Will you still love me tomorrow?

Heart of flowers(just for fun; I reckon we all need a little right now)

Yesterday Mr. wendydavis drove over to Durango to buy some cute little cannabis clone plants for me at one of the medical marijuana dispensaries.  Card holders are permitted by law to grow five, but hoo-doggies, at thirty bucks a pop, three damned well better be enough.  One wasn’t even the advertized 7″ tall, it was maybe 3″…short.  The price was highway robbery, but hell, it’s great to see that a whole new financial sector is being created by states legalizing either medical or recreational marijuana legalization: Cannabis Capitalists!  Yeah, the dude that whipped up the Dixie Elixirs corporation’s products: the cannabinoid salves, cannabis candies (blech), and joint sprays says it out loud:  ‘I can’t wait to make millions when I sell this business; this ain’t no adventure in altruism, peeps!  I am a patriot, and as we all know, ‘America’s bidness is…bidness.’’

But shoot, that’s not what I wanted to tell ya about.  It was the fact that while he was in Dango, as a young hitch-hiker we picked up back in the day called it when we’d asked him where he was headin’.  “We call it Dango”, he intoned, just baskin’ in the glow of his supreme coolitude…

Damn; there I am digressin’ again.  Besides those adorable little seven-leaved plants, he had a bag of videotapes he’d scored for me at the Humane Society thrift store.  See, it’s pledge drive time for all five of our PBS stations again, and there’s seriously nothin’ on the sumbitch teevee, so if I wanna veg out now and again in front of the black box, it’s either tapes or Barney cartoons in the mornin’, or The Fabulous Fifties Music at night.  Or of course the guy who’s got the key to Eternal Youth, but hey: he looks like he sleeps in a coffin.  You think those Latte Libruls’d catch on that the dude’s a quack, wouldn’t ya?

In the bag with three other tapes was ‘Real Women Have Curves’.  Well, now; I just fairly busted a gut laughin’ at that.  How timely!  The day before, its companion piece, a dead tree catalog had arrived in the mail from (not joshin’ here): The Woman Within.  I’d flipped through it, and found all these threads with sizes marked with Xes and W’s.  Yeah, baby; now there’s a marketing approach: “Somewhere inside all that mess, there’s a real woman; we’ll help ya find her!  The fuckers.

Now wait a minute, I thought, how the hell did they know I’d been puttin’ on some extra pounds since I’m er…a bit physically challenged now?  Huh?  And then the penny dropped: it was cuz the FBI and the NSA had been spyin’ on me and my computer habits.  See, they weren’t watchin’ me cuz I’m so fuckin’ hard on the President, they were doin’ it to find out how to sell me stuff!  And they prolly got from my search habits that I’m a woman of a certain age, and with certain infirmities, let’s call ‘em…and they put two and two together, and came up with: ‘She must be gettin’ fat!’ and had shared it with the Capitalist Consumer Machine that they live to serve.

So I reckon that pretty soon I’ll start getting’ catalogs from Akron Tent and Awning, and I’m hopin’ like hell that they have some cool threads in all cotton in spring colors with those slimming vertical stripes  that’ll help me find my Inner Hardbody again. 

Yeah, you’re prolly thinkin’ that by now I’m unleashing my Inner Bitch, and I’m considerin’ writin’ an email to DiFi or one of the Senators who are Champions of the Fourth Amendment, right?  And that I could devise a rant to make sure that she carries my very own personal objections to all this spyin’ as she carries the Torch of Liberty for all of us…all the way to the bank, right?

Well, you’d be wrong.  I decided to take this bullshit as a Teaching Moment instead, and turn the poison into medicine, just like every good hippie should.  So…I mentally girded my loins, drew in a cleansing breath…and marched to the only full length mirror in the house…that was blessedly out of sight in our daughter’s old bedroom.  By golly, I was gonna take a critical look at myself just to see if they were right, and if they were…to consider any possible remedies (like puttin’ my head in the oven, maybe).

Now, not being a glutton for too much punishment, I didn’t turn the light on; there was enough comin’ through the small window at the head of not-Aurora’s bed already.

