"Cats" is based on some poetry by T.S. Elliot and I first became aware of it long before it made its Broadway debut. I was attending a class in advertising copywriting at J. Walter Thompson. It was an in-house course, but open to others via NYU's school of continuing education. I had taken about half a dozen other courses there, and was usually the "star" student simply because I had more experience than most of the other students. But this was different. This was for advertising in the "real" world at what was then the world's largest ad agency. The competition was brutal.
Anyhow, the agency had a division for Broadway theater and one of our assignments was to create a theme for the incoming musical. One of the women in the class, who was a secretary at the agency, came up with "Cats: Now and Forever" and was offered a full-time gig. The slogan, of course, was the heart of the campaign of the longest-running musical in Broadway history.
But I digress. Perhaps deliberately. As I write this, I have just recovered from a crying jag. For those of you who don't know the plot, this is the night of the Jellicle moon. and as we are introduced to the cast, we are aware that one will be taken into the heavens to be reborn.
Perhaps the most pathetic creature is Gruzabella. Once the most glamorous of creatures, the life of the party if you will, she has met life head on and is now disheveled and ancient. All the other cats shy away from her. In the end, she is the one who is taken up. And we sort of suspected she would be the one all along. But prior to ascending, she is once again accepted by all the other cats. And you suddenly realize that they may well be her own children.
Each cat is given a song that reflects its personality. Gruzabella's song is called "Memory" and it was a monster hit when the show made its debut. And as I listened to the words, I thought of my mother, my marriage, my other relationships and myself. So here are the words, and some of my thoughts about them.
Daylight
See the dew on the sunflower
And a rose that is fading
Roses whither away
Like the sunflower
I yearn to turn my face to the dawn
I am waiting for the day . . .
The ex is named Rosemary. And she loved roses. When we were first married, she would tell me that she would prefer a single rose to a more expensive gift. But they eventually the roses would wilt and die. Towards the end, she didn't want me to give them to her any more because of that. And so, there was one less thing I could offer her, never understanding what she really wanted or needed and certainly not knowing if I was capable of giving it to her.
Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan
Memory
All alone in the moonlight
I can smile at the old days
I was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
My mother barely knew her father. He was killed in the trenches of France during the First World War. To make ends meet, she became a vaudeville performer named "Baby Peggy," The theater bug never left her. And she often spoke of them. When she drank too much, which was often, she would sometimes do her routines if she thought no one was looking. The smile on her face was one I will always carry with me. She was indeed beautiful then. And I suppose it was a time when she knew what happiness was. Her resemblance to Elaine Page, the actress who plays Gruzabella, is also haunting. In the meantime, the withered leaves collect at my feet where my campsite is. The wind has moaned and rain has attacked in force. There were tornados nearby several times this year and it is fearful when they come.
Every streetlamp
Seems to beat a fatalistic warning
Someone mutters
And the streetlamp gutters
And soon it will be morning
I hate this time of year. The days become shorter and the nights seem to last forever. I will rarely see daylight in the days to come as I will be working in a sealed factory when the sun is out. It depresses me and I seem to be the someone who mutters, mostly about being alone. It soon will be morning, but the morning can't seem to come soon enough. I feel incredibly lonely, knowing that much of it is because of the decisions I have made. And I regret so many of them.
Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I musn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin
It's a fight. Not only is it dark, but it is cold. It is a wonderful time to look at the stars here in the Kentucky hills. but it's lonesome. You can only pet the dog and be comforted so much. By now, I thought I would have someone to share this adventurous life with, or perhaps have settled down. There is a woman out there I would marry in a moment. But it isn't going to happen.
Burnt out ends of smoky days
The stale cold smell of morning
The streetlamp dies, another night is over
Another day is dawning
I feel old, and burnt out. I know my days are coming to an end. My street lamp is beginning to go out. I fight this by exercising and trying to fight off the cravings for food and keeping on a diet. But I have already done a lot of damage to myself. I am now capable of only fighting back and do no more harm to myself. If another day dawns, I am grateful. But still have to deal with it.
Touch me
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun
If you touch me
You'll understand what happiness is
These are the lyrics that bring me to tears. And I think mom, the ex, and myself all have this need to be touched. It was so easy to leave the insanity of both of them, Yet as I face the endless days of winter, I realize how much it might have mattered if I had reached out with every ounce of myself. I always held back, a lesson from the insanity I lived with, perhaps not realizing that my own insanity was far more destructive.
Look,
A new day has begun.
I certainly hope so.
