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[14 Mar 2006|12:47am] |
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 calm |
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music |
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Snuffled snoring... naptime... |
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Happy birthday, Adam. We had John hug a giraffe for you...
Promise quite the party when we're all home again.
D'you know are there any spare earplugs left from tour? Anyone?
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[18 Jan 2006|02:35pm] |
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mood |
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WET |
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music |
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chattering |
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"Baby?"
"Baby?"
"BABY?"
That was panic I was hearing, and there was something distinctly unpleasant at hearing it so early in the day, when in any normal household sounds would be limited to sweet nothings and occasional snores. This is not a normal household, and I heaved a soft prayer of thanks upwards that the kids were with my mam as I forced myself out of bed and into a robe to see what he'd found to cause such distress at three in the morning.
Maybe Bob had rescheduled another meeting or we were out of tea or......
"BABY?"
And there was no time left to contemplate it was I was around the corner, in the same room as him with my hand covering his mouth, whispering an, "I'm here," in his ear.
"Now what's the..."
Then I saw it.
A perfectly arched spray of water from under the sink, shooting clear to nearly the stove.
We'd just managed to get the ice-maker fixed.
He'd thrown down a couple of paper towels in despair before calling, the toolkit already out on the floor, a list of 'emergency numbers' strewn on the counter in case I didn't come to help him.
"What did you..."
"I wanted a glass of water and..."
I was already soaked, bending down to see if there was any tell-tale sign that would blare in bright neon letters what, exactly, had been done to the plumbing.
"And you decided to go to the source? Light, B... need a light..."
He fumbled for his lighter, somewhere in a dish on the table.
I could hear him.
"Not that light..."
The kitchen lamp blinked into existance, flooding the room with a soft glow, and it would all have been very pleasant and heartwarming if the house's supply of water wasn't being used to deep-clean the kitchen floor (and my robe) at a rate faster than I could count.
I grabbed hold of the wrench where he had it at the pipe, and gave it a good twist in the opposite direction.
The water stopped.
His eyes were wide when I turned to him, feeling even more drenched than I was.
"Baby?"
It was almost a whisper this time, and I could see him giving a cursory glance to the tea kettle, already deciding how to fill it and start a pot without coming within two feet of me.
"How do you feel about Copenhagen?"
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[13 Jan 2006|11:16pm] |
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mood |
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amused |
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music |
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Whatever B's got on the stereo... |
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You are adorable.
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| Home again... |
[24 Nov 2005|07:06pm] |
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mood |
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 okay |
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music |
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The Turkey Song |
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He's loud, even without the microphone, but with it, the noise can be deafening.
I used to turn my head, look away, pretend I didn't notice, but even that was a reaction. So now I just look ahead, and if we're close I'll smile, and if not I won't do anything all except listen. His forearms were on my shoulders, and he said he liked standing behind me, because it meant he didn't have to see quite everything, so long as I kept the tall boots on. And there it was, "I'll be home... Ali!"
We were nowhere close, so I just stared ahead, looking through that song, and the next. I wasn't alone this time. Norm got his fair share of hassle from the stage, Michael was made to listen to his own words, and I think Paul took a particular comment about the Spotted Pig to heart. A quick glance up and there was Larry, blowing a kiss and a smile to Ann, and Edge looking out over a sea of near-familiar faces, and Adam looking down, searching for one. I looked at the exit to backstage, I looked around the soundboard, and I knew everyone, and for once it was nearly all of our family together.
Arms slipped down my shoulders, down my arms, resting at my waist with a squeeze when I looked to the front again.
"Dear friend... We lost him... He was a laugh... a great laugh, wasn't he, The Edge? So we'd better not fuck this up..."
---
I remember hearing the melody for the first time, and then the first versions of the first words.
"What d'you think, Ali?"
"If he knew you were writing that for him, he'd call you a fucking sap, is what I think...
I wouldn't, mind, but..." And he knew it was true with my smile...
"He would."
"So we'd better row?"
And he went back to singing, drinking wine and yelling at someone who had long ceased to hear.
---
"A great laugh..."
And there were so many great laughs... A long summer that threatened to stretch clear past autumn, and him. The big girls, the little girls, and us. Nights of sleeping on the beach and then not sleeping at all.
