Dearest Mary Angel

I bought and downloaded a song Friday afternoon to my iPod. It had been some twenty-five years since I last heard it. But then, the reason I never sought this song out in my ten plus years or so of internet access is because the song carries with it a lot of baggage. A lot, LOT of baggage. But now, the best way to get rid of it, I figure, is to listen to it and give it new meaning.

I may have told you this already, but there are a number of songs I associate with you. Don Henley's All She Wants to Do is Dance sits at the top of the list. I love that song because of you.

Every time I hear Adam Ant I think of you as well, two song in particular remind me of you for reasons I cannot now remember, they are: Goody Two Shoes and Strip, but I don't think you can ascribe any obvious reasons based upon those titles. I just remember being with you while those songs were playing... and I guess I did think of you as a bit of a goody two shoes, though in an endearing way.

Now this last song I remember because I was with you, in your home, both of us on a small couch. Rick Springfield's Living in Oz LP was on your record player. It's The Human Touch that sticks in my head every time I think of you. One line in particular...

You know I've got my walls
But Sally calls them prison cells.

And that's so me... or has been... I've been tearing down walls lately, and I'm getting pretty good at it. I reckon Sally would say, "it's about time!"

And yes, it's about time.

Not a one of these walls have come down because of any specific thing you have said or done, or any specific memory I have of you, but that's not to say you weren't important to me. It was the whole of you, the entire picture of you. You are who you are; a memory of sweetness and light, and that's enough for any man when the light of the world appears to have dimmed. But these walls are coming down because of decisions I've made since I turned 50 last August.

I wonder if we ever really understand the impressions we leave on others without knowing. This song I downloaded, Nice Girls, by Eye to Eye, carries with it some bad memories. I was a lonely young man, infatuated, and the object of my affection knew full well my heart. She went to the party with me, but ended up with someone else, and because of the hurt I did something very foolish... to myself. But that was twenty-seven years ago. How long do I have to carry that bag, or brick that wall? For as long as I am willing to do the work. And, as I've said, in the last few months I've spent some quality time with myself and my purpose and more time with my Lord than I have been wont. We're still not on close speaking terms, but... I'm learning to open up, and I'm discovering who I am and what it is I'm supposed to do.

Used to be I didn't want a nice girl. Now I find its all I want in a friend, and finding it difficult to see her anywhere. But I'm not worried about her anymore; where she is or when I might meet her. She's there and that's all I need to know.

But you, Mary Angel, have been a constant in my life, like no one else I've ever known-- you have been my north star. That's the impression you've left me with, though you probably never guessed the impact you left on my life, but I'm pleased by it. You and a short list of others have kept me from ruin, and I owe you all a debt of gratitude I can never repay.

So, the tone may sound sad, but that's just who I am- it's hard to escape Melancholy once it's had it's way with you one too many times. And this letter has been difficult to follow-- I've rambled a bit --but I've found more hope in recent months and years (in spite of my midlife crisis) than I ever thought to, or had any reason to expect but for the love I had for you and those others who kept me on the right path.

I don't think of you as often as I used to. But I can't see myself ever forgetting you. So it's in that spirit, a genuine spirit of Godly love, that I wish you and your family all of God's rich blessings this Christmas season.

Thank you for being my friend... for a lot longer than you expected.


With love,

E

Something Old

August 0498 12:58am


Dear Mary Angel,

I've been listening to a CD the last couple of days that has really intrigued me. I first bought the CD last year but I never really listened to it until the other day. The CD is from a group called "Dead Can Dance," and their name is pretty indicative of the tone and fiber of their style-- very modern and Old World all rolled into one, with dark and exotic themes. The lyrics they write are more poetry than actual lyrics. The following is a quick example... only five lines, and fits the search I began years ago. Its title is "Song of Sophia"

With one wish we wake the will
within wisdom.
With one will we wish the wisdom
within waking.
Woken, wishing, willing.