Well, crap.  Once I got brave enough to open my eyes past a squint, I met my full-length reflection and found that (eeeep): while I hadn’t been lookin’, my Outer Amazon had kinda turned into my Outer Chubby Crone.  It was hard not to stare a little bit at the indications that gravity had sure been havin’ its way with me.  Jeez, Louise, all those gorgeous muscles had kinda gone…saggish, and my breasts, well…maybe those straight women had been right after all: going braless in the sixties and seventies would end up makin’ ya look like the African women in the National Geographic.  How many of them had warned me: ‘Ya better watch out’?  Yeah, and okay…there I was, lookin’ more like a Pear than the Peach I used to be.  What the hell?  No amount of pullin’ in my tummy really made much of a difference.  Guess I should have realized that things were goin’ downhill for my body once I kinda slid into joinin’ the elastic waist brigade, eh?  Shouldn’t have been rationalizin’ that elastic just made it easier to dress and undress on days I was especially gimpy, right?  Dreading it, I turned sideways and cranked my head a bit, and found: uh-oh.  Those mountain-hiking glutes had kinda given up the ghost as well, and my bum looked like it had taken on the shape of the chair I use at my laptop.  Crappydiddle and phooey fuck.

Shoot, who’d I been tryin’ to kid?  There’d been plenty of aging evidence in my face for a while; little wrinkles on my face, constantly parched forearm skin that had little lines like rivulets in the desert after a rain…a few errant white eyebrow hairs that needed pluckin’ now and again, never mind the more unmentionable ones.  I remember thinkin’ one day: ‘What are some of my pop’s eyebrows doin’ over my eyes, anyway?’

By now it was pretty hard to imagine runnin’ to Mr. wd for reassurance; it’d feel akin to the Steve McQueen character in Papillon, after years of starvation and misery in a dark prison on Devil’s Island.  “How do I look?” he’d asked his fellow prisoners.  “Great”, they’d assure him; you could see him try to believe it.  Nah, I didn’t wanna do that.  He’d figure he was supposed to say somethin’ along the lines of “You look just like the hippie girl I married back when dinosaurs danced the cha-cha on earth.”  But the thing is, had I asked, he may have meant it in a way, at least some of the time.  That’s kinda how love is, isn’t it?

When we wrote our wedding vows, and said them in the park in Steamboat Springs before the Universal Free Life Church minister Tommy the Cobbler and an assortment of other friends, we didn’t promise to love each other or stay married forever.  But we did tell each other that we hoped we would, and that we’d love it if we grew old together, and would remain each other’s best friends.  And I reckon we have, even through the kerfuffle times we’d had to work through.

But aside from the disses about the current state of my body that the snooping and spying authored by our President’s massive security state has brung me, there’s another bit that just plain baffles me.  I’d stick it in the category of ‘what do they think they know…that I don’t know?’  Almost daily now, when I’m at FDL, my pages are laced with ads asking if I’d like to date hot Chinese women (with youthful photos included, of course).

You figure it out; I don’t even wanna try…

But back to love and promises… maybe all we can reasonably ask of our mates, partners and significant others with the following question.   We can have some faith that the answer will be ‘yes, and hopefully a whole lot of tomorrows’ (and maybe even further out in time: even once age and gravity have had their way with our bodies):

30 responses to “Will you still love me tomorrow?

  1. I envy you your lovely Chinese ladies, wed. Me, I get ‘Your prison record is online’ along with the grouchiest face you ever could imagine.

    Maybe we should all rejoice that the surveillance is ‘going postal’. Once they manage to get the whole world into the net, why, it will be just as if they weren’t doing it at all!

  2. mind reading over the internets eh? sounds like Art Bell territory.

    This is even more outstanding than usual…

    You really should be writing for big pay, in some nationally syndicated outfit.

    Thanks a lot.

  3. ha! come to think of it i get a pink cartoon fat girl with her hands squeezing her belly, too. THEY KNOW WHO I AM BY MY META-DATA!

    you get the fat pink face with the arrest query? get his ugly mug, as well.

    your theory is: if all of are available to be searched at will, then…it might just flood their filters? that’s at least one possibility, the other of course is…nonviolent revolution, put em all in prison… or build a nonviolent guillotine? ;~)

    or maybe some giant solar flares will fry the wires at the storage center near salt lake city? or melt the glass in the cables?

    damn, Obomba must have been a global laughing stock accusing the xi jinping of cyber-espionage at their CA meeting. what.a.buffoon.

