Stop Sobbing

Los Angeles, California

In a recent conversation with one of my soul sisters, Lisa, I mentioned The Kinks song Better Days. It has always been an anthem for me, a rock and roll version of this too shall pass, phrased in a wish passed to another: Here's wishing you the bluest sky, and hoping something better comes tomorrow. Hoping all the verses rhyme, and the very best of choruses to follow all the dark and sadness. I know that better things are on the way. Nice, huh?

It got me thinking about Ray Davies and The Kinks. My late, 'little' cousin (called that as she was six months younger than me) loved The Kinks. We were in Hawaii together for several months when The Kinks' Summer Afternoon was popular. She would run to the radio in our apartment in Waikiki, and crank up the volume whenever she heard it. I later saw The Kinks twice at The Universal Amphitheater here in LA. Great concerts through which I fell in love with songs I hadn't paid much attention to before, like the wondrous Waterloo Sunset.

On New Year's Day, Joel and I were having a rematch of Double-Twelve Dominos, three games bringing our holiday total to six (I began the day zero for three so I was hot to win back my game pride). I threw caution to the winds and put my iTunes library on shuffle. We got a mix of salsa, classical, Hawaiian slack key, a tad of opera, some Beatles, a smattering of show tunes, and more. Sometime during game one or two, both of which I happily won, The Kinks' song, Stop Your Sobbing, played. Though written by Ray Davies, it's The Pretenders version that became popular. Here I might reference the Davies-Hynde relationship, which I am presuming contributed to The Pretenders' cover of the song.

It is time for you to stop all of your sobbing. Not a great sentiment when you are actually wracked with grief. But here at, hopefully, the transitional period from Covid pandemic to Covid endemic, it's not such a bad sentiment. It is time to move on to, dare I write it, some hopeful joy. I don't know about you, but I am feeling the emotional-mental health effects of the past almost-two years of this. I am short-tempered. I am alternately sad and jumpy. In short, I'm tired of it all and not feeling good even though this is a new year which is offering us a fresh start. At least, a soon-to-be after-the-holiday-surge fresh start. News is fairly hopeful so I expect I will get on board of the joy train shortly. As I said and wrote to my friends, this year I am going to fill my glass to the brim so there is no half-empty/half-full determination possible. And I look forward to all the time spent with Joel, my girlfriends both new and longtime, and the small group of guyfriends. I look forward to all of the laughter and shared intimacies that the year will bring us. And I look forward to... DANCING.

For me, the pandemic began almost immediately after a fright on a flight from Phoenix to Monterey. You can read more about that in a previous post, entitled That Was the Year that Was (in two parts). I thought that would be the worst thing that happened to me that year. And then there was last year, with vaccinations and tentative, temporary freedom. And, I do know that it is a choice. I am not the most locked-down person I know, nor am I by any measure, the most unconscious of the hazard. I am, as I am in most things, pretty much in the middle lane.

One of my friends texted to say that we will get together when it is safe to move around the cabin. I am not above stealing phrases like that. So, it is time to follow all the the dark and sadness with the better times that are surely ahead. I am greatly looking forward, with my brimming glass, to moving about the cabin. There may be the bluest sky; there will be dancing. There will certainly be some memory-making, for better or for worse. Or at the very least, it will be time for us to stop all of our sobbing. Stay safe and well out there!