"All I Do is Dream of You" by Arthur Freed

I wish that I could express to you the strange and wonderful contentment that I get from from listening to Gene Kelly’s quiet croon send this sweet song into a cloud. Nothing at all like the flash and jump version from the party scene in SINGING IN THE RAIN. It was one of the many surprises that I found in the EMI Music Resource : THE STANDARDS. Amber gave this collection back to me before she left for New York. I can truthfully say that I am glad she held onto it for a while. During it’s furlough, I learned to truly appreciate it. For the last 9 months, I’ve been stumbling happily through a rather large catalogue of Hollywood musicals (thank you Netflix), and pulling Jim kicking and screaming all the way...well maybe not kicking and screaming. He loves Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, enjoys a good Stanley Donen or George Stevens musical, and the Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, and Arthur Freed songs keep bringing smile after smile to his handsomely bearded face. In the midst of this whirlwind of song and dance, I picked up a colleciton of Astaire recordings. I listened to it so much that the words of the silliest tap-dancingest songs stuck in my head for days and days. I listened to it at home, at work in the Cancer Center, in my car. I couldn’t stop. I found my feet tapping along under the covers when I listened to it in bed. I’ve always thought my life a musical filled with these sorts of songs. No one bursts into them in front of me, but Jim can tell you that I definitely burst into them enough for everyone else. The constant flow of Musicals in the mail and the Astaire collection prepared me for the gem that I was returned to me a couple of weeks ago. The Standards... Frank Sinatra? Of course. Dean Martin. Yep. Billie Holliday, Cab Calloway, Mario Lanza, Mel Torma, Ella, Nat King Cole, Tony Bennett...yes. But oh...Sarah Vaughn...Bea Wain with Larry Clinton and his Orchestra....Kitty Kallen...a little bit of Fats Waller...

Awesome. Total Awesomeness.

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I report to Brookwood Hospital for a short stay. A few days really. For any of you who’ve been missing me at the old St. Vincent’s ER, I’’ve missed you too. I’m in the midst of a relapse. They found some dark spots on my spinal cord. Travmo has suggested that I just get it whitened. Just line up some of those Crest Whitening strips down my back and I’m set. Unfortunately, MS doesn’t work that way. I’ve just got to work through the flare up. The steroid infusion that I’m going to get will help me do it. As is usual with Multiple Sclerosis, there’s no telling what caused the exacerbation, whether it was stress or a seasonal illness set it off. I think that it was the egg sandwich that I got from Whataburger on my way home from the Vulture Whale show a week or so ago. Jim doesn’t quite buy that one.

So. Email me. Call me. Come by. Whatever. Let me know how you’re doing. I’ve spent a good week staring at the TV (mostly TCM, but a little bit of Bravo) (What is up with those Housewives of NYC? Could we not just give them Southern Accents, some Vicoden, and send them to Seaside and say that they are the Housewives of Mountain Brook?) (Dude, Bravo would save like a THIRD in production costs doing that show here.)
As you can see, I’ll be ready for a few friendly faces and some good conversation and you can check out my new Whale patterned PJs. They’re awesome.

Love you!

Never Gonna Dance

"Though, I'm left without a penny,
The wolf was discreet.
He left me my feet....
And so, I put them down on anything
But the la belle,
La perfectly swell romance.
Never gonna dance.
Never gonna dance.
Only gonna love.
Never gonna dance."


I've fallen in love with the sound of Fred Astaire's voice. I sit here in the office at the Cancer Center, legs crossed under the desk, feet tapping, 5th cup of Joe of the day grasped in my 2pm tired hand, fan blowing in my face reminding me that tomorrow I'll be sitting in cool car air all day instead of the broken air conditioning here in my department, and suddenly, over my left shoulder, I hear someone sing to me...


"Have I a heart that acts like a heart,
Or is it a crazy drum,
Beating the weird tattoos
Of the St. Louis Blues?"

We recieved "Swing Time" in the mail a couple of weeks ago....
Jim said that he could tell when a dance number was coming up....not because of the splendid opening banter or a bowing big band intro, but because I would pull the covers up over half of my face and start convulsing...(I'd like to say right now that I have no memory of said seizure but do know that in my mind, at the moment such things may or may not have occured, I was taking Ginger's place as Fred's very capable dance partner...)

"Have I two eyes to see your two eyes
Or see myself on my toes
Dancing to radios
Or Major Edward Bowes?"

Tomorrow, we're driving up to Illinois for Jaime's wedding. Our first big trip together. As I'm typing this, Jim is at his house, checking the list of things to pack.

(Light dress shirt for Saturday afternoon outside wedding featuring hayride) (CHECK)
(Casino Clothes for eve of wedding on a riverboat outside of ST. Louis) (CROSSED OUT)
(Walking shoes for back pasture of Miller Family Farm and Streets of Chicago) (CHECK)

"Though, I'm left without a penny,
The wolf was discreet.
He left me my feet.
And so, I put them down on anything
But the la belle,
La perfectly swell romance.

Never gonna dance.
Never gonna dance.
Only gonna love.
Never gonna dance".

I've driven this trek up to Browstown so many times that it should be a blur, a tunnel of travel...but I find that as I slip over the state line into Tennessee, burn through Nashville, up to Clarksville, over through Bowling Breen, Kentucky, to Paducah and then to the Land of Lincoln, I still take in the scenery bit by bit, dreamily eyeing lakes and fields and rolling hills, captivated. I'm sure I'll tug Jim's sleeve and point ten thousand times tomorrow. He'll smile and take my hand and nod. I wish that he could see these things through my eyes, with my heart... and maybe he will.


"I'll put my shoes on beautiful trees.
I'll give my rhythm back to the breeze.
My dinner clothes may dine where they please,
For all I really want is you.

And to Groucho Marx I give my cravat.
To Harpo goes my shiny silk hat.
And to heaven, I give a vow
To adore you. I'm starting now
To be much more positive.
That's....

Though, I'm left without my Penny,
The wolf was not smart.
He left me my heart.
And so, I cannot go for anything
But the la belle,
La perfectly swell romance.

Never gonna dance.
Never gonna dance.
Only gonna love you.
Never gonna dance."

"Never Gonna Dance"
music by Jerome Kerns and words by Dorothy Fields