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Indigo Vales

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Indigo Vales

Monthly Archives: October 2020

dreamsong

30 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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dream, love, Mom, moment, poem, song, womanly things

Standing at the kitchen sink
in a tiny log cabin
cold orange light slanting in
Washing washing washing
Bruce Springsteen behind
watching me
wash with a rag in the big white sink
singing an old bride’s song

It’s a song about rain on one side of the day
blue skies in the morning and waking cold
middle of the night
unsure if I did all the washing
The blankets you made are heavy and tell me
everything’s all right.

I’ve got rain on my mind
fog in my eye
Lavender in every breath that happens
Mom said she loves me
I already know
because it’s about to rain on the other side of the sky.

What Does This Button Do? (book review)

23 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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autobiography, band, Bruce Dickinson, cancer, childhood, children, creativity, fencing, heavy metal, insomnia, Iron Maiden, life, pilot, review, survival, wife

At the time Bruce Dickinson published his autobiography many things were going on in my life that kept it on the back burner. He is one of the heroes of my young-woman and heavy metal life, and I was shocked and prematurely mourned when he announced his cancer diagnosis. A new album was expected but I was still uninspired by the previous album he made when he was healthy. My life was upside-down and I had little patience for much of anything, particularly the band Iron Maiden where I felt their music and tours were, while high-octane, mostly the same.

During another recent bout with insomnia I said, “f*k it,” so I downloaded the book and thought I’d have a look. I page-turned it to the point where mid-morning when I woke I was pretty sure it really happened to me; it wasn’t a dream, I was actually there in his tiny village in their tiny rooms with no televisions and few cars and people were losing their men in the war and little boys fell in love with aircraft. (Perhaps I had my first and only Edgar Cayce moment? )

Perhaps a better place to begin is here: Bruce is an excellent story-teller. Everything happens quickly, goes down easy, and you can see it all. What spoke to me most was his formative years up to when he began performing onstage, then his solo band’s venture into Sarajevo at the height of the war and their orphanage visit. The chapters that described his induction to the music life that introduced him to the Iron Maiden life, the interim years of solo life, and returning to Iron Maiden life had few moments I didn’t already know because I’m a Maiden fan and any fan who didn’t know those moments aren’t worth their salt were okay, and would be more interesting to those of us who don’t already know their story. He goes on a great deal about fencing which tells me it had a lot more influence on his life than any of us knew. I thought it was a hobby he was devoted to and not much more, but no. Same for his desire to learn to fly. I learned that he must keep his mind active, not just focused but laser-focused and full of creating and completing a task so he can feel okay; comfortably sane.

I knew before I read the book that he chose not to include stories about girlfriends and wives. This doesn’t surprise me as he’s always kept family closely guarded. He dedicates a passage to wife and children at the front of the book but that is all. In the epilogue he says he chose not to bring them in because the book was big enough and they didn’t move the dialogue forward. And that, my friends, pissed me off. Finding and falling in love and having children and all the stories in between does not move the dialogue of You, Mr. Bruce Dickinson, forward? Throughout the process of reading this book I kept hoping he would throw out a little mention of a wife or kid moment but no. It was microphones, amps, cassettes, managers, trousers, fencing partners, movie treatments, commercial airline pilot training. Not a word for the woman who stood behind him all those years? This might be a shocking comment coming from one of the Maiden females who wanted him all to ourselves, but leaving out any goodness you had with Paddy and your children makes it less autobiography and more like another Iron Maiden tour. This was my only disappointment with his work.

The casual reader will consume the book quickly because he’s an excellent writer. Here’s hoping he will regale us with more tales from the skies or possibly the stage because he is unstoppable. Not sure I’ll buy another album or see another show, honestly but that’s not why I’m here. I will end with two quotes from the book that spoke to me: “Nothing in childhood is ever wasted,”  and “It didn’t matter what it was that you engaged in, as long as you respected its nature and attempted some measure of harmony with the universe.”  

Eddie Van Halen. This One Hurts.

08 Thursday Oct 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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80s, classical, creativity, MTV, music, Van Halen, William Blake

Eddie Van Halen smiled like a kid when his hero gave him the thumbs up. He smiled like he saw the love of his life across the room. He smiled like he was up to sumpthin… who me? Oh, yes, you. Then he serenaded or assailed you with the wit of his strings.

