Back in January, I posted an old song for someone special. That song was, how do you say, “kinda crappy.” It was more of an unpolished sketch with some interesting ideas and more than a few noticable mistakes in rhythm. Perhaps it was not so terrible for what I had to work with back then, but I remember thinking when I posted it that these days pretty much anyone could throw together something better in Garageband.
Now I know what you are probably thinking. That was seven months ago, and we have all “moved on.” Sometimes the world moves a little too quickly for me. So finally, I took my own challenge and threw together something in Garageband.
Remembering.
Timothy “Timmy” Elfstrand
August 11, 2007 – January 10, 2009
In New Orleans a couple of years ago, the church at which we were staying had a time for people to share there experiences from the week. I do not remember any of what was said now, but I do recall the sudden realization that my mother did not know that I was currently in New Orleans helping hurricane victims. My mother did know that I had been there the previous year either. This is simply because my mother never knew about Hurricane Katrina.
It was stated at the recent dedication of CSUSB’s new literacy center, “Kathy taught ESL at 10 locations on three continents… in five different languages.” Through “Kathys’ Corner” in said literacy center, mother has managed to continue teaching children to read four years after she died.
What have you done lately?
I did this song, Toy Shoppe, (if indeed it can be called a “song,” as it is really more of an “aural painting”) a long time ago. It was originally intended to be accompaniment for a circus act – for which it was (understandably) rejected. I later considered ammending the name to “Toy Shoppe (In the Sky)” and thought that I should like to have it played at my funeral*, but I never told a soul, and eventually forgot almost everything but the name for more than ten years.
Yesterday, I was inspired to dig out the cassette tape again. (“What’s that?” you ask.) My initial thoughts upon listening were, “WTF?” Followed closely by, “How on earth did I make those sounds with the technology that I had in 1997?” So okay, it’s not exactly what I would call “good”, but it does have a curious blend of whimsy and gloom which is precisly what I was looking for on this occasion.
Anyway, I thought you might like a little backstory, because today, this song is for you.
*Do not hold me to this.
It’s funeral time. I don’t know what to say anymore. This is getting old. I imagine that most people my age have more living ancestors than I do.
Dorothy Marti Ziilch
December 10, 1920 – October 7, 2007
Almost exactly ten years ago, I was in the room with my mother when she received the phone call that her father had had a stroke. “He’s only seventy-six!” was all that she could say. Only.
No one could have possibly imagined that he would actually outlive her…
…But not by much.
Charles Nicholas Ziilch
June 21, 1920 – Sept 8, 2006
I was planning on buying a bigger bowl for my goldfish this weekend. Maybe even a small aquarium with a filter system. A sunken treasure chest, perhaps. I was worried though, after I changed his water and fed him Saturday morning, he simply wouldn’t touch his food. Just drifted aimlessly, for a couple of days. Well… I didn’t want to be left with an empty tank. I was hoping that maybe he just didn’t like the Redlands heat, and would perk up again when he got back to good ol’ air conditioned Pomona. He was floating on his side when I came home today, and awfully pale for a goldfish. It was two weeks, almost to the hour, since I won him in a stupid little carnival game. I honestly hadn’t expected him to make it past the first Wednesday. But he did, and I was getting fond of that little guy. Jeremiah was a good fish. He deserved better.
Am I to cry over a dead fish? Oh for the love of… I had a boxing tuna sandwich for lunch today. I’m really just tired of things dying. Relationships, dreams, people, pets, whatever. So. Very. Tired.
She was at the Hopitaux Universitaires de Geneve. So all the hospital stuff said HUG. She must have liked that.
Kathryn Z. Weed
Dec. 5 1945 – May 22, 2005
Aujourd’hui, Maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas.
-Albert Camus
why try at all when everything’s out of reach
at times i feel just like a stranger on the beach
they’re looking for shelter from the pain
i’m so sheltered, i can’t see the rain
- Less is More, “Wasting”
The call came around 1:00 am. From my father, he was there.
The rest of us had fallen into routine. Get up. Shower. Eat breakfast. Go to the hospital. Wait. I found it surprisingly easy not to think about exactly what we were waiting for. But occasionally I would remember. When this is all over, my grandmother, my sister, my father, myself, we all go home to empty houses – some of us for the first time.