every lament is a love song
by Stace on October 31st, 2011
filed under pretty things
i woke from a dream last night
i dreamed that you were by my side
reminding me i still had life in me…
i’ll carry on… – Switchfoot, “Yesterdays”
A decade ago, I was a completely different person than I am today. I was homeless in San Diego, far from home and scared, and a master at pushing people away. Suffice it to say that I wasn’t surrounded by a close circle of friends. Sure, I had a few, thank God. One of the girls I’d grown up with, Allison, had recently been diagnosed with brain cancer, just before turning 23. I remember the day I called the hospital trying to reach her mom or husband: Ally picked up. Though we’d both grown up and moved away, we’d always stayed in touch. And while we’d spent many a childhood hour in church, we’d bonded over rejected principles as teenagers, and again over shared discovery of who God actually was. Not knowing if I’d ever have the chance again, I savored every moment of that phone conversation. Ally was happy. She wanted more than anything to have a baby, but ultimately was in love with her husband and at peace with God, her illness, and whatever was to come of it all. We prayed together, said our “I love you”s and essentially our I-hope-this-isn’t-goodbyes, and left nothing unsaid. We had been there for each other for a great many things over our fifteen year friendship. It turned out to be the last time I ever heard her voice.
Ten years ago today, Ally died. Somehow, though I always knew it could happen, I must’ve been expecting a miracle. That someone I loved so much and had known for so long could just be gone completely blindsided me. Living in San Diego in a community of other believers helped, but it took the better part of the first year just to stop reaching for the phone to call her. Even at her memorial service, Ally’s mom & I lamented that the strangest part was that she’d want to go home and call her to tell her how much it meant that her friends had come from all over. I guess if you’ve not lost someone you love, this may sound strange. I knew exactly what she meant. I’ve long since stopped trying to reach out, but I’ll never forget that odd feeling.
I’m always cautious about my actions and my surroundings on this anniversary. I take the day off from work, school, everything. Sometimes people don’t understand this, and they want to give me that whole “look on the bright side!” rubbish. The truth is, I do. I do look on the bright side – three hundred and sixty-four days a year. In fact, on Ally’s birthday, every year without fail, I call all of my friends and make a special effort to tell them I love them. I never want to take the chance of losing anyone without them knowing how I feel. I also make a point to treat her birthday as a celebration of life. Because that’s true, I feel it’s appropriate, respectful, and completely warranted that I give myself the anniversary of her death to be sad. Truth be told, getting in touch with emotions like those isn’t easy for me. While I don’t think there’s anything wrong with tears, they don’t normally come easily to me, so this is the one day of the year I purposely seek them out. I give myself one whole day to miss my friend, and then I move on and enjoy Halloween, knowing it’s exactly what Ally would want.
Months after Ally’s passing, when my roommate and I had finally found a place to live, (and jobs!) we went to the movies. Admittedly, that pretty boy Shane West was in A Walk to Remember was reason enough for me. I knew nothing about the premise of the film, and wasn’t a big fan of romantic movies in general, but went anyway. Something someone said as we were headed for the theater tipped me off that it might involve a death, but I didn’t give it much of a second thought. When it turned out to be a story about a teenager with leukemia (who eventually dies), it was all I could do just to keep from sobbing out loud in the theater. As people were filing out when it was over, I just waited as the credits rolled, praying I’d be able to somehow pull myself together and just get home. I own the DVD now and if ever I watch it, it’s only on October 30th, because I know it will only ever remind me of my sweet friend and that very specific time in my life.
Over the years, I’ve come across my share of songs that make me remember Ally. Today I planned to share my very favorite of these songs (the one from which this post gets its title and lyrics) as a video on my Facebook page, but discovered to my dismay that all that existed were cheesy photo slideshows made by fans and live performances with less-than-stellar audio. Rather than giving up, I decided to make one of my own. I didn’t know how, but it didn’t take long to figure it out. I’ll end my post with my creation, and hope that someone will enjoy it as I do. And now on with another year: Happy Halloween!
i remember you like yesterday, yesterday
i still can’t believe you’re gone
i remember you like yesterday, yesterday
and until i’m with you, i’ll carry on…
the closer you get to the fire the more you get burned
by Stace on December 7th, 2010
filed under pretty things
some love is just a lie of the mind… it’s make believe until it’s only a matter of time… and some might have learned to adjust… but then it never was a matter of trust… – Billy Joel, “A Matter of Trust”
I think it’s high time I posted another piece of the story, what do you say? (If you haven’t yet read it, be sure to read the first two installments beforehand: start at the beginning!)
