Crybaby

So tonight I was watching the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame concert on HBO. I highly recommend it to any major music fan. I was enjoying CSN, James Taylor, Bonnie Raitt. Smokey Robinson sounded surprisingly good and it was lovely when he and Stevie Wonder sang Tracks of My Tears. Then it cut to Paul Simon singing a song from Graceland, an album I love. I am thinking he is really starting to look old, but he still sounds great. He sang a Beatles song with Crosby and Nash and then, non-chalantly, Art Garfunkel walks onto the stage. "How cool", I think, and keep folding the clothes in front of me. Then Paul starts the beginning strains of The Sound of Silence and I am transfixed. I feel a lump in my throat and I quietly listen to the song and their harmonies and by then end I have tears streaming down my face. I am 4 years old again, standing in front of my parents stereo listening for the umpteenth time to the Simon and Garfunkel 8 track tape with my sister. We are singing The Boxer's "LY LA LY, LY LA LY LY LY LA LY..." at the top of our lungs. The clothes sat unfolded for the entire set as I cried and sang and thanked the Lord when Aretha popped in shortly after and sang "Baby, I Love You." That will pull anyone out of a funk.
Now anyone who knows me at all knows I have a weird emotional relationship with music. By the age of 7, I was obsessively listening to the radio, sometimes all by myself in the front room of our house. My first memories are songs- John Denver, Simon and Garfunkel, Merle Haggard, Loretta Lynn. Then came The Eurythmics, Lionel Ritchie and Michael Jackson and, yes,even Wham!. The love affair has gone on from there. I also have a history of losing composure at concerts. I heard Bob Dylan playing harmonica in concert- I cried. I was 6 feet away from Emmylou Harris as she sang at the first ACL fest- I cried. And there was absolutely no limit to the emotion and tears that poured out of me as I stood less than 4 feet from Prince, in all his tiny glory, as he sang Purple Rain and played that amazing guitar solo. I was a mess. A glorious mess. I love those moments because I feel like they are some of the most honest of my life. I sometimes think that when I react so strongly to something as simple as a few chords and lyrics, I am letting go of all the emotion I hold back in real life. I was never told not to cry. Never stifled as a kid, but the thing in me that wants everyone to be comfortable won't let me make them uncomfortable with my tears or my anger (which usually comes with tears too). So if they come up at an inconvenient time, I stuff them back down. I make a joke. I say my allergies are acting up. Tonight I was alone in my living room and I let it loose. Then they played "The Boxer" and "Bridge Over Troubled Waters". You can only imagine the crying/singing/caterwauling that was going on down there. But I needed it and I feel so much better for it. I get teased for it sometimes (you know who you are), but I think it is nice to know that I have a soul that can be touched that deeply. Or maybe I am just a big baby. Either way, I feel good.

Love like you've never been hurt

My new old friend Gina sent this to me on a forward email. They usually suck, but I really love this and wanted to share.

"As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back. Don't be afraid that your life will end, be afraid that it will never begin."

Yum, I want some more

Ponder with me, for a moment, the importance of good hummus. Oh let me just break it down- it is like crack, people. Marlon has discovered a new talent in creating homemade hummus. It all started the other day when he was going to the store and I asked him to buy some hummus. It is my favorite snack and even though it probably isn’t, I have convinced myself it is healthier than other alternatives. So he calls me from our beloved HEB from among the “fancy people” food and asks if I can look up a recipe for hummus to check the ingredients. I do and there they are- chickpeas, tahini, garlic, salt, olive oil- not difficult. After seeing the $3.50 price on the tiny package of the store’s version, he decided to make some. The first one was a basic recipe minus the tahini, plus feta cheese (makes it smell terrible while you are blending it, but tastes good) and extra garlic and salt. After chilling it, we started in on it. That large bowl full lasted 2 days, barely. The next one was made with tahini (it makes a big difference), spinach, garlic, etc. This one has been calling me minute by minute. I ate it for lunch today with wheat thins. Just that. That batch is not long for this world either.

I realized, though, that my favorite thing about this new culinary habit of Marlon’s is the way it started. Yes, some people could look at it from the standpoint of, “Well he just didn’t want to spend the money.” I, however, take a different view. My darling, misunderstood husband took a fact- his wife really wanted some hummus- and then made it his mission to get me some in the best possible way- more bang for the buck. (The homemade is also much better than the store bought, just FYI.) It is so small and probably seems stupid, but this is the kind of thing that I really want. I want those little daily reminders that he is listening to me. I think that is all anyone wants- to feel like what they putting out into the world isn’t in vain. Someone is listening and caring about what they say. To paraphrase Manny from “Modern Family”, my hummus is made with the added secret ingredient of caring. Yum- I am ready for some more.

A Letter to Young American Women- from Newsweek

"Editor's note: Editor's note: Journalist Gail Collins, the first woman to edit The New York Times editorial page, is the author of "When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present." She wrote this piece, a letter to the next generation of women, exclusively for CNN.

(CNN) -- Dear Young American Women,
It's possible that you have been told a time or 10 that you don't appreciate how tough your elders had it. It's true that, if you had been coming of age back in, say, 1960, you would probably be feeling more restricted, if only because you were doomed to spend your days in a skirt, nylon stockings and girdle. (Everybody wore a girdle back then, even Barbie, the individual least in need of a foundation garment in American history.)
Back then, if you wanted a career that involved travel, you'd have to have become a flight attendant. Although good luck with that -- there were 100 applicants for every opening. People paid to go to special schools to learn how to improve their chances of being chosen for that very job that involved appallingly low pay and allowed you to be fired if you gained weight or got married.
Fifty years ago, women couldn't get a credit card or apartment lease unless their father or husband co-signed. And it was perfectly legal for an employer to say that he didn't hire women. (Madeleine Kunin, the future governor of Vermont, applied for an editing job at my own beloved New York Times and was asked if she'd like to consider waitressing in the corporate dining room.)
You may be thinking right now that this actually doesn't sound so bad, that it would be more fun to take to the streets protesting job discrimination than worrying about living in the streets because there aren't any jobs around at all.
Point well taken. You've got your own problems and truly, you are not required to bow down to the generation that gave you equal opportunity to play high school sports. (Now even Sarah Palin loves Title 9. But when it first became law, men were sure it would mean the end of football and everything they held dear. Rep. Pat Schroeder of Colorado was touring a local high school shortly after it passed, and the boys' basketball coach said "Show the congresswoman what you think of Title 9." The team turned around and mooned her.)
There are plenty of challenges that still remain and you know about them better than me. If you're planning on knocking them dead in business or one of the professions, you may discover, to your shock, that there's still discrimination out there. If you're thinking about a military career, there's never been a better time for a woman, but the problem of sexual harassment in the field is disturbingly real.
No matter what you're doing, you're probably going to wind up worrying about how to balance work and family.
Violence against women hasn't gone away; it actually seems to be getting worse. And if you're prepared to worry about things on an international sphere, the oppression of women in other parts of the world is a cancer that has to be cured if the planet is going to evolve in the right direction.
What with all that, it looks like there's plenty on your plate. And if you don't feel like dwelling on the non-problems, if you automatically assume that a woman has as much right to have a terrific career and exciting adventures as any guy, that's great. For the entire history of recorded civilization, people had ideas about women's limitations, and their proper (domestic) place in the world. That all changed in my lifetime -- came crumbling down. The fact that I got to see it, in the tiny sliver of history I inhabit, just knocks me out. You taking it for granted knocks me out.
But if you do want to take a look back now and then, and contemplate how America evolved into a country where women could finally claim their rights, you might enjoy the ride even more. It's a great story, and it was all leading up to you."