Thursday Thirteen #424

The "I love Elvis" edition. The older I get, the more I appreciate The King. When I was a kid, I thought he was a joke. I dismissed him as an irrelevant, overweight man who would bump and grind like a stripper to the delight of his aging audience.

 

I was an ass. 

 

I realize now he was an artist, an icon and a cultural force. He was also high camp and an American tragedy.

 

The inspiration for this post was my friend Patty, who told me her favorite summer memory was a family road trip to St. Louis when she was 10. Elvis had just died, and the clear channel AM radio station ("WLS, The Big 89") played all Elvis/all the time in tribute. The windows were rolled down and her parents were singing along. She and her older brother knew a few songs well enough to join in. 

 

So this week, as we observe the 48th anniversary of his death, I give you the 13 most most enduringly popular Elvis songs.*

1. Can't Help Falling in Love (1961)

2. Jailhouse Rock (1957)

3. Hound Dog (1956)

4. Don't Be Cruel (1956)

5. Heartbreak Hotel (1956)

6. Love Me Tender (1956)

7. Are You Lonesome Tonight? (1960)

8. Return to Sender (1962)

9. Suspicious Minds (1969)

10. In the Ghetto (1969)

11. Burning Love (1972)

12. How Great Thou Art (1967)

13. You're the Devil in Disguise (1963)

*As compiled by Forbes. My favorite, "Kentucky Rain," isn't here. I love his voice and the way he interprets the lyrics, which could be maudlin, but aren't in his hands.

 

Please join us for THURSDAY THIRTEEN. Click here to play along, and to see other interesting compilations of 13 things.

 

August Happiness Challenge – Day 13

My 2025 Happiness Icon

Today's happiness: Supporting small businesses. Target, Walgreens and Whole Foods. Those are the three stores where I spend most of my time and my money. They have everything I need and, luckily, they are nearby. When it's 90º day after day after day, having them right here has been a godsend.

 

But I've felt bad that I haven't been supporting the independent businesses that give my community its personality. So late this afternoon, when the mercury finally dipped a bit, I hauled ass to the other side of town. About a mile from me is a mom'n'pop grocery with a great deli counter (hello, potato salad!) and canned vegetables on sale for 88¢ (corn for the food pantry). On the other side of the street is an ice cream parlor that employs a ton of students over the summer. I was happy to not only order a root beer float but to tip big because these kids are so adorable and will need the money when they go back to college next week. 

 

The weather, the connection to my community, those sweet kids ... It all made me happy. 

Happy August Happiness Challenge!

 

Each day in August you are to post about something that makes *you* happy. Pretty simple. And, it doesn't even have to be every day if you don't want it to be. It's a great way to remind ourselves that there are positive things going on in our lives, our communities, and the world.

 

Photo by Ayşegül Baykal on Unsplash

 

 

I won't always feel this way

That's what my shrink tells me. She went to doctor school and has never lied to me before, so I trust her. 

But it really doesn't help me all that much in the moment. 

Here's the thing: Everyone who doesn't have fur annoys me. Elaine is humorless. Betty is vain. Nancy is whiny. Joanna is pretentious. Considering that these are my friends, I know the problem is me and not them. I'm afraid that I'm morphing into my father, a joyless man who was angry all the time.  

No, she said. I haven't permanently soured on life. I'm just grieving. I miss John and Henry. 

But it's been a year! I got through birthdays and Christmas and New Year's without them. I don't cry in the shower anymore. I am able to remember the good times with them before the bad. Doesn't that mean I've healed?

No, she said. It means I'm healing. 

When I'm alone with my cats, I'm fine. It's when I'm around people – usually women I actually like very much – that things go south. I get grumpy and annoyed. I know my reaction is disproportionate, so I have to rein myself in. (I mean, last Monday I nearly stuck my tongue out at Betty!) Masking my feelings leaves me exhausted on top of being irritated. Makes me want to just stay home and commune with the critters.

"These women remind you that you're lonely," she said. At first I didn't get it. After all, I'm not lonely when I'm alone.

But it makes sense. I want these (comparatively) new relationships to replace the decades-long friendships I lost last year. They don't. They can't. And so I ache.

I have to maintain my commitment to socialize. Tempting as it is to stay home and cuddle the cats, it's not good for me to be alone that much. I can get too deep inside my own head and that's just not healthy. 

I didn't expect the grief to be so tenacious. I lost my mom more than a decade ago and that was shocking and painful, but the grief didn't cling to me like losing Henry and John has. 

Shouldn't I be fucking over it by now?  

There's no timeline to this, so I'm told. I have to take good care of myself, make sure I don't isolate too much. Drink water. Do my stretches. Keep my doctor's appointments. Find the joy that awaits me every day. 

And trust that I won't always feel this way.