Last Sunday we had Dad over for dinner. Mom had found his old harmonicas earlier that day and she decided to bring them out and see if he’d remember how to play them. I have to admit, I was skeptical. After dinner, once he was comfortable in the living room, mom brought out the instruments and dad picked up on it pretty quickly. It was delightful! But, does anyone konw what it is about these things with dogs? Julie mournfully “sings” along.
Dad Plays his Harmonicas from Karen Villeneuve on Vimeo.
Dad Plays His Harmonica, II from Karen Villeneuve on Vimeo.
Okay, I am getting out today to take my restaurant work resume around and “get my name in” (as mother calls it) to the local eating establishments. I am throwing in the cleaning towel and getting down to business with my studies for the TEFL, which begins on Sept. 2nd. I’ll be writing about my adventures starting now, on a daily basis, and staying off of Facebook for awhile! An IM with Glenna now and then, but that is it! Addictive? Yes. Why or how so? I have no idea, except that it just is. Something about needing to “check” in every day to *see* what people are up to… but it keeps getting vaguer, more sterile, and increasingly vapid (the posts, that is), save for a few of my friends who add color and thoughtful commentary, most of it is *reposts* of stuff they’ve either seen on their Timelines or on the internet. I know, I do this too– but it has got to change. There is risk of becoming too incestuous and regurgitative. Wow, actually thinking and feeling *alone* is kinda scary…!
Another by Sarah Elgart. I performed with her at the prison one time. It is an experience I shall never forget.
Poetry + Murder: My Dance with the Manson Women – Cultural Weekly.
It’s been two years since my friend Greg Junelle passed. He was a friend and a peace-leader and beloved by so many. It is still difficult to grasp that he’s gone– how such an energetic, generous, exuberant man with such a lust for life could be taken by cancer, and so young. This video captures the Greg I remember, although I didn’t know him well, I became close with Dorene, his life partner.
Okay, now, blegh. Arrrgh. I just heard about this today, via an ex-husband whom I rarely communicate with but whom I just so happened to email because I own a drawing made by, Richard, who happens to be the the only son of the late Robert Leese. Just searching for the story was hard enough. I couldn’t find anything official when I Googled the name of the victim, no, I had to Google the murderer’s name in order to bring up actual news about this tragedy.
So, why is it we are inundated by the Media when a *celebrity* dies, or commits suicide, and we once again get the lecture via pundits about the evils of drugs and alcohol abuse, and how we don’t take “mental illness” seriously enough, and yet we hear nothing about something so tragic as this– a drug-related senseless, bizarre, gruesome, unconceivable murder? The cause-and-effect rondo of drugs and mental illness within the construct of banal daily routine within the banal chaos of city life? Which becomes nothing but an arbitrary obituary.
Transient Is Arrested in Slayings of 2 – Los Angeles Times.
I am starting to fall back in step with my daily practice. First one thing, then another. Well, last week Jeff got into a terrible motorcycle accident. I will save details for (may be) another post, in retrospective; for now he is still very much on the mend.
Every atom in my body felt disrupted, spinning out of orbit, since the Sunday he called me and told me he was in the hospital. For the entire week my attention became intensely focused in a kind of meditation that I realized was what people call “prayer” for his recovery (deep wound infections are nothing to trifle with). And so I really have not been in much of a mood to write, or do much more than eat, sleep, text (and wait for texts), and cry, and write emails to friends, and basically just take life a day, or sometimes a minute, at a time.
And so now I find myself lurching along with this, like trying to swim after years of being landlocked. It is strange what this kind of “shock and awe” can do to your brain cells; scramble them into a chaotic tangle of repetitive feedback loops.
But now I can breath again, the dust has settled and the jury is in. He’s going to get through this with limbs intact, and with his life, with all its challenges also intact. How does it feel to swiftly and unexpectedly nearly lose a best friend?
A few of his last words (texted) before taking his motorcycle out on that Friday night:
“I just need to push myself on from my memories. Yes. Look up. Forward. Peek under new rocks.”
I mean, we never really know, do we? What is going to happen today; what will we get tomorrow?
And yet we do.