I don’t know if we were all in semi-denial when the sky went orange. After all we knew what it was and that it would pass. Quickly. Is that grounds for ignoring what was happening?
Dusk and Thunderstorms. I suppose every season has parental memories – these summer ones make me pause. Literally. Pay attention, they say. Slow down and look, and listen.
… there are two kinds of mothers – the one you are born to and the ones who choose you, or visa versa.
We had no idea how important we were to one another or that the memories of four-part harmonies, spring evenings and the peepers would stay with us for decades. We had no idea or vision of the future, and the thought of being 70 or so and looking back was not on our agenda. Being there, leaning against one car or another, no one smoking or drinking, sharing gossip and the tiny markers in our lives that seemed enormous, with the peepers as our background music, that was a place we felt safe and hopeful. You bet we dawdled.
She started singing in 1931 and has never stopped in spite of being sidelined more than once. Marilyn Maye has lived through more crap than most of us will ever see. Talk about opportunities for having the blues. And yet she chooses the crow’s nest as her permanent home.