…to tenderize my innards.<\/p>\n
Fucking irritating; they were not the two or three most significant Xmen in my life. Minor romances,\u00a0 peripheries, although memorable for one thing or another. It was hurtful, that dream, hurtful again, and the dream circumstances gave me no chance to object.<\/p>\n
(Mindlessly, I just played my Dan Fogelberg CD of his album, Phoenix.<\/em> His song, the sweet “Longer,” was “our song,” i.e., that silly thing when some pop tune becomes, because of the tune or the lyrics, romantically embedded in a couple’s life. The man of that “our” was possibly the love of my life but disappeared into forever, devastating me. It’s not that “Longer” reminds me of him specifically but it does remind me of profound and long-lasting heartsickness. As an antidote, I’ve got Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville on now. Neville has the only vibrato I love, especially in the Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil’s gorgeous, “Don’t Know Much.”)<\/p>\n I woke up with my heart sunk down from its usual optimistic perch. Within a half hour, I understood it was Bob Redford’s death that had left me very, very sad. Sadder than I’d been when men with whom I’d had actual romances died. There have been obits which did stir me, but did not send me into mourning.<\/p>\n Death has always been a problem for me. I have never quite believed in it, never believed someone I’ve known and loved has died.<\/p>\n No, I do not believe in heaven. I do not believe people “pass on.” They die, they’re gone for now. But I do believe in memories which I can call on, or which call on me when they feel like it. I talk to them. And they talk to me.<\/p>\n I suppose you want to call them ghosts. I don’t. They’re more substantial than ghosts and they do not haunt. What they do is visit every once in a while, when I need them or maybe when they need me.<\/p>\n Which is why, tomorrow, I’m going to tell you about “my” Robert Redford. In doing so I’ll be calling up some warm memories. I guess I want him, too, to stick around.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" …to tenderize my innards. Fucking irritating; they were not the two or three most significant Xmen in my life. Minor romances,\u00a0 peripheries, although memorable for one thing or another. It was hurtful, that dream, hurtful again, and the dream circumstances … Continue reading