Wherever the Road Leads

Life Is But A Tapestry

Oh, Carole… Oh, Mariella

I didn’t know a whole lot about Carole King, the songwriter/singer/composer. In 1971, I had my heart broken by a little Italian girl… thank you Lorne Progosh for this expression… who shall remain nameless except to mention that her initials are Mariella Bertelli. Over the years I have had time to reflect upon the situation and am now of the Jimmy Buffet School of Thought… “…it’s nobody’s fault…” begets “…it could be my fault…” begets “…it’s my own damn fault”. Can I get an ‘amen’?

At that time, the Carole King song, “It’s Too Late” seemed to be calling out to me, so I rushed out to buy the album, ‘Tapestry’, like an eventual 25 million others. I was never much for balladeers – with the exception, later, of Billy Joel’s 1977 ‘The Stranger’ album – so never paid much attention to the life or career of Ms. King.

I’m struggling with television. Even with free cable, it’s barely worth it. I keep thinking about the $25 “Ecology Fee” that some Canadian government wrestled from me when I purchased this set. Then I’ve got to wear out the mute button during the commercials, in Savannah, mostly ambulance-chasing and mesothelioma victim-seeking lawyers.

The bright light, however, is PBS. To avoid watching a commercial or rolling my eyes at the fore-mentioned doofi on The Big Bang Theory, I have learned more about Medieval England or Colonial America than I ever thought would interest me. Recently, “American Masters” featured the life of Carole King. Meh, or so I thought, better than a slew of 1-800-Bad-Drug (honestly) commercials.

I was astounded. Did you know that she wrote this…

 

or this…

The Monkees???

Her babysitter… Little Eva…

Part of the British Invasion was a Carole King composition…

Some country…

Fifty-four years later, still this one wrenches out my heart…

Getting back to the seventies and Mariella… with great hope, I bought two tickets to see Sly and the Family Stone at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. Mariella said, ‘no’. I returned the tickets, bought “Tapestry” and started saving for a nest-egg and a one-way ticket to Europe.

The last time I remember seeing the Tapestry album cover was when a woman was listening to the tape on her portable cassette player on a train.

In Scotland.

My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue
An everlasting vision of the ever changing view…

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