  4. whoosh, mafr. i’m sooooo glad ya liked it; it seemed a bit risky since ya never know what will tickle people…or (eeeek) sincerely *not* tickle them.

    i hadn’t ever heard of art bell, and i just read his fascinating wiki entry. even went to youtube to listen to a weird song by ‘tool’ that was apparently based on one of his weird callers. it was painful to listen to, so i won’t bring it.

    your ‘for pay’ comment was pay aplenty, dear. and you’re very welcome. ;~)

  5. The “hot” Orientals are for us geezers (or maybe not, in more progressive states); Shirelley, I’druther the DEM anti-precedential/difi rant! Luv ya manana!

  6. is that my cue to say ‘quit calling me shirelly’? (say, ya gonna meet me? tonight’s the night…) i’d hoped i hadn’t blown by the rant too far, but…understatement seemed to be in order, bruce. ;~)

    are you at 20K by chance? hope so; that would soothe my savage breast. (actually, i’d wanted to use ‘tits’ in the piece as this voice almost required, but i reckoned teddy p would come out of retirement if i had.) (hi, teddy!)

    come again, please. i only charge $1.99 per view; please pay the cashier on yer way out the door.

    Added on accountta slow-brain syndrome: ‘precedential’ has equaled ‘pressidential’ for sooooo long; will this dreck change it in the ‘…and then they came for all of us’ way?

  7. Really like this guy!

  8. didn’t realize there is more than one tune there,listen to the second one,

    “everywhere now” performance in colorado springs .

  9. i liked the second one a lot; he really feels it. he’s really played the hell outta that axe, hasn’t he? thank you, mafr.

  10. oh, and mafr. the open thread can be active any time we want to drop things in. if we just comment as we do so, it, and the thread, will be reflected in the recent comments list. plus, we can start a new one now and again, of course.

    wonder if willy chose his own middle name? ;~)

  11. They switched from the date these 50-yr-old women to date these 50 yr-old men in the ads that are coming my way. Thanks for the piece, LOL, had to put a new hole in my belt today, that’s good news.

    The tenor (four string, mafr @1:42 pm) guitar and the music is hot, precious tone wood there.

  12. nonquixote…. First I have heard of a tenor guitar, was listening to Willie tea Taylor, yesterday, and that tenor guitar sounds amazing. partly due to the way he plays it no doubt, but what a sound. He’s putting his life into his tunes.

    “the open thread can be active any time we want to drop things in. if we just comment as we do so, ”

    ok, sounds good to me.

  13. those ads are hilarious at mind-reading and search habits, aren’t they? glad the post made you laugh, nonquixote. only had one major dissenter over yonder, so that’s pretty good considering, eh?

    we’ll still love you with the extra notch. the guitar did sound good, didn’t it?

  14. also, adblock, stops almost all ads, and startpage, eliminates all tracking, it submits your search to google for you, and they don’t know where it comes from.

    starpage.

  15. just finished playing 3 hour background music gig …. light jazz/bossanova/pop tunes at a local restaurant. guitar /bass duo.

  16. i tried ixquick for a bit, but i’ll look at startpage. thank you.

    i should have guessed that you’re a musician, mafr; which do you play, guitar or bass? mr. wd played bass, i was an unaccomplished guitar player, only played so i could sing. ;~)

    sleep well.

  17. This is a recording I did a year or so ago.

    http://soundcloud.com/you/tracks

  18. i signed up, then logged in again from firefox, not through my email account, but i just get my own account.

    http://soundcloud.com/you/tracks oh, it’s just like yours, but my name is on it. what am i doing wrong?

  19. I don’t think you need to sign up to anything to listen to that. should just be able to click on play, and listen. otherwise, not sure what happened.

  20. when i clicked your link, i was taken straight to a Log in/Sign in page. I signed in, nothing happened, so i used the link here, was still logged in as i’d asked, but again nothing happened, nothing to click. the software says i can search for users, which i assume is a user’s music. i guess i/we would need to know your user name. not that it’s a guarantee that i’ll figure out what to do with it, you realize. but i sure would like to hear your recording/s.

    my guess is that you see something from your side of the site that i/we can’t see or immediately access.

  21. dadgummit!

    try this, I guess that link is just for me

    this should work, and thanks for trying…. It’s an old standard that’s been played and sung many times by the greats, and the not greats

  22. by crackee, muskie: it worked! thank you for trying again; you’re so accomplished, mafr. would you call it classical jazz, maybe? i assume that you’ve learned and practiced scales so that you can play the tune this way?

    it’s always a treat to hear a good guitarist use the instrument almost like a piano, or at least one-handed piano. are there more of your recordings there? i was offered a chance to show an excellent musician my regard by purchasing some upgrade for 39 euros. ;~) instead, i will have to say thank you, and…say how beautifully you play.

