changing times | reverse threading

a rock and a hard place. he is wedged between them and help-me-i’m-wedged-and-i-can’t-get-out he can’t escape. there is no choice but to say the wrong thing. go either way and he has sunk miserably to the levels of pond catfish, carp at best.

in these days of changing-changing-changing bodies and expectations of ourselves, we peer in the mirror and are astounded at what we see staring back. menopause and “men”opause (whatever on earth that is called) – in all its glory – has taken its toll on our metabolism and our hips and someone with a line-defining pen has carved on our faces while we sleep in the night. and those jowls. let’s not forget them.

so while i want him to understand – to really get it – to grok it at a cellular level – to feeeeeel my pain, he is thinking, “she’s beautiful” and tells me so. ohmyheavens, seriously? can he not share in my astonishment, couple with my what-do-i-do-now-ness, sympathize in a big-big way, help me pick out jeans in the next size?

there is no winning here.

it is the perpetual “does my butt look big in this?” question. over and over. forevermore.

he can “pretend” not to notice, which undermines his believability factor and, ultimately, leaves him stranded with no credibility when i am facing down the mirror. he can acknowledge and discuss the merits of aging with me, leaving me incredulous that he would suggest that i am aging. he can try to play long ball – riding the fence – acting like he can’t hear me – changing the subject.

no matter what, he will find himself in the rock garden.

eh. who am i kidding? it’s more like a deep, dark quarry.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

SMACK-DAB. ©️2022 kerrianddavid.com

rough cuts. there are lots of them. recorded on an iRiver or an iPhone so i don’t forget. scraps of paper with lyrics and chord indications, rhythms jotted above the words, a few melodic notes scribbled in the margins or throughout the page. songs that haven’t yet been recorded. songs that may some day be recorded. songs that will never be recorded. rough cuts.

before the cantata i prepared for this holiday season i had carefully selected music – all contemporary pieces, all meaningful lyrics that i felt would resonate with those watching, making the experience touch their hearts. but, as i mentioned in a past post, i’m pretty picky and there was this one song. after playing around with it with the band, i deleted it from the line-up. with a spot still to fill in-between narrative, i decided to write a new song to fill the slot. this is the song i wrote – YOU’RE HERE – and you can listen to a very rough cut of it recorded on my iPhone played on an out-of-tune church piano if you click here.

it’s been a long while since i recorded an album. more time has passed than i ever thought possible. i wonder which songs in my rough cut collection will make it onto the next album. i wonder if there will be a next album.

in the meanwhile, i’ll keep paper by the piano and have my cellphone ready. the iRiver is in the drawer, along with the microcassette recorder and a pile of cdr’s. maybe the presence of at-the-ready songs will eventually tilt the earth and i’ll be back in the studio. maybe people buying cds will come back into vogue. maybe i will record on vinyl (again). maybe it will all be virtual. more to stream. (note my tone of voice.) maybe.

or maybe i’ll just put the piano at full stick, pull up a boom stand, throw on a mic and sing.

listen to the rough cut of YOU’RE HERE by clicking here or on the image just below: