With permission requested and received, I present you the photo that my friend B sent me.
Yep, that’s B in the middle (her name’s actually Brooke, I’ll give that to you). Yep, here she is, with her pals Amy Ray and Emily Saliers of the Indigo Girls. Yep, this is a real “hanging out” shot, not a panting can-I-get-a-pitcher-wit-ya-please shot. Yep, she’s down south with them as they lay mixes. Not sure what that means exactly, but it sounds impressive and vastly musical.
I am star-struck and can admit it freely – they’ve been my favorite musicians for the last, say, thirteen or fourteen years. In fact, I remember where I was when I first heard them. I had graduated high school, and I was getting in shape for college. Still thinking I was straight, I was working out at my gym, trying to look cute for all the college boys I planned to meet (interesting, though, that I chose a women-only gym….) I was on the Stair-Master, hating my cardiovascular life, and I heard “Galileo” for the first time. I got off the machine and stood under the permanently-set-on-VH-1 TV (this was the early nineties, remember). I watched the end of the song and memorized the name. I showered, dressed, and drove to the music store. That was the beginning. And actually, I don’t remember even going back to that gym. Who cared? I had the Indigo Girls – I didn’t need a gym! They brought me to me.
And years later, I don’t rely on them anymore, not in the same way, but I don’t miss a concert when they’re in town, and I know all the words. I’m first in line when an album comes out. I still get goosebumps when they start “Galileo.” Memories are traced onto and around the lyrics. My favorite parts of their concerts are when they just stop singing and the entire audience picks it up and fills in, every word, in harmony. It’s GOT to be a fantastic feeling to have aided so many women (and men) in finding and believing in themselves.
And Brooke and Amy are pals. Lordy. I just think that’s super neat.
I’ve got the most annoying cold today – I caught it from Christy. I can sit in the TB ward, also known as my workplace, all week, stuck for fifty hours with people who are hacking and sneezing and blowing their noses all over communal keyboards, and I won’t catch a single teeny germ. I can hug snotty, feverish kids and kiss their heads and not get a thing. I come within a hundred yards of either of my sisters when they’ve got a little sniffle, and I catch it instantly. I’m immune to everything but them.
It’s not a bad cold. Just an irritating one. Bleah. I got up early today – couldn’t sleep – and I’m going to do my writing and then cuddle on the couch with my Wave-Along until I have to go to work tonight (only three more midnight shifts!)
And thanks for your comments yesterday! They helped so much. I’m writing. And I’m gonna keep writing ‘til I’m done. Then I’ll start something else. It’s a good life, huh?
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