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Location: Home.
Listening: "Yes, Anastasia." ~ Tori Amos

So much in the past ten days or so.

Friday night, Austin slipped away from work early and we met at the Beverly Center for shopping. I'll post a conversation between us later. We prowled around the pet store, Bath & Body Works, Restoration Hardware and Williams-Sonoma for a few hours, sniffing scented lotions and tasting chocolates. We laughed a lot. He eventually had to go home and I trundled off into the night to see Chris Williams on the West Side. We had dinner at "Bourbon Street Shrimp" in Westwood, where I had the most delicious plate of oysters on the half shell (too long since I've had proper raw oysters--Dad and I used to eat them durng summers in Florida) and he had me taste his blackened shrimp Casaer salad (which was so good, it was unholy). I realized how much I missed home (where I had gumbo every Sunday afternoon) and home cooking (where they realize that spices and the adequate amount of frying can make a meal). I took a serving of jambalaya and fresh bread home for Peter, who was sleeping when I walked in the door.

Tuesday night, Peter and I drove down to San Diego for Tori's last show in North America. On the way down, I quietly mentioned to Brigid (pronounced bree-deh), the Mother if you will, that it would very reassuring if I could hear "Sugar", "Hey Jupiter", and "Beulah Land". The set list included "Sugar" and "Beulah Land". The last was unthinkable--the song was an obscure B-side on a Uk-released single that she had played perhaps twice on tour in the last six years. When she touched the first keys, I didn't recognize it and kept thinking of what other, more prevalent song, it could be. But when I heard the first line, I couldn't help myself. I had been sitting there, hunched over, tears quietly sliding down my cheeks, for the entire concert. Tori concerts are always rough on me--they hold open scrapbooks of the last ten years and make me acknowledge the moments, one by one--and I always end up crying, from a word, or the sound of her voice rising and then pounding through the air around me. But this song...to have her sing this song, that night, after my prayer and after years of linking those words with home...was too much. I willed myself out of disbelief to be present. I knew I would likely never hear it again, live. So there I was, fully, and I let myself sink into it, and I cried.

Beulah land, you beautiful whore
Tell me when I won't need you anymore.

After the concert, I was quiet, subdued, thougtful. I was cycling through the years, quickly, like slides in my memory--his gesture, her words, his hand on my cheek, my dismissals. I tried to explain to Peter on the way home, but it was cursory. I couldn't go into more detail, or risk simply breaking down. I was still overwhelmed with the beauty of her voice. I was still overcome by that song's presence. It was a hard, deep hit, and I was trying to cover the effects as best I could.