Can’t go back and can’t go on

A day can really slip by when you’re deliberately avoiding what you’re supposed to do.

Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes: There’s Treasure Everywhere


Den Hague

One of my grandsons was given two Calvin and Hobbes books, both of which he loves and he’s taken to quoting verbatim from the books.  He’s a smart child so I’m following his lead.

There is so much about which I could write, such as:

  • The MichFest music festival and the ridiculous column that The New Yorker published a few weeks ago that unfairly and strongly favored the Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminists. The magazine’s decision to publish the piece raises so many questions about bad editorial policy, but basically, the question for me is – this should be a non-issue – I know for many people it is a huge topic – but basically, given the nature of life today and what’s taking place around the globe (Gaza, Iraq, Darfur, Ebola, the Ukraine, Missouri, etc.) – and the fact that the TERF folks are scientifically challenged miscreants who dwell in the online world – the magazine should have put its ink and paper to better use.
  • My inability to write letters to family and friends.  I hide behind what I write for the blog.
  • Dangling the carrot of the Saturday market and the UU Fellowship.  I use these as motivation to leave the casita, to get outside.  Then on Saturday and Sunday the dangling carrot disappears and here I sit, dwelling in the online world.
  • The burst of spending in Oregon as I bought food for the family, kitchen tools for the Oregon apartment, presents for children, clothing for myself, a hard drive, a cell phone for use in Oregon, books, and language tapes.  The hidden psychology, anyone?
  • The rapidly growing stack of tins of tuna I’m accumulating on the shelf that serves as my pantry, Steve Martin’s comic routine about the illogic of the phrase “tuna fish,” and about the etymology of the word from the Latin and Greek word that – according to dictionaries – literally translates as “tunny fish.”
  • The massive (the other grandson’s currently favorite adjective) amounts of ice cream I consumed in Oregon, enough so that I gained at least two pounds.

But I just don’t have the energy to write about any of these topics.


For a short time I lived in Montreal where I stayed in the apartment of a musician and composer while he collaborated on a project in Argentina.  Suddenly I had access to so much recorded music I’d never known existed:  Canadian artists, electronica, rare tracks.  Feist was among the collection.

Leslie Feist/Dominic Salole

Whispers in the grass
under our slow dancing trees
birds are telling me stories
saying you were meant for me

With their bittersweet melodies
like a sweet memory
bittersweet melodies
can’t go back and can’t go on
without those bittersweet memories

Creaking kitchen floor,
snow slips under the door
time is sweet ’cause we’re singing
telephone always ringing

With those bittersweet melodies
like a sweet memory
bittersweet melodies
can’t go back and can’t go on

I memorize
Why we turn to dust
Just what our feelings were all about
When we still could trust in our hearts


Bittersweet memories
like a sweet melody
Bittersweet memories
can’t go back and can’t go on

Both of us singing that same old song
with those bittersweet memories
like a sweet melody
bittersweet memories

And it seems oh so long
since those bittersweet melodies
Played for me


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