I went to see my doctor on Friday. Since my doctor's office is located in Ventura, I didn't want to waste the opportunity to visit one of my favorite thrift stores in that city, The Coalition Thrift Store. This store raises money to support survivors of domestic and sexual assault. It provides them with food and shelter. The store has scary looking posters of battered women throughout the store, but this depressing sight, and I say it with great shame, didn't diminish my archaeological curiosity to find artifacts that once belonged to a Jeff or a Debbie in suburbia. That day, the angels of vinyl were watching over me because I found lots of great records.
I bought this Yes album because it stretches my attention span. It teaches me to sit and wait for bees to make honey. The songs have a faded fabric with little holes. These open spaces invite your index finger to go in and search for the warmth of words. With patience, you'll hear wind chime kisses and 4 pm guitars. I promise.
I bought this Van Morrison record because it brings back a memory I have of my mother and I at a laundromat. We are in Modesto, California. She is folding shirts and I'm bouncing a ball on the floor. Then, a shirtless long haired man walks in to wash his clothes. I stared at him long and hard, making my mother feel uncomfortable. I stared at him because his body radiates a light I have never seen before, a light I want to follow and kiss and touch and leave my mother behind for the first time.
I like this early Neil Young record. He sings like a man with no self esteem. This is a man you want to take home and feed homemade bread and raspberry jam. But, women be warned, his songs make you bleed and your wounds will dream a million hanker chiefs.
I also bought a Buffalo Springfield album. I couldn't say no to Neil Young's Mr. Soul. How could I say no to a clown who is sick and does a trick of disaster?
The other album I couldn't say no was to a Simon and Garfunkel record. I didn't discover Simon and Garfunkel's music until the late 1980's. My younger sisters and I used to drive to Santa Barbara in the afternoons. We had little money for that expensive place, but we didn't care. A fog would sometimes accumulate on the 101 freeway. I remember how our hearts sang America not giving a damn about the lack of visibility on the road. We sang I'm 18 and aching and I don't know why . My sisters and I are in our 40's now and we still don't know what Mrs. Wagner's pies taste like.
To a friend in Miño, Spain (yeah, you, Mr. B!) : You convinced me to allow comments again. Thank you.
Soy una taza, ¡un cucharón!
4 days ago