I remember, years later when winter finally came. Worrying, and telling him, but it being too late for either of us to do a thing to stop wheels already turning.
Not that he didn't try to blame himself for anniversaries after.
That stopped though. It stopped with the new words. After those, we still drank wine and talked and remembered, but it was about something else, and it was remembering the laugh, and the sparkle, and days that didn't seem like they were ever going to fade.
---
I saw the smile take over his face, but we weren't close, so I couldn't do anything but stare ahead, and listen. I knew who he was seeing. We'd been toasting him at lunch, glasses clinking in one pair of hands while the others clutched each other tightly under the table. It aches, but it doesn't hurt as much anymore. He never would have wanted it to.
---
We all slipped away long before the last song was over, everyone scattering to their respective corners. Guggi had a night planned out with Edge, we were going back to the flat for the evening, Paul was going to see about possible fees incurred if Vertigo Air came back through New York within the week, Michael was with Patti, and they were both going to see another, still later show.
I settled in one of the Principle's offices, waiting...
It was much later than usual when I heard his voice, still singing to himself.
"I'll be home..."
And then with some degree of surprise, maybe thinking I'd already gone to the car to wait...
"Ali!"
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[07 Nov 2005|11:24am] |
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mood |
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mmhmm |
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music |
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Sparring match- Eli vs. John- footage at ten |
] |
Halloween and THE shirts hadn't made it from the printer's yet and he'd been prowling about during every spare moment he found, trying to sort just the right costume in the meantime- appropriate for any children that might walk by, as well as sexy, clever, and a fitting homage to the true spirt of the holiday. After the fifteenth make-up consultation with our favourite artist during which his hopes of being anything with the words 'dainty' or 'delicate' in the subtitle were blown to bits he settled on just one working guise... He would be a cat trainer. And so with a few carefully applied streaks of icing to his cheek (easier to find than fake blood and he cleans it off himself) and settling into a new hat and an old all-black ensemble, he was ready, but for one thing.
"I need a cat!"
A cat isn't exactly a difficult thing to find when you know the right (or oh-so-wrong, in the opinions of some) people and soon he had a little one, barely big enough to fill up his hands, and was ready for the party.
To his credit, he did wait until after the candles were blown out and all open flame had been extinguished before positioning himself directly behind the baby of the band, kitten peeking just over his arms.
I can't remember the last time I've seen him jump quite so high, though I'm fairly certain it involved another prank. I do remember looking over to see someone trying his best to hide laughter, and hearing another muttering that a mole would've been better.
I was pulled back into the thick of things soon enough, though...
"Ali, make him stop."
--
He hadn't stopped talking for a good two hours straight, and I'm not sure even he knew what he was on about anymore. Paul was at my elbow, his voice very quiet, but with a hint of concern I'm almost used to.
"Ali, make him him stop."
The tea with honey was almost ready.
--
Jordan had just spied a little one, not nearly old enough to be at a rock and roll show, and had wandered out for a brief consultation with the mother. She was on her way back.
"Mam, where d'we keep those," and her hands were on her head, trying to demonstrate the oversized headphones that had been stuck in some office during load-in earlier, "...for babies? The pink ones?"
Thirty seconds search found a spare pair and she was off again, carefully fitting them over the baby's ears, making sure they were secure.
I lost track of her after that, buried somewhere in the underworld of the show, probably trying to ignore the celebrity contingent waiting to meet her father. I'm not sure when Evie sidled up, but the show was well on its way, and I was lingering a little to watch and see if his eyes were lighting up the right way, because I can usually tell, even with the glasses. I'd turned away for something, and back only when I heard my name, but it wasn't coming from anyone near...
"Darling wife, Ali... love of my life, Al--"
"Mam!"
Eve again.
"Make him stop..."
I rolled my eyes at her and told her she was lucky he didn't or she wouldn't be around in the first place to complain...
--
He came off-stage and it took a while to get through the press of people... there were grins and insults back and forth between the 'backing band' and the true leader. And finally there was him, catching me by the wrist as we both slipped into the dressing room. He was wrapped around and drenched, nuzzling a kiss.
