Car Wheels on a Gravel Road

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/jxpPL_aY190

Sittin' in the kitchen, a house in Macon
Loretta's singing on the radio
Smell of coffee, eggs, and bacon
Car wheels on a gravel road

Can't find a damn thing in this place
Nothing's where I left it before
Set of keys and a dusty suitcase
Car wheels on a gravel road

There goes the screen door slamming shut
You better do what you're told
When I get back, this room better be picked up
Car wheels on a gravel road

~  Lucinda Williams

Lucinda's breakthrough 1998 album, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, took five years to make, partially due to her perfectionism and some conflicts with the people helping her record it, including Steve Earle. But the result was worth the wait, and I'm not the only one who thinks so. It won the Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Album as well as other important accolades.

Lucinda, daughter of poet Miller Williams (who read his poem "Of History and Hope" at Bill Clinton's inauguration), traveled often throughout the South when she was a child. Certainly that experience peppered her songwriting, as there are many references to locations in the South. Although "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road" (the song) does not reference a particular location, the sights and sounds of a road trip are prominent. In fact, pay attention to all the sounds in the complete lyrics of the song. The screen door slamming, the tinny radio voices, the bacon sizzling, the parental threats, and of course, the car wheels on gravel all help to create a mood that allows us to enter the scene and experience it up close. The song is a feast for the senses, full of sound and smell and color. I find it so easy to place myself as a small child in the back seat of that old Buick and watch the telephone poles fly by. For me, the lyrics capture an innocence and a promise that I left behind long ago. I like being able to revisit that place.

The mood of the song is as slow and laid-back as Lucinda herself. Although it may take a few songs to become accustomed to Lucinda's twang, once there, you can fully appreciate an artist whose writing has the power to evoke nostalgia, heartache, and simple joy.

Child in the backseat about four or five years old
Lookin' out the window
Little bit of dirt mixed with tears
Car wheels on a gravel road

Hundreds of Ways

Listen while you read:  http://dai.ly/x22egpm

What a thing to be a witness to the sunshine
What a dream to just be walking on the ground
What a time to live among the ashen remnants of our love
That came before, and I'm still looking for that now

It took centuries to build these twisted cities
It took seconds to reduce them down to dust
And all the tour guide could say was, "Take your pictures, folks, it's late
And try your best, please, to remember what was done."

Don't look so forlorn
Don't you look so scared
Don't get so upset
This world was never fair

But there are hundreds of ways
To get through the days
There are hundreds of ways
Now you just find one

~  Conor Oberst

Conor Oberst (former lead singer of the band Bright Eyes) released Upside Down Mountain in 2014. The video linked above was from a performance of "Hundreds of Ways" on Letterman on July 28, 2014. The very next night, I was present at his Central Park SummerStage concert. I chose this video because it features Dawes as his back-up band, and I do love Dawes! While the studio version of the song features the Swedish duo First Aid Kit doing back-up vocals, the Letterman show adds Larkin Poe to the mix. It's all good.

From a review in American Songwriter, "Hundreds of Ways" is "a song about finding slivers of hope in a world that promises despair." I suspect that many of us are searching for those slivers these days. Read that second verse again, and think about the many metaphorical connections you can make. I think of the terrorist-fueled destruction of sacred temples and statues in faraway places. I think about what may happen to our National Parks if regulations, funding, and other protections are stripped away. I think about the years of love, effort, and energy put into childrearing, only to have that young soldier perish in a senseless war. I think about the ever-present possibility of nuclear war.

But one could also think about the end of a relationship, the failure of love to survive. But as Oberst reminds us, This world was never fair. Some of us know that better than others. The others will find out sooner or later.

There's an odd line later in the song. Maybe no one really seems to be the person that they mean to be. I hope I am forgotten when I die. Oberst's explanation for that line, from a Billboard review, is compelling, and worth your time to consider. "I think a lot of times there's the sense that we have of ourselves, and then there's the perception of people we interact with in the world, and those two things are not congruent. It's a bit of a snarky line, but it's essentially saying that once I'm out of the picture, I hope no one talks about me, because it won't be me they're talking about -- it'll be their perception."

