I can’t begin to tell about the past few days, it will have to wait awhile. But I can tell you all it is an amazing journey I am on.
The color blue has been a recurring element in the past eleven days. This is the story of the first incident.
Until very recently I didn’t realize I had cassette tapes going back to the 1970's. Not just any tapes, but this particular story is about two tapes of four songs I wrote, sang and recorded on cassette. A mere couple of months ago I found the bag full of tapes. I had to go to Ebay immediately to buy a new, unused cassette player. I felt compelled to hear me talking about my life, so I did. I listened to the songs I had taped just last week.
When my husband and I were first together, and I am unclear of the exact time-frame, except it had to be during the years of 1975-78. Each song was written at a different date, for different reasons.
I wrote one song I called “Blue Jay Way”, because we lived on the street...and yes, there were many Bluejays. The song expressed my joy at the nature of our progressing positive relationship.
We called each other “Knucks”, short for knucklehead. Sometimes we affectionately siad, “Buzz-knucks” instead, named after the move of the Three Stooges knuckle-rapping to the top of each other’s heads. Lance was a great fan of physical comedy. Me...not so much, but the laughter they could solicit from him was well worth watching those shows with him. I watched Lance watching them, not Larry, Moe and Curly. Okay, maybe a little. Nyuck...nyuck... nyuck.
I had written and recorded a song one day, so when he came home from his job I’d just hit the button and play...well, me, singing the song. My song’s opening lines were;
“Just a couple of knucks...on Blue Jay Way....
Givin’ each other yucks all the night and the day....”
We had a fabulous red and black Oriental cabinet in our entry hall. He would always put his car keys on it and then checked the day's mail. I placed the recorder on top of it, and waited. When I heard his car pull into the carport I waited like a poised, crouched cat, ready to pounce into action. When I finally heard his key in the large, carved solid wood door, and he pushed the door open. I stood in front of the cabinet...then turned around, hit the play button and skipped over to kiss him a “hello”. His reaction?
Laughter...so infectious and genuinely thrilled it made me laugh along with him and begin to sing a duet with myself. He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me close...we stood close, an intimate moment that lingers forever. Kind of like the smell of fresh baked cookies long after you eat them-- hot from the oven, standing hunched over the counter. Don’t you love that smell?
Then came August of this year.
As he lay in the hospital for two weeks and a day, I would sing our song, “Blue Jay Way”, to him each day. I leaned in closely and sang softly into his ear, or when I stood at the foot of the bed would belted it out...not giving a shit who heard. It only mattered to me that he would. My fondest hope, deepest need was that he would get tired of it and say, “Are you going to ever stop singing? You’re a writer, not a singer.”
Sadly I never got to hear him say those words...but I gave it my all to try and “annoy” him well. In the sweetest way I could think of. I know, kinda like holding a chocolate chip cookie under his nose when he couldn't eat.