I'm sittin' down here in the campfire light
Searchin' for the ghost of Tom Joad"
A while back, a friend sent me a link to this cover of Bruce Springsteen's The Ghost of Tom Joad by Junip and I, for reasons I can't even remember, must have ignored it but apparently the universe (in this instance, at least) was friendly because I just received the whole song in my email and it's been part of the mini-soundtrack keeping me afloat during the readjustment period, when I catch myself talking about Maggie in the present tense ("I have the sweetest twenty pound cat!") and then remembering she's gone and breathing through those moments where you feel your heart drop into your stomach and start dissolving like Tums.
Anyway, Goin' to Acapulco (originally by Dylan, covered by Jim James & Calexico) along with The End's Not Near (covered by Band of Horses, originally by The New Year) have rounded out my three constant repeats of the weekend but I'm both amazed and chagrined about that gorgeous, devastating song being right in front of me without me knowing. If you haven't heard it, the Jose Gonzalez version is haunting- he's got such a plaintive voice and chooses such interesting covers- but the harmonica on the Bruce Springsteen version undid me so you really can't go wrong either way (and I'm not even generally a fan of "The Boss").
You can go wrong, however, if you're That Person when you're out shopping. The person who talks on his/her cell phone during an entire check-out as if the cashier is the automated self-service system at Wal-Mart. Or the person who pays for his item with a wad of crumpled dollar bills stuck together with chewed up Bubble-Yum. Or the person who starts yelling when asked to show his ID. Part of the reason I wanted a half-sleeve of Kannon was as a reminder to be more compassionate but sometimes people like that make it rough. A couple of days each week, I work at a bookstore. Most folks truly are friendly or neutral and I have little to complain about but the rare exceptions are always glaring (like the aforementioned people or, worst case ever, the guy who tried to have me throw away his wad of very used toilet paper). On Saturday a woman actually walked up to my register and tossed her book at me. Not as aggressive as a fastball but with definite hostility and momentum. I was taken aback at first but then thought the book must have slipped out of her hand until she repeated the same move with her credit card. She literally tossed it to me in this offhanded manner, like she found the whole thing distasteful and just couldn't be bothered. I tried to convince myself it was a wrist twitch from carpal tunnel, but the smug, mean expression on her face erased that idea. I'm not sure she was just rude or if she was classist or if she worried that my tattoos are contagious? At first I was upset but by the end of the transaction, I was more amused than angry. I mean, come on, my cat just died. I'm not going to let some gauchely dressed stranger with a delusional superiority complex siphon my energy. I'm grateful at least for the reminder to be kind (or, at least, neutral) to everyone I encounter since they probably are nursing their own ghosts and bruises.
And, since this is ostensibly a knitting blog, here's what's going on with my Cloud Bolero. I'm about two inches further along than when this photo was taken. I had no idea I'd like picot edging so much even if the process is a pain. Since this is one of my Knitting Through Grief projects, there are some pretty big glitches where my mind wandered off but I think the texture and color of the Noro Kureyon keep the mistakes from hopefully being too obvious? Both the Amish and the Navajo have a tradition of inserting deliberate errors into their work (quilts and weaving) so maybe I can claim that technique in this case? Or insist that I was aiming for a wabi-sabi element. I'm thinking that once I start getting some of the multiple works-in-progress I started during Maggie's illness (as kind of a yarn lifeline) off my needles, I'll be able to frame that period differently, more in a context of scarves and hats and fingerless gloves to decorate (and keep warm) loved ones rather than in a context of pure loss.
No comments:
Post a Comment