Thoughts on Music

I'm just sitting here listening to the new Tom Petty CD my son sent me for my birthday. It's great, but I expected it to be. Many years ago, when I was a young girl, I worked for Tom Petty's label. He was just starting out, it was some time after Breakdown became a hit. Anyway, he was playing in Dallas and we threw a big party for him and the Heart Breakers. I barely remember it, I wont explain why, but I still have the ticket stubs and party invitation. Years later, when I was the mother to a young Eric Armstrong, he found the tickets and also a picture of me in a Tom Petty T shirt holding baby Eric. He couldn't believe it was me or him because Tom Petty was so young and new to the music world.

Speaking of music, the coolest thing I heard on the news this last week was a recording of the sounds from the sun. It was incredible, like an orchestra warming up. I think God must have done this intentionally. I mean we are made in his image, and how many people do you know who don't like some sort of music? These scientist were trying to prove the big bang theory, which I will be referring to as the Big Band theory from here on. If God wanted to create the earth, why not use a big band to do it. He's God, He can do whatever He wants. If our mortal ears were tuned right, we would probably hear the rocks and trees singing praise to him. This earth may be his own personal Ipod. I'm just sayin'...

Summertime And The Feeling Is Easy

I had a birthday on Monday, the first day of summer. Do I feel older? Sometimes. I have, in just the last few weeks changed my diet. I'm eating organic and I'm laying off the coffee and liquor. I have green tea in the morning to wake up and I still have a glass of red wine in the evenings.

Quitting coffee was much easier than I thought it would be. I really don't miss it that much. I don't even think about the full bodied flavor and the warmth of the cup as I held it against my chest. I don't need that wonderfully enticing aroma to greet me in the mornings. Really, I'm almost over it.....( insert deep sigh )

But that's not what I want to talk about.

It's finally summer. It's been very hot, sometimes triple digits, all spring, but it's finally summer. It will be July 4th before we know it. Doesn't it seem like summer just flies by after the 4th? Suddenly they start running the back to school adds and talking football. It's just wrong. Summer is such a lovely season, we should linger in it.

I love the smell of swimming pools and the neighbors grilling in their backyards. I love the roar of lawn mowers and the scent of freshly cut grass. A fresh cotton nightgown and the cool of a fan on damp hair will lull me to sleep faster than an Ambien and Benadryl cocktail.

But the best thing about summer is Baseball.

My Rangers are on a nine game winning streak and I just want to linger in this wonderful summer season.

I am sorry I drug you all into my nightmare come true on my last post. Sometimes I just have to write it down. Lauren died at such a young age, leaving very little evidence she ever existed, and I just don't want anyone to ever forget her. My mother had a sister who died at seventeen and I don't recall anyone ever mentioning her. They never talked about her personality or what she looked like or anything. I always thought that was really sad.

Perspective

Four years later, and I'm sitting here, still trying to figure out what happened.



It was Friday, and though, glad to see the weekend, I was sad because Lauren wasn't coming home. She wasn't feeling well and said she had a bad feeling about making the drive. Sunday was Father's day and we had planned a big family thing. Also she had committed to clerk for the Texas state twirling contest. But she called the day before and said she wasn't coming.



I called her around 7:00 pm and she sounded weak and tired. I knew she had a lot going on, so.... I said I love you, she said she loved me too. Those were the last words I would ever hear her speak.



Around 10:30, we were watching a ball game, I think. The phone rang and it was Amy, her roommate. She was hysterical, said Lauren wasn't breathing. We got it together and jumped in the car. It was the longest drive to the worst day of my life. We arrived at the hospital around 4:00 am on June 17th. The doctor said she had died at 3:15 am.



She had been bleeding internally for some time and took some Midol for cramps. The aspirin in the Midol thinned her blood enough that she just bled out. I still don't know why.



They gave her nine units of blood and seven of plasma. Did they run out? Would they have kept trying to save her if we had gotten there 45 minutes earlier? Did they see the word donor on her drivers license and did it influence their decision? Or did she just pass? Maybe I should have insisted she enroll in a college closer to home.



Ive tried to put it in perspective. Mothers have lost children for thousands of years. Rose Kennedy lost three. You see women on the news in war torn countries who loose their entire families.



I try to put it in perspective, but the truth is, they didn't loose Lauren.





I once thought about parents who had lost children and thought, how do they wake up and face a new day, every day? Now I know. At first, you just don't sleep. I stayed awake for three days. Everyone tried to get me to nap or something. But I just couldn't stand the thought of waking up and knowing it was still true. It hadn't been a dream.


I dream about her all the time now. sometimes she's a little girl and I'm sad and holding on to her like I know something will take her away from me. Other times, she's just Lauren and she is wonderful.


I still miss her so much, I think I will die, but I don't. The hardest thing about grief is, you think it will kill you, but you just keep breathing and your heart keeps beating.

Aging Disgracefully

2010 is half over. What's worse, I'm about to have another birthday. My mother would say it's better than the alternative. Neil Young would say, it's better to burn out than to fade away. I'll just quote Mick Jagger and say, "what a drag it is getting old."

It's not the actual number that bothers me so much. There are some beautiful women in their 50's. The thing is, I've become so high maintenance.

It used to be so easy to look good. I didn't start wearing make up until I was 25. Sure, I wore a little mascara and blush if I was going out. But now I wouldn't leave the house without the full treatment. And by the full treatment I mean, exfoliating, priming, moisturizing, and painting, kind of like an old car.

And my hair, I hate talking about my hair. I worked with a girl for awhile, who, every time the conversation started to lag she would ask, "so what are you gonna do with your hair?" It drove me crazy because, then as now, the answer is I Don't Know! My hairdresser says she loves my hair because it will do whatever she wants it to. But for the life of me I can't bring it under submission. It looks different everyday, because it does just what it wants. I wore my hair long and straight until I was 28. My husband thought I spent too much time on it then, because it took awhile to dry. But it was so easy. If it was dirty, that's what pony tails are for. Nothing looks worse than an old lady with a pony tail. A woman over 40 should never have long hair, period. It drags her face down. So the only solution is high maintenance hair. It must be highlighted, ( dark hair makes an old woman look harsh ), cut and styled on a regular basis.

Exercise.......nah let's not talk about exercise.

Nails. Something happened to me overnight, that made me think I must have my nails done. This time of year, I don't worry so much about fingernails because of gardening and such, but I love a pedicure. It's the ultimate pampering, and it makes your feet look beautiful. I have recently tried to do my own toes, something I've done since I was about 12, and I seriously made a mess. Maybe I'm spoiled.

My point is, as I am aging, naturally I must believe I have less and less time left on this earth. However, I am spending more and more of that time just getting ready to leave the house. If only the world could see me through a soft focus lens instead of, I fear, the harsh ultraviolet light of a service station bathroom mirror.

When does a woman reach that place where she no longer cares? When can I start wearing stretch pants and put my glasses on a chain?