LETTERS FROM HOME: LIONS AND BLUE MOONS AND SAYING GOODBYES

August 25, 1994

Dear Pat,

We took Inga and Christian, our friends' 3- and 2-year olds, to see "The Lion King." Wonder how much of it they got. Afterward, Inga told her parents about the big fire and Christian made roaring noises. On the way home, DC wondered aloud about when children begin to comprehend sorrow. About the same time they begin to feel love, I suggested.

The kids' parents, Karin and John, have been our closest friends here in Garberville. John loaned me the computer this was written on and has indulged me in a few rounds of golf, even though he professes dislike for the sport. He is a smart and witty high school science teacher, a snow skier and wave rider, a stand-up guy who's trying to write a Western novel.

Karin is the head dentist at DC's clinic, a pianist and sailor who's concerned that the local students don't have the competitive attitude she'd like to inspire in her own children. Karin and John's marriage is a friendly competition of sorts. Seems to work for them.

Karin and John hosted a dinner party last spring to celebrate the equinox. Guests were asked to prepare something demonstrating their creativity. One woman recited an uproarious Raold Dahl poem, her spouse his own short Thurberesque rhymes. John read from his unfinished novel, and Karin took on Rachmaninov. Another couple played a country blues duet. She blew the blues harp.

DC and I sang a duet too, a languid version of "Blue Moon." Cowboy Junkies meet ShaNaNa. "Blue Moon/you saw me standing alone/without a dream in my heart/without a love of my own... Blue Moon/now I'm no longer alone/without a dream in my heart/without a love of my own." Seemed appropriate.

Did you know that song was written by Rodgers and Hart? Went by the name "Prayer" in 1933 and was supposed to have been sung by Jean Harlow in a movie that was never made. The next year Hart wrote new lyrics and titled it "The Bad in Every Man" for "Manhattan Melodrama," a movie I'll bet you somehow missed. With nothing better to do, apparently, Hart wrote a third set of lyrics that gave birth to the title "Blue Moon." Bill Eckstine recognized its hit potential in 1948 and sold a million records, and the Marcels do-wopped it up in 1961 to sell two million. But do I digress, thanks to the "Reader's Digest Treasury of Best Loved Songs."

This weekend, DC and I are hosting the same group of people for another round of performances. She plans to serve our guests a baked salmon under stars and Japanese lanterns. My primary job is to keep frappeing margaritas and changing the music. Can do.

DC and I don't have a competitive marriage. We'll play another duet. Leaning toward "I Wish You Love." This is actually a break-up song. "My breaking heart and I agree/that you and I could never be/so with my best my very best/I set you free."

DC and I aren't breaking up, but soon we must leave behind the people who have made up the cast in our brief Garberville play. They embraced us even as we told them we probably would be leaving.

Christian and Inga might understand leaving, but not the possibilities in the word forever.

Last week, a woman named Fox -- just Fox-- had most of the town over for her 40th birthday party. Most everyone brought their children and everyone danced together. The circle of life, right there in one big room. I put Christian on my shoulders and we danced to Motown. When he tired, I held him against my chest and his tiny arms circled my neck. We stayed that way a long time. I guess John must have recognized something in my eyes. "Feels pretty good, doesn't it?" he said.

Sorrow to follow.

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell, a member of the Southeast Missourian news staff, is on a leave of absence in Garberville, Calif.