Star Wars Trumpet Solo - drumFunny.com

This still makes me laugh.

Thanks, Stacey Hedger!

An Update on Dick.

Dick, according to the media, has only a short time to decide if he wants to be put on a list for a heart transplant. At age 69, he will soon be too old to be considered for one.

Wow, that must really suck for him, facing his own mortality like that. Of course, I was surprised when they opened his chest the first time and actually found a beating human heart instead of a big, black, rotting hole.

Honestly, I don't wish Dick death or suffering. I just wish him a heart. Not the kind of heart one gets by sitting on a waiting list nor by surgical transplantation because of another's selflessness. I think you know what I mean.

Marjorie.

My grandmother, Marjorie, is the pretty young woman sitting on the swing. Next to her father and surrounded by siblings, I can't help but notice how beautiful she is. At age fifteen when this photo was taken, she had already become the surrogate mother to her five younger brothers and sisters - a role thrust upon her by tragic circumstances. To this day, I have never been told the entire story. Within a year of the day this photo was taken, my grandmother married a young soldier and left her family to start her own.

She is wearing lipstick for the photograph. I wonder if she found it among her absent mother's belongings, left behind in her rush to leave. I doubt her father bought it for her. He wasn't the nicest nor most generous of men, so I've heard.

Marjorie is and always has been the kindest, sweetest person I have ever known. I have never heard her say one negative thing about another human being. She always thinks of others before she thinks of herself. She has the most beautiful smile. Her eyes light up whenever she sees me, making me feel that I am as special to her as she is to me. We have always had a close bond - I am her oldest granddaughter and she is my first memory.

I am so grateful to have Marjorie still with me, as I know there are not too many 50-year-olds who still have living grandparents - and I'm lucky to have two. My grandfather is also still living, and he is the second sweetest person I have ever known. An ex-drill sargent and then a brick layer, Dale was a hard man with a soft spot for his grandchildren and an even softer spot for his bride of seventy-three years. At ages 91 and 89 - and still living independently with each other - they are so adorable and so delightful to be around.

Yesterday, my mother called. She is worried about Marjorie. She seems to be slowing down and is getting tired. I've already lost one grandmother to age - I know what "tired" means. It means Marjorie is starting to leave me. I can feel it in my heart. I feel she knows it, too. The last time I saw her, at Christmas, at our goodbyes, she clung to me just a little too tight, just a little too long. It made me hesitate and look deep into her face. I could see through her smile, she was saying goodbye. I hugged her again - just a little too tight, just a little too long. When we separated, we both had tears in our eyes. "I love you so much," I told her. She replied with her standard, "Not nearly as much as I love you."

I'm not ready to let her go. I'm not ready, dammit. But I know when the time comes, I'll have to be.

Crush.

Yesterday, I took down the Christmas tree. It's part of my annual post-holiday cleansing ritual performed each year on New Year's Day. I usually kick everyone out of the house, turn up the volume on the Bose stereo, and clean. Classic Rock being my genre of choice, I sing and dance along with the songs to which I use to "shake 'em down". Of course, home alone I don't have to stop and think about my dignity - to borrow a phrase from Bob - so I get down with my bad self as I dust and pack and sweep.

The first four notes play of a certain song. I stop and I am instantly enthralled. David Gilmour's guitar sings to me as no other musician's can. I close my eyes and let the notes embrace me, caress my skin as soft and tender as a long, lost lover finally returning to me through time and distance. I recall as a teen I would lie on my bed in my adolescent bedroom as the music would cover me like a warm, soft blanket. I would slowly dance my fingers through the delicate web of smoke that rose from the end of a stick of incense - the room dark except for the flame of a candle and the faint glow of a streetlight filtering through the curtain... the melodic strands of David's guitar and Roger's lyrics inducing me to a dream-like state. The scents of the incense and candle - my favorites of patchouli and blueberry - would commingle creating a sweet, natural high as David looked down from my ceiling. His smoldering eyes were so teasingly sexy to my teenage self, I could barely look away.

Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom,
blown on the steel breeze.
Come on you target for faraway laughter,
come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine!


The song ends, the spell is broken, I return to the present. Pedro returns from his assigned errands, I turn the volume down and resume cleaning. He doesn't recall the song when asked. Pedro was never a Floyd fan, so I let it drop.

After Pedro has gone to bed and the house is quiet, I sit still tense from the day's events. I go downstairs and dig through my old CDs. I'm pretty sure my oldest daughter owns a CD of Pink Floyd's greatest hits - did she take it with her when she moved? Ah, here it is. I run back upstairs and place the disc into the player. I turn off the lamps and light a nearby candle. I plug in my earphones and lie down on the couch.

You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Well, you wore out your welcome with random precision,
rode on the steel breeze.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions,
come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!

I remember my crush and smile as the music washes over me like a warm blanket of Valium. I become comfortably numb.