A few months ago, in October to be exact, after noting the poet T.S. Eliot had proclaimed in his masterpiece, "The Wasteland," that "April is the cruelest month," I wrote these words:
"But, just for the sake of argument, I vote for October or January as the cruelest month …. Both these months have foreshadowed sledge-hammer hard blows to my psyche. Each year, I hold my breath waiting for each October to pass. Some years, they are (thankfully) uneventful. Some years, they slam me in their opening moments. Other years, they ambush me at the last possible second.
"So, you ask me, how can a month (October for now; we will wait on January) with such beautiful colors and such stunning sunsets be cruel?"
Well, October came and went with a touch of bad luck for me, but nothing catastrophic, and now we are in the midst of January. My designation for these two months is a numbers game in a sense. October has struck me many times, while January has struck me only one time, but with the hardest and the cruelest of any blow in my life.
There are only three people, possibly four, still around today who are aware of that blow, and I think it is best to be kept that way. The only day I fear in January (so far, anyway) is the seventeenth. And, it passed by me quietly this year. If I could, I would prefer to have someone nearby to hold my hand for a while when that date comes around on the calendar each year.
The other major event of January in my life happened on this day -- the twenty-fourth -- when I joined the Marine Corps. Probably no one who has not been in the Corps recognizes or realizes the significance of the enlistment anniversary date to those who have been there. It is a bond and a commitment and a pledge in blood -- actually -- and, something earned, not given.
In my case, I consider this day neither a good day nor a bad day, but still one of the most relevant ones in my life.
The only other "unique" month in my life is July. I have been married twice -- both weddings in July -- and, in each case, the divorce also was finalized in July. I am not certain these events have anything to do with luck, but it does seem a bit strange. Do you not think so? Whether or not July marriages and weddings are written in the stars for me, if you propose to me, I want a July wedding. Some things are meant to be.
I wish there were a month that was super beneficial to/for me and would bring me to the pinnacle of good luck again and again -- but, so far, no such luck.
Baby, you're adorable (you know I mean it)
No cowboy songs tonight. A couple of thoughts about this music:
The first piece is one of the last songs recorded by Roy Orbison before he went bye-bye. While that comment might sound a bit irreverent, I will add that I believe Roy Boy had the greatest voice in the original era of rock music. This, by the way, in the parlance of FramHistory, existed from about 1955 to approximately 1990, when, for all practical purposes, rock began to go to hell (i.e., the path of political correctness).
Whatever .... by luck of the draw (meaning the god-given gift of a voice like no other), Orbison was the best of the best, and everyone doing music at the time knew it.
The visuals in both these videos are technically of very poor quality, but, perhaps, that will encourage some to concentrate on the music itself and to think about the lyrics. By the way (again), the Orbison song once had special meaning for me. Live and learn. What is that saying? Fool me once ....
The second piece is by the Traveling Wilburys, of which Roy Boy was a member. If you do not recognize the other members, shame on you. I will say this much, however, which should offer you a clue: I did not realize what a neat voice George Harrison had until he hooked up with the Wilburys.
Anyway, such is the way of music around these parts tonight. If you like it -- or not -- tell me.