Me and my love.

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I fell in love some years ago with a woman very much not my age.

I only have to hear her voice, and I am set to tripping down the steps of my memories to a different time, a different New York, a different world. One little laugh, one elocutional filip, one turn of a phrase and I leave today—the here and now—and I am sent spiraling like a football through the crisp autumn winds—back to a time when we used to have crisp and autumn.

It started, the affaire d' cerebellum, when I heard this song:

It's not like, like Beverly Kenney, I hate rock n roll. I actually can, in small doses, tolerate it. But what I found here was a kindred spirit.

From the fuzziness of the recording--which I enjoyed for it's raw authenticity--to the out-of-stepness with our times, I had found the woman for me. 

I was born 30 years too late. And like Wordsworth--who walked an estimated 175,000 miles in his lifetime as he wrote long un-written-down poems in his head (as I do) the world, today's world, is too much with me. I am one, for instance, who believes we have placed lead in our societal pipes and as a culture we are getting dumber and dumber by the microsecond. 

But Beverly Kenney gives me belated hope--funny for someone who killed herself at 28 with an all-you-can-eat platter of alcohol and Seconal.

Despite that gloom, she first brought me joy when Hector  Quesadilla, my manager when I played for the Seraperos de Saltillo down in the Mexican Baseball League in 1975 would play this song over and again, especially loving the bit about the bull-fight and the ball game.

Then there's today's abject political dumbness--a veritable dumbageddon where--as Shakespeare's Three Weird Sisters said--'fair is foul and foul is fair.' Dig on the whole thing below--bearing in mind it's better to read/hear while imagining a storm of the ages (currently known as normal "global warming weather.")  That Shakespeare, well, only 'cause I love her, reminds me of this from Kenney.

ACT I  SCENE I	A desert place.
[Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches]
First Witch	When shall we three meet again
	In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Second Witch	When the hurlyburly's done,
	When the battle's lost and won.
Third Witch	That will be ere the set of sun.	5
First Witch	Where the place?
Second Witch	Upon the heath.
Third Witch	There to meet with Macbeth.
First Witch	I come, graymalkin!
Second Witch	Paddock calls.	10
Third Witch	Anon!
ALL	Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
	Hover through the fog and filthy air.

Anyway, that's it for me for now for the end of Jewish year 5777. I say without irony, "Have a Happy."