THE LUNAR REPORT - "IT'S MARILYN'S BIRTHDAY" Mar. 28, 2011
If you are a regular reader of The Lunar Report, then you know how I feel about my sister. Indulge me one more time, will you? After all, it’s Marilyn’s Birthday.
The woman deserves a month at a Palm Springs Spa or a couple of weeks in Paris or just a day in St. Augustine. But her birthday will be like every day – checking the vital sign monitors at our mom’s hospital bedside, listening to doctors give her good and bad news, questioning decisions of hospital staff, and fielding phone calls from hospital social workers.
I am listening to Beatle music as I write this. The Beatles were what she and I shared growing up in Jacksonville, Florida. I wish I could give her today something as memorable as the record player and “Meet The Beatles” album our mom and dad gave Marilyn on a birthday way back when. Even a month in Palm Springs wouldn’t outdo that record player and first Beatle album.
The Beatles kind of brought us together on a different level. Until the British invasion of our Beverly Avenue living room, we were just always together with no real common interests. “I Want to Hold Your Hand” changed all that. And it changed my standing with the little neighborhood girls as well. They were my sister’s friends, Cindy, Sally and Rebecca. The girls thought I looked like Paul McCartney. So while Johnnie, Arthur and my gang were riding bikes and whittling and fist fighting, Cindy, Sally, Rebecca and Marilyn were holding me back and forcing me to say, “I love you” with a Liverpool accent. Well, they didn’t have to do much forcing. I enjoyed the attention.
This isn’t Palm Beach or Paris or St. Augustine, and I wish I could give something that would ease your burden just a bit, but it is my gift to you, Marilyn:
Because it’s your birthday, your mother should know that you carry the weight and chains and misery eight days a week. You’re a day tripper, fixing a hole, saying hello, goodbye even when it’s all too much. “I’m so tired, don’t bother me,” I’ve got a feeling you tell yourself. And when you get no reply, let it be. She loves you.
But all things must pass and here comes the sun. The long and winding road is something, but there’s a place for you. It’s getting better. It won’t be long. You’ll get back to yesterday when every little thing brought golden slumbers to you little child.
Want to know a secret? You don’t bother me when you ask for help. Anytime at all.
The woman deserves a month at a Palm Springs Spa or a couple of weeks in Paris or just a day in St. Augustine. But her birthday will be like every day – checking the vital sign monitors at our mom’s hospital bedside, listening to doctors give her good and bad news, questioning decisions of hospital staff, and fielding phone calls from hospital social workers.
I am listening to Beatle music as I write this. The Beatles were what she and I shared growing up in Jacksonville, Florida. I wish I could give her today something as memorable as the record player and “Meet The Beatles” album our mom and dad gave Marilyn on a birthday way back when. Even a month in Palm Springs wouldn’t outdo that record player and first Beatle album.
The Beatles kind of brought us together on a different level. Until the British invasion of our Beverly Avenue living room, we were just always together with no real common interests. “I Want to Hold Your Hand” changed all that. And it changed my standing with the little neighborhood girls as well. They were my sister’s friends, Cindy, Sally and Rebecca. The girls thought I looked like Paul McCartney. So while Johnnie, Arthur and my gang were riding bikes and whittling and fist fighting, Cindy, Sally, Rebecca and Marilyn were holding me back and forcing me to say, “I love you” with a Liverpool accent. Well, they didn’t have to do much forcing. I enjoyed the attention.
This isn’t Palm Beach or Paris or St. Augustine, and I wish I could give something that would ease your burden just a bit, but it is my gift to you, Marilyn:
Because it’s your birthday, your mother should know that you carry the weight and chains and misery eight days a week. You’re a day tripper, fixing a hole, saying hello, goodbye even when it’s all too much. “I’m so tired, don’t bother me,” I’ve got a feeling you tell yourself. And when you get no reply, let it be. She loves you.
But all things must pass and here comes the sun. The long and winding road is something, but there’s a place for you. It’s getting better. It won’t be long. You’ll get back to yesterday when every little thing brought golden slumbers to you little child.
Want to know a secret? You don’t bother me when you ask for help. Anytime at all.
From me to you...Thank you girl.
And (to those reading this) I love her.
And (to those reading this) I love her.
Click HERE to read how Marilyn ruined my birthday... "I Hate My Birthday" on Lunacy.
PLEASE CONSIDER A DONATION TO THE LUNAR REPORT. WE RECEIVE NO INCOME FROM THE ONLINE PUBLICATIONS OR ADVERTISING, SO ANYTHING YOU CAN DO TO HELP WILL BE GREATLY APPRECIATED. THANKS FOR READING.
PLEASE CONSIDER A DONATION TO THE LUNAR REPORT. WE RECEIVE NO INCOME FROM THE ONLINE PUBLICATIONS OR ADVERTISING, SO ANYTHING YOU CAN DO TO HELP WILL BE GREATLY APPRECIATED. THANKS FOR READING.
Posted by David Moon at 3/28/2011 1:58 PM 
Categories: People
Tags: Lunar Report Lunacy birthday sister love gift The Beatles
Categories: People
Tags: Lunar Report Lunacy birthday sister love gift The Beatles
Please visit the sites of some of my friends.
Having a stunningly wonderful sister myself, I was touched by this tribute to Marilyn. David Moon, it's clear that you're a great brother, too. Cheers to both of you!
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Hello Mr. Expert,
When are going to write up a follow up article on this post... is it going to be anytime soon?
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