"B?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Don't you have a shower to take?"
"Y'want me to stop?"
"Never."
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[12 Oct 2005|10:53pm] |
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mood |
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amused |
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So is there something you two want to tell me? I must say it's a bit of a rude awakening finding out from your publicist.
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| Sometimes all you can say is... |
[20 Sep 2005|02:23am] |
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mood |
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okay |
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music |
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quiet before the storm |
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"Baby?"
"Yeah, love?"
"I ran into Eddie tonight."
"..."
"On stage."
"..."
"I was wearing the hat."
--
Dude.
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| Back tracking |
[17 Aug 2005|02:37pm] |
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mood |
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 not quite sure... |
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music |
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Songs. Loud. Very loud. |
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There's nothing like waking up in the morning to hear your carefully selected choice of CDs displaced by a host of songs from the Kaiser Chiefs, played randomly, often, and loud. It's the girls again, and for once they're agreeing on the radio, so I can't complain.
Just like when they wanted to go out and dance with the rest of the crowd in Lisbon, I couldn't find a reason to keep them back. There are so many parts of our lives that necessitate pulling away a little, taking extra precautions. They understand, and it's been a while since there's been any real resistance. Real meaning for the most part the heavy artillery has been replaced with the paintball guns their father loves. They sting, might leave a mark, but for the most part they're harmless, unless you aim for the eyes.
But none of that has anything to do with the show. Jordan had been wanting to see them earlier- had wanted to go to the festivals they were playing at home, to the concerts there, but between schedules and my unwillingness to let my 16 year old child on her own in a crowd of sixty thousand of her drunken comrades with no supervision, it had to be put off... Here though, she had her mates, and the band she wanted to see, and there was security and,
"Mam, can we go to the front tonight?"
And there was no real reason to say no.
"Sure... but don't harass the locals, right?"
She rolled her eyes. She gets it from me.
I wondered if he could feel it and I went to look for him in the maze that is backstage at a rock show. He was sitting, just sitting in his dressing room. He was there too, pointedly ignoring him, seemingly absorbed in his own notes, but every so often his hand would snake out and squeeze a knee, a calf, a hand before returning back to Maurice's neatly written suggestions, no doubt detailing exactly where he'd have to fly to get to L.A. properly, and when he'd have to be there.
I leaned down to brush a kiss to the rock star's temple, wrapping around him from behind...
"Have you seen your baby girl?"
There was the start of a grin that returned loved lines back to their well earned places, crinkling skin at the corner of eyes that had just started to light up again.
"Has she taken over the stage yet?"
And reaching for someone else's hand we went to steal a glance through the cameras, watching for as long as we could before it was time to get back to the reality of unreality.
Every last night is different. Some I'm there for, and some I'm not... some are joyous celebrations, triumphs, and some never move past the realisation that it's the last night.
But for half a second, before Edge arrived to truly steer him off, as he was stealing good luck kisses from anyone who would oblige, I saw the excitement in his eyes, and I thought maybe the next three weeks would be something completely different after all.
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[15 Aug 2005|10:18pm] |
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mood |
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amused |
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I was going to try to say something touching, and relevant, but I think we must settle one point first:
Contrary to someone's protests I most clearly said, the red one and by the time I'd gotten out of bed to check on him he was running late enough to cause all of us to break a bit of a sweat.
And you should really look at the stress marks on your jeans, Edge.
Adam, you looked lovely.
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| Prolonging the misery... |
[09 Aug 2005|04:44pm] |
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mood |
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 celebratory (still) |
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(Or pleasure)
Happy birthday, the Edge... good to see you've almost caught up with the rest of us.
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| Thinking out loud, travel plans on no sleep... |
[04 Aug 2005|06:42pm] |
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mood |
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a little tired, but good |
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music |
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Whatever his ring tone's supposed to be... |
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I was sitting at the desk in our room last night, working on papers while he scuttled off for some reviving Perrier and strawberries, courtesy of the bassist. They were the stacks he lets accumulate around him, like some mystical force sucking in paper and suspiciously sharp envelopes. All the things that the Principles couldn't take care of, and that it wouldn't do to have an aid sort out.
