgiving, once to pick up little Minute, and once to return her to Lynne, that it was the only trip I or we took in 2020–a year in which I had planned at least four trips, maybe five or six–the first time I’d intended to travel in years.
On the second Minute trip, I decided to add to my copper penny souvenir collection and actually found a 2020 penny in my purse to use. So that’s our big journey (twice!): Buc-ee’s in Madisonville, Texas. You jealous?
Marika sent me a couple of funny souvenirs recently, and I was reminded of a song I love by the late Dan Fogelberg. I’d name you my favorites by him, but most of them are my favorites, which is why I have this collection.
I think I bought it used before we got our turntable. I had almost all of his recordings on vinyl, and when the Harvey flood took them from me, at least I still had this box set to listen to.
Another little writing note: For several years, I’ve had the outline of a mystery novel in my head that I’m hoping to write in 2021. It remains to be seen if this can happen. Dan Fogelberg is the inspiration for one of the characters.
I wish he hadn’t succumbed to prostate cancer in 2007. I’d have always listened to anything he wrote. One of his songs (not the one below) is the one I call my theme song for how it best describes my own creative journey.
This one is “Souvenirs,” to go with this post.
Here is a poem
That my lady sent down
Some morning while
I was away.
Wrote on the back of
A leaf that she found
Somewhere around Monterey.
And here is the key
To a house far away
Where I used to live
As a child.
They tore down the building
When I moved away
And left the key unreconciled.
And down in the canyon
The smoke starts to rise.
It rides on the wind
Till it reaches your eyes.
When faced with the past
The strongest man cries…cries.
And here is a sunrise
To set on your sill.
The ghosts of the dawn
Moving near.
They pass through your sorrow
And leave you quite still…
Sitting among souvenirs.
In truth, no one did. But this made me laugh, so I share it with you.
Did you hear “MacArthur Park” first by Donna Summer? Richard Harris? No matter, it was written by the acclaimed songwriter Jimmy Webb, and this version features him with backup vocals by Brian Wilson.
There will be another song for me
For I will sing it
There will be another dream for me
Someone will bring it
I will drink the wine while it is warm
And never let you catch me looking at the sun
And after all the loves of my life
After all the loves of my life
You’ll still be the one.
Some people call it the worst song ever recorded. I think that’s an exaggeration. Webb said this about it in an interview:
Everything in the song was visible. There’s nothing in it that’s fabricated. The old men playing checkers by the trees, the cake that was left out in the rain, all of the things that are talked about in the song are things I actually saw. And so it’s a kind of musical collage of this whole love affair that kind of went down in MacArthur Park. … Back then, I was kind of like an emotional machine, like whatever was going on inside me would bubble out of the piano and onto paper.
It matches the mood of The Musician at this moment.
Van Halen asked this musical question on the album OU812 in 1988.
In the second novel of my work in progress that I wrote last year, two of my male characters meet when they work on a project together in 1969.
That sounds dull. Let me punch it up a little.
The Musician will be writing the score for the Director’s next film. Having met for the first time in Toronto a couple of days earlier, they take a ride in the Musician’s VW van to Niagara Falls to look at scenery. In the course of a conversation, the Director advises the Musician that he’ll know it’s love when he finds the girl who’ll be allowed to paint, hippie style, his unembellished van.
I thought of that scene when I saw two of the pages in the “Whimsey Girls Through the Decades” coloring book Marika sent. (Each Whimsey Girl is featured with and without a detailed background.)
This was the first drawing I colored.
And in 1974, the Musician believes he may have found her. Could this happen?
You look at every face in a crowd
Some shine and some keep you guessing
Waiting for someone to come into focus…
Though my writing came somewhere between Van Halen and the coloring book, you never know what lyric, scent, image, overheard comment, or person will inspire or be woven into your creativity. Keep your senses and possibilities open to receiving.
I think the most complex months for me every year are April and December. They are a mix of good and bad events that are part of my personal history. Birthdates and anniversaries. Death dates. I try to keep myself aware during these two months of the year that my moods may fluctuate wildly. I try to be a little more patient with myself.
I encourage ANYONE to practice self-patience. It’s a far more constructive act than self-pity.
Self-pity is a downward spiral that is really hard to rise out of. It will eat away at your self-esteem and feelings of self-worth. It doesn’t recognize the wonder of all that you are, your totality and the entirety of your life.
Self-patience is awareness and more forward-looking. It’s a rejection of Poor me, my life is miserable, there is nothing good in the world. Instead, we can recognize: This painful or terrible thing happened. I acknowledge it and the effect of it. I also survived it. Maybe I didn’t always deal with it in the best way. Maybe for a while, I was consumed with hurt or disappointment. But I’m still here, and things did get better, and hurting did become less impactful than healing.
I AM STILL HEALING. That’s a huge part of what we need to acknowledge when we are suddenly overwhelmed by a bad memory or anniversary or a return to grief or pain. Healing doesn’t have an expiration date. Healing is ongoing. That’s absolutely normal and fine. Never let yourself be shamed by anyone else or yourself because something that happened years ago can still hurt you. Never think that a date will lose its impact because a lot of time passed since the original event. In our souls, in our memories, time is not linear. We are everything we have ever been at one time. Our joys, our sorrows, they travel within us every single day. Whatever triggers them, whether a date, a sense, a song, the words someone says, a photograph: They can feel immediate.
