I just re-read THIS BOOK and am left much the way I was the first time - feeling like I just read a too-long magazine article. I think the book reads that way because Parsons' life story is neither remarkable nor particularly surprising and the people who knew him best, notably Emmylou Harris, refuse to discuss him in any real depth. I think the best way to appreciate him is to listen to his music, which is rough and true and almost painful at times.
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Trying to relax this weekend between half-hourly tampon changes. If you think it's too much to read that sentence, imagine the fun I'm having living through it.
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S. and I will be attending the younger charge's first birthday party this afternoon. After working a 52-hour week, it feels more like an assignment than a social outing. I'm hoping we can make a brief appearance and get the hell out.
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Lowlight of Friday's workday: The visiting grandma, who'd spent most of the day out shopping, returned home and was immediately set upon by the older charge. Older charge: Grandma, please come upstairs and play trains with me. Grandma: Oh, I'm not very good at playing trains. Older charge: That's ok, just come upstairs and play with me. Grandma: Oh I don't know... Older charge: GRANDMA. COME UPSTAIRS AND PLAY WITH ME. At which point she did. Oy.
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Highlight of Friday's workday: The visiting grandma likes to baby-talk the older charge, despite the fact that at three years of age he has the vocabulary of an 8-year-old (and the intelligence to match). She was going upstairs to change clothes and said, "Bye, T, I be back down soon honeybun." The older charge looked at her incredulously and said, "Grandma, why are you talking to me like I'm a baby?"
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In summation: go listen to Gram Parsons, I'm bleeding to death and people are stupid.
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thisaway - thataway