But the real takeaway in this song is the message inherent in the title. There are hundreds of ways / to get through the days. I am reminded of my favorite Rumi quote: "There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground." And as Oberst encourages us, just find one. The sun is out, the sky is blue, my friends are waiting, and we are off to "get through the day" . . . on the beach. My prayer is that you, too, find a way.

Beautiful Now

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/77Wy-i2vNhA

Saw a picture of you today taken years before I found you
Your face was like a cloudless sky; sparks of angels flew around you
Your hair tumbled long like waves, went crashing on your brow
You were beautiful then, but you're way more beautiful now

From sleep I fall to waking. As I awake, I find a distant wave
Still breaking on the west coast of my mind
Time casts its great illusion, such glimpses we're allowed
You were beautiful then, but you're way more beautiful now

~  James Maddock

I am a big fan of James Maddock and have seen him in small concert venues a couple of times. As a lyricist, I think he is hit-or-miss, but when he hits, it's gorgeous. I think this song hits on a level that may appeal to some more than others. It certainly appeals to me.

I am now "of a certain age" and I am very much aware of it. In a conversation with a good friend today, I mentioned that, since I cannot see my face, in my head it still looks like it did 30+ years ago. She agreed with me that she feels the same way! Sometimes, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and think, "Who the hell is that?"Age sneaks up on us.

We exist in a culture that glorifies youth. That has been true my entire life. I didn't mind it so much when I was young, and keep in mind that I was part of the generation that believed that life beyond 30 was unacceptable. We all planned to end it before we got there. And then we got there. And guess what? Some of us are still here. So what do we do with our crepey skin and sagging jowls and wrinkled faces? We avoid mirrors.

Enter James Maddock's 2011 release Wake Up and Dream. The song "Beautiful Now" is brave in its dismissal of the premise that youth is beauty and instead, celebrates the beauty of aging. You were beautiful then, but you're way more beautiful now. Who would not want to hear that from a significant other? But I do not believe it is just a line. I think that it is possible to rid ourselves of the contemporary wisdom that beauty belongs to the young and to make a purposeful decision to find beauty in something other than youthful perfection. As a child, I remember studying the prominent veins in my mother's hands and finding beauty in them. I looked forward to my own hands displaying such beauty. And now, here I am, typing away with hands whose prominent veins remind me of that childhood innocence. Are they beautiful to anyone but me? Does it matter?

Time casts its great illusion. Yes, it does. An illusion is "a false idea or belief." Find beauty where you can. It has no age.

What a Wonderful World

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/F-3ox-6WhBA

I see trees of green, red roses, too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself, "What a wonderful world"

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, "What a wonderful world"

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of the people going by
They're really saying "I love you"

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll never know
And I think to myself, "What a wonderful world"

~  George David Weiss, Robert Thiele

If you were expecting to listen to Louis Armstrong, you will have to google it yourself. Although Armstrong's 1968 release is more well-known, I chose to include Joey Ramone's version of the song from his 2002 album, Don't Worry About Me, released almost a year after his death from lymphoma and one month shy of his 50th birthday. Ramone had seven years between diagnosis and death, time to be reflective and accepting of his fate. I think there's a certain beauty in his choice of this song to include on the album, knowing it would be his last.

And it is a wonderful world, isn't it? Well, it is if you put other things aside. Like war and poverty and politics and crime, stuff like that. For me, when I focus on the natural world, I am transported from my stress and worries of the political world. I would like to say that there is nothing political about the trees and roses and skies and clouds and rainbows, as mentioned in the song, but we do know that these beautiful gifts are threatened if we, as stewards of the Earth, do not take care of them. So that's political. I wonder if Joey Ramone was thinking of that?

I doubt it. My guess is that he was soaking in all the beauty he could before leaving this plane. And there's the lesson in this song. See the world. Observe its beauty. Take a walk. Be still. Be in awe. Unless you know something better to do? I don't.

This week will be full of sun and blue skies and girlfriends and beaches. What a wonderful world!

