On Simon and Garfunkel

I'm not certain when my mother got the cd. It must have been before I was in eighth grade, because I remember listening to it over and over, on repeat until I memorized the song order and then I discovered the shuffle setting and still too frequently guessed the next song, but it was better than it had been. And often one single song, on repeat, The Boxer, which my mom loved too, which was the first song for which she discussed the orchestration with me, and with such deep feeling.

And similarly, it was the first cd of music that I knew my mother loved, instead of my dad. Most of the cds were my dad's, but this one, the Best of Simon and Garfunkle one, that was all Mama's, and somewhere in my heart that meant it was all mine, too. I decided first that Scarborough Fair was the best, because I'd always wanted to learn the canticle, and then I Am a Rock was my favorite, and then America and then Kathy's Song and then The Boxer and it stayed The Boxer.

I fell in love with Art Garfunkel's voice, and that's weird because I don't usually like tenors, but his voice was so sweet and high and he almost always did the harmony.

And a few years later I was an adult and I knew that Simon and Garfunkel didn't get along any more, and I would never ever see them in concert and I was sad. And then they had a concert and I was excited and Jeff said I should go and it was expensive and Jeff said I should go and I said, I'm tempted, I really want to go, and he said I should go. And we did. I was so sad that Garfunkel's voice had aged, still lovely, but no longer so smooth and like a bell. And yet, there was a song about age, which had given its name to the concert, a vision of peace in time.

And then the next year, he got me an album for Christmas, two cds and a dvd of the Old Friends concert and I had decided that Old Friends was my favorite song and it was how I wanted to be with Jeff someday and I still do want that. But there was another verse to The Boxer too, and it, too spoke of the rolling years, and I finally gave up on trying to choose favorites.

For all my love of these visions of happy age, there was also a vision of youth. This, below, was an extra on the dvd, and I fell in love with Art Garfunkel's young voice all over again and his earnest, sparkling gaze up into the heavens as he sang of a dream of love.

Happy Vernal Equinox!

...and I've already been given two of my birthday presents! My sister gave me a canvas! I need to get it home, and I need to prepare it and I will and then I will plot what to do with it and it will be AMAZING.

The other present is I get to commission an MFU story from Charlie Kirby, which I have asked to be based on For Emily Wherever I May Find Her and since I'm mentioning MFU...

I love the fact that of, I think, only two storylines that can be firmly fixed as to date within canon, it is awfully pleasing that one is on the Vernal Equinox, which I think was observed on my birthday at the time. Even if not, the storyline does span to the next day, so my birthday is definitely in there. It is of course exceptionally funny that Illya is accused of going off in the night with an unknown chambermaid to celebrate it, even though all he did was get directions and we never see her. *cat-like grin* ANYWAY, I will take everything that mfu_scrapbook posts for the vernal equinox as unwitting birthday presents. Considering that so far most of them are pictures of Illya in various states of undress, it seems only appropriate.

How my dad thinks

"I just finished up with Victo, so I'm hanging out at Barefoot for a bit before making the trek home."

"Are you going to walk?"

"Um. I said I'm at Barefoot. You mean walk from here to Castro Valley?" (Here is in Santa Clara, and I'm guessing the distance would be 40 to 50 miles.)

"Yeah, it's a good walk."

"Ah. Well, it's a good idea, but I'm carrying a canvas Victoria gave me for my birthday."

And then we talked about the canvas and he asked me if I knew how to prepare it and if I had paints and I told him I had gotten strict instructions and would borrow paints and might have a friend make sure I was doing it right and yes I had a place in mind to let it dry and he said good, it's good to do these things right.

For all my dad is difficult a lot of the time, he really does believe we can do anything if we set our minds to it and use the right process. He doesn't believe in limits except the ones we place on ourselves, and so every time we are limited by something other than physical illness, he is angry that we have succumbed to accepting limits.

I guess it's nice, in a way. My dad thinks I ought to be a superhero. He wouldn't use that word, but that's what it is. Something along the line of "If you're just going to be ordinary, what's the POINT?!"