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When last we left the happy couple, they had just spent their first weekend together. It didn’t take long for them to begin planning the next weekend, but certain logistics required coordinating, given the fact that he was still on parole. Sad that she couldn’t spend the holidays with her new(ly reunited) love, she instead took comfort in her family, traveling home for Christmas. What she hadn’t known was that he had conspired behind her back with her mother. She came home from dinner with her father and his family to find him waiting for her – with permission to be in San Diego with her through the new year.
Days flew by in the way they tend to do when romance is new and exciting. They weathered a ten-hour drive from Northern California back to her condo without so much as a hiccup. She believed with a childlike faith that he was the one for her. She found his idiosyncrasies cute. There were things about him that might have otherwise annoyed her, but she pushed them quickly from her mind, telling herself she needed to be in an adult relationship, to accept him as a whole person. She reminded herself that differences between them gave them plenty to talk about, to learn from each other. From him she learned that he considered himself a healthy eater: having been raised in the same mostly-vegetarian religion as she, he still avoided meat. He insisted that a 9″ cheese sandwich on white bread with extra mayo was healthier than her 6″ turkey on whole wheat with no mayo – because it didn’t have meat, of course. She rolled her eyes and smiled. She knew she was right, and she knew she shouldn’t press a stupid point – he loved her. Wasn’t that all that mattered?
In the days that passed, he hit it off with her neighbors and they joked that they should run off to Las Vegas and get hitched over New Year’s. But when 6pm on New Year’s Eve rolled around, there they sat in the living room of the neighbors’ condo instead. She looked at him over her glass of sparkling wine, torn between the spontaneous romantic notion and her better judgment’s reminder that, though she had known him as a little girl, she had only known him as an adult for a matter of months. The next day, they hit the road – Clark County, NV or bust.
She had always wanted to get married on the new year. Never one to admit out loud that she had any romantic tendencies, the truth was that she found something glamorous and beautiful about any anniversary that could coincide with fireworks, champagne, and staying up all night. Further to the point, New Year’s Eve had always been her favorite day of the year – what better day to get married? Unfortunately for her, the date of their nuptials would be immortalized as 1/2 – not 1/1. She shrugged it off and concentrating on the fact that she had a husband – about which she had told no one. They decided quickly that they would keep the fact to themselves, knowing how rash of a decision the rest of the world might find it to be. They would go back to San Diego, he’d go home to Seattle, and they’d plan their moves strategically. They could spend the first stressful married year in secret, and when the time was right, they’d plan a wedding for their anniversary. Only then would they tell their families the real story.
Having won enough money on the slots to pay for the room, the services (at the infamous drive-thru chapel, of course), and gas home, it was time to turn around and go back: she had to work the following day. On the way home, they agreed to confess the truth to their mothers only and took turns phoning to let them in on the truth. As he spoke to his mother, she realized there had been no proposal. She had no story to tell. There had been no engagement ring, no professing his love, no down on one knee with sweaty palms. Hadn’t she always secretly wanted all of that? Hadn’t she secretly been planning details of her wedding her whole life? Had a friendly joke simply turned into reality? Who am I? She thought. Britney Spears?! I wish I would’ve thought it through and planned it a little better, at least. Then again, she knew he loved her.
It wasn’t long before he was gone again, but they managed to make arrangements with the necessary authorities for him to return for an entire month. She had time to reflect on this man in her life. She began to remember to call him her “husband.” She didn’t feel married. She was, however, proud of herself for all that she’d been through and come out on the other side of. She was an adult. She had a man who loved her, who knew intimate secrets about her past. He accepted her for who she really was. He knew details about her that she hadn’t told anyone else; she knew he was close to his family, particularly his younger brother, but she swore him to secrecy on certain things. They weren’t the kind of details to be shared outside of a relationship, she insisted. She believed she could trust him, but that didn’t make it easy. He acted hurt that she even had to ask him to keep things quiet, as though he’d never dream of betraying her confidence. She apologized and explained that she had learned the hard way to play it safe when it came to secrets.
