To Live Outside the Law

To live outside the law, you must be honest.-- Bob Dylan


This quote ran through my head endlessly during my twenties, and then sort of lost relevance. I'm thinking of making it my motto to see where that takes me.

What's in a Name?

What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. -- Shakespeare

In my twenties I lived in a town where people often had adjectives attached to their name, as in Sicilian Sam, or One-legged Al, or Bisbee Bob. Usually,* we did this to differentiate between people who had the same name, like Michael. We had a lot of Michaels. We had Bartender Michael, and English Michael, and Skinny Michael, and Bluegrass Michael, and Little Michael and probably one or two more than I don't remember right now. Just to be clear, Little Michael was smart and talented and well-liked, just shorter than average. 

One night, while Little Michael was working behind the counter at the sandwich shop, a drunk wandered in off the street looking for a fight. English Michael was at the counter ordering a cup of coffee. The drunk clearly thought he'd found an easy target, and he might have if someone else had been behind the counter, but when he started to take a swing -- before anyone else could react or had even fully grasped what was happening -- Little Michael had dived across the counter and pinned the guy to the ground. 

After that, everybody referred to him as Scorpio Michael.


*Usually but not always. As far as I can recall, we only had one Sam, Bob, or Al. I have no idea why they got their own adjective. Sometimes people just make no sense.

Rainy Days and Sundays...

Didn't sleep much at all last night. Watching the hours slip by on a digital clock is singularly dissatisfying. I threw the covers off and pulled them up over me again and again and tried not to disturb the cat sleeping on my feet. I  finally fell asleep at daylight. When I woke up, it was raining and the cat was gone. It's raining still. Days like these, I wander around unable to concentrate, awash in regret and vague longings, with fantasies of running away to somewhere with sun and laughter and endless possibility.

It's All in the Details

Those who say religion has nothing to do with politics do not know what religion is. --  Mahatma Gandhi 

For years I've thought of myself as a 60's/70's dirty hippie-pinko bleeding heart liberal, but today I had an epiphany. Yes, I was, in fact, a dirty hippie, but no, I did not get my politics from the sixties. I got them from my grandfather and from the Sisters of the Holy Names. 

My grandfather immigrated here from Ireland, belonged to a Union, lived through the depression, thought that Franklin D. Roosevelt was the best president ever, and that America was the greatest country on earth, largely because of Roosevelt and largely because of the way people pulled together (his words) during that depression. 

The Sisters were certainly not conservative but weren't exactly rabid liberals either. They were, though, firmly of the compassionate, love thy neighbor, judge not, suffer the little children, God is Love school of Christianity.

So, you see, even though I appear to be a 60's hippie-pinko-bleeding-heart liberal, I'm really an FDR Democrat taught by nuns. 

Details. It's all in the details.

The Memory of Things Gone

The memory of things gone is important to a jazz musician.
 -- Louis Armstrong


Poets too.

In France They Kiss on Mainstreet

The first Joni Mitchell album I got was "Hissing of Summer Lawns." It was a revelation. The lyrics were written on the back of the album and I studied them like poetry. Studied might not be the right word, actually. Inhaled, decoded, dissected.

Thirty-five years later, it's still a revelation. She creates images, vignettes, really, and uses them to cradle the emotion. She uses metaphor like paint, or film.  Powerful and passionate. I forgot how much influence she had on my own poetry.

Now that I think about it, that was the same summer I discovered "Songs from a Room."  Funny, it didn't seem that fateful at the time.


In France They Kiss on Mainstreet
by Joni Mitchell

Downtown
My darling dime store thief
In the War of Independence
Rock 'n' roll rang sweet as victory
Under neon signs
A girl was in bloom
And a woman was fading
In a suburban room
I said take me to the dance
Do you want to dance?
I love to dance
And I told him
They don't take chances
They seem so removed from romance
They've been broken in churches & schools
And molded to middle class circumstance
And we were rollin'
Rollin'
Rock 'n' rollin'

Downtown
The dance halls and cafes
Feel so wild you could break somebody's heart
Just doing the latest dance craze
Gail and Louise
In those push up brassieres
Tight dresses and rhinestone rings
Drinking up the band's beers
Young love was kissing under bridges
Kissing in cars
Kissing in cafes
And we were walking down Main Street
Kisses like bright flags hung on holidays
In France they kiss on Main Street
Amour, mama, not cheap display
And we were rollin'
Rollin'
Rock 'n' rollin'

Downtown
In the pinball arcade
With his head full of pool hall pitches
And songs from the hit parade
He'd be singing "Bye, Bye, Love"
While he's racking up his free play
Let those rock 'n' roll choir boys
Come and carry us away
Sometimes Chickie had the car
Or Ron had a car
Or Lead Foot Melvin with his hotwire head
We'd all go looking for a party
Looking to raise Jesus up from the dead
And I'd be kissing in the back seat
Thrilling to the Brando-like things that he said
And we'd be rollin'
Rollin'
Rock 'n' rolling

This weekend I went to Alaska to help spread my mom-in-law's ashes..  The last time I went to Alaska was 9 years ago. To help spread my dad-in-law's ashes.  I know it's not Alaska's fault, but I'm beginning to take a serious dislike to that state.