You've Got a Friend

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/UlDI4g5ab1g

When you're down and troubled and you need some loving care
And nothing -- whoa, nothing -- is going right
Close your eyes and think of me and soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest nights

You just call out my name and you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again
Winter, spring, summer or fall, all you have to do is call
And I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah, you've got a friend

~  Carole King

Hey, I have company coming, and so I need to lighten up! I know that my last few posts have been kind of heavy, and so be it. But I am picking up girlfriends at the airport this afternoon, so I am ready to have some fun! Because, you know, that's all girls want to do. Well, at least for five days.

If there's a better song to celebrate friendship, I'm not sure what it is. This pick was a no-brainer. Carole King wrote this in 1971, and although she released it on her killer album Tapestry, it was her friend James Taylor who got the mega-hit off it on Mud Slime Slim and the Blue Horizon. It has been fun to witness the two of them duet it in the last several years. The linked video is Carole, but you can google to find other videos if you want.

Kathy and Bonnie are the kind of girlfriends that allow you to feel so comfortable. We share history, we share common ground, we share compassion. We have daughters who grew up together and still maintain that friendship. They may not be as connected as they were when they were children, but the friendship that Kathy and Bonnie and I share as a result of our daughters' connection has only gotten stronger. Bonnie and I, unfortunately, share another commonality. We are both widows. That's a club of which nobody wants to be a member, but Bonnie and I have been able to commiserate together about this change in life plans. And Kathy has had her share of heartache, just like all of us.

But, hey! That's not what this week will be about!  Our plan is to beach it for at least three days. Trivia at a local brewery should be a lot of fun. Beer, wine, seafood, music, stories, laughter, tears . . . yep, we'll make the most of this brief visit, and it will sustain us until the next get-together.

Hey, ain't it good to know you've got a friend?
People can be so cold.
They'll hurt you and desert you
Well, they'll take your soul if you let them
Oh, yeah, but don't you let them

Nope. Ain't nobody taking my soul. I will be surrounded by love and friendship this week.

Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?

Talking Backwards

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/MgsdblVq8wo

And I might as well be talking backwards
Am I making any sense to you?
And the only thing that really matters
Is the one thing I can't seem to do

When that night was over
And the field was lit up bright
And I walked home with you
Nothing I said came out right

~  Martin Courtney (Real Estate)

The band Real Estate is originally from my neck of the woods in northern New Jersey. Ridgewood, to be exact, although they now call Brooklyn home. I like their sound. Kind of poppy, but not annoyingly so. I don't really have that much to say about the band or about this song, other than I like  them and it, and the idea of "talking backwards" got me thinking.

My daily newsfeed informed me that the AP is now allowing journalists to use the plural pronoun "they" in "limited cases" when a singular pronoun would be grammatically correct. (Okay, grammar nerds, are you still with me? As for the rest of you, come back! I'm going somewhere with this.) In other words, take this sentence: "A person should never swipe a credit card at a gas pump unless they want to risk getting hacked." Apparently, the AP would now condone this abuse of correct grammar. Clearly, "a person" is singular; "they" is plural. I suppose allowing the use of the plural is a way to avoid the clumsiness of saying "he or she," but I'll take clumsiness over improper grammar any day. And to mercilessly belabor the point, there's always a way around the conundrum. "People should never swipe their credit cards at the gas pump unless they want to risk getting hacked." To me, this kind of rewording would address the sticky issue of gender identity, as it avoids gender-specific words like "he" or "she." Okay, class dismissed.

So my distress took me right to George Orwell's Politics and the English Language. Written in 1946, as with many things Orwellian, the essay speaks to the politics of today. He begins with this: "Our civilization is decadent and our language - so the argument runs - must inevitably share in the general collapse." Bigly. It's a disaster. It's going to implode before it explodes. It's unpresidented. Trust me.

But, George, what's so bad about decadence? Long silk ties, penthouse suites, gold-plated everything . . . won't this opulence / decadence trickle down and make America great again? Not really. We're not talking about a double-fudge brownie chocolate decadence dessert here. Decadence refers to "a perceived decay in standards, morals, dignity, religious faith, or skill at governing among the members of the elite of a very large social structure, such as a nation state." Anything sounding applicable here? If you don't recognize it, you're not paying attention.

