Blogging is great but there are times when it can be very difficult to convey things. Last night, for example, I would have loved to send you all the divine scent of a rhododendron that is blooming for the first time in my garden.
Anyway, this all brings me to my new approach to spring-cleaning or, I should say, advanced decluttering.
I was totally overwhelmed the other day by the extent of the mess and heaps of ‘stuff” that needed to be addressed ~ now there’s a nice word for it!
In the midst of it all, I came upon a huge box of cassette tapes that my father had compiled over a long winter. He wanted to have his absolute favourite music on tape so that he didn’t have to listen to music/songs that he wasn’t too keen on. It took him hours and hours to complete this task. But with his music in hand, he developed a new-found love for washing-up the dishes and he danced and sang his way through the gungiest saucepans, roasting tins … the lot, with more gusto than I could ever describe.
So, I dug out an old cassette player and got into the mood! Before I knew it, I was bobbing around the room, loading bag after bag with the most indescribable mess you’ve ever seen ~ even got courage to ‘deal’ with under and behind the bed!
Kris Kristofferson brings me back to my teenage years in the 1970s and, most of all, I associate him with sitting on an oil heater in the drawing-room of the Bank House in Drogheda, playing his Greatest Hits, over and over and over and … again.
Listening back to the songs over the last week or so, they make me feel like Kris Kristofferson was my introduction to the roller-coaster of emotions that are associated with growing up, loving, leaving, losing, living …..
I must have played Me and Bobby McGee a million times visualising myself in that van with the wind-shield wipers slappin’ time … and contemplating the words: Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose …
I don’t think there’s been a Sunday morning since those teenage days that I haven’t had thought of Sunday Morning Coming Down. More than anywhere, it hit me when I ventured out on my first day in America – San Francisco ~ a Sunday, January 2, in 1983.