Desperadoes Under The Eaves by Warren Zevon while I sewed blanket stitches on the ankh applique for my denim crossbody bag. Do you listen to Warren Zevon? My hubs introduced his music to me when my kids were little babies. WZ is now dead. His music lives on. WZ writes lyrics like poetry. Like Desperadoes Under The Eaves.
See? I can relate to this song. Not so much I have alcohol issue. But I can understand addiction. I'm addicted to making bags. I'm addicted to listening to my favourite songs over and over and over again. And once in a while, I'm addicted to eating raisin bread.
I remember introducing this song to my son when he was little and he was really puzzled about the end bit when all you could hear was humming. The singer is humming the sound made by the air-conditioner, I told him. I see, he said. So we spent hours listening to WZ and his humming.
Kids. They grow up fast. My son turned 13 this week. I can no longer call him Boy. He's entering the MYOB phase. For 13 years I devoted my life to him... I guess this is life. One minute you're listening to a singer humming the sound made by the air-conditioner together with your boy.... Now I'm listening to his songs. I managed to like one a lot. It's called Number 1 by Tinchy Stryder. It's a rappish kind of song. If you don't have a teen at home, have never stepped into Topman/Topshop, don't work as a DJ, then you would not know this song. I must remember not to ruin this song for my son by playing it too often.
Happy birthday son.
13 bags made for June MAAD. I would really, really like to make another granny bag. Oh, it did rain. But it's the wrong kind of rain. It stayed just as hot after. I'm suddenly very envious of igloo inhabitants. Ta ta.