To celebrate International Women’s Day 2022 at 1:6 scale, here is another of the dolls from Mattel’s Inspiring Women Series.
I found this doll I think last October when I was in Barnes & Noble. The associate who checked me out was surprised and said he hadn’t been aware the store had the doll and he thought it was great. I got the sense that he might be going upstairs to put one on hold for himself–not because he collects Barbies, but because of his admiration for Eleanor Roosevelt.
Roosevelt was the longest-serving First Lady in the U.S. White House as wife of Franklin D. Roosevelt, but there is so much more to know about her. I recommend a crash course via her Wikipedia entry to get a sense of the complex woman she was and the human rights advocate she became.
My mother, having been a child during the Depression, was a huge supporter of both FDR and Eleanor Roosevelt. On one of our vacation trips to Callaway Gardens in Georgia, my parents took Lynne and me to visit The Little White House, the Roosevelts’ home in Warm Springs, Georgia.
I’m sure that trip contributed to my interest in the Roosevelts, as well as being folded into my own early passion for women’s rights and civil rights. As always, for me, knowing about the more human qualities of a trailblazer actually makes a person more inspirational. We are not saints; none of us are without flaws. Roosevelt made changes in herself and in the world that remind me that we can all be better, do better.
I can’t let this date pass without expressing my desire to pick up the phone and wish one of my more personal life’s inspirations a happy birthday. I miss you and love you always, MVP.
In a conversation with a longtime friend who hasn’t worked with tarot cards in many years, she wondered if I was doing so on the regular as my blog seemed to indicate. Not at all. I’d gone years without doing readings for anyone, even longer since I did them for myself.
I think one reason I recently pulled out any decks at all is because in my next saga (if this one ever comes to a close and right now its title seems to be 1974 Lasted a Century), there’s a character who has always intrigued me because she’s a young woman of contradictions. I’d been thinking of her (the second series is connected to this first one) and trying to recall things about her. And I remembered that she’s artistic and had once created her own tarot deck and there was a little story activity around that.
Then: I’ve occasionally featured some of my boxes on here, and that’s where most of the decks live, in wooden boxes. Then in September, I did the Idol Challenge with Dennis Wilson as my subject, and a couple of times I’ve shown the Dennis box I made, and it holds tarot cards.
Then: For fun, I did readings for a fictional character or two (not the one I’m speaking of above) and realized random cards could actually offer fiction writing prompts for my characters if I feel stuck.
Then: I had some writing challenges last year, so since I’ve been looking at the decks, I decided to see if pulling a few cards would help me better organize my thoughts on writing and not let other people make me doubt myself.
Then: I am always thinking about muses and I love the corvids, so the Muse and Crow decks jumped out at me. I always figure there’s a reason (beyond just, I AM IN A DAMN PANDEMIC AND ISOLATING AT HOME I MISS MY FRIENDS LET ME SPEND A LITTLE MONEY ON MORE STUFF SO I CAN DIVERT MYSELF–apparently my inner voice is an uppercase one, maybe even cursive, who knows) so I go with it, figuring it’ll be clear at a later point.
In other words, several things converged, and when Mark asked me how many decks I have, I figured why not do a regular Thursday post with tarot cards as the subject, because they both start with “T,” and though this blog has many random subjects, which is how I like it, that randomness may be a foolish idea because without focusing on anything, I’m not reaching a readership that wants that one thing, whatever that one thing is. Then again, you know what else I’m not reaching? Trolls who wander through people’s social media accounts to say hateful things to them or their readers/commenters. So…all good.
The blog’s just a gander at whatever pings my brain at any given time, and designating certain days (Button Sundays, Mood Mondays, Tiny Tuesdays, Tarot Thursdays, Photo Fridays) keeps me from having to think too hard of a subject. That was most helpful when I was employed and working 16-hour days, and now it’s helpful when I try to manage my creative time better. Fiction writing comes first, and by imposing a little structure on my blog, I don’t have to use a lot of energy trying to figure out what to post about and can spend my blog time actually writing text and finding photos.
If that all makes sense.
If there’s anything at all that I ponder or reflect on or wonder about, especially whether my muse or my higher self or my subconscious is trying to get through to me, it’s the random music–from a vast repertoire of music I own or remember or love or connect to people, places, and times of my life–that pops into my head.
But I have to confess, I have NO DAMN IDEA why “My Wild Love” is in my brain right now. I haven’t been listening to The Doors or thinking of The Doors or thinking of Jim Morrison. It’s my ear worm for no apparent reason. Which is how I came to choose today’s buttons from my own personal collection, and I may or may not have used them here before.
