Friday, April 29, 2016

Prince


It has taken me a week to acknowledge this loss.  I loved Prince.  I loved his music, his personalities, his spirituality, his energy, his sense of humour, all of it.

I saw him live, in concert, four times.

The first time I was 8 months pregnant, and I remember dancing in the aisle, with my tummy hanging over the railing.

I remember a young girl proclaiming to me "Your baby is so lucky.  It gets to see Prince before it is even born!"

That was the only concert I attended with someone else.

The other times I went alone.  Alone, but not alone, because I was there with myself and I rocked being a Prince fan.

I saw him at the Orpheum for a one night only intimate concert.  I was in row 15, on the aisle, and I was in heaven.

I saw him in 2011 - front row seats.  I never was in the seat, but danced the night away.  You can read my blog about it here.

And now he is gone.

And I am afraid a part of me is gone too.

The part that loved him in Purple Rain and would defend his musicality to the nay-sayers around me.

The part that was brave enough to drive downtown, and park, and attend his concerts by myself.



The part of me that paid $225 for a front row seat.

That part of me that was 33, 42, 47, 56 and went to a concert alone, unafraid, and full of joy.

I just booked tickets to go to see Purple Rain in the Rio Theater in a couple of weeks, and then to go, alone, to see Sign of the Times a few days after that.

Because that woman, that part of me, is still in there.

At 60 I want to hold on to her.

And I want to say good-bye, and thank you, to an artist I have never met, but have always greatly admired, and it is important.

My son called me the day Prince died and asked me if I was ok.

He knew that little part of me. The part that needed someone to acknowledge that this is a hard thing for me to wrap my head around.

Not hard like Robin William dying hard, because he and I shared our struggle with depression.

But hard in the I don't want this to mean that a part of me is now dead too, hard.

It can't mean that.

I won't let it.

Friday, April 8, 2016

I am still here

I am here, but not feeling much like writing these days. 

We have been getting the camper ready for the season, raking the grass, Ä«tidying up.

I have been swimming and have increased my sessions to an hour which is lovely.

I think the cold/flu I had for six weeks is finally gone.  (fingers crossed)

I went back on my full dose of meds after about four days - I am ok, the timing just wasn't right.

I went to the doctor and had all my blood work done and all is well. 

I finally got in to the eye specialist and I need laser surgery to correct the haziness that has developed since I had cataract surgery five years ago.  Early June is the date - so there is that.

I haven't felt much like reading blogs either.  Except Rubber Shoes in Hell.  I always read what Michelle has to say because I feel some connection to her that goes deep.  She makes me laugh and cry, often at the same time. 

I have been knitting, and also un-knitting.  I ripped out eighteen rows of lace this morning because I noticed a mistake, and tried to fix it (major fail), and so resigned myself to removing a whole section.  It was easier than I thought, and only lost one night's worth of knitting and now I am back on track. 

The little ball is the amount I ripped out and have to reknit.


I tried to ignore the mistake.  I tried to convince myself that once blocked no-one would notice it. 

But I would know it was there and the wise words "no-one ever regrets tinking back to fix a mistake, but always regret not" circled around in my brain.

I finished a  baby jacket (for no baby in particular), good old Elizabeth Zimmerman's Surprise Baby Jacket.


and have almost finished knitting Little Cotton Rabbits - Bunny Girl in the dotty dress.  (that's the name of the pattern).



My sock yarn blanket is past 600 squares so there is progress on that front too.

I am ok. 

Just wanted you all  to know that. 

Just wanted to tell myself too. 

Besides I have this little tin of mints that a friend gave me.  I carry it with me always (and the mints are good too)