There is truth in those five lines, someone else's truth for sure, but truth nonetheless-- Awaken from your sleep and build your dreams. There lies wisdom! Tragically, there are very few people in the world who are truly awake. I often doubt the veracity of my waking life; am I truly awake, or do I sleep with untold thousands? But enough of this.

There was a girl I worked with at the station who is now gone. She has left for Auburn to advance her education. I miss having Brandi around on the weekends to talk and laugh with. I find it hard to believe that I am 18 years her senior as we get along well together and think a lot alike. She is going to be a teacher one day soon and I will not likely see her again, but I will remember her to you and to others that they may know the impact she had on my life.

She has softened a few rough edges in me. The sad part is that those rough edges were not always there. They were soft edges grown sharp through the bitterness of years spent in this self-imposed exile of mine. And I thank her for that. It seems I owe thanks to a good many people.

I think what I'd like to do now is thank all the people who had a hand in making me who I am. I'm sure I'll forget a few, indeed many, but this is simply an exercise in thankfulness and the ones I do forget will surely understand and know that I thank them as well. So, I would like to say thank-you to the following people, be they real or fictitious...

God. Mom and Dad. Grandma, Grandpa and the long line of lives that preceded them.
Anna, Danielle, Uncles Bob, Steve, Jim, and Clare. Aunts Simone, Martha, Gloria, Thao, and Heidi's Mother. Heidi, Little Jimmy, Charlie. Teresa Troutman, Leo O'Brian, Frank Alter, Dennis Banka, Stephanies Dean and Breeden, Gloria and both Pauls Dean. Mike "Where's-my-moon," The blonde girl Schoensiegle who wrote on paper,"YKPGFYA," whose mother had me detained by M.P.'s for daring to like her daughter. To Troop 88 and Mr. Peoples. Scott and Eric Mersnick, and survival campouts. Laura Bearnard, Stacy, and Bruce Rhodes. Nancy Rigdon and her brother John. Marc Marley and Lori Sutherland. Rodney Shueman. Eddie, Kenneth, Kevin and Sharon Trainor. Vince Kasprowicz and his whirling dervish. Sweet little Emily. To the woman who held me as I cried at my fathers funeral-- she who was once my step-sister. Mr. Lovrikovic for teaching me that hard lesson called 'complacency.' David and Peaches Skinner and Northside Baptist Church. Delilah Dean. Les and Rebecca Grice. Mike Salow, Clint Menacof, and Jim Stoller who shared a jail cell with me on my twenty-ninth birthday and owns the first painting I sold in exile. Bradford Woods who is somewhere in Texas enlightening the masses. Peter Paulie, editor of Colorado Springs' only daily newspaper who was nothing but an encouragement to me. R.D. Golden for teaching me how not to treat a woman. James Bell for teaching me how not to treat a friend. Iota Gamma for showing me what brotherhood is not. Carol Pizza, Mary Angel, and Cristal Conley. James Pigneri, Sylvia Harrison. Spinnaker's Restaurant for teaching me how not to treat employees. Edward Eugene "Hoss" Lewis for showing me that no man is worthy of worship, and David Rabe who has shown me that all men are at times to be pitied. To Spain for my first lesson in prejudice, and to George Washington Carver High School for my second. To Kimberly Steele who liked me perhaps as much as I liked her. Mr. Jackson's Homeroom class who did not paint the mural (I did!). 