From the Deepest Well

So, is it so wrong to just once...ONCE....want to go on a long, aimless drive, destined for nowhere in particular, for no other reason than to just enjoy being?

Is it against reason to want 10 minutes to talk, uninterrupted, about anything?

I don't feel like being melon-collie, (actually, that made me smile, tee hee) but I am.

For the most part.

A little.

Do you have one of those songs (or several) that make you stop what you're doing, stare off into nothing and just think?

I just had one. And as usual, it was the same old thinking, about the same old thing, and the same old feelings, and the same old melon-collie (*snicker*) set in. Now, I want to listen to an entire playlist of melon-collie inducing songs.

Or maybe I just want a collie. Or melon. I think Cantaloupe is in season.

Then the Mercury Was Ready To Go

A couple of posts ago, I made passing reference to my parents old 1972 Mercury Monterey. 1972 is the year I was born and they bought it because they needed more of a "family" type vehicle, what with the new little addition and all.

So, they purchased....a boat:




I typed "1972 Mercury Monterey" into Google Image search and lo and behold, a 1972 Mercury Monterey. Not just any 1972 Mercury Monterey, but the EXACT car my parents had.

Brown.

Brown must have been the happening color for cars back then.

The seats were a tan vinyl, bench seats front and back, so you literally had to climb over the seat to get from one to the other. I can fondly remember making that journey many a time during our travels, much to the annoyance of my parents. I remember the license plate number too. 988KIG. And it wasn't the nice spiffy New York plates we have now. They were the ugly old yellow and blue ones.

The first time we traveled to Florida to visit relatives, in 1976, I remember my father put a big board across the back seat so my brother and I could spread out our sleeping bags and take naps. No seatbelts required. Don't worry about sudden stops, or you know, safety or anything. It really does boggle the mind how unsafe vehicular travel for kids was a mere 30 years ago. By todays standards, that's akin to murder, for crying out loud. It's a wonder we were never hurt.

By far, the best part of that car was the 8 track player my father installed. It was in that car my love for music was truly cultivated. Where it developed and matured. I can tell you the exact cutoff point of every single John Denver 8 track, the exact point where the song would stop and the tape would change tracks. What technology, eh?

We had that car until 1984, when they finally traded it in for a Ford Crown Victoria. Another boat.

Now, 23 years later, my parents still have a penchant for Mercury's. They tool around in a semi-boat like Mercury Marquis now.

And yes, it's brown.

No, Baby You're Not So...

Sometimes


GREEN


is such an ugly, ugly color.

That's Alright, Mama

My daughter loves Elvis Presley. Loves. Extreme love. I blame her Grandmother for getting the ball rolling, because she provided the first taste of music. (My Mom is a true Elvis fangirl, but thankfully, not one of the psychotic ones) Then, she told my daughter that Elvis was her boyfriend before she met Pa. (I take back the psychotic remark)

My brother and I were raised on Elvis. Elvis and The Beatles. But it's Elvis I remember blaring from the old cabinet stereo in my parents dining room, the 45's dropping one after another..."I Want You, I Need You, I Love You", "A Fool Such As I", "Jailhouse Rock", "Love Me Tender", "A Mess Of Blues", "Anyway You Want Me", "Hound Dog", just to put a drop in the bucket. The 8 tracks were a given in our old Mercury Monterey, and Elvis' Christmas Album was a staple from Thanksgiving through New Years. (Only Elvis fans think a depressing song like "Mama Liked the Roses" is a classic Christmas tune)

So it didn't exactly surprise me that my daughter was loving Elvis as much as I did as a kid.

Thinking that this was a cute thing, and glad that she was showing an interest in good music, I let her hear the King Creole soundtrack, which admittedly, is one of my very favorite soundtrack albums EVER. Now and then I'd play it in the car, or it would shuffle up on my Zen. It started with Lover Doll, which she called "Lava Da". (Can't blame the kid, really. Elvis wasn't exactly known for his sterling pronunciation, coupled with his Mississippi accent. It's a wonder some of that early stuff is decipherable as English.)

Then, one night I heard her in her room singing, "If you're looking for trouble da da da da da you came to the right place da da da da da..." , the "da da's" obviously serving as a 4 year olds replication of electric guitar.

Then, every time we got in the car, she asked for Elvis. Talk about taking a good thing and beating it to a bloody pulp.

She seemed to slack off for awhile, thankfully, because I can get sick of the same thing over and over pretty quickly (aside from anything with the name "Finn" attached).

Then, the other day in a restaurant "I Want You, I Need You, I Love You" came on.

"ELVIS!"

She shreiked. Just like the squealing, fainting girls at his concerts.

It became obvious to me then. She's an Elvis fangirl, just like her Grandmother.

I told her that Elvis is NOT alive and well and living in Viva Las Vegas. I told her that under no circumstances will she get married by a preacher dressed as 1976 fat Elvis, complete with pork chop sideburns and sparkly jumpsuit and cape (although she has expressed an interest in being Fat Elvis for Halloween, since it involves all things sparkly and capey, and frankly, I think this would be funny as hell!).

I told her she will never see Elvis Presley walk out of a 7-11. *grin*

I also told her she had very good taste in music.

Just like her Mama.

Play It Again, Neil

England cries and she plays for him
With chords entwined like a requiem
And though it's springtime and color is new
In Regents Park I will mourn for you
And I must be wise somehow
'Cause my heart's been broken down

It's so far to fall
And so hard to climb
Nothing sadder I know
Than the passing of time



Um....wow.

Fly Or Fall...It's My Call

So, I got my new business cards in the mail on Saturday and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I mean, the cards are nice enough, nicely printed, attractive, professional looking. It's what's ON the cards that makes me nervous. My name. My business. My responsibility. It's more daunting than I thought it would be.

I keep looking at them and wondering, "Am I really good enough for this?"

And now and then, I have a moment of delicious clarity and think, "Damn right I am."

I'm not sure why it is that I'm so tentative about success, why I balk at the thought of actually doing something for myself that I love, that could be a potential moneymaker and at the same time, allow me to do something that I really love to do.

I think it has a lot to do with fact that I was never encouraged to think outside the box. Status quo has always been good enough for my family, and that's the way I was raised. (I have a fantastic family, but they've never been.....risk takers, I guess is the way to put it)

Status Quo. (not the 80's band)

Frank has always been the risk taker in our relationship, and it's his encouragement that made me finally get up off my ass and begin this process. He wants better for me, and he knows that I can do this. Plus, he wants me to be a HUGE success so he can quit his job working for the man and run the "family business". He makes me laugh. He has more faith in me than I ever will.

I also have to admit that another reason I'm taking this chance is because I can't stand the thought of having to go back to work in September. I can't do retail anymore, I just can't. And I don't want to go back into kitchen sales. Too much aggravation in my life that I just don't need or want. I want something that is my own, that belongs to me and that *I* make successful.

This might be it. I think I can do it.