Let's Hope it's a Good One
I will join the march here at Blogger. Lamenting how this month has been overwhelming. I still write every day. Even if it is handwritten in a journal I constantly write things down. Lyrics to a song that resonate somehow or a funny commercial or blurb from a movie or TV show. The brain never stops. Just my motivation to form it in to something worth writing about.
December is a hard month. I know it is for so many. I watched an episode of M*A*S*H last night, where BJ tried in vain to save a soldier from dying before midnight, December 25th. He didn't want his family to always think of Christmas day as the day their daddy died. All I could think was, it didn't matter what day it was. Christmas is an entire season,dude. Kids will think of their dad the moment they walk in to WalMart and see Christmas trees in fucking September.
My now ex husband and I separated two weeks before Christmas. I finally threw him out when he showed up at a Christmas party that I was attending, sloppy drunk. Ironically, it was the first time we all met Dru's husband. It was her first "meet my friends" date. Tom still talks about that night. I can laugh now, but I know how horrible that final decision was. That first Christmas was even worse. I kept his wrapped presents that I had already bought before the separation, for over a year. One of them was custom made saddle bags for his motorcycle. His name was engraved in the leather. I couldn't return them and I didn't know any other men with bikes who spelled their name the same way my ex did.I finally did give them to him when a couple years later we tried to get back together. I broke it off for good when he joined a biker gang. A member of the gang who I knew who had served time in the past for armed robbery, knocked on my door looking for the husband. It didn't look like he wanted to have tea. I filed for divorce the next day. Hmmmmm, that was on Easter. Another holiday memory ruined. Never in a million years did I think walking down the aisle that the guy I married, who owned a Japanese motorcycle, would go on to buy a Harley and join a gang.
Christmas is a crazy time of year in the salon. It is our absolutely busiest time and there is no room for a catastrophe to happen. I came to work the day after I threw my husband out. I knew if I called out I would screw my over-scheduled book. I came to work the day after Prick assaulted me. I come to work every day. Period.
It was six days before Christmas that my friend Coleen committed suicide. Her sister called me at work to give me the news. I have no memory of what client was in my chair. I have no memory of how I finished my day. As always, I trudged through somehow. When I told my boss at the end of the day, he patted me on the back. In his warped way I knew he was thanking me for finishing out the day and not letting on what I was feeling inside.
It was a whirlwind week of funeral plans and combing through every single letter she had ever sent me, trying desperately to see if their was any clue that she would do what she did. Her last letter to me was on November 20th, 2007. She was planning to come visit in the new year. She asked if I would pick her up at the train station? I read that letter a thousand times. It is now well worn from being in my purse for so many years. I still cannot read one hint of what was to come in that letter. I have finally come to the realization that Coleen may not have known this was her last letter to me. That she may have possible woken that day with the intention of trudging on through like any other day. I will never know what finally snapped. But I know before her suicide she did what we all do every day without much thought. She woke up and walked the walk of life.
I guess that is the point of this blog. These are two examples how in the midst of what is supposed to be the happiest day of the year (according to an overly cheery Christmas song) is a world of people who know that life has a way of pulling out the rug from under us, no matter what day of the year. We wake up and do what we gotta do. No clue if disaster is waiting around the corner. We go on a first date with the hope that this is a nice person. We walk down the aisle with the intention of a life long commitment. We hug a loved one, thinking there will always be more to come down the road. I could probably write ten pages of past holiday disasters if I really wanted to. I don't. In spite of the stress and sadness I feel this time of year, I want to keep fighting the darkness.
So as always, I put up my tree. I decorate the house. I buy presents. I watch Christmas movies. I attend Christmas parties. I planned a Christmas party of my own. I invited a boatload of people to fill my tiny house with cheer. I sing John Lennon, and so this is Christmas for weak and for strong, knowing that the war is never really over no matter how badly we want it to be.
December is a hard month. I know it is for so many. I watched an episode of M*A*S*H last night, where BJ tried in vain to save a soldier from dying before midnight, December 25th. He didn't want his family to always think of Christmas day as the day their daddy died. All I could think was, it didn't matter what day it was. Christmas is an entire season,dude. Kids will think of their dad the moment they walk in to WalMart and see Christmas trees in fucking September.
