'Pajamas Worn Boldly...

...in diamonds from Za-ales! Pajamas they sold me, Hon! I'm doing the dog walk, and baking a squash pie. And when the laundry is done.....I'm strolling to my space. To do my own thing! To write with some zing! My blo-ooog, while there's light....Whoo-oo-eee...whoo-oo-eeee..."

To get the real feel for the beginning of this blog, you have to sing it to the tune of "Blues in the Night." Also, it is Rosemary Clooney's version and the best rendering in my estimation. Now try it again, with feeling and emphasis where appropriate. And sing nice and loud; no one can hear you. I can wait....... (As an aside, my diamonds are not from Zales, but it rhymed.)

This is one of my favorite songs from "Rosemary Clooney's 16 Greatest Hits" CD. I listen to this album quite often while I'm writing. The song was written in 1941 by Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer for the film of the same name. Arlen is quoted as saying, "The whole thing just poured out. And I knew in my guts, without even thinking, what Johnny would write for a lyric...".

Whenever I read those words "I knew in my guts" and "just poured out" from a writer of any medium, I feel so envious. Is it that writers become so attuned to writing that they eat, sleep and drink it? Is it the years or decades of hard work that result in the flood of so-called "sudden" inspiration? To sit and write with no critical thoughts, no thoughts of rewrites; the words coming from God's mouth to your ear. I am in awe of this entire concept.

"You never have to change anything that you got up in the middle of the night to write." This is quote by Saul Bellow, an esteemed author, lecturer, winner of the Pulitzer Prize in 1975 for his book, Humbolt's Gift, and the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1976. I would add to that: "... or change anything you wrote under the affluence of incohol before dinner fot cully gooked."

Anyone else have this problem? Ever e-mail anyone after a couple of grogs? "Fix" your resume or your blog entry when you've tried on a few belts for the evening? Got a few night caps pulled on and thought to be irretrievably witty??? Oi. It's not the very worst idea I ever had. My worst idea to date was in helping my friend, Suzy, down a flight of stairs when she was fully debauched. Her big toe folded under her foot, she crunched it like fat African grub and the party ended.

Quite often I revise my blog entries between my first rum and Coke while making dinner and again at the end of my second rum and Coke after the dishes are done and hubby's watching the news. (I'm a very cheap date; two drink limit.) The next day when I review my blogs for content and continuity, I'll notice changes I didn't realize I made. The revisions are usually not so bad that I'm horrified. Sometimes, but not often, they are better, funnier, and wittier. Maybe there a Hemingway-esque, alcohol-induced quality to my writing? It is said he wrote well in spite of his "little problem" and not because of it. But, I don't think ol' Ernie had a two-drink limit like I do.

This process of writing isn't so much about writing after all. For me it's about reading, more reading, research and more research. And let's not forget staring blankly out the window while I pickity-pick a friggin' hangnail clear to my elbow trying to chart my next move on the keyboard. Excuse me while I go get a bandaid...

Would You Like To Swing on a Star?

I'd say I'm finally swingin' on that star, takin' moonbeams home in a jar, and be better off than I are, but would I rather be employed? Thank you Bing, thank you very much. How's that for a song virus that won't leave your head? Or would you rather be a mule? A mule is an animal with long floppy ears, that kicks up at anything he hears.......la lah lah la la la la lah lah laaaah.........brutal isn't it?! I put a song virus in here for those of who are susceptible because I was actually singing in the shower this morning for the first time in I don't know how long. I was singing Rosemary Clooney's version of "Mangoes" from her "16 Biggest Hits" CD. This song was recorded back in 1956 and spent 16 weeks on the charts at number ten. It's an intoxicating little ditty. You can check it out on YouTube.

George Santayana wrote,

"A string of excited miscellaneous fugitive pleasures is not happiness; happiness resides in imaginative reflection and judgment, when the picture of one's life, or of human life, as it truly has been or is, satisfies the will and is gladly accepted."

Now that I've shrugged off this burdensome, smelly hide that labeled me and told me and the rest of the world what I was and what I did, I feel renewed. I realize I am happy, and have been all along in this beautiful world I live in, the house I share with my truest love, this place I've always known was "home."

I've gotten back in touch with my love of cooking and domesticity in general. I'm going to find it very difficult to leave this behind and adopt a new work persona and title, because I cherish this trusted and ancient way of living. I'm baking bread on a Wednesday because I have time and because I embrace the sensuousness of flour and wonder still at the miracle of risen dough. Or I'm walking the dogs at 10 a.m. instead of rushing them up and down the road before work, yelling at them to go faster when all they want to do is experience nature like I should be doing, sniffing the air and mocking the crows. This is me, always was me, and will forever be me.

"The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves." Carl Jung