When he got back to San Diego, what should have been the beginning of the “honeymoon” became instead a rapidly deteriorating relationship. He took his time finding work, and she had no intention of supporting both of them. She didn’t want to be a housewife, but she certainly didn’t intend to wear the pants, either. He finally got a part-time job at a car wash; she spent 40 hours at week trying to make ends meet. They quickly discovered that they didn’t have many hobbies in common, and she resented that he was like an overgrown child. He wasn’t a mama’s boy, for which she thanked her stars, but he wasn’t self-sufficient, either. One night, during a fight, he admitted to having told his brother the details she’d made him promise he’d keep to himself. In her heart, she knew it was the beginning of the end. He had promised her she could trust him, and then knowingly betrayed her trust. He had shared specifics she had deliberately asked him to keep to himself. She wasn’t sure they could recover from such a blatant blow. She felt disrespected, and more angry than hurt. She had fallen for him, and he had let her down. She should have known better. He had made a fool of her. Barely more than two weeks married and she found herself wishing that what happened in Vegas really had stayed in Vegas.
After an exceptionally rocky month, he was due back in Seattle. She had pulled away, picked fights, and found every reason under the sun to be irritated with him. She knew he was torn between believing he cared about her and hating the way she treated him. She didn’t know why it was so difficult – weren’t they supposed to be together? Shouldn’t it be easier? She just wanted him to back off, to go away, for things to be fun and easy like they had at the very beginning. Instead, they went from bad to worse. Once home, he went to his family in search of sympathy, explaining the details of their relationship to his mother and step-father. She believed these things to be between the two of them, and he had already blatantly broken a promise to her. She wished she could explain to him that once her trust had been broken, she may have been incapable of extending it again. Often when she would try to call him, he wouldn’t answer his phone. She knew that a long-distance relationship couldn’t be sustainable for long, especially without regular communication. To defend himself to his family, he let them in on the very same confidences she had asked him to keep to himself. His family blamed her for all that had gone wrong between them, and instead of supporting her or insisting that they were in it together, he jumped on the bandwagon and rode off into the sunset.
After less than four months of marriage, she was ready to get out. Everyone she knew asked, “you can get an annulment, right?” Wrong. As it turned out, annulments had a 50/50 chance of being granted in court. A judge has to agree that fraud has taken place in order to deem a marriage as null and having never taken place. While celebrities can afford to gamble, she could not. Having recently granted him an all-expenses paid month-long vacation to her fair city, she opted to cut her (financial) losses and just file for divorce. She told him of her plan and he insisted he wouldn’t sign. “This isn’t the 50s,” she said in a condescending tone. “You don’t have to give the little woman permission to divorce you anymore. It’s happening.”
And so it did. Not long after, she discovered that he had been sleeping with the 19-year-old girl that he’d allegedly broken it off with to be with her. Not only that, but he had gotten her pregnant. She was keeping the baby, and wanted him to be a part of its life. Thank God, she thought. If ever I wanted a sign, this is it. I’m not meant to be with him. It never should have happened. Somehow, she felt more relieved than anything. She didn’t feel particularly embarrassed to have lived the story, even though she would have thought her friends utterly foolish for similar actions. In truth, she was happy to have taken the chance, no matter what the outcome, and knew that in the future she would look both ways before crossing such a street. Her friends asked her if she still wanted to get married “for real” someday. Her answer? “Of course. I don’t think this even counts as having been married. I want a marriage, an adult relationship. With someone who loves me, respects me, and knows how to communicate. Someone I can trust. None of that applied. Someday I’ll do it for real.”
Without feeling the need to tuck her tail between her legs and retreat anywhere, she simply dusted her hands off and walked away without looking back. Eventually, it became both a true and outrageous tale from her past and a joke to friends headed to Vegas: “don’t gamble in the chapel!” After a while, though, she realized what valuable lessons she really had taken from it all. There were things she’d say to him, if she could, but feared that he would view her reaching out to him as an opening of the door between them, rather than sealing it shut in a gesture of closure…
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That’s all I have for you this time! The next installment will be my conclusion. 
