Mr. Moon's Christmas present for me just got here today.
A record player.
It's been a really hard day. I went to town and did things with my grandsons and their mama. We went by the bank where Boppy has an office for Lily to do a little business and then we went to lunch at a Chinese restaurant so that Owen could get noodles. That's all he wants to eat in a restaurant these days. Noodles. And the soup. He loves the brothy soups.
And then we went to the grocery store and I was so far away all day long and every time I tried to bring myself back, to try and act normal, I felt like an alien trying to fake being a human.
"So. Do you think the Giants will win the pennant this year?"
But I tried.
And then I came home and laid down because sleep is my only real escape. For a few minutes I can let go all the worry, the panic, the sick feeling in the stomach. The constant dread. I am so grateful I can sleep. Pure escape and I'll fucking take it.
But then Mr. Moon came home with my record player and we opened up the box and unpacked it and read the instructions and I noted with great satisfaction that it has DIALS not stupid-dumb-damn buttons to change the volume and the stations on the radio (it's an AM-FM radio and a CD player and will also play your iPod or phone, as well, of course, but still- dials!) and we set it up and I went into the library and searched the dark corner where all of my antique record albums are stashed and I got out a Beatle's album and put it on and raised up the tone arm with that delicate motion the hand does not forget and set the needle (the needle!) down and it played.
They say you want a Revolution and Paul screams his throat out and when the album started there was a tiny hiss, pop, scratch. This is the medium the music I love was recorded to play on. Before eight-tracks, before cassettes, before CD's with their false promise of immortality, before the MP3.
I am drinking a beer, I am writing this. I am listening to the Beatles. Maybe next, this:
I have Bob and Bruce. I have the Band and I have Joan Baez. I have Cream and Joni Mitchell and I have Clapton. I have John and Yoko.
I have so much crazy but I have all of that.
Here's a little video I made to send to Owen.
You know how hard it can be.
I have music in the form of black discs which came encased in beautiful cardboard artwork.
Let It Be. Let It Be. Let It Be.
All Things Must Pass.
Thank-you, husband. I love you.