Back to the collapse of language. "Political language . . . is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind," posits Orwell. Could Orwell have been predicting the eventuality of alternative facts? Was he on to the deception implied in the use of air quotes or worse yet, scare quotes? Am I making any sense to you?

"But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought. A bad usage can spread by tradition and imitation even among people who should and do know better." Braggadocious? Bigly? Yuge? Fake news? Death spiral? Bad hombres? Take heart, though. Orwell offers hope. "The decadence of our language is probably curable."

Bring on the medicine.

Keep Me in Your Heart

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/RMTKb-pgxGI

Shadows are falling and I'm running out of breath
Keep me in your heart for awhile
If I leave you, it doesn't mean I love you any less
Keep me in your heart for awhile

When you get up in the morning and you see that crazy sun
Keep me in your heart for awhile
There's a train leaving nightly called when all is said and done
Keep me in your heart for awhile

Sha-la-la-la-la-la-la-li-li-lo
Keep me in your heart for awhile

Sometimes when you're doing simple things around the house
Maybe you'll think of me and smile
You know I'm tied to you like the buttons on your blouse
Keep me in your heart for awhile

Hold me in your thoughts, take me to your dreams
Touch me as I fall into view
When the winter comes, keep the fires lit
And I will be right next to you

Engine driver's headed north on Pleasant Stream
Keep me in your heart for awhile
These wheels keep turning but they're running out of steam
Keep me in your heart for awhile

Keep me in your heart for awhile

~  Warren Zevon and Jorge Calderon


K. C. B., this one is for you.

"Excitable Boy" Warren Zevon lived life on his own terms, 'fessing up to his "Dirty Life and Times" on The Wind, his last release in August 2003. A couple of weeks later, at age 56, he was gone, a victim of mesothelioma. Warren had a year between diagnosis and death to put together this collection which won a Grammy for "Best Contemporary Folk Album." While I never thought of Warren as a folkie, the recognition for this beauty wins my approval.

"Keep Me in Your Heart" was the final song that Warren wrote and recorded. He had a makeshift studio set up at his home to do so. Warren told us, via his 1976 self-titled album that "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead." It appears that he squeezed every bit of energy out of his one short and crazy life. Less than a year before he died, Warren famously answered host and good friend David Letterman's question about what he might now know about life and death that he (Letterman) might not know. "Not unless I know how much you're supposed to enjoy every sandwich," replied Warren.

We're all going to die. Some of us get to know how much time we have left, but some of us get no warning whatsoever. I honestly do not know which is best. I have friends who are currently in the first category. They try to measure out their time in meaningful ways despite physical and emotional pain. I try to study their courage, their compassion, their handling of their fears. Their experience offers much to teach us and to ready us for our own singular journey toward what lies beyond. There is one dance you do alone, Jackson Browne told us. My hope is that we all make our journey, our dance, a loving tribute to whatever joy and sorrow this life has given us.

So Kathy . . . Enjoy every sandwich, okay?  And I promise to keep you in my heart for awhile.

Walls and Doors

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/AwT0MI_tlMY

Ever since the world's existed, there's one thing that is certain
There are those who build walls and those who open doors
Ah, but this, my love, I'm thinking you already knew

For some it's always winter while others have the spring
Some people find good fortune while others never find a thing
Ah, but this, my love, is something you already knew

That's how it's always been, and I know you know it
There can be freedom only when nobody owns it
I'm going to say that again because I know you know it
There can be freedom only when nobody owns it

Of what use is the moon if you don't have the night?
Of what use is a windmill with no Quixote left who'll fight?
Ah, but this, my love, is something you already knew
At some point on the horizon sky can be confused with earth
Some people dream of God while others dream of wealth
But of course, my love, this is what you see out on the street
It's how it's always been, and I know you know it
There can be freedom only when nobody owns it
Let me say that again because I know that we both know it
There can be freedom only when nobody owns it

Ever since the world's existed, there's one thing that is certain
Some people build walls
Others open doors

~  Carlos Varela (English translation by Jackson Browne)

