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The authors of the following songs give me inspiration and hope. These songs are impossible to find on iTunes or CD. The only reason I am able to listen to them today is because I recorded them from vinyl to cassette tape, cassette tape to CD, and CD to MP3 player. I love both of these songs; they are definitely in my top 10 favorites list. So I’m thinking if there is someone out there someday who loves something I’ve written so much they go to such extremes to preserve it, I will consider myself a successful writer. And so I am inspired to keep writing.

OLD FRIENDS:

It’s like when you’re making conversation and you’re trying not to scream and you’re trying not to tell them that you don’t care what they mean. And you’re really feeling fragile and you really can’t get home and you really feel abandoned but you want to be alone. Old friends, they shine like diamonds. Old friends, you can always call. Old friends, Lord, you can’t buy ‘em. It’s old friends after all; old friends after all.

When the house is empty and the light begins to fade and there’s nothing to protect you except the window shade. And it’s hard to put your finger on the thing that scares you most and you can’t tell the difference between an angel and a ghost. Old friends, they shine like diamonds. Old friends, you can always call. Old friends, Lord, you can’t buy ‘em. It’s old friends after all; old friends after all. Yeah.

Written by Guy Clark & Richard Dobson, Performed by Lacy J. Dalton

SHE’S OUT THERE DANCIN’ ALONE:

The lights are turned low, she stands all alone on the floor. She’s had too much beer and her mind’s not too clear anymore. She throws back her head; she’s sure she heard, “I’ll take you home.” But while the band starts in playing, she’s out there dancin’ alone. She comes in on weekends and sits in a booth by the band. She’s got a favorite; she wonders will they play it again. Some whisper she’s crazy but tonight, she’s sure that he’ll come. But when the band starts in playing, she’s out there dancing alone. She smiles and holds out her arms like there’s somebody there. She closes her eyes when they laugh and when they stare; she doesn’t care. Now the band’s packin’ up and the bartender’s sweepin’ the floor. He says, “It’s past two” and soon he’ll be lockin’ the door. But she’s still smilin’ waitin’ in a world of her own. They all watch for a moment; she’s out there dancin’ alone. Yes, she’s out there dancin’ alone.

Written by Geoffrey Morgan, Performed by Barbara Mandrell

Purse. Handbag. Tote. Satchel. Bag. Whatever you call it; men don’t seem to understand it. A question I hear every now and then from my husband is, “Why do you need another purse?” My answer is always some variation of I needed a new one because I didn’t like my old one. Then he asks, “I thought you really liked that purse when you got it.” Well, I did think I was going to like it when I got it and now – it is just not right. Men carry few essential items including identification, credit cards, cash and perhaps a photo or two. They have just a couple of options for carrying them: the money clip and the tri-fold or the bi-fold wallets. So sorry, dear, if your argument you use your wallet until the leather wears away isn’t relevant to me.

Here is what I have to carry with me at all times in addition to the identification, credit cards, and cash (I don’t even take up space with any photographs): reward/club cards, YMCA cards, library cards, notepads and pens for when you need to write a note, band aids for when you cut your finger, ibuprofen for when you have a headache, nail clippers, coupons, hand sanitizer, toothpicks, lotion, and a cell phone (because unless it is essential due to the nature of your job or job uniform, cell phones just don’t look right clipped to a girl’s waistband). So we need something a little more substantial to carry our things. Because we have never found the purse which meets all of our needs we are always on the lookout trying to find it. Somettimes we think we have then we get it home, we try to load it and find out it is too small. Or we use it awhile and find out the straps are too short or too long or too wide, etc. We know what we need in a purse but nobody can get it quite right.

I have yet to find the perfect purse. It can’t be too big or too small. It has to fit what I need but not allow too much extra space to allow for lazily throwing in unnecessary items because then it gets too heavy and makes my back ache. If the straps are not just the right length and width, it will constantly slip off my shoulders which is just annoying. And I’ve yet to find the correct combination for alleviating that problem. If it is not slipping off of my shoulder it is yanking my hair out by its roots. There are either too many pockets are not enough – or they are not the right sizes or in the right locations. It is too wide, too tall, not wide enough or not tall enough. If it gets close to being the right size with the right pockets and compartments, it is ugly – it is a hideous color, made out of plastic looking material or has odd ornaments hanging from it.