There were the notes he'd insisted be taken at the show, along with illustrative sketches and a reminder to get a full physical, because really, even for him there've been a lot of near-falls.
There were the papers we both have to look at, and soon, before time gets away from us again.
There were the faxes from home. Jo's running it nearly like a business now, with daily progress reports and updates on the status of various grocery supplies in my absence (and Gavin's presence.) There were printed out emails from Evie, who's jumped with both feet into the world of her New Computer. More importantly there were printed out pictures of everyone packing, getting ready for a last summer holiday. This was the only stack that looked like it'd been touched, and there were crumbs glancing over most of the pages, and the stain of spilled tea, all signs of being well-loved in Bono's world.
I had an early morning flight back to Dublin, but really, with so much to sort out, what's one missed flight? Especially when compared with the chance of being dropped off for holiday by The Greatest Show on Earth (or at least the greatest show that doesn't involve (many) elephants)?
A quick call to Ciara and she was already nodding agreement before I'd a chance to explain. Everyone was ready anyway, and it didn't really matter if I was there to herd them on the plane or not.
The only one I couldn't get a hold of was you, so I got to thinking a little more, spurred on by his wandering back into the bedroom, with more than a little whinge threatening...
He mentioned your mam coming to France for just a little... but of course there was the very valid issue of you cramping her style. D'you think she might be game at all to coming a little with the girls and little boys and myself before you all descend upon Eze? Might even give you a chance to write another volume of War and Peace for him before this leg ends.
Something to think about, anyway. Let me know?
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[01 Aug 2005|05:15pm] |
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mood |
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and a bit of a sore head |
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music |
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laughter from the other room |
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Would almost think you all were rock stars with a party like that.
Need tea.
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[16 May 2005|03:55pm] |
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mood |
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okay |
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( Part one. )
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[12 Mar 2005|01:22am] |
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mood |
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happy |
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The best part about the leaving is always the coming together again.
That, and having a clean house for a few days.
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[24 Jan 2005|03:34am] |
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mood |
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pleased |
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music |
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He wants to know why he isn't splendid |
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I'm splendid.
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[02 Jan 2005|05:20am] |
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mood |
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No. |
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music |
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Nononononononononono. |
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No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
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[09 Dec 2004|10:56pm] |
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mood |
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 infuriated |
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music |
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I think that's me yelling |
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And they speak of corruption in Africa.
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[30 Nov 2004|12:31am] |
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mood |
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*stare* |
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music |
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Singin' in the Rain... personal (and live) performance |
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Bono?
Should I be worried that the Edun jeans you were going to give a go at modeling fit me just fine?
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[23 Nov 2004|08:36pm] |
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mood |
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all good things tonight |
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music |
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silence |
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New York's winter has set in, and it was cold as I walked down the park to pick up some of those boiled peanuts you love so well. Now, I'm not trying to imply that I might have finally managed to push you over the edge as far as the need for sleep goes because it might've just been the rum eggnog. In any case, you were still well tucked up and snoring when I thought to bring you breakfast in bed. And they say romance is dead.
It was a tour of our corner of the city, a vendor there for snack foods, your cafe there for coffee. Everything was carefully packed together, brown paper and white napkins fluttering as it settled into one of our shopping bags, a pint of the eggnog from the most expensive 7-11 on the planet gracing my handbag. I was getting your papers when I heard you behind me. Rush hour traffic and New York City and suddenly a taxi beside me and I heard your voice.
To be fair, it was the same voice I heard all summer long for hours on end on the summer house stero, the same voice that never left the car's sound system. The same voice echoing off the walls of our shower and the same voice that hummed on a night out at Lillie's. I'd heard this voice before, but I don't know how much I'd paid attention to it while it sat heavy with its label of, "It's not done yet, Ali, but what do you think?"
This time there was no disclaimer.
The man in the Mercedes gave a quick acknowleging grin to the cabbie beside him as they sat in traffic, before turning the volume up in his own space, rolling down the window just enough to let melodies escape. It was your voice again.
So I walked back to ours, because really, nothing's worse than cold nuts when it comes down to it. And as I went, I was followed by the lingering sound of your song to a city, and a city that was singing back to you.
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