Be patient with yourself. Breathe. Acknowledge. And remember that it’s not happening now. You have traveled since then, both emotionally and in time. Life continued and will do so again. A bad moment, a bad time, a bad memory are not forever. They coexist with the good times, the good memories, and a happier you.
You are loved. I wish you peace in your life and in your soul.
The sunshine blinded me this morning love
Like the sunshine love comes and goes again
I love you I love you
The sea air it’s flowing through my room again
Like the thoughts of you fill my heart with joy again
I’m sorry
I miss you
All things that live one day must die you know
Even love and the things we hold close
Look at love look at love look at love
Look what we’ve done
Loneliness is a very special place
To forget is something that I’ve never done
Silently silently you touch my face
I was asked by a friend why I never commented on the blog about the death of Eddie Van Halen. Did it upset me? Do I recognize his place in music history as someone who loves guitarists?
Yes, it did, and I do. I remember every detail of where and how I found out that EVH was dead, who was with me at the time, and who I texted, and what they replied. He died in October, and it still hits hard.
I’m going to give Eddie his due on this post, but I’d like to provide context, too.
Looking back to 2001, I was reeling from the events of September 11, while also taking in the publication of the first TJB novel, when at the end of November, George Harrison died. I could barely process it. I still think of him all the time as a light in my life for many reasons. As I said to a musician I know through Instagram, every single day, I see George Harrison somehow on that site because of accounts I follow. His photos, videos of him, stories about him, quotes from him. Instagram is a George Harrison channel to me.
Since I began my blog in 2004, I have from time to time talked about many artists, both dead and living. I can’t begin to name all the musicians or musical artists we’ve lost in this century since Harrison’s death, but I can definitely name some of them who were significant in some way to me: Aretha Franklin, B.B. King, Billy Joe Royal, Billy Preston, Bo Diddley, Bob Welch, Charles Neville, Clarence Clemons, Dan Fogelberg, David Bowie, Delaney Bramlett, Delores O’Riordan, Dr. John, Eddie Money, George Jones, George Michael, Ginger Baker, Glenn Frey, Gregg Allman, JJ Cale, Joe Cocker, Johnny Cash, Johnny Winter, Leon Redbone, Leonard Cohen, Levon Helm, Lou Reed, Luther Vandross, Maurice White, Merle Haggard, Michael Jackson, Natalie Cole, Odetta, Percy Sledge, Pete Seeger, Phil Everly, Prince, Ray Charles, Ric Ocasek, Robert Palmer, Teddy Pendergrass, Tony Joe White, Warren Zevon, Whitney Houston, Wilson Pickett.
The above is like one of those memorial reels at an awards show: I AM LEAVING OUT SO MANY PEOPLE. Many are from bands, so their individual names might not be recognizable, and many more are from popular bands that soundtracked my world as a teenager.
Bar none, the death of Tom Petty is the one that hit me hardest. I’ve probably never fully recognized the loss on this blog. Now and again, I realize I’m still dealing with it, and of course, that has much to do with when it occurred: October 2017, in the aftermath of the Harvey flood to our home. A Wilbury a couple of months after 9/11; a Wilbury a couple of months after Harvey. Emotional overload.
This year of the pandemic, there’s another long list of artists’ deaths, and losing John Prine in April (from COVID-19) gutted me. I haven’t done a tribute post on him, either. John Prine was a songwriter among songwriters, and one of the most humble, kindest men in the music industry. It hurt so much, and I thought, There surely won’t be another who’ll have such an impact on me this year.
And then… Eddie Van Halen. There were so many reasons and ways I adored him. As I told my friend who asked, I have a character who’s a composite of many musicians I’ve admired or loved, and Eddie is right at the top because: he could play keyboards, but he set a standard that electric guitarists have been learning from and emulating since. He was small of stature, but the energy off that body made him larger than life. When he smiled, his whole face smiled, his eyes squinted, and he lit up the world. He was part of one of rock’s most adorable couples with Valerie Bertinelli. They named their son Wolfgang, called him Wolfie, and now he’s Wolf and also a musician. Despite the addictions, the divorce, the illnesses, and the injuries, Eddie really never lost that smile or his appeal or his magic. He was one of a kind.
I was lucky enough to see Van Halen (the Van Hagar years) in 1992 at the Summit. We had so much fun that night. I’m not even sure who all went, but I know our group included Lynne and another friend, Wendy.
So here are a few of the ways I get to remember and reminisce about Eddie Van Halen.
Pictures and articles I’ve saved:
Photos taken by others that I purchased at some of the record shows I’ve been to:
Note the Frankenstrat in the upper right photo. You can read the history of that guitar thanks to this Wikipedia link.
Frankenstrat front.
Frankenstrat back.
I feel lucky to have been able to get Axe Heaven’s excellent six-inch miniature of Frankie (as shown above). I posted similar photos to the ones below on Instagram with this tag: In a room somewhere, a boy watches a Van Halen video or listens to Eddie play, and a dream is born.
Finally, here are links to a couple of videos. Eddie’s loss is a huge one to his family and fans. It’s a loss to the entertainment world and to music. He will live on for us in all that he helped create.
Legend.
If you want the Eddie 13-minute “Eruption” guitar solo while Sammy takes a break during the Van Hagar years.
I know guitar solos are not everyone’s thing, so for sheer fun, here’s Eddie and his Frankenstrat with “Jump” when the lead singer was David Lee Roth.
