An old dime store in Winslow, Indiana
sun·dry
/ˈsəndrē/
noun
plural noun: sundries
- various items not important enough to be mentioned individually."a drugstore selling magazines, newspapers, and sundries"
In my mind, lately, there has been a sundries situation. Song lyrics, mostly Mike Nesmith's, memories, complaints, and musings have all settled on the shelves. I can muster up little more than stream of conciousness, this week.
Mike Nesmith, who left the Earth recently, wrote a wonderful song called Tapioca Tundra. I am posting the lyrics because this song was one of my favorites as a kid, and I remember wondering about it's meaning. It was a song to puzzle over as would be many other songs.
In a strange way this song fits right into the mood I was captured by this week.
I spent the last week or so listening to a podcast called, You Must Remember This. First, I listened to the episodes about Polly Platt who'd been married to famous director Peter Bogdonavich. Somewhere in these episodes I began to feel depressed by the story. It was sad. Polly had been an immense talent and due to the Hollywood scene and social mores of the time, she didn't get to fulfill her biggest dreams. She'd had dreams, too, and would have been a terrific director. Next, I began listening to the episodes called, "Dead Blondes", and I've listened to Barbara Loden's, Jean Harlowe's, Dorothy Stratten's, and Veronica Lake's stories. My takeaway is not only can fame really mess you up, we all have thought that, but maybe some people were simply going to have tragic outcomes, no matter what. Right now, apparently there is a pile-on of Pluto, Uranus, Venus and Saturn. Imagine having them at your party. It's a big cosmos, tragedies are constant. We all love the other stuff, but I think once something powerful gets set in motion....there you go. No one can help it, really. Let's hope when the dust and ashes settle, we catch a glimpse into some kind of explanation.
My horoscope transits, as I mentioned above, do indicate mental stew, a sort of simmering between layers of conciousness. I can't be more specific because it's still cooking apparently, but it is funny to me that all these musings have been in my sphere, of late.
Furthering the general mood of discontent: a trip to New York for Christmas had to be cancelled, sadly, due to Covid. All signs point to an endemic covid reality, and what will that be like? It's disappointing, but on the upside I won't have to pack a suitcase or go through TSA. Hopefully this summer will be a better time to go. I don't like to wallow in disappointment.
What I'd like to achieve is a decent stretch of focused energy so I could get some work done. But I seem trapped in a foggy mist. My chiropractor was explaining to me how the head is like a bowling ball, and how just tiny extensions of the neck muscles in faulty positions can increase and reinforce chronic neck pain. Ugh, I really didn't need to have that image in my mind. I can't stop thinking about how my sorry little neck is struggling with that damned bowling ball...
Well, that's it. I didn't have much to say, and no inspiration. Apparently though, the Gemini full moon is going to blast away mental cobwebs for two weeks afterward, for some of us at least, so that's good news. I'll check in with you next week. Until then, don't get famous.
~Dorothy Dolores
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