Neil Diamond

For 51 Years, I Thought Neil Diamond Was a Serial Killer

This morning, for no reason, Neil Diamond’s “Play Me” was running through my head.

So I played it.

Then I played it again.

And again.

I’ve loved this song since I was about twelve years old. I’m 63 now, which means I’ve been listening to it for roughly 51 years. I’m also an English teacher, a fact that makes what I’m about to admit considerably more embarrassing.

For 51 years, I completely misunderstood the beginning of this song.

In the little movie that has been playing unquestioned in my head since approximately 1975, someone has discovered her dead body beside his bed, and he just rolls over and says: Come take me.

Off to jail he goes.

What’s remarkable is that I never questioned this. I continued listening to what is obviously a beautiful, deeply romantic love song without ever wondering why Neil Diamond had chosen to begin it with a homicide.

This morning, after listening to the song over and over, I finally heard it.

Oh.

It’s “one morning I found her lying beside my bed,” and then he softly says, “come take me.”

Take me.

Not take me into custody.

Take me with you. Take me into your life. Lead me somewhere new.

Suddenly the rest of the song opened up too. The woman has changed the direction of his life. He has chosen another road, one he describes as “thorned and narrow.” And the refrain I have always loved— “come play me”, this idea of one person being the song and the other asking to be played—becomes an act of surrender.

It’s beautiful. It’s also a bit corny. Maybe that’s why I was fine with the murder.

And it only took an English teacher 51 years to figure it out.

I think there’s something wonderful about discovering that a piece of art you have known for most of your life can still surprise you. We hear words through whatever story we first attach to them, and sometimes that story becomes so familiar that we stop hearing the actual words at all.

Then, one morning, we listen again.

I’m writing Neil Diamond a letter.

I feel he deserves to know that for most of my life I have loved his beautiful song while simultaneously believing that it begins with a corpse and a confession.

I’m happy to finally have it straight.

And I think I love the song even more now that I have realized nobody died.

Literally, anyway.

What about you? Is there anything in your life that you have misunderstood until recently?

CLR 2026

These are some very early rocks of mine. Neil Diamond and some women. I wondered, which one did he murder and how did he get away with it? Not really. But these are from 2019 ish. That’s true!

History of Love

THE HISTORY OF LOVE

Cheryl Lynn Ray

 2026

For Andrew and Kevin

These poems were written between 1990 and 2013. Together they tell the story of how my understanding of love changed over time. The unchanging and overwhelming love I have for my sons is a different story.

Contents

Creating (1990)

The History of Love (1993)

The Dancers (2001)

A Thought (2001)

I Live (2001)

A Happy Place (2001)

Those Words (2004)

Pink Slip (2008)

Where Does It Go? (2009)

Finally (2013)

---------(1990)

Creating

(why it never stops)

Settling in, Settling on,

Settling over and around.

Settling up, settling for,

But never settling down.

1990 C. M.

The History of Love

Once upon a time,

before I came to believe

love was a calculated risk,

I would have lost my life

for passion.

My heart, once broken,

now sits silently

inside a cavity of steel,

untouchable.

Calculations replaced

dreams of someone

like George Bailey

who would lasso the moon

just for me.

C. Morgan 1993

The Dancers

(For grandmother and grandaddy)

The music has softened now,

its melody gray

as a January day.

Together they move

through steps learned

over a lifetime,

their dance shaped

by lean years

and faithful hearts.

Death is taking numbers.

Soon,

it will call theirs.

The temptation is to fear,

to grieve,

to beg the music

to play forever.

Yet their final dance

has the same quiet beauty

as a waddling pregnant woman—

both carrying

what cannot be hurried,

one toward birth,

the other toward home.

Lucky them.

No squalling hunger.

No hard years

spent eking out a living.

Only the grace

of a life

completely danced.

CM 2001

This is a mouse pad I had printed with a rock I painted with a likeness of Jesus, next to part of a poem I wrote once upon a time.

A Thought

I think that God
is simply love,
alive in you and me.
Turn away,
and emptiness
is all that's left to see.

I serve love.
It is my work.
I choose it
every day.
Its presence
guides my every step
along a very
human way.

CM 2001

I Live

In between men

I live

in the silence

between

Good riddance!

and

Hello there!

I can breathe and think and live,

in between men.

CM 2001

A Happy Place

(for a friend mad at love)

I have worked
for these sunrises—

glorious,
joy-filled—

outside my grubby city window.

I have stumbled
like a drunkard
through the streets,

screaming at the gods,

until I realized

I was screaming
at myself.

I have bled from my pores
for this peace of mind.

Then I found

my happy place.

That,

I cannot give you.

You will hurt
in places
you never knew existed.

You may blame
the world

until at last

you are left

with the only one
who can change it.

Then,

you will make

your happy place.

And when you find it,

I just might

be there too.

CM 2001

Those Words

Those words are leaping around

inside my mouth,

dancing a jig upon my tongue,

straining

to squeeze past my teeth,

but waiting

behind

my bashful lips.

CLR 2004

Pink Slip

(for Raymond)

I have loved you

for ten thousand years,

with your blessing,

and at your feet.

Though all wisdom and reason said no,

I lay chained,

a loyal servant,

at your feet.