There can be only one. And that is cliche. But tonight that’s how it feels when I think and write about Eddie Van Halen. A friend asked for a best memory with a Van Halen song involved.

I’m not sure how I got the cassette (probably borrowed from a friend or my brother). Popped it into the Sears stereo. Heard “Eruption” and just … Did you ever hear a piece of music and wonder what just happened to you? What the hell just happened to me? Never heard anything like it. I’m an 80s Mtv grrl, so I’ve seen a lot (oh my word a lot) of videos. When I went back to wash in Van Halen just now, most of what I see is Eddie playing like “this is kidstuff and I’m having fun.” He played with a joy, a playfulness I haven’t seen in many other bands. He had a guitar made for his creativity because he needed something more, which is not surprising. Many creatives have to have things built or changed for them so they can CREATE because what is in the here and now is just not filling and satisfying. I want us all to smoke that cig and take a swig and write that thing, that easygoing swagger that’s easy as breathing, breathing pie. Eddie, no one is like you. But we gotta try.

To Kill A Mockingbird, A Confession

03 Saturday Oct 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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childhood, courtroom drama, film, Harper Lee, innocence, memories, middle school, play, poor memory, required reading, social justice, To Kill A Mockingbird

I know I read this in middle school, must have. I remember thinking about what a mockingbird must sound like, and also feeling a little spooked thinking about Boo Radley hiding behind Scout’s bedroom door. I must have taken a quiz or test or wrote an essay, fumbling for some kind of understanding of the bird and the Boo. And that’s it. It didn’t stick to me. It just faded away along with many of the stories from dogged-up sun-faded anthologies sitting on windowsills. (Poe was more to my liking, since I’m confessing.)

Read an article recently that mentioned Harper Lee’s most famous story and it sparked interest so I sat down and watched the movie for the first time. That’s right. I have never seen Gregory Peck channel Atticus Finch until a few days ago. Guess I thought that since I’d read the book there was no reason to go there, never had much interest in Peck as an actor or black and white films in general. The brief opening credits began to roll, a picture of a cigar box filled with childhood treasures and so help me I could smell that box and I began to weep. And it’s happening again as I write this. Childhood, it’s all there. The children appeared and acted as children do but spoke in most adult ways. It was an odd mixture and we were asked to suspend our disbelief that children of a widowed lawyer could be sneaky, have wonderful play, but speak in grown-up ways. I was surprised (why?) that Atticus had a colored servant (housekeeper). Where was that in the book? I thought Atticus was more progressive than that; wow, my memory is bad. Then, the revelation that a colored man raped a white woman. Where was that in the book? Wow, my memory is bad. The n-word was used in the film and I guess I read it but didn’t flinch? It was used on the street and by some older relatives, so it wasn’t a shock. (Unless I was surprised at the use of the word in this book and I just don’t remember?) I was most interested in the courtroom scene, watching the witnesses come and falsely accuse Tom of a terrible crime, the African American people in the balcony, Whites on the main floor. Judge, prosecution, defense, witness chair, none of this was like Law & Order SVU but it was still compelling. How is it that I knew Atticus made a good case but Tom would still be condemned? Was it from memory or just my jaded heart? I did not remember Tom allegedly attempting to run from the cops and getting shot instead of being jailed. Why did I not remember? And why do I care so much now that this shit is still going in full color with only a 10-second delay from camera phone to internet?

The film goes on and I was surprised that the white man came to harm or possibly murder Atticus’ children. Where was that in the book? I was surprised that Sheriff Heck Tate allowed the white man’s death during the attack to be chalked up to “he fell on his knife” as justice for the lies he and his daughter told about Tom that led to his death. Heck was a man trying to do a decent thing, and I believe his character and his actions were largely ignored. There are more heroes in the story can be counted and should all be on one line, they’re all first place. Sorry Mr. Peck, but at least you won the Oscar.

Another confession: I did not know that Boo Radley was played by Robert Duvall and it was his very first role. They could have given it to any actor, but I think he did a fine job being a frightened man coming out of his safe place to rescue Atticus’ children.

So childhood and play and innocence are huge in this story. It’s no wonder I largely buried it somewhere. Found it difficult to watch two children who love and care for and stick up for each other; where a little girl’s voice mattered and might have made a difference. We used to play like that once; we had good times; I remember those more than this book. Maybe that’s what I like best about the end of this essay.

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