If you place me on a slut scale, the fact that I fantasized about being a nun when I was very young makes me as light as a feather. This fantasy was dramatically encouraged by my affection for the nuns in The Sound of Music and by how ungodly-gorgeous Audrey Hepburn looks in a habit in The Nun’s Story. The latter went right over my head. I was far too young to grasp the nuances. Old enough to be mesmerized by Sister Luke’s somber, beautiful expression framed by a somber, beautiful wimple.
This is not a marketing drive for my unwritten novel The Loose Woman’s Manual (which will be about dizzy spells and have no sex in it whatsoever).
I’m promiscuous when it comes to music, not fussy about which genre it is, who it is, how well-known they are. If I like it, I like it. The only exceptions are death metal and anything that sets my teeth on edge.
I’ve lain in bed with Richard Hawley, Lord Huron, Father John Misty and many, many others. They’ve nuzzled my ears with song.
A side note about Father John Misty and Lord Huron:
My youngest sister came out from the UK to spend time with me and my kids in 2015. She played music on her computer while sorting out the contents of her suitcase. I paused in the adjacent bedroom when I heard Father John Misty’s I Love You, Honeybear, but it was the trumpet solo in Chateau Lobby #4 that hooked me. His lyrics are gritty, but it’s the melodies I love best.
In the car, while driving her to the airport to board her return flight to the UK, my sister played a Lord Huron song. It had lots of percussion in it. Perhaps it was Time to Run or The Man Who Lives Forever. Again, my ears pricked up and I asked Who’s this? Every time I listen to their music I’m connecting to my sister and my sons (who are as passionate about this band as I am).
It’s never just about the music, is it?
This evening I selected a vintage, syrupy Ray Conniff album to play on my Spotify account.
Why Ray Conniff?
New moons rattle me a bit. Just before a new moon, and for a short while thereafter, I monitor my mood and mental activity like a laboratory assistant. I avoid sounds and sights that make me feel red and inflamed. Ray and his singers are light, joyous, and Utopian.
I watch Studio Ghibli’s animated films when the moon is in shadow. Tonight it was From Up on Poppy Hill, a few days ago The Tale of the Princess Kaguya, (the moon has a big, round role in this movie). The colors and artwork pull me into beauty. They’re remarkable medicine. An antihistamine for the soul.
One of my earliest just-out-of-toddlerhood memories is of a nurse giving me two Jelly Babies for lying still while being injected in my podgy bottom (or thereabouts) with what I assume was an antihistamine. I’d had my first slice of ham and my first sips of Coca-Cola at a gathering where the Liquorice Allsorts on the tiered cake stand stunned me with their proximity and brilliant colors. I broke out in an un-ravishing rash and was rushed to the Red Cross Children’s Hospital.
The question was always Was it the Coca-Cola or the ham that did it? I doubt it was the licorice. I don’t remember eating any before I was snatched away by an adult who saw allergies written all over my neon pink face. But then, I don’t remember the soda or ham either.
As I got older my toxicity detector was corrupted. Now, as I’m getting even older than older, it’s rallying with a vengeance. I make rash decisions which are, in this instance, not impetuous ones. I base decisions on what is less likely to cause a rash, literally and metaphorically.
I do stringent quality control checks on what I put in my mind. I consider carefully what I put in my body and on it. Please note: I said what, not who. But I’m scrupulous about the who too. Not that it’s any of your business, or that you want it to be your business, but I’m happy to share —– I heard what you just said: Please don’t. You didn’t wait for me to finish my sentence. As I was saying, I’m happy to share that much and no more.
New moon or not, I’m working hard to improve my diet to improve my health. I pulled a dandelion to eat with my fish fingers. When I twisted the leaves off near the root I saw something delightful. Placing it on the stove top, I took a photograph. Look at it…
…isn’t it adorable? That’s the root and the base of the leaves. It’s the perfect combination of Ray Conniff’s sweetness and Studio Ghibli’s transcendent depictions of the natural world. Another antihistamine for the soul.
Any-hoo, it’s time for my toodle-oo.
Lots of love to you-oo.
PS If you have antihistamine movies and music makers, please share them with us in the comments section.
PPS Here’s the latest Lord Huron release. OMG, I adore this band…