Carlos Varela, loved and respected in his native Cuba, was part of the musical movement "la Nueva Trova" in the late 1960s. Critical of the Cuban regime, Varela is, nonetheless, not a dissident. He understands the mixed feelings, loyalties, and ideologies of the Cuban people. And although you might think that he wrote this song about building walls very recently, "Muros y Puertas" was written years ago. Jackson Browne translated and recorded his friend's song on Standing in the Breach, his 2014 release. Varela plays acoustic guitar on the recording, and it is his voice you hear at the end of the song. Varela has also teamed up with the likes of Bonnie Raitt and Dave Matthews.

I've been feeling world-weary lately. Aside from the political nightmare that only gets worse every day, I've also been dealing with some personal issues, same as you, I would guess. Worries over the health and happiness of friends and loved ones eventually takes a toll, and sometimes, we just need to sink into the sadness in order to pull ourselves up out of it again. Having had my credit card hacked . . . AGAIN! . . . did not help. Futile as it is, I try to wrap my head around the proliferation of evil and greed all around us. Tilting at windmills.

It's how it's always been, and I know you know it. I do know it; am I wrong to still want it to change? In an interview with Rockcellar Magazine on the political nature of Standing in the Breach, Jackson commented, "I'm just trying to refer to these things that everybody's going through, and to refer to them in a way that shows that at the heart of it is the idea that I'm glad to be alive now when these problems need to be solved. I'm glad to be here now when I'm needed and we're all needed. I'm glad to be engaged with these problems and not living through some escapist idea of wishing I lived a thousand years ago or at some point in the future."

One thing of which I am quite certain:  the answer is in opening doors, not building walls.

Mildenhall

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/Cq8wC7LFyQs

At fifteen we had to leave the States again
Dad was stationed at an RAF base they called Mildenhall
Black moss on a busted wall
The cobblestones made it hard to skate
I thought my flattop was so new wave
Until it melted away in the Suffolk rain
Well, goddamn, you miss the USA

Then a kid in class passed me a tape
An invitation, not the hand of fate

I guess my shoes said I might relate
Somehow she knew I'd like to stay up waiting with her in the cold
For cheap beer and rock 'n roll
Which in time put lots of things in my mind

A kid in class passed me a tape
We saw some bands down at the corn exchange

I wonder where my sister was that night
Back at home under the tanning bed lights
I can still see the glow
Strange rays from her window
Each night as I was skating home
Started messing with my dad's guitar
Taught me some chords just to start me off
Whittling away on those rainy days
And that's how we get to where we are now

A kid in class passed me a tape
A band called The Jesus and Mary Chain

I started messing with my dad's guitar
He taught me some chords just to start me off
Whittling away on all of those rainy days
And that's how we get to where we are now
And that's how we get to where we are now

~  James Mercer (The Shins)

I included all the lyrics for this new song from The Shins, since James Mercer is telling a story. It's autobiographical, as you may have guessed. The lyrics appear on the linked video, so you can watch, listen, and read, all at the same time!  The new Shins album, Heartworms, came out two weeks ago.  "Mildenhall" sounds a bit different from most of The Shins' songs, I think. Consequence of Sound, in a commentary on it, said it had a lot of "campfire guitar strumming and clopping percussion." And Mercer's voice is lacking that unique and melodious pitch, I think. Nonetheless, it's a good song. Then again, I never met a Shins song I didn't like.

So Mercer's story is obvious. Chance happenings pointed him toward a life in which music played such an important part. What if those kids never passed him those tapes? What if his dad didn't have a guitar? What if he never had the opportunity to explore music? And these questions raise much larger questions. How does the happenstance of where one is born and raised and by whom have a bearing on the development of one's innate talents?

My grandmother's piano was a featured piece of furniture in my house growing up. Because of that, my mother saw to it that I took piano lessons.  I would like to tell you that I am an accomplished pianist . . . but I am not. Although I did learn a thing or two about reading music, I had no innate musical talent (something I am sure has to do with karma). On the other hand, my father was a talented craftsman. His woodworking shop was in our basement. I loved to spend time down there with him when he was building some piece of furniture. I loved the smell of sawdust. He would let me brush the sawdust off the machines, an assignment that made me feel very necessary and important. But did he teach me any woodworking skills? No. "Girls don't do that." As a rising senior in high school, I wanted to put Mechanical Drawing into my schedule.  "Girls don't do that," my guidance counselor said.

