New Riders of the Purple Sage

"Look at all those bees!"
Yep, they like the sage.
"Sage blooms purple?"
Uh-huh. I tried not to answer too sarcastically. We've had sage in the garden for over ten years and he was just now noticing it?
"So.... New Riders of the Purple Sage..."
That's where they got it.
"Hmmm."
There are purple blossoms all over the garden. Chives, sage, lavender. There were multiple iris, violets, lilacs, hyacinth. Even the first blush of color through the snow, the crocus, shined a glossy royal purple in the sun. And tonight the sunset is amaranthine, streaking its mood across the horizon. Deep, velvety and kissed with the softest coral. Somehow, I know it is a gift to soothe my troubled day.

Many years

Many years ago we were young. Many years ago we were thin. Many years ago there was no grey hair. Many years ago we were in love. At least one thing is still the same.

When I look at this photograph, the memory of this Christmas eve is as clear as day. His brother had a dog named Barney, whose slobbery ball is cropped just out of the picture's foreground. We drove up after I got off work, drinking beer and listening to Bruce Hornsby & the Range and Joe Vitale. It snowed that night. Wee hours of Christmas morning were spent lounging in the hot tub, drinking wine & watching the snow fall, multi-colored fairy lights twinkling above us. Good cheer does not even begin to describe it. Finally, we slept the sleep of drunkenness, crashed on pushed together, overstuffed basement couches. The next day began with amaretto laced coffee and snowballs on the deck. Christmas could not have been better.

A lot has changed. That deck is now a screened in Florida pool, the hot tub has long since been disassembled, pets, jobs, music and wines have come and gone. Love, however, love remains. Twenty-three years is a long time to be married these days. Twenty-three years is a long time to love someone. But it can happen. Just like that.

Nashville Lament

Oh, Cumberland, look what you have done

I almost don't recognize the road.

But I'm a lucky one, my friends are safe and sound.

Not everyone was lucky, as you know.

*

Water rising, damage not foretold

The picture of the Opry made me cry.

Watching in disbelief, waiting for the crest

Another guitar silenced in the night.

*

I know they're just strings

Strung across warped wood

But they wound around my heart and held my life.

And I know they're just things

But they brought the world joy.

Nothing can erase those memories

And water cannot stop the ones who sing.

©ruralgurl music 2010

FB

Facebook is everywhere. Not sure how I feel about that. Actually, I'm not even sure how I feel about having a "page". I really didn't want one. Wasn't a blog, twitter, myspace, youtube and four different email accounts quite enough, thank you? Apparently not. It got to the point where in order to get a coupon, know about a sale, find out a band's tour schedule, or contact certain friends, a Facebook account was required. After much foot dragging, I reluctantly caved.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not a Luddite. I love my macs (and I've had quite a few), I prefer email to a phone call and I check my Twitter feed regularly. But there's something a bit off about FB. Maybe it's the whole "friend as a verb" thing. Maybe it's that I'd rather not even have to deal with "not friending" people from my past who I wasn't friends with in the first place. Maybe it's that FB is yet another time-sucking vortex. Yet, in the mist of all the crap, there is a redeeming factor. Friends. Real friends. Cry-on-your-shoulder-friends. A community can quickly rally around a cause, lend emotional support, and even fundraise for disaster or charity via a circle of friends. It's quite amazing. I think it may even be some folks' lifeline.

Perhaps Facebook isn't the evil empire that the little voice on my left shoulder says it is. For now, the little voice on my right shoulder is winning. Sorry Roger.