The Metronome

Hi Peaches. Long time no speaky? 

I missed you too.  

I mean, blogging is tough.  And let's be honest here, silly, I can't promise you'll be seeing much more out of the woodwork...but, well, as this is a special occasion, I just had to let it all out...baby. 

This late afternoon, I took to meandering down bittersweet, memory lane -- stopping at one golden summer consisting of carefree bliss and rock & rolly groove. This sacred time of my life is (one) I occasionally like to fall back on -- it was a spirited time when Mary was a wild, young hooligan in her finest teenage glory. 

Ermm…but let me explain. 

My darling brother and I resided in a desperately small, Northern mining town where daily amusements were about as lively as watching water drip from the ol’ tap.  Needless to say, things were static -- a sedate mixture of old timey folk, dull fashion and no scene to mix in with.  I was eagerly itching for an explosive force of vibrancy to spike the stale river of my quiet 15-year-old life.  Ka. Pow.

It began with the arrival of my brother’s band mates – head to toe in black; lugging heavy guitar and music equipment, dumping them in my basement and violently thrashing in the midst of the evening. The entire neighbourhood would vibrate with noise, causing domestic annoyance (poor mummy and daddy) yet sheer exhilaration to my tiny ears.  It was what I was waiting for and boy, I wanted in.  In like Flynn.

It’s cute now and makes me giggle – but suddenly, there I was, donning a signature pin-up style (before it was cool, kids) chock full of polka dotted dresses, a mane of curls and the reddest lips I could afford to get my freckled hands on.  With the colorful collaboration of my old class chum on his drums, my new pal plucking her bass and a microphone in my hand, we churned out a genre of music like no other (perhaps thankfully so) of edgy, lady-like swagger.  We called ourselves…Youth Diversion?

Heh…

This, along with the others in the nouveau scene (like that of my talented brother) blew the tiny town out of the stale water.  It gave the younger kids something to idolize and frankly, something to do. 

We were scoundrels, we were silly and we were carefree; playing gigs (generally inebriated) and jamming out in my basement all summer long...(also, generally inebriated.)  

It was like a mini, tiny, teeny revolution.

Hell, we even won battle of the bands.  (Side note: I won best vocalist. Bragging rites)

That funny little summer was ten years ago, but I still smile about the days when my and my brother's band developed us all into temporary, small-town super stars.  My days of thinking that one day I'll split the industry wide open as an iconic rock dame have fizzled, most definitely.  However; I do ponder, what would that young hooligan think of Mary Taylor now? A boring old lady? Oh my...

I hope you enjoyed my scrumptious anecdote.  So, as to top off the treat with a cherry, I'll leave you with one of our "greatest" hits that I wrote years ago.  

Somewhat revised, but still the same ditty.  Hope you like...somewhat. 

The Metronome

A dose of my life,

It all seems so surreal, now,

I never chase

But I’m chasin’ on high heels

And I’m afraid of the sound of the stiletto click,

Where’s my brain?

Click-click

And what’s my name?

Click-click-click

I hear –tick tock , tick tock, tick tock, tick

I live by the metronome,

I sleep, ooh sleep by the clock,

When that alarm sounds off,

Time shifts, transists to the metronome again

Guess something’s loose in my mind,

No, forget about those gamblin’ debts,

Steal a sip,

Smooth away the lipstick,

Boxed up; a drunken maze,

When I slip-slip-slip-slip into a daze,

Tear in the ‘hose, blouse has a scratch,

Snap my fingers

Snap-Snap

Another glass,

Clap-clap

That old bartender’s stash

I live by the metronome,

I sleep, ooh sleep by the clock,

God damn, that alarm sounds off,

Time shifts, transists to the metronome again

They’re shutin’ down

I’m still dancin’ the mambo,

Click-click-click,

No that’s a tango,

Tick-tock-tick

Metronome, I ain’t going home