There is a melancholy, at least I have decided to name it as melancholy, that has seeped deeply into each cell of my being. I recall, my Grand Pa Buncher, a man oftentimes of too few words, right before my Bar Mitzvah, explaining to me, that we may cherish the moment in which we find ourselves, we may indulge in its clamor and cheerfulness, but never believe all you see and feel, because tomorrow, is always something other than today, becoming the newest the priority. Part of becoming a man, he added! It is not a sorrowful thing, losing a particular moment, upon which you think holds the grandest of meaning, Gerry, but depending on it NOW, as if it will last FOREVER, is a bit silly. The truth of the matter; ending his speech (I knew when his words of wisdom began to wane, as his tall straight posture became less pronounced and the comfort of shrugging settled in) recalling it later is the key. We sometimes remember the joy as if it had been an elixir, but once, like seltzer the fizz is gone, all you have is a fine glass of water. (Gerry Buncher-2020)
“Cathy, I'm lost, I said though I knew she was sleeping
And I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all come to look for America
All come to look for America
All come to look for America” (America/Paul Simon-1967)
I hate driving, and when we lived in LA, the one place where cars are king, I walked everywhere, I developed a phobia and feared sitting behind the wheel, and refused to drive, opting for walking, car services or my reliable husband Joe. Now Joe and I are living on the Cape, and 6 miles from our house I work a part-time job as a hotel manager, and drive into Provincetown! My phobia of driving had no room in the padded cell of fear and loathing caused by Trump/ McConnell and the Crime Families/Crime Cabinet/Crime Cronies, and without having my brain explode, I lessened the pressure as one might use a pressure cooker, gave in, and hit the open road (albeit 6 miles of it) Name the numerous plagues, which have befallen us from the first hacking of election in 2016 to the current plethora of criminality, lack of morals/values/ indifference to the Constitution, and now the truth which is that the currency of human life is worth less than the currency of greed, grifting and ghoulishness of those who prefer profit over people! As I drive, I play the music collected on my phone and find that suddenly the years of 1967 (when I graduated high school, and 1968 my time in college), provide me with joy, a sense of peace, and knowledge that I did survive the turmoil then. My Grand Pa Buncher’s voice resonates as Simon and Garfunkel surround me in song…”To recall the joy, of the past, is the best of understanding how you lived and what you wished for. There is melancholy, smothering me, and I find little to no relief from its clinging fingers, almost now taking root. I will NOT give up or give in, but some days, the desire to dismiss the doom is so depressing! (Gerry Buncher-2020)
“In my little town
I grew up believing
God keeps his eye on us all
And he used to lean upon me
As I pledged allegiance to the wall
Lord, I recall my little town
Coming home after school
Flying my bike past the gates of the factories
My mom doing the laundry
Hanging out shirts in the dirty breeze
And after it rains there's a rainbow
And all of the colors are black
It's not that the colors aren't there
It's just imagination they lack
Everything's the same back in my little town
My little town, my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town
Nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town” (My Little Town/Paul Simon- 1967)