I think maybe I should go into the purse designing business. Whenever I have had enough with my current purse and decided the dozen or so purses in my closet just will not work and I browse the purse sections of my local stores, I always see women just like me. They search through the racks of purses, sometimes more than once in hopes their super-purse is hiding in the back somewhere. They pick them up, open them, run their hands through the insides and into the pockets to see if their cell phones fit, and sling it over their shoulders to check out the straps. Then they usually put them back looking rightfully annoyed and disgusted. Even if they do keep the bag they’ve inspected, they still do not look happy. The disappointment is transparent in their faces; you can tell this is not really their dream purse but it is the closest they can find so they are going to make the most of it, settle and try to make it work.

The funny thing about purses is price doesn’t seem to matter. There have been a few times I’ve decided money is no object, if I’ve got to sacrifice two weeks of groceries for a purse, it will be worth it to have the purse I’ve always wanted. However, I’ve not even been able to find an expensive purse with everything I need. As a matter of fact, it seems the more expensive the purse, the more impractical it is. It’s just a big hole in fancy material.

I need organization. I need to be able to keep my purse neat and tidy without looking like I’m ninety years old. I want it stylish but I don’t want to have to switch everything out every day because my purse doesn’t match my clothes. I need pockets on the outside and on the inside. They need to be big enough to hold my PDA. I need two or three purses which have almost hit the target to be combined into one super purse. My current purse is short but long with two side pockets and one flat zip pocket on the front. It has three interior compartments and the strap is medium length. My last purse was taller but shorter with two good sized pouch pockets on the front and a zip pocket on the back with three interior compartments. The strap was a little bit long for me. So if I could get a purse about as wide as my current one and as tall as my previous one with two side pockets, two front pouch pockets, a back zip pocket, three interior compartments and a medium length strap, I’d be set. Or would I?

I understand suicide. I know people who understand suicide. I know people who have been touched by suicide but do not understand it. They are unable to fathom anything could be so bad as to cause someone to end their life. What they don’t understand is rational thought does not apply. When you are in that place and when you are that depressed, there is no rationality – there is only the need to end the pain and find peace. It consumes you and eats at you from the inside out. I don’t think people really commit suicide because they want to die – more likely they want desperately to live but feel like they ARE dying.

I believe in choice. I believe in people’s right to make the ultimate choice to live or to die. I believe 90 year old grandmothers diagnosed with terminal cancer should be allowed to end their life when they choose (probably the most rational and logical reason for suicide). Even if someone chooses to end their life as a foolish permanent end to a temporary problem, I still respect their right to make that choice.

My cousin committed suicide slightly over eight years ago. I was in a meeting at work when I was interrupted by the emergency call from my mother. She told me he’d done it, put a gun under his chin and fired. His fiancé returned home from work in the morning to find him in his bed, dead. She didn’t know why; no one knows why and he left no hint as to why. Some think it would have had to have been something so bad, worse than anything they could ever even imagine. I think it could’ve been something much simpler. It could have been any number of things – it could’ve been he had everything he thought he’d always wanted but still was not happy. It is devastating to think you SHOULD be happy but no matter how hard you try you just can’t feel it. And maybe it was no reason at all – maybe he didn’t even realize what he was doing; maybe he was acting in his sleep. His decision, if it was a conscious decision, was a mistake. It was stupid and cowardly. But when you love someone you support them when they make mistakes – you stand behind their bad decisions. And I do. I respect his decision even though I do not agree.

When someone dies in this way, you futilely search the smallest corners of your memory looking for a clue. You look for a reason and you look for a sign you missed. For awhile, you feel guilty. Was it something I did? Something I didn’t do? Did I ignore the warning signs? It is hard to accept never knowing why and it is harder to accept there was nothing you could have done to prevent what happened. Whatever the reason, his method of dealing with it was his decision alone. He decided; I had no control over that decision. I think at least part of the trigger for these guilty, questioning feelings is misdirected anger. The person who deserves your anger is no longer there to take it; there is no one to slap and tell, “What were you thinking!?! Idiot!” You are just left with an empty void for which you cannot explain the cause definitively no matter how hard you try. The only thing to do is try to learn from his mistake so his death was not in vain; to realize it is eight years later, I am still here, my heart is still beating, I am still breathing and even though I’ve had some hard times, I have had many blessings. All I can do is LIVE.