Let me know what you think! Did it turn out like you thought? Whether it did or not, did you enjoy it?
i’m sure you’re aware, love, we’ve both had our share of believing too long… when the whole situation was wrong…
she woke up with hope but she only found tears
by Stace on October 14th, 2010
filed under pretty things
this is the story of a girl… who cried a river and drown the whole world… and while she looks so sad in photographs, i absolutely love her… when she smiles… – Nine Days, “(Absolutely) Story of a Girl”
When I first decided to tell my little story a few weeks ago, I honestly wasn’t sure what people would think. No one commented on it at all on the site, but both Delores and Layla (as well as a woman from work) told me in conversation that they loved it. The reason it surprises me is that, with the exception of my colleague, these people already know the story. I’m surprised and delighted to discover that even those who know where I’m going are enjoying my tale. That said, part two of the story…
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When last we left our antiheroine, she was trying to rebuild her life after years of cruelty to all those with which she came into contact, no thanks to the traumatic memories she’d repressed during her childhood. Having recently relocated even further from home and then driving away the only person she knew well, she had no choice but to go “back to the drawing board.” She decided it was time for Extreme Makeover: Personality Edition.
During what can only be described as a recovery period from trauma to what she hoped would become a healthy, happy person, she sought to mend fences and reconnect with those she felt had loved her unconditionally. In addition to a few old friends, she found herself back in touch with her first ever boyfriend. Though he had “cheated” on her when she was only twelve and he thirteen (by way of kissing another girl in front of her, which he claimed was because he wasn’t sure she still liked him), over the years she’d always known how much he cared about her, even if he’d sometimes had a strange way of showing it. (And besides…he’d also been the first and only boy she’d ever slapped. She figured the experiences of children at summer camp could long be discarded.)
Thanks to Myspace (which was still relatively cool to be using at the time, as this was before the widespread phenomenon that is Facebook had expanded from a network of students to one used by nearly every soul on the planet), she relocated several loved ones, family members, and acquaintances, including this particular man. Deciding to take a chance, she sent him a friend request and waited. She didn’t know what it was that she expected, but thought perhaps he’d be excited to her from her. Within a day or so, he had approved her friend request, but the excited comment on her profile never appeared. After a few days’ grace period, she decided to initiate the conversation. Rather than commenting on his profile, she opted to send him a quick message, questioning that he’d approve her as a friend and not say a word to her. His nearly-immediate response was merely his phone number.
She didn’t need time to consider. He obviously wanted to talk to her, so she dialed upon reading his number. Again, she expected a certain level of excitement upon the reconnection; he merely sounded distracted when he answered. Though she knew from his profile that he was currently living in Seattle, 1200 miles from her in San Diego, she was excited to revisit her past. Early on in the conversation, she referenced his parents and hometown near Sacramento; it was as though she could hear the realization click in his brain: he knew her. For a fleeting second, the horrifying realization that he hadn’t known who she was washed over her; he had only given her his number because she was a cute girl who’d sent him a friend request on Myspace – he didn’t even bother to look at the name. She chased the thought away and spent the next two hours on the phone catching up giddily. She had been right: this was a man who still cared for her. As far as she was concerned, it was exactly what she needed.
Within weeks, they had developed an intense relationship by phone. Though he had been casually dating a much younger woman (19, to be exact), he had broken it off to give her his full attention. It wasn’t long before she had taken to calling him her boyfriend and they had begun discussing which of them would travel to visit the other first. She felt close to him and opened up about her fears given recent discoveries involving her childhood; she admitted to her “mean girl” past and rocky relationships. She was worried about her seeming inability to trust others, but they spent long hours on the phone and he accepted her, flaws and all. He had admitted that after the devastating loss of his father, he’d lost touch with his better judgment and gotten himself into trouble with the law, landing himself in jail for over a year. Though he was on parole, she figured it was nothing he couldn’t handle and appreciated his honesty.
She was the first to travel for their weekend excursions. She admitted to being a little concerned that he was living with his mother after her past experience with a mama’s boy, but he insisted that it was only temporary and that he was independent. She told him she’d be landing several hours later than her flight was actually scheduled to arrive, planning to give herself time to change her clothes and catch her breath before letting him in on the surprise. When she was ready, she took a picture of the “Welcome to Seattle” sign with her phone and sent it to him. Nervous but excited to “meet” him again in person after so many years, she waited while he made the quick trip to SeaTac to pick her up. She refused to allow the thoughts (What am I doing dating someone I haven’t know since I was a kid? What if it’s awkward? Will he expect more from me than I’m ready for?) to linger in her mind.
