It always struck me as an odd place for it, but there’s a hotel on 92nd off 1st.
Burt and I often took a walk along the East River Esplanade. We would wind up in its lobby when got past Gracie Mansion.
It was a pit stop.
Now, I sometimes go into the lobby on my way to the gym when I’m early for one of my classes.
It was a dream, of course, and quite lovely. And elaborate.
Last night, I dreamt that Burt and I were out walking.
We took a short cut through the lobby of a hotel, maybe one I’ve dreamt of before, but not in a long while.
It was like my dream version of the Williams Club. Burt and I had worked at the Williams Club, where we hosted events for one of the associations we managed. We greeted members of a real estate group and handed them their nametags.
Anyway, I told Burt “that’s David Letterman” and I stopped to talk with him.
(It was uncharacteristic that I was the one chatting with a celebrity. Usually, I would be the one to identify and Burt would approach and talk.)
Letterman was with the hotel ‘s owner who steered him away to a ballroom where Letterman, in an imam beard (like one Burt had for a while) was going to be interviewed.
I guessed the hotel owner was going to be the interviewer for tonight.
I said to Burt we’re going to be banned from this hotel for even approaching Letterman.
Letterman was, after all, under his auspices, and a protected celebrity. Like restaurants, venues want to shelter their clientele.
Once we had left the hotel, Burt wanted to walk ahead and went off up one path. He said he’d see me later.
David Letterman, with his mountain man beard and in a very boxy-shouldered, wide, somewhat-short plaid jacket [it looked like a horse blanket], came out and turned back towards me.
He said “wait a minute that’s the realtamara.” I answered, “yes and I am with Burt.” Letterman said Burt died. I said “yes and he’s mobile again and walking with me.”
After my chat with Letterman, during which I was thinking Letterman knows my work, I panicked because I thought I would not be able to find Burt.
Our walk leaving the hotel was not on a street but on a path in some sort of park. It was paved and there were benches.
I did find Burt after I went on a curving path which looked like one that I had also dreamt of before, one bordering a square and very angular Madison Avenue. [In earlier dreams it was home to a library I think.]
As I rounded one footpath, Burt was coming towards me, in his shorts and hat.
This is a little grieving guideline I want to share with you:
Music was a tool that helped us even out the mood with our loved ones while we cared for them. I heard that music that Burt had enjoyed would be best.
Now that he’s gone, I again am turning to songs from a lifetime to soothe and recall.
Making myself a playlist is my current memory project. I have been listening to various styles of music for the months since Burt’s been gone. Of course, I have, but today I ventured to put together a special selection.
First off, it will favor the songs [and artists] that have always tugged my heartstrings. Bette Midler. Carole King. Barbra. Linda Ronstad.
That’s why I’m listening to Dolly sing “mount up and enjoy The Ride.” Her song to her husband just after he passed, around the time Burt did, is also playing.
In fact, I have a selection from her catalog along with Nat King Cole. He was an artist Burt had admired. Unforgettable seems a good pick.
Little known fact, Burt loved Christmas songs, so this is a perfect time to compile a best of list.
The list will go on (heck, it might expand to include that Celine Dion song). Whitney Houston’s famous rendition of the Parton I Will Always Love You is now playing.
The playlist will occupy some of my time and I expect may be unending. A metaphor, perhaps.
Just re-found the track from Dirty Dancing. So appreciate hearing (I’ve Had )The Time of My Life today; it’s true and a tribute to all our years together.
Years ago, before Lewy came into our lives, I used to sing Smokey Robinson’s My Guy to myself while at the gym. It was a habit I returned to after Burt got ill.
Shortly after Burt’s passing, I stumbled across a great waltz, Oh, How We Danced On The Night We Were Wed. I put it on rewind and it hurt-soothed. A metaphor, perhaps, of how we tend to feel at this juncture. The time at which our beloved has left us to mourn alone.
Burt’s dad drove a taxi. I found this cab keychain at an outing at the Museum of the City of New York.
I made it a habit of bringing some item home to Burt from my time out of the house. Food was always a hit, tchotchkes (even when they linked to his history) less so.
As with all gifting, it was the thought…. I was thinking of him, and whatever I did buy was a token of love and caring.
I love the light that seems to come from within in this photo.
I am grateful that I took Burt’s picture at every opportunity. There are so many to admire in memory.
In Say it again, I think I was referencing the old song, Have I Told You Lately That I Love You
My friend ACJ thought it might be Do I Love You to which the answer is indeed I do.
In exploring the genesis of Have I Told You…, I turned to Spotify or YouTube Music for samples and snippets. The Gene Autry take is one that works best with Burt gone.
Check out how Willie Nelson or Elvis handled this song. There’s a beautiful Bublé treatment and one old-twangy Marty Robbins version. I am hunting down a Patsy Cline rendition, though I can’t bet there is such a thing.
Why do we talk about love so much? I know why I talk about it, to wit
We know that the Christmas season could be called the season of love.
But, let’s look at some other seasons… in Spring, we say, a young man’s fancy turns to love. Don’t we fall in love with the falling leaves in Autumn. And, of course, Summer is hot.
*My signature tagline while I was caregiving said, “Without love this journey would not be possible. “
Scrolling through the photos in my phone always brings me to a smile worthy memory.
Below, for instance, is one of his Madeleine moments which I may be more tickled by from a prejudiced love of the guy with the cookie.
It’s equally nice to remember a Burt from before, and my scroll helps jog my memories from that before time!
There are pictures we have from ballgames and restaurants going back many years.
And that day on the boardwalk at Coney Island, at the Gates, and going full blues brothers.
We all need to hear it often.
Did I say it as often as I should have? Or, could have?
We, none of us, believe we are loved. We need to hear it often.
I love you, I would say, to Burt. I truly did, yes, do, love him.
Often, he’d raise an eyebrow in disbelief or in recognition?
It was a fact I needed to prove to him. I said I love you everyday. I said I love you many times each day.
I believe I never said it enough.
Now, that Burt is gone, it is with gratitude that I still say I love you, everyday.
Have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
