And Looking Up I Noticed I Was Late
Linda Ronstadt's version of Love Has No Pride is beautiful, yes, but harsh and sharp around the edges, whereas Bonnie Raitt's is softer, resigned, and infinitely sadder in a more mature way. Bonnie Raitt's rendition is on Dad's iPod, which doesn't surprise me.
About ten years ago, after Morgan moved out and I sank into luxurious, life-threatening despair, I dragged myself to the grocery store at 3 a.m., when I wouldn't have to explain why I looked like death warmed over because everyone in the store looked worse. At 3, you can hear the music. I happened to be staring into space in the canned vegetable aisle when I heard the first improbable strains of Love Has No Pride. My heart was broken, well beyond the balm of tears. I felt pulled to get closer to the song. Just as it ended, someone tapped me on the shoulder. My hands hurt but I didn't know why. A boy said, "Miss, would you like to get down from there?" as I realized I'd climbed the shelves and hung off the top in chin up position for a while.
I smiled and dropped from the shelf. Falling has never been a problem.