So yeah, sure, hi Jim Morrison, hi Doors, hi the friend who’s part of my personal zeitgeist that includes The Doors. Happy to have you visit my brain.
…I’d go to the free Paul McCartney: The Lyrics exhibition in London at the entrance hall to the British Library on Euston Road. It’ll be there until March 13 and features photographs, archive material including handwritten lyrics, and previously unpublished comments from Sir Paul about the songwriting process. The exhibit spans his career from 1956 to the present.
I am not in England, or London, or the British Library. I am in Houston, as I was on December 4, Dennis Wilson’s birthday, when Tom and I went to Brazos Bookstore for a few gift ideas. It was there I sent him an apologetic look and said, “I don’t know what you’ve gotten me yet, and I know this is pricey, but I think I must have it.” He had already bought some gifts (at least one of which Debby later generously paid for and took from him to give me), and what I wanted was indeed pricey (but certainly nowhere near the amount many, many times it that the autographed copy sold for in their store, so there’s that).
I’ve barely begun to explore it yet, because I’m going to savor it for a long time, delving into it, and feeling grateful that I’ve been alive in the world at the same time as the Beatles and Wings and Paul McCartney. I’ll try not to write too much when I share the following photos, but I’m so grateful for this muse, this artist, this man, this musician, who is a constant source of inspiration and to whom one of my own characters frequently pays homage.
I am not so far away in time, after all, from the little girl who once put a ball under her shirt, embraced the bulge with her hands, and announced to the world she was having Paul McCartney’s baby.
Only yesterday, I wrote a scene in which my musician plays “Maybe I’m Amazed” on piano for the woman he loves. It was so unexpected that this was the song, among so many, that made me start crying when I saw Paul McCartney perform in 2019. It’s just… everything it should be, in his writing, his history, and in the things I imagine.
My first husband (SDG) gave me this little dog, who I named “First,” on the first anniversary of our “going steady” in high school. Often when we’d drive between Tuscaloosa and our hometown when we were in college, First would ride along, and when we listened to the 8-track of Band on the Run in SDG’s little orange Volkswagen, every time “Let Me Roll It” played, I’d pick up First and make him play air guitar. I don’t know if SDG laughed because of First or because I laughed so hard at First when I made him play, but this is a memory that never fails to make me happy. Some things are right for their time, and then we change and go somewhere else in our lives. That doesn’t take a single thing away from what we cherished.
I suppose that’s also one lesson of the Beatles.
Riley, I never forget that you left on January 16 in 2008. I thank you again for all the times you played and sang Paul McCartney songs for me on your guitar and piano, even though you reminded me that John was your Beatle and George was mine, and could I just please request them now and then? I didn’t have to. You always knew who I needed to hear from among them, as well as when my spirit required Bob Dylan or any of the other music that lit up my world. I will love you and miss you forever, my friend.
Today, I was dumb and looked back at this date on the first few years of my blog, beginning with LiveJournal, which I started in 2004. I didn’t manage to get all the way to 2011, when I migrated over to this blog, before I had to stop.
Today is the date John Lennon was murdered in 1980. I posted a coloring page with some of his lyrics on Instagram and had to turn off comments because I was getting spoilers about the new Let It Be documentary. Of course I watched the original movie, but it’s been a very long time, and I’d like to see this one (which Tom and I plan to watch in segments this month, hopefully) without knowing any of the new material and having forgotten a lot of what I’ve seen before.
John Lennon was born on Wednesday, October 9, 1040; that date reminded me of a beautiful non-Beatles song I listened to again recently. “Wednesday’s Child.” I’ll link to it at the bottom of this post. It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. The year 1980 was a brutal one for me personally, and for it to end so miserably for Riley and me still leaves me raw when I think about it.
There are a lot of tough dates for me in December, and I think that’s why I finally began making a bigger deal of Christmas. The novel A Coventry Christmas starts with the main character saying, “I hate Christmas.” I once said that to my coworkers at a job, and one of the guys said, “I worry about you.” A few years later, when I was asked to write a Christmas romance, I said it again, only this time Timothy answered, “There’s your first line.” Writers… I love them, and those writers include Timothy J. Lambert, Riley Morris, and John Lennon.
Today, I added more ornaments to the tree from a bin we hadn’t opened yet. This one made me laugh when I found it. It had to go up.
The Bella and Edward ornament.
And this one. Tom was born on Christmas Day, and his uncle, who was a baker, put this on his first birthday cake. After we were married, Tom’s mother gave us a lot of special mementos like this for our holiday trees.