Lessons learned,

I stood

and walked away,

yet hotly tossed them aside

at your familiar touch,

your voice,

your smile,

and at your feet.

One true feeling

bound me fully,

blighted by the devil's laughter—

a haunting blues melody

inside my heart.

I have loved you

more than any

who dared to enter

all four chambers

of my heart.

Rugged Love,

take your pink slip.

Our work

in this lifetime

is done.

You will always remain

inside my heart,

haunting

as a warning,

so that

in the next life,

I will see you coming

and turn away,

never again

to lay

at your feet.

CLR  2008

Where Does It Go?

(For the family)

Hers for her sister.
His for his son.
Where does this love go
when it comes undone?

He for his mother.
She for her man.
Can anger consume
what love first began?

Where does it go?
it’s gone with the sun.
When love disappears,
does it live on?

Have we mistaken
what love can do?
Or does love remain
when all else is through?

CLR • 2009

Finally

I know you. You have been

a seed, unfolding inside me.

You have been a whisper

in my ear, for decades.

I recognize your voice

from forever,

and revel

in the cadence

which in itself

tells me that you

are me.

CLR 2013

---------

I am you

And you are me

And we are

Us

And

Them.

C.M. 1990

---------

Letter to the editor: Noticing What Is Good

To the Editor,

In a world where we are constantly reminded of what is wrong, I think it's time to take a moment to recognize what is right. Let's turn our attention toward a breath of fresh air right here in Ellensburg.

Most of us who have rented have experienced the frustration of a bad landlord. It can make everyday life stressful and turn what should be a home into a source of anxiety. That is why I think it is important to recognize the people who do it well.

As a longtime community member and builder here, Tyler Glahn has quietly earned the respect and gratitude of many people in Ellensburg. In a time when housing is expensive and our town is growing, he builds with quality rather than cutting corners. What he builds is built to last, and that pride in craftsmanship is something tenants notice. My brother recently purchased one of his homes, so I've had the chance to see firsthand that the same care goes into the homes he builds as his apartments.

What has impressed me even more is that this is not just Tyler’s work—it is a family effort. His wife, Katie, and his sons, Ben and Landon, work alongside him. His sons have grown up around this work, and it is clear they are learning the same values of hard work, pride, and commitment to others.

I also want to recognize Chris, who is such an important part of the team. He is involved not only in caring for the properties but also in the building process itself. He works incredibly hard, takes on so much, and somehow still has time to make people laugh. He has a great sense of humor and a way of putting tenants at ease. And if you know Chris, you know he has a soft spot for every cat he meets. Those little things make tenants here feel cared for.

And don't forget Morgan, who helps keep everything moving behind the scenes.

I hope we, as a community, treasure everyone who helps provide quality housing in our community. We need more people who care about the quality of what they build as well as the tenants who live there. I'm not saying he's perfect by any means, but I believe we need to notice what is good and appreciate it.

Sincerely,

C. Ray 2026

This picture surprised me—rocks and a box I painted over the years for their family. Katie Glahn sent it in a text message saying “ We have our morning coffee with our favorite pieces of art every morning.” That felt wonderful.

Writing From the Center of Washington

In 2020, my oldest brother, Richard, gave me a copy of My Ears Are Bent by Joseph Mitchell. Richard has always loved New York City (he’s lived there for about 40 years), and I think his fascination with the city drew him to Mitchell’s writing. Knowing my own attachment to Ellensburg, he thought I might find inspiration in Mitchell’s work and capture our hometown in a similar spirit. Reading Mitchell helped me imagine how to approach the people and stories of Ellensburg with curiosity and care. I was born here, and somehow the town and writing have always found their way into my life, in ways big and small.

That connection showed up early. In 1981, when I was a senior at Bethel High School in Spanaway, I attended a day‑long conference for high school students at Central Washington University in Ellensburg. I went with the Newspaper class, where I served as sports editor of Brave Talk. I chose a feature‑writing workshop, and at the end we had a human‑interest writing competition. I barely remember the story, but I remember winning second place, which felt like first. My strategy, I remember. I looked at the man standing at the front of the room, reading something. I really LOOKED at him. That feeling is the same one that pulls me toward writing about Ellensburg today. Even then, before I thought seriously about writing, Ellensburg was asserting itself.

I didn’t realize how strong that connection was until I was forced to leave. The summer after a wildly alive ninth grade that felt full of life’s possibilities, I was dragged, kicking and screaming, from Ellensburg to Roy. Still, I kept finding my way back, one way or another. I was basically orbiting Ellensburg without fully landing until 2016, when Kathryn Schultz published her widely read article “The Really Big One,” about the Cascadia earthquake. Her reporting finally gave me the excuse I had been waiting for to return permanently. I had wanted to move back for years but never had a compelling enough reason. That article was it. Thank you, Kathryn Schultz, for scaring the crap out of me.

Now I find myself drawn to writing about Ellensburg with the same curiosity and attention Mitchell brought to New York City. I want to capture its people, its rhythms, and its character, not as an outsider looking in, but as someone who has lived here, left, returned, and observed it from multiple angles. I hope to do so boldly and with care, following patterns of truth, humor, and human insight, even as I continue to enjoy playful memoirs like A Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes, which reminds me to take risks and embrace boldness in my own voice.