Saturday, September 6, 2008

Her Mp3 Player-The Smithereens 2

When I spoke of "Kiss your tears away," I supposed it was intended to be about me to her, kissing her tears away. But Marcie was layered and deep, and it is likely she felt the song encapsulated things we both felt.

She may have felt that sense toward me in the moments that came so slowly and yet inexorably, but I certainly felt them towards her in the moments that went by so quickly and so unmercifully.

But if that song was meaningful then Cut Flowers was even moreso. When Christina and Jane visited, we flipped through albums. In one of them we found my first flowers to her, a couple of roses. They were pressed and I remembered her putting them there.

I suppose she assumed they would remind her of me. Instead, they remind me now of how much she cherished everything. And the song? I'm sure you'll understand the connection beyond the simple titular accident.This selection is a feat of knowledge and intimacy only she could accomplish.

Cut Flowers
(Jim Babjak/Pat DiNizio)

Sentimental gestures never meant that much to me
But if I had her here today
I'd shed a tear for all the world to see

Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days

A gentle girl who needed all the love I had to give
But I was blind to her and would not give
What she needed most to live

Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental ways
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days

Cut flowers pressed between the pages of a book she gave
 I go to her and say, "I'm sorry,"
Then I put cut flowers on her grave

Cut flowers sent to a girl with sentimental way
Cut flowers meant more to her on ordinary days

I know how very thoughtful and loving and very heartrent she must have been to listen to this and place it on there to ponder. I know it right now. But I also know I don't have to say I am sorry. Our regrets were thankfully resolved.

But wow, it is a beautiful song. Cut Flowers by The Smithereens.

Friday, September 5, 2008

Her MP3 Player-The Smithereens

"Honey, have you ever heard... ?" she asked.

I would nod and smile and she would shake her head, troubled.

"Have you ever heard.. ?"

"No, not that one," I would say. "Who is it by?"

The list of bands whose more obscure songs she liked was extensive, and although I knew the music, she was pulling tracks from earlier works than those my slightly younger years would recall clearly.

As her I-tunes list grew and I converted the songs, then placed them on CDs and finally an open-standards MP3 player, I noticed she asked me to download and place songs more rarely, but when she did, the same ritual was played out.

Only the ones I had not heard or did not have recollection of, usually by bands I knew, were on her list. But I was not to listen to her MP3 player. That changed the day she was in the hospital and I visited. She smiled her lopsided grin and held my hand.

"There's some good music on my MP3 player," she said.

I thought it was a thank you for me, or perhaps a little request, so I asked.

"Do you want me to bring it to you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No, you listen to it."

I didn't get around to it until before I went to San Francisco, then I listened when I got back again. Every song is a message, and they all hurt right now.

But the one that hurts most at the moment is one that mirrors something I told her when she decided she would likely not make it. From The Smithereens, one of my favorite groups ever, she shared two songs. The first kills me the most.

I don't know if it's her promise or my own she chose this for. But it sounds like my guide right now.

Kiss Your Tears Away

And now it's time to go to bed
My darling rest your weary head
But I have work I should begin
So I will tuck you in
And I will kiss your tears away

I never thought I'd run to you
I thought I'd better things to do
But now I can't wait for the day
When by your side I'll lay
And I will kiss your tears away

I will give you everything
I will make your every dream come true
I will be the one you need
You know I'm the one to see you through

I will give you everything
I will make your every dream come true
I will be the one you need
You know I'm the one to see you through

And now it's time to go to bed
My darling rest your weary head
But I have work I should begin
So I will tuck you in
And I will kiss your tears away

I remember kissing her tears from her face and holding her, especially in those last few weeks, especially after a tough visit or a rough day. I wish I could have, as painful as those days were, had more days to.

Moments of Marcie is not about just being text-heavy and all that. We do multimedia. You can hear this selection by m=our Marcie free and legal by clicking right here.

I have been trying to look ahead and stretch my wings a bit, but as I share more of her song selections, you'll see where I stumble and why.