  23. Glad you liked it….

    yes classical jazz, or mainstream, traditional fifties jazz,

    I’ve practiced scales, and chords, arpeggios, patterns, licks, riffs, learned hundreds probably of tunes, old ones, newer ones, beatles tunes, hendrix tunes, willie nelson tunes, and so on, that I can play from memory, and fake my way through others by guessing,

    even happy birthday to you, and twinkle little star.

    thanks for listening to my ditty, nothing else there right now, maybe in the next while.

  24. well, all you’ve learned and practiced shows. well, not all of it, but much of it. what sort of guitar or guitars, do you play? do you do vocals, or does your bass player?

    ‘even happy birthday and twinkle’; love it. i will look forward to more, and i know nonquixote will, too. beatles use such odd chord progressions; they were always hard for me, even just strummin’.

    but thank you for showing us your amazing skill, mafr.

  25. and just for fun, this guitarist was a friend of my parents when i was a little shaver. funny thing: i went back to kent, ohio once to visit, and my former boyfriend’s band was being managed by bill. ;~) (de arango, this says, but i’d always thought it was ‘d’arango’ on the albums my folks had)

  26. Never heard of him, but bill derango is a mighty fine picker.

    But those are high level players, although the piano player might have had a few just before that session.

  27. very interesting that you played that, cause so many guitar players from those days are famous in the small world of guitar players, and he’s as good as any of them, but he’s unknown, so wikipedidia

    “Bill DeArango (September 20, 1921, Cleveland, Ohio – December 26, 2005, Cleveland) was an American jazz guitarist. Jason Ankeny of Allmusic called him “Arguably the most innovative and technically accomplished guitarist to emerge during the bebop era”.[1]

    (he’s definitely got chops as good as anyone)

    DeArango was an autodidact, and played in Dixieland jazz bands while attending Ohio State University. He served in the Army from 1942-44, then moved to New York City, where he played with Don Byas, Ben Webster, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Sarah Vaughan, Slam Stewart, Ike Quebec, Ray Nance, and Eddie “Lockjaw” Davis. (YIKES!!!!)

    He recorded under his own name for the first time in 1945, and co-led a band with Terry Gibbs shortly thereafter.

    DeArango left New York to return to Cleveland in 1947, where he essentially disappeared from the music world. He did an album with pianist John Williams in 1954 for EmArcy, but remained strictly a local musician for more than 20 years, in addition to running a record store. Late in the 1960s he managed the rock band Henry Tree, and held a regular gig in the 1970s at the Smiling Dog Saloon in Cleveland with Ernie Krivda and Skip Hadden.”

    didn’t like the big city I guess. Going to introduce my guitar forum buddies to this man.

    Another famous picker did that as well, moved to Denver, and opened a music store, Johnny Smith, didn’t want to raise his daugher in New York City. Basically disappeared from music, after being the very top player in the world.

    thanks a lot, most interesting.

  28. Going from Ohio, which is nowheresville in the world of jazz, to the army, and going to New York in 44, and within a couple of years playing with Charlie Parker, is really something. And then to say, nah, no thanks. remarkable.

  29. good diggin’, dear. there were few vids up, but i finally chose one. i confess, i could barely hear much more than the piano (i’d thought it was out of tune, but i was doin’ three other things while tryin’ to choose one). yeppers, fine company.

    but i do vaguely remember that there were some stories about why he was back in cleveland. i’m trying to remember where i knew him; must have been there. but his wife was carmen, irrc, and she was fabulous, to my young eyes,,,a beauty. full red lips, strong dark eyebrows and hair (eyebrows are a bit of a fetish of mine), and lovely clothes, maybe bohemian. something slightly illicit about her.

    those were the days when it was a well-kept secret that couples swapped partners, always wondered if that happened. i can remember the tenderness in his voice when he spoke to my mum. just as an example, i found out after my mum committed suicide, that i had a half-sister in ohio, and i used to babysit her and her three siblings. crazy world, isn’t it? sometimes i know i take it far too seriously.

    (snap out of the reveries, wendydavis). so glad i thought to bring a bit of him to you, and you helped me to…remember and wonder more.

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