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My dearest muse these days is Glenda. There is a biography worth writing some day. I bounce most if not all of my new music off of her ears. Her life has gifted her with brutal honesty and suffering her scrutiny is part of the mortar of my character. She has inspired me to write page after page of lyrics and there is a small part of her in everything I do. She suffers valiantly thru those days when I’m holed up in the studio writing and recording. Eventually, she wrenches me out for dinner. When we first got together she lied to me. She said she didn’t know how to cook. The weight I’ve put on these past few years proves that I have every right to beg to differ. When she misses me enough she’ll move right in and cuddle. When she’s had enough of me she’ll tell me to go play music. The push and tug of our relationship is like a slight chop on an ocean. We are the ship tossed about with sails morphing to meet every situation. Onward together we go. Glenda will be the first to tell you that I make good music but my voice really sucks. I believe her too. I could outsource the vocals but as it is I’m always strapped for time. I’m not getting any younger so I want to make as much music as possible and put it all out there. I harbor no illusions of grandeur and success is never a goal when it comes to my music. I make music because it feels good to create it. If I ever write a hit it will be an accident in the purest sense of the word. I played her a new song just last night. She listened all the way thru with and unsettlingly blank expression. At the end as the last chord faded, her face lit up. Now I think I’m onto something. An approving nod from her and then she was off to drop off her future son-in-law. I stayed in the studio and practiced the vocal a few times to work on the melodies. The scratch vocal, no pun intended, will be discarded and I still have not chosen the microphone for a keeper vocal. When she likes something I’ve recorded I soar for a moment and bask in the limelight. That fleeting feeling of accomplishment washes away self doubt for a little while and inside I smile from ear to ear. I bounce off the ceiling and back to the ground feet first. I thank God for everyday with her. She loves a good garage sale. The treasures that she finds are the decorations that populate the rooms of our house. She has a thing for angels, mostly cherubs. Don’t get me started on her wardrobe! That’s a whole novel the likes of “War and Peace”! There are also picture frames, vases, and even artwork she has found. She’ll get on a color kick and decorate, say the kitchen, with all red appliances, all black utensils, and all wooden accent furniture. The dining room has a huge round glass table as the centerpiece. It’s one of many glass tables she rotates in and out of use. There is an endless collection of tablecloths, candles, and place settings as well. I can tell what came from a department store and what came from a garage sale. She has a fine eye for good deals and can haggle like a pro. Getting back to her wardrobe, she comes up with infinite color combination and will rarely ever leave the house without doing her hair and makeup. I feel like a schlep next to her even when I am dressed up. Me dressed up is something she makes sure I get right most of the time. So there you have it, just the tip of the iceberg that is my personal life. Glenda and I are two souls left over from destroyed relationships. Two fish in the sea that found each other. We are worlds apart in our views of the world at large, yet in tune on some level of the functionality of our reality. When she hurts, I hurt with her. When I hurt, she hurts with me. Are we each other’s crutch? Who cares? We are in love. We can lean on each other when we have to. She’s the muse I can never refuse. Image