My now ex husband and I separated two weeks before Christmas. I finally threw him out when he showed up at a Christmas party that I was attending, sloppy drunk. Ironically, it was the first time we all met Dru's husband. It was her first "meet my friends" date. Tom still talks about that night. I can laugh now, but I know how horrible that final decision was. That first Christmas was even worse. I kept his wrapped presents that I had already bought before the separation, for over a year. One of them was custom made saddle bags for his motorcycle. His name was engraved in the leather. I couldn't return them and I didn't know any other men with bikes who spelled their name the same way my ex did.I finally did give them to him when a couple years later we tried to get back together. I broke it off for good when he joined a biker gang. A member of the gang who I knew who had served time in the past for armed robbery, knocked on my door looking for the husband. It didn't look like he wanted to have tea. I filed for divorce the next day. Hmmmmm, that was on Easter. Another holiday memory ruined. Never in a million years did I think walking down the aisle that the guy I married, who owned a Japanese motorcycle, would go on to buy a Harley and join a gang.
Christmas is a crazy time of year in the salon. It is our absolutely busiest time and there is no room for a catastrophe to happen. I came to work the day after I threw my husband out. I knew if I called out I would screw my over-scheduled book. I came to work the day after Prick assaulted me. I come to work every day. Period.
It was six days before Christmas that my friend Coleen committed suicide. Her sister called me at work to give me the news. I have no memory of what client was in my chair. I have no memory of how I finished my day. As always, I trudged through somehow. When I told my boss at the end of the day, he patted me on the back. In his warped way I knew he was thanking me for finishing out the day and not letting on what I was feeling inside.
It was a whirlwind week of funeral plans and combing through every single letter she had ever sent me, trying desperately to see if their was any clue that she would do what she did. Her last letter to me was on November 20th, 2007. She was planning to come visit in the new year. She asked if I would pick her up at the train station? I read that letter a thousand times. It is now well worn from being in my purse for so many years. I still cannot read one hint of what was to come in that letter. I have finally come to the realization that Coleen may not have known this was her last letter to me. That she may have possible woken that day with the intention of trudging on through like any other day. I will never know what finally snapped. But I know before her suicide she did what we all do every day without much thought. She woke up and walked the walk of life.
I guess that is the point of this blog. These are two examples how in the midst of what is supposed to be the happiest day of the year (according to an overly cheery Christmas song) is a world of people who know that life has a way of pulling out the rug from under us, no matter what day of the year. We wake up and do what we gotta do. No clue if disaster is waiting around the corner. We go on a first date with the hope that this is a nice person. We walk down the aisle with the intention of a life long commitment. We hug a loved one, thinking there will always be more to come down the road. I could probably write ten pages of past holiday disasters if I really wanted to. I don't. In spite of the stress and sadness I feel this time of year, I want to keep fighting the darkness.
So as always, I put up my tree. I decorate the house. I buy presents. I watch Christmas movies. I attend Christmas parties. I planned a Christmas party of my own. I invited a boatload of people to fill my tiny house with cheer. I sing John Lennon, and so this is Christmas for weak and for strong, knowing that the war is never really over no matter how badly we want it to be.
Comments
Compare to another musician friend who played a gig the very same night she learned her beloved father passed away. She changed lyrics to honor him and to keep herself from crying: I know, I heard the tape.
For Evanesco's friends that read my blog piece on a similar musing (Guns N'Roses, Misguided, and Why I Hate Christmas,) she does a hell of a lot better than I do: no tree, no decorations, just presents for friends to cherish the ones that are still alive.
Your work is a perfect example of those life crashes. You capture a moment in film when someone's life is at a specific point. How could you know what lies ahead of that one fleeting moment captured in film? Or your interview with Tim Buckley. How irionic his death so shortly after? I think what I loved in your last blog was what seemed on the surface to an outsider was just a cool shot of some good rock meets punk. Only someone who knows you would know that deer in headlights look on your face.Only you know what feelings were behind that shot. It just makes your work that much more poignant. I always come away with feeling something when I view your work.
Bright blessings!