I’ll keep adding to the tree probably until it’s time for everything to be taken down. Because if yesterdays can make me melancholy, it’s up to me to make and appreciate better days now.
I’m Monday’s child. Riley was Tuesday’s child. John Lennon was Wednesday’s child.
Monday’s child is fair of face
Tuesday’s child is full of grace
Thursday’s child has far to go
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
Mm-mm-mm
Hmm, mm-mm-mm
Friday’s child is lovin’ and givin’
And Saturday’s child must work for a livin’
A child that’s born on the sabbath day
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
Is fair andw ise, happy and gay
Wednesday’s child is full of woe
Whoa, oh-oh-oh
Woe I know
I am Wednesday’s child
Written by Mark Lindsay, Keith Allison, and Jerry Allison
Back in mid-July, I did some local shopping that I blogged about. Among the things I picked up that day were buttons from Cactus Music (the one of Tom Petty I posted the beginning of this month) and these two of George Harrison.
I knew at that point that the 50th anniversary reissue of George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass was due to drop around August 5. As you may recall, the Harvey flood took my original copy of his 1971 debut album, which was a gift to me from my friend Riley when I was just a girl looking at a boy who filled my life with music and poetry every chance he could.
This is like a kick to the gut every time I think about it. I did replace it almost immediately with the CD set, because I need certain music and memories to sustain me, and this is at the top of that list.
That day in July, I also went to Soundwaves and talked to the owner. He said to definitely call him the first week of August, and he’d order and save me whatever I wanted (there are choices–vinyl with the original three albums plus vinyl with the original three plus two with outtakes and alternate versions from the ATMP sessions, and these same options on CD).
That was my plan before I knew that the end of July and throughout August, external things would trigger a wave of mental and emotional fatigue/anxiety/depression that actually feels worse than most of what I went through in the first year of this pandemic. I wasn’t calling anyone or going anywhere for a while.
Yesterday, after I worked in Aaron’s Garden, Tom agreed to go with me not only to buy plants, but to swing by Soundwaves and Cactus Music.
From Soundwaves, I got the three-vinyl set that replaces my original. I didn’t think it was there and I’d have to buy the five-album set, which I didn’t want because I don’t listen to records as often as I listen to music from CDs both at home and in the car. But Tom found it, so GOOD THING he was with me!
Then off we went to Cactus, where they had the CD set with the originals plus additional unreleased material, and I’m listening to the outtakes and extras right now, and not only is every bit of the music balm to my soul, but there are funny moments, too. George Harrison is bringing me so much joy.
The only thing that could make this better would be listening to it all with Riley again. If there’s a rock and roll heaven, he probably jams with George and John (his favorite Beatle), and they, too, now know how cool and talented and funny and good my beautiful friend was.
Dear Riley: Tom took this photo of me wearing my Beatles mask in front of the display at Cactus. I know it would have made you laugh. I love you, and I’ll always be grateful for every one of those years we had. Thank you for all the music, love, and laughter.
Though you sit in another chair
I can feel you here
Looking like I don’t care
But I do, I do
Hiding it all behind anything I see
Should someone be looking at me?
While I occupy my mind
I can feel you here
Love to us is so well-timed
But I do, I do
Wasting away these moments so heavenly
Should someone be looking at me?
Let it down, let it down
Let your hair hang all around me
Let it down, let it down
Let your love flow and astound me
While you look so sweetly and divine
I can feel you here
I see your eyes ar? busy kissing mine
And I do, I do
Wondering what it is they’r? expecting to see
Should someone be looking at me?
Let it down, let it down
Let your hair hang all around me
Let it down, let it down
Let your love flow and astound me
Today I planned my activities to be sewing and writing. I’m making a three-piece outfit for a character doll with which I hope to surprise a friend. She gets neither the doll nor the fashion! But she gets to see my doll version of a character she likes.
The sewing took longer than I intended because SEWING IS HARD. Also, it’s not perfect. Nothing I do can be, I think, because I’m not. Never said I was, never thought I was, never wanted to be. “Perfection” in my world is a highly overrated concept. Like one of my characters would say, “I’m not looking for perfect. I’m looking for real.”
Real is hard, too, because it can require tough decisions. About what we want to show and who to show it to. About the things we’re able to see and hear, and the things we can’t. Or won’t. Sometimes that’s self-preservation. Sometimes it’s a choice. I have a character (in the current chapter I’m working on) who’s spent her life grappling with it. I understand her well.
Whether or not I’ve had past lives or will have future lives, in this time, I have one life. We all do.