It wasn’t awkward at all. She spent the weekend getting acquainted with his mom, stepdad, and their 2-year-old. She was disappointed not to be able to meet his younger brother, to whom he was quite close. His mom had insisted she had to sleep in a separate room, to which she had no real objection. She wanted things to go slow between them physically anyway, if for no other reason than an attempt to balance the lightning-speed with which their emotional relationship seemed to progress. Before she knew it, their blissful weekend had come to an end and it was time to go home. He promised to get a weekend pass from his parole officer to visit her in San Diego in the following month or so (around the holidays), told her he loved her, and dropped her off at the airport.
On the airplane, she had time to think. She didn’t want to be the kind of girl that jumped into relationships, but she felt safe with him. Wasn’t that kind of security exactly what she wanted with a man? Wasn’t that what she needed? In the months that had passed since her ex had left, she had sought God and asked for guidance in the next step. She knew she was flawed, but was certain that there was someone out there for her. She felt that she was willing to trust this man with her life, something she’d never been able to do before. She was certain he must be “the one,” and because she felt she could let her guard down with him, she took it as a sign, as though God was giving her his blessing. It wasn’t like her, but she found herself being swept up into a romantic fantasy, and she decided, for once, to give in to the possibility that she just might spend the rest of her life with him…
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As I’m sure you can imagine, there’s more where that came from. Stay tuned (and please feel free to comment on these for me so I can know if you’re enjoying them/what you think)! (Update: part three can be found here.)
as long as we stand here waiting… wearing the clothes or the soles that we choose… now how do we get there today?
into the light of the dark black night
by Stace on September 28th, 2010
filed under pretty things
blackbird singing in the dead of night… take these broken wings and learn to fly… all your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arise… – The Beatles, “Blackbird”
A recent conversation on Twitter prompted me to use my blog to tell a story. In writing it, though, I’ve discovered it’s going to be several posts (a series, I guess) instead of one looooong one. If autobiographical non-fiction isn’t your bag, this is the part where you should opt out of this post. Otherwise, here’s the beginning:
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Once upon a time, an emotionally-unavailable girl and her mama’s boy boyfriend grew tired of Los Angeles. Both having lived happily in San Diego in days gone by, they made a decision to return to the fair city. New jobs secured, a new condo acquired, they packed up and waved goodbye to their LA life. Upon unpacking a few choice items from the truck, they planned to sleep on the floor of the new place. She unearthed a bottle of their favorite red and they stood on the balcony, taking in the view. Without warning, he began to cry. Not just a single tear (or two), but actual sobs. Jolted from her quiet moment of bliss, she turned to him in alarm, asking what could possibly be the matter. His answer left her speechless: “I miss my mom.”
Things quickly went south between them. She couldn’t comprehend how a person could so need another person, and felt that such a relationship was inappropriate for a man in his mid-20s to have with his mother. He became defensive and increasingly detached. Rather than overly hurt, she felt like a failure, admitting to herself that what she really felt was relief. After several weeks of bickering and avoiding each other, they finally decided to end the relationship. Just before he left (courtesy, of course, of Mama who drove down from LA to pick him up – on Mother’s Day, no less), they got into a screaming match. He accused her of not trusting him, even after all they’d been through in their months together. Without thinking, she reacted, insisting, “there’s a reason I don’t trust people!” Though her words were an utter cliche, saying them caused something to happen: memories locked within her mind for nearly two decades were somehow freed from whatever dark space they’d inhabited, flooding her consciousness. She felt as though she were remembering a previous dream, but the sinking sensation in her stomach quickly convinced her that they were real memories of a childhood trauma long forgotten. She sat down, dumbfounded. That night, she told him everything. He stayed up with her, allowing her to talk when she wanted and cry when she didn’t. It was too late to save their relationship, but she’d always be grateful for having him to turn to in those moments.
Days later, he moved out. She tried to hug him goodbye, but he wouldn’t allow it. He had loved her, and she had been cold to him. She hadn’t known how to let someone be there for her; she held everyone at arm’s length. The day he left, she found herself alone and afraid, barely knowing anyone in town. With the new understanding of why she’d always treated people the way she had, she decided it was time to get to know herself and her pain, deal with it, and become a part of the human race.
