Another Tuesday rolls around. I’ve just submitted a short story to a writing competition here in Australia. I won’t win, doubt I’ll even come close. I’m not edgy enough, my stories too mainstream to be considered. Still it’s good to keep trying, if for no other reason than to test my own will.
While working yesterday, I put the ear buds in and listened to the Carpenter’s Solitaire. It’s such an evocative song and, these days, it unfortunately reminds me of an ex-boyfriend. Nevertheless, I still love it, and as I was listening closely, the harmonies and the contralto, honeyed tone of Karen Carpenter’s voice gave me chills. There’s something about listening with ear buds, headphones or whatever we call those new things that I don’t have and will never own as I don’t have an iPhone.
So, today I’m looking at Solitaire. I remember the news of Karen Carpenter’s death. I was nearly ten, I reckon. The first I’d ever heard of an eating disorder, and likely the first death of a celebrity with whom I’d ever connected. I remember feeling shock and sadness.
Take a listen…songs aren’t written and sung like this anymore.