Cheers- Lennie Baby!

Since I first heard the news last Thursday night I have been writing and rewriting this post in my head.  I haven't attempted to put "pen to paper" until now because it's all been a jumble of thoughts, memories and raw emotion, each one spilling on to the other and blending to the point where I didn't know where to start, what to include and what I want to keep for my very own.

I guess like any story, one should start at the beginning.  It was the early '90's and I had not heard of Leonard Cohen.  He, his music and his written word meant absolutely nothing to me.  Who I did love at the time was Marc Cohn.    From the moment I heard "Walking in Memphis", I couldn't get that tune out of my head.  Sadly being a penny pinching University student I lacked the funds to run out and buy the album.

No problem!  Christmas was coming up.  I would put the album on my wish list.

My Mom, probably trying make-up for the toaster oven debacle of '89 was more than eager to get me a present that I would love.  I begged-  "Please, please, pleeeeeassssse get me this album."  My mother smiled and said she would see what she could do.

Christmas day arrived and I spotted a small rectangular package under the tree with my name on it.   I shook it and heard the distinctive rattle of the tape in a case.  I was floating on cloud nine.  Mom got it.... she really got it.  I waited to open the present, savouring the anticipation of popping that sucker in my brother's ghetto-blaster and belting out the lyrics to my fav song.

Finally it was time.  I gingerly unwrapped the present, as to damage wrapping paper in our household is a sin.  The cassette rolled free and I turned it over to gaze at the cover art........

WHAT?????

I stared and stared at the cassette trying to make sense of what I was seeing.  The first name was all wrong... the last name was somewhat right?  Confused I looked up into the excited face of my mother.

"What do you think?" she asked.
"Who is Leonard Cohen?" Was my response.

Now it was my mother's turn to look confused.  "He's the artist that sings that song you love!"  Nope! Double nope!!

Now we both sat there confused thinking the other one had taken leave of their senses.

A total and absolute fluke...... that was how I became aware of a man who would have such a profound impact on my life.

Who remembers the movie Pump Up the Volume???

I bet all the young women, who came of age in the  "90's currently have their hands up and are now exhaling a collective ahhhhhhh- Christian Slater!  There was something about Happy Harry Hard on-  his stick it to the man rebel attitude; his taste in music,  his unwavering quest to expose the truth and the way he could string together words and thoughts.... I was in love.  When I rented this movie,  which I did often, I found myself rewinding and replaying the scene where Harry is paying tribute to classmate who had committed suicide.  Harry played a haunting song-  "If it be your will, that I speak no more....."  That song spoke to my soul.  It summed up how I had been feeling for years and years.  When the movie sound track came out I bought it, eager to hear the full song.  Sadly it was not included in the soundtrack.

These were the days pre Google where you could type random snippets of lyrics into a search engine  and presto you had song options to listen to.  I had to employ my Sherlock Holmes skills and watch the film credits to find the name of the song and singer..... Leonard Cohen.

Wait why did that name sound so familiar?  I headed over to my tape tower and scanned down the rows and rows of tapes.  There is was-  the tape my mother had mistakenly given me.  The tape that I had not listened to, but could not part with because it reminded me that my mother was only human after all.  Low and behold, "If It Be Your Will" was one of the songs.

That is how my mom's epic fail turned into a Hail Mary!

I wore that tape out, playing and replaying that song.

As I mentioned "If It Be Your Will" spoke to me on a cellular level.  By this time in my life I was well versed in travelling the depths of despair with my constant companion suicidal thoughts.   I had lost count of how many nights  I had sat in the solitude of my room holding a bottle containing a mixture of pills and the ever present thought that I was not good enough and never would be.  Chronic insomnia gave me more time to sit and think and contemplate and plan.  Minutes would turn into hours and the hours would slowly pass.  There I would  sit waiting.... for the sweet relief of the sleep that never came and for a sign of hope...... a reason that I was on this earth and why I should hold on.

"If it be your will

That I speak no more

And my voice be still

As it was before

I will speak no more

I shall abide until

I am spoken for

If it be your will."

In the light of day it was easy to find a glimmer of hope to cling to..... sunbeams dancing on the water of the Red River.... finding a secluded spot in the woods surrounding the University to sit and commune with nature.... the feeling of being snugly warm in my jacket while the crisp air bit at my nose and the freedom and lightness that I felt when I ran.  These small things gave me strength and hope to get through my days, and even brought moments of happiness that I revelled in.

It was night that claimed me and dragged me down.  Nighttime was when I relived how  I "screwed up"  during the day and thought about what I should have done instead.   Night was the time when the long list of "You're not good enough" would unfurl and consume my thoughts.  If I was lucky I might get an hour or two reprieve from this late night vigil, if sleep decided to claim me.  Some nights a reprieve was not in the cards, my brain refused to "shut-up" and drilled and grilled me until I was in a fetal position, Kleenex strewn around me, begging for it all to end.

"If it be your will

That a voice be true

From this broken hill

I will sing to you

From this broken hill

All your praises they shall ring

If it be your will

To let me sing."