Over the months that followed, she went through phases similar the steps to recovery: admitting she couldn’t recover without God, taking responsibility for the way she’d treated people, making changes in her life and herself, and trying to make amends. Feeling exposed and raw, she began reaching out to those with whom she’d lost touch over the years that she felt had loved her unconditionally: old friends, a girlfriend she’d known since infancy (now more commonly referred to as her ‘sister’), and yes…an old flame. So old, in fact, that he’d been her first boyfriend at the age of 12…and get in touch they did.
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This feels like a good place to stop. I may not continue my story on my very next post, but if it interests you, stay tuned. If not, you’ll be forewarned to skip the post altogether when next I do continue with story time. (Update: part two is here.)
take these sunken eyes and learn to see… all your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free…
slowly strolling in the sweet sunshine
by Stace on June 15th, 2010
filed under pretty things
hey, i put some new shoes on, and suddenly everything is right… i said, hey, i put some new shoes on, and everybody’s smiling, it’s so inviting… – Paolo Nutini, “New Shoes”
I can’t really remember how it all started. I have a vague idea that it began as a conversation several months ago, but now all I really know is that I notice it more when I’m with Emma than with anyone else (or when I’m alone). You know that saying, “shoes make the man”? Is it true? We think it might be.
My dating guru Greg Behrendt wouldn’t want me to let something as simple as a guy’s shoes be what we call a “dealbreaker,” and it’s not. If a guy has absolutely everything going for him and is wearing a pair of (dare I even suggest it) running sneakers, I’ll ask myself why (!) and then give him the benefit of the doubt. But in normal man’s land…if I’m not sure about you, the wrong shoes might just be the kiss of death.
I understand that some men are fashion challenged. I understand that some women are okay with this because they see this as a chance to give him a little “makeover” or even refer to the poor guy as a “project,” which I personally think is disgusting. I’m not that girl! First of all, I’m not interested in a fixer-upper. I’ve had my share of guys who didn’t have their ish together and I’m really not in the market for that. Don’t think I ever was, but I’ve started to figure out some of the red flags these days and steer clear. (*Knock on wood!*) Secondly, am I the only one who wants a guy who’s already “ready” for you? Yes, this is the same point in different words, but it bears repeating. Lastly, how arrogant is the idea of making a guy do what you think is best? Why must we impose our personal preferences on someone in order to be with them and call it happy? If you don’t like who s/he naturally is, isn’t it possible perhaps you’re not right for each other? I’m not singling out picky women here, either, both sexes do it! What is it with the need to try to subtly coerce the person you’re with into changing? Are you hoping you’ll eventually end up with everything you’ve ever dreamed of? Here’s a thought: I say either be happy with the person s/he actually is, and happy that s/he’s with you, or let him/her go find someone who is, while you go off in search of a person who is what you’re looking for.
So, back to the shoe thing. I think Emma’s a little more particular about it than I, but it might be just a “nope, look at those shoes” joke-y thing she says, too. I definitely would never actually rule out a man as a possibility just because I didn’t like his shoes. But why do we keep seeing cute guys all over town, often fairly well-dressed, in running shoes? (And for the record, these aren’t the only bad shoes we’ve seen, it’s just kind of the worst offense, IMO.) I don’t understand it! Guys, you know enough about fashion to wear even designer jeans and all the right accessories from, what – the knees up? The ankles, even? And then you’re stuck? “Forget it, that is just too much fashion sense!” – is that it? Help me out…I fail to understand why this seems to be so tough.
I leave you with a quick shout out to the men who seem to be one in a million thousand: those who know their way around the men’s shoe department of any store other than Foot Locker. And a tip for the shoe-challenged: if you can’t figure it out, it’s okay. I for one am not asking for perfection. Truth be told, the way to my heart was always a basic pair of Chuck Taylors.
The quick run-down:
Unless you’re in the gym/on a run, these are always bad. Blech.
Styles like these are nice:
Want something stylish that will also make you feel good about doing something for someone else? TOMS it is – for every pair you buy, a pair is donated to someone who doesn’t own shoes. That makes TOMS a “do” every time, for me:
And last but not least, two styles that never, ever go out of style:
Those oughta have you singin’ like Paolo Nutini in no time!
a room full of all of my friends dancing round and round… and i thought, ‘hello new shoes, bye bye them blues’…
