On my way to work, a song lyric hooked into me. I got an idea for something to write, and I reached for my phone to take a picture of my stereo so I would remember the song in case I wanted to write something later.
I do this very frequently. I listen to music and think when I drive. Then I have ideas. If I don’t capture an idea immediately, it disappears. I think of my compulsion to stop what I am doing and make notes as a charming quirk. I also do it during random conversations, at football games, in meetings at work and in bars. If I do it when I am out with you, then be flattered because you probably said something that made me think. Or made me happy. Or maybe it pissed me off, or made me sad. Either way, you may end up seeing it here.
You may have noticed that it gets personal around the blog sometimes.
Anyway, as I reached for my phone, I remembered that Paddy yelled at me the other day for using electronic devices while driving, and I told myself I would be safe for once, and NOT try to take a picture or write a note while driving through the Terwilliger Curves. I would make sure to remember what the song was and write it down as soon as I got to work.
Then a P!nk song came on, so I had to sing. I did not remember to remember whatever it was that has been noteworthy a few seconds before.
At lunch time, I scrolled back on my iPod to see what song it might have been.
Didn’t leave nobody but the baby? It could have been.
don’t you weep pretty babe
she’s long gone with her red shoes on
gonna need another loving babe
It’s true that I do a fair amount of crying, and my love of red shoes runs very deep. Maybe I wanted to talk about being gone..
Wild Night? Maybe.
And you walk wet streets
Tryin’ to remember
All the wild night breezes
In your memory ever
Memory? Remembering? Ironic in retrospect, isn’t it?
It was such a good idea, too, and now it’s gone. Of course, I can make it anything I want it to be now. Remembering is funny that way.
Memory is a fickle thing. I can remember exactly what I did at 3:30 on Halloween of 1977, but not what I was thinking about just a few hours ago. I can remember my Dad buying us tiny little cans of beer when we had barbecues when I was about five, but not that I needed to call a plumber. I remember my phone number from when we lived on Glacier drive, but not that I need to call and cancel my land line. I remember finding Rocky under my deck one morning, and how he asked me if I’d seen Kyle but not that I need to stop and get coffee on the way home from work. I even remember getting stitches in my thumb, which shouldn’t be possible because I was a toddler, but I don’t remember what month is was that I had laryngitis last year. I remember the first time my Mom realized that I knew how to read.
49 years ago is easy. Last month is hard.
Last month is probably a bad example. I had a really good August. Will I ever forget the beach trip with Goddess Diane and the Ruined Mothers? I hope not. Stargazing with Kyle and Rocky? Chocolate cigars? Dinners on Tequila Hill? Flying Aliens and ballooning?
I hope I wrote enough of it down to remember it even if I start to forget.
Fuck. That reminds me of the Notebook. Is all of this going to be how I remember who I was, and who all of the people I loved were when I am in the extended care facility? Because if it is, I am going to have to get way more specific!
Damn it, Paddy!
You….you…sigh…you know I love you in spite of the Notebook and your mania for safety.
Bastard.
I take it back, I am glad I forgot to remember what I was originally thinking about because I got to think about what a great time I have been having lately.
Thanks, Paddy.
And thanks to all of my partners in hijinks and shenanigans for being the best people I could ever hope to have in my life.
And Chelle and Rick for making sure I didn’t stay at home alone.
And Ken and Nic for all the fun weekends I will be having for the next 3 months. And Ma and Little L for putting up with me through countless Eugene trips. And all of the tailgating crew.
Diane, Kelly, Rocky and Kyle for making the trip to the beach on of the best weekends ever.
I feel like I am at the Oscars giving a speech, and no one can cut me off if I thank too many people.
Thanks for whoever made sure that I have so many people who I love that I can’t even come close to writing them all down!
How did this go from forgetting to remembering to gratitude?
Oh well. Gratitude is always a good place to leave things.
Thank you, everyone.
For everything.