Night for now,


Thursday, September 4, 2008

San Francisco Then and Next

Marcie and I had planned to move to San Francisco before we returned to San Diego, but there was one complication. Marcie was not able to stay in Humboldt any longer, and was not willing to take a chance on moving to San Francisco without a job to support us.

"Honey, it is way too expensive," she said. "We can't afford it unless we both have jobs."

She was right, of course. But for me to get the job I wanted, at Imagine Networks, I needed a bachelor's, complete and ready to present. That required one more semester, the fall of 1998.

She let it be known by May that it was impossible. "I can't stand it here anymore," she cried, holding her face in her hands and heaving at the shoulders as I held her against me. "I can't do this anymore.

Of course, I had been feeling the strain of her discontentment for some time. She was always picking fights and never really happy. I was through with the anger.

I had no idea that her boss was harassing her. That would have changed a lot of things, including the term of his lifespan.

But there was no time to arrange anything. We returned to San Diego. I was miserable instantly.

I don't know what would have become of us in San Francisco, but I know I would rather be anywhere with her than alone anywhere else. I wish I still had that choice.

But at least I can choose to move and, in so doing, explore that beautiful city for her.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

What a trip

There will be no photos shared publicly about my trip, save a few generic skyline shots and, perhaps, an approved shot of the hostesses (once they okay one). I will also not share much about this one here, except the Slow Food Nation event, as Marcie would have been in heaven there.

Suffice it to say that this was the first trip that I went on really more for myself and my future than for her and my past. This is not the place for such things.

Pictures of it all later. For now, we're going back to my memories of moments of my Marcie. I have some thoughts to share about Marcie and how I felt looking out on my next home city, one she almost joined me in. That will be all that one finds here.

Friends, of course, can ask in person or email. I will have some private albums to view...


Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Coming Home

It wasn't a long trip, but it had been long enough. The cool touch of her hand stroking my forearm welcomed me home after I hauled my bags in. I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second, letting the road and the airport slide off me.

She slipped her hand down and behind me, then the other, and buried her face in my chest. I felt her words in my sternum, more than heard them.

"Welcome home, sweetie," she said.

And then the rest of the tension slid off me, and it was time to rest again.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Cafe Time

It was a rare treat. She walked in and smiled at me from across the little coffee shop and sat at the table. I got up from my own and walked over, sauntering, really.

"Hello," I said. "Come here often?"

"It's my second time," she said. "Well, then. As this is my first, I shall try and develop a habit now, if you agree to do the same."

She blushed and she took my hand. "Okay, that's enough, honey," she said, smiling and, I could tell, a little pleased with me. "No more pickup lines, you already won me. No need to pretend."

I chuckled and sat again and whispered, "Yeah, let's get real, baby. Mmmm hmmmm..."

She looked at me as if her patience was about to be exhausted, but I pressed on. "So what kind of mocha will my little redhead goddess sample today, hmm?"

She smiled and all was well until we both returned to work, our little game over for the moment.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

A Blue Yonder (Pt. 1)

She bit her lower lip and her soft little hand was hot, sweaty and squeezing mine hard. She listened to the announcer and she smiled with a squint, teeth still pinching, picking up her lipstick.

Our peaceful struggles and fearsome trysts played in my memory like individual taps on a jazz man's drum kit, perfect rhythm sometimes changing direction just to keep from boring itself. I played with her fingers and could feel her pulse. It had gently tapped for nigh on seven years. It was faster at the moment, and I wondered that I knew well enough to tell.

I smiled at her and she gave me a quizzical look as we headed to the gate.

The music in the airport bar faded behind us, and she squeezed her hand tighter around mine and kissed my neck, then whispered in my ear, "Oh my god, Frank. Here we go."

I couldn't help it and looked down with my mischievous, lopsided smile and said, "Oh Marcie, my little goddess," and kissed her forehead.

She rolled her eyes and we boarded, her hand relaxing just a bit, lying to me as her heartbeat picked up.