There are not  enough words  in the world to fully articulate the gratitude I have for my "Sisters of Mercy"  who without,  there might have been a different outcome.  My Circle of Mercy included friends who graciously answered the phone in the wee hours of the morning to talk me through the darkness,  friends who did not know how serious my affliction was but who made me laugh and blessed me with buoyant moments  and last but not least my Mister of Mercy- Lennie.  His words and music always had a glimmer of hope that bolstered my resolve to not let my faulty thinking win.  There was always a prose or a chord in his songs that fit the moment and supplied security.

"If it be your will

If there is a choice

Let the rivers fill

Let the hills rejoice

Let your mercy spill on all these burning hearts in hell

 If it be your will to make us well"

With time, perseverance and emotional support I slowly said good-bye to my friend suicidal tendencies.  It took a little longer, but bolstered by Lennie's deep gravely voice my moments of joy became longer and my time with sorrow, shorter.  Enter "The Future".  By this time my whole family was Lennie worshipers.  It was not uncommon for my Dad to turn up the volume on "Closing Time" and dance around the living room.  He of course said it was for my mother's benefit as she "loved Lennie's voice" but one could tell that Dad was just as enthralled.  

"Oh we're drinking and we're dancing 

and the band is really happening

and the Johnny Walker wisdom running high."

Lennie's Johnny Walker wisdom had stolen our hearts.   

My brother is a dude of few syllables.  He would say it is because I don't let him get a word in otherwise.... so wrong!   His common witty repartee includes such classics as-Huh? Wha?  Uhh and Ahh..... see syllables, not words.  In University he hatched a plan while listening to Lennie's- "Hallelujah".  This song elicited a feeling of celebration in his mind.  He could picture exactly how he would feel if he had a brother.  Realizing the odds were slim that my parents would be supplying him with one, he started planning for the future... marriage of a sister.  All he had to do was bide his time and he would have want he desired... a brother-in-law.  If luck was on his side he would have three.  My brother knew exactly how he would mark this monumental moment.... he would play "Hallelujah".  It took years and years, but it finally happened.  My shy and restrained brother got up in front of hundreds of people to deliver a speech and play his celebration song.  

I distinctly remember wedding goers commenting- "What's up with the Leonard Cohen?".  My brother's- Hallelujah; my sister's first dance as a married woman was to "Dance Me to the End of Love." and of course my Dad's frequent requests for "Closing Time".... for my mother's benefit of course!!!!!

I close this post with a litany of thank-you's for my Mister of Mercy.

Thank-you for supplying the light in my time of darkness.  

Thank-you for awakening my desire to fight for life.
Thank-you for the lullabies that calmed the beast of my brain and tricked it into sleeping. 

Thank-you for the continuous supply of optimism and encouragement.

Thank-you for painting the colourful backdrop for my happy times, using your words as your brush.
And thank-you for being a reminder that I have the strength to get through difficulties,  because I already have.

Merci Leonard.  

Pity Party for One......

I debated if I was going to post this entry or leave it in the archive.... as you can see I decided to post it. What tipped the scales.... the honesty of it all.  This is me!  This is my life.  It is not all good times and laughs.    If you don't want to ruin the fantasy of what you think my life might be like, I suggest you quit reading here.  If you can handle the truth, read on.  Who knows maybe this will strike a cord with you as well.

Have you ever had one of those days.  The kind that that is ordinary.... a general run of the mill type of day.  The type of day that lulls you into a false sense of security and then bam something happens.... a comment, a missed bus, an email and it all unravels.  What was once mundane is magically transformed into a festering oozing pile of crap.  You try to fight it.  You use your coping strategies-  a walk, some meditation... some good quality time on a swing-set. But it is no good.  You got
pulled into the under tow and you are drowning on your own tears and snot.

You say..... NO!  Not again!!!

You rage against the world.  You want to scream, you can't stop crying and although you are looking for something to cling onto- a tiny hope,  some semblance of balance.... but no matter where you turn to there is nothing.  You try phoning family and friends but everyone either doesn't answer your call or say they have to go before you can ask for help.

You want to tell the world and everyone in it to FUCK THE HELL OFF but down deep you know all
you want is to be hugged and told everything is going to be okay..... that this too shall pass.  '

Then you think- "Well I am here anyway.... I might as well just succumb to it".

Ride it out.

Who cares..... you are well stocked with Kleenex and hot beverage options.  Let it all hang out.  So that is what you do.  You sit down and bawl and bawl and bawl.   At points you feel like someone is choking the life out of you, at other times you feel like you are being ripped asunder.  You can't decide which is worse.  You just want it to end, but it doesn't.  You have cried for so long you start questioning when dehydration will set in.... but hell that is what the hot beverages are for.... replenishing the leaking fluids.

You know you have to talk about it... about anything.  To hold it in only makes your mind whorl and spin creating a cyclone of destructive thoughts.   The heaviness of your thoughts start crushing you.  You make the executive decision to blog it out.  You look at the screen and you think- "Is this my life.  How did it come to this.  When did this happen?"

In your youth there was always a friend that would pick-up the phone and talk, regardless of the hour..... now you have the blue screen of the computer to pour your heart out to.  You guess it is better than nothing.... but you don't have room for these semi-positive thoughts.... you're having a pity party, so dammit start pitying..... PRONTO!!!!

Then just like that the pity party ends.  There was no warning.... the tears dry up and things aren't looking so bleak.  Dare I say you might even feel a tad hopeful......