All that was part of what I was thinking about as I sewed, and I was accompanied by a most persistent ear worm: The Doors’s “Break On Through (To the Other Side).” Oh, that charismatic Jim Morrison. There is a Doors reference in the Neverending Saga because I always love a musical bad boy.
Mr. Mojo Rising, or whoever is tapping on my psyche, from this world or another, I think I’ve been dealing with over a year of breakthroughs, some good, some not so good. It all finds its way into all I do.
Here’s another of the posters I unrolled back in March. I was an assistant manager in a bookstore in 1991 when Oliver Stone’s film The Doors was released. An associate on the staff, Dorrie, also worked in the theater in our same complex. I put together a music display (I BEGGED to do it, and my manager knew my band-loving ways and okayed it) to help promote the movie, and Dorrie gave the store a theater poster to hang above it. When the display came down, the poster came home with me.
It was two-sided, which made it that much cooler.
Here are some photos of the display.
The tie-dyed fabric covering the cubes behind the books in some of the photos was a joint effort by Tom, Lynne, and me. I don’t think I still have it.
And here’s the song if you need a breakthrough, too.
Thanks, Tom, for being tall enough and also willing to climb a ladder to get photos of the movie poster back when the house was a wreck and we were still recovering from February’s snowy, icy storm.
ETA: Added as No. 8 in my Numbers Photo Series (because of the number ten over one of the displays).
This is another of my post-Christmas gifts. While staying at home because of COVID lockdown, Paul McCartney devoted his time to creating and adding to his canon of solo albums. From the Internet:
McCartney III was recorded in early 2020 at McCartney’s studio in Sussex, England while in lockdown during the COVID-19 pandemic. McCartney began by recording the instrument he wrote the song on, then added further layers. He said: “It was a lot of fun. It was about making music for yourself rather than making music that has to do a job. So, I just did stuff I fancied doing. I had no idea this would end up as an album.”
All Paul: music, lyrics, instruments, vocals. I’d say maybe I’m amazed, but I’m not. Sir Paul is a legend, a force, an embodiment of magical sanity in a world of lunacy, and also my first imaginary husband, age seven.
So y’all remember this book that I delve into from time to time to do a blog post. I advised Marika to get a copy for her blog, because it could provide material for-almost-ever.
She tried to find it to no avail, and she found THIS one to use in its place.
That cover is prettier than mine!
The last time I did an errand, I spied this one. Okay, sure, there are a thousand more questions, but her cover is still prettier than mine. I will deal. I can admire beauty wherever it is.
I randomly selected a question, and it is: 1571: Have you ever been stood up for a date?
One occasion comes to mind. My parents had already made me transfer high schools, and I was utterly miserable. On one fall Friday night, I was given permission to go back to Town 1 (site of first high school) to spend the night with Lynne. However, I also was supposed to meet The Boyfriend at their school’s football game. The plan was, my girlfriends wouldn’t go to the game and would do something else, and I’d go to the game and meet The Boyfriend, and after our date ended, he’d drop me at Lynne’s house to spend the night.
It was cold, and I sat in the stands alone, and he never showed up. I was fifteen. No driver’s license, no car. No friends at home to call to come get me. (And I would NEVER have called my parents; they’d have never let me leave the house again.)
I thought I’d have to walk the few blocks to Lynne’s house on a cold, dark night alone. Except…
Don’t forget Riley was a drummer in the school band. He saw me and knew what had happened. He and his girlfriend Carol swooped me up and put me in the back of his warm car, and we headed for Lynne’s, even though only her parents were home.
Was Carol mad because he came to my rescue? You be the judge.
Carole King’s song “It’s Too Late” came on the radio, and I began to sob in the back seat.
“No, Riley, DO something!” she begged. “This is so sad.”
So we rode around and talked and as always, Riley made me laugh. Carol was generous to share him with me that night, and by the time they dropped me at Lynne’s, though my heart was still broken, I wasn’t crying anymore.
Decades later, it was Carol who called me to talk about Riley after he died, even though we were never friends (they were older than me, and I was no longer at their school) and she hadn’t seen me for years. She married one of Riley’s best friends, and she remained a good friend to Riley through the years.
She is still one of the kindest people I’ve ever known.
Though I wish she would, Carol will never see this, nor will The Boyfriend, but I forgave him (I don’t even remember his reason for not showing up) and I still think of him with nothing but affection.
I can’t let this date pass without expressing my desire to pick up the phone and wish one of my more personal life’s inspirations a happy birthday. I miss you and love you always, MVP.
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