1st and 10th grade art contests. Mr. Early and any girl named Kelli. To band class and the trumpet my mother bought for me and my love for music. Belinda Kelly for teaching me the true meaning of fidelity and the phrase 'sex-as-a-weapon.' Everet Youngberg the ever-smiling. Taco, Hercules, Rufus and Dudley. To Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E. Howard, and J.R.R. Tolkien. Merry and Pippin and good ole' Sam Gamgee. Charlotte Norris. To Paula Kirker, because she liked Klaatu. Stephen Hawking, Albert Einstein, and Marilyn Monroe. Diana Spencer and Norma Jean. Kansas. Both the calm and stormy seas of winter that I piloted a steady course upon. When Worlds Collide. The Beatles. Enya and Loreena McKennitt. Sinead's burning of Troy. Homer's burning of Troy. Ulysses and Penelope. The sinking of Atlantis and the land that is now the Mediterranean sea. Pangea and Hyperboria. Ming the Mercilous, Flash and Dale Arden. Ornella Muti's 'Aura.' The Alan Parsons Project and the Turn of a Friendly Card. Ron Ely's 'Tarzan.' Author Gene Wolfe, Ursula K. LeGuin's "Lathe of Heaven." Ray Bradbury and his "Martian Chronicles," especially 'The Million Year Picnic.' Hermann Hesse and Siddhartha. Immanuel Velikovsky. William Golding's 'Lord of the Flies.' 'I Am The Cheese.' 'Farenheit 451.' Phillip K. Dick's, 'Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?' (Blade Runner). 'Logan's Run' (The Book). 'The Stand.' 'The Dark Tower.' Robert Jordan's, 'The Wheel Of Time.' Robert Roy McGregor and William Wallace. The highlands of Scotland and anything with bagpipes. To 'The Sun in the Stream,' that tune that echoed across the mountain top at my father's funeral. 'Cursum Perficio.' Cecil B. Demille's Ten Commandments and to Ben Hur. Sensei Richard Lording's Shorin-Ryu. To Goju-Ryu and Sanchin. Hiroaki Samura and the Blade of the Immortal. Michael J. Linsner. Darrian Ashoka and Dawn. Gary Numan and the B-52's. The Moody Blues. Yes. A Farewell to Kings and Moving Pictures. Clannad, Mary Black, Connie Dover and especially Luka Bloom. Dan Fogelberg. Stevie Nicks and Linsey Buckingham. Tears for Fears, Queen and Dixie Chicks. For finding Shawn Colvin before everyone else did. Charleton Heston in Planet of the Apes. Jaws. Jean-Luc Picard, Worf, and Data. Bram Stoker and the scariest vampire story ever. Alexandre Dumas, Victor Hugo and Jules Verne. Back to the Future one, two and three. Robert Adams 'Return of the Horseclans' and Milo Morai. Richard Adams 'Watership Down,' especially Hazel, Fiver, Strawberry, Hyzenthlay, my very own 'Hrududu' parked out front, and the concept of Tharn and all it implies. Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan and Steven Segal, all of whom are the real deal. U2 and Sting's Fields of Gold as well as his Dream of the Blue Turtle. Mrs. Bell who treated me as though I were one of her own. Dan Robbins. Joby Roberts. Cliff Myers. Lee Pizza. Suzie Durko for sharing long walks with me. Mike Gailfoil. Debra Lively. Robby Heisner. Steve Hagan. The Entire Kasprowicz Clan and that Hallowed place known to one and all as the 'Oaks.' David Everett. Bill Norris and his lovely bride. Catherine "Cat" Vaughan, Kim Dosier, Wendy Morris, Krishelle, Desa Dance,Dot Brown, Lisa Treadwell, and Sherif Dawson. Dawn Floyd, for whom the bells did toll. Brandi Holton. To Hannah and her Needle, Corriandor, and Arwen. The Stoning Of Charity and the return of inspiration after three years. Sun and Flower. The Poetry of War and Howard's Ball. Rush Limbaugh and Howard Stern for a look at both sides of the fence. To Solitude, for teaching me how to think for myself and showing me the importance of doing so. To the idea that the glass is neither half full nor half empty, but 'Fully Half Empty.' To Mary Angel, who was my first and most cherished memory...

And the list could go on and on. But I think you get the idea. There are so many people and things that have contributed to who I have become, some good, some bad. Sure, I'd like to be able to go back to when I was 17, with all I know now and do it differently. who wouldn't? But I would no longer be who I am... Or would I? That is a question best studied at another time as it is currently 3:34am and I am in need of sleep.

Hope I didn't bore you, Mary Angel.

With love,


Eric.


---
Note: Present Day... some of the items in my list are recent additions. I've find myself, time and again, adding to the list.