Might I have had a career as a woodworker? An architect? A designer? I'll never know.

So what determines, as much as the happenstance of family and location, how we develop our talents into satisfying careers and lifestyles? That great equalizer . . . our educational system.

You know where I am going with this.  I will spare you my diatribe on the current state of the Department of Education, the National Endowment for the Arts, and the elimination of "unnecessary courses" once offered by our public schools.  Either you get it or you don't.

And that's how we get to where we are now.

(I Know This Much Is) True

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/AR8D2yqgQ1U

So true
Funny how it seems
Always in time, but never in line for dreams

Head over heels when toe to toe
This is the sound of my soul
This is the sound

I bought a ticket to the world
But now I've come back again
Why do I find it hard to write the next line?
Oh, I want the truth to be said

I know this much is true
I know this much is true

~  Gary Kemp (Spandau Ballet)

Pretty much their only big hit, Spandau Ballet's "True," from the album of the same name, came out in 1983. A forlorn lover's pitch to his crush, Kemp freely admits to lifting some lines from Nabokov's Lolita. Despite the assistance from Nabokov, the song gets more attention for the gorgeous saxophone and male voices than for the lyrics. The repetition of the signature line, although somewhat annoying, manages to provide a luxurious orchestration for our ears.  Hey, I never get tired of hearing the song.

Fifteen years later, author Wally Lamb reminded us of the song with the release of his second novel, I Know This Much Is True. I was in grad school with Wally when the seed was planted for his first novel. Wally thought he was writing a short story when Gladys Swan, his advisor, told him he had "too many pots on the stove." That short story became his first novel, She's Come Undone, one of Oprah's first Book Club picks.  Despite the fact that Wally's MFA was in Fiction, while mine was in Poetry, we found common ground in our shared profession.  We were both high school English teachers. Having known Wally, I can testify to his big heart.  It's YUGE.

Last week, we learned about the new administration's budget. With so many things wrong with the proposals for how to spend our money, it is hard to pick one to bitch about. But I'm going to let Wally tell you why gutting the National Endowment for the Arts is wrong. So wrong. From Wally's recent Facebook post:

"REGARDING THE DEMISE OF THE NEA: In my book travels, I often hear from readers that I KNOW THIS MUCH IS TRUE is their favorite novel of mine. Please know that this book would not exist without the support of the National Endowment for the Arts. Midway through creating that story, I was about to give up writing. Life had become too complicated. I was balancing a full time teaching job with the needs of two elderly and infirm parents and the challenges of having adopted a special-needs child suffering from PTSD, attachment disorder, and other afflictions. A surprise call from the NEA's Gigi Bradford, telling me I had been awarded a grant from the Endowment, allowed me to take a 6-month leave of absence from teaching and continue working on my story--a novel that was subsequently translated into 16 different languages and chosen as the 17th selection for Oprah's Book Club. Add the demise of the NEA to the list of shameful moves made by the nightmarish administration that's now in charge of our country. I mourn for all the novelists, poets, playwrights, painters, dancers, and other creators of art who will now lack the encouragement of this arts-supportive organization. Thank you, NEA, and RIP. Art colors and illuminates life, Mr Trump. Stop draining the color out of what America stands for..."

Thanks, Wally. We know this much is true. Let the truth be said.  

The Poet Game

Listen while you read: https://youtu.be/4J4jdu5Pi00

(Note:  if you've been clicking on the audio link in these posts, I am happy to tell you that I have corrected this feature to allow the video to open in a new window. Enjoy!)

Down by the river junior year, walking with my girl
And we came upon a place there in the tall grass
where a couple had been making love
and left the marks of their embrace
I said to her, "Looks like they had some fun."
She said to me, "Let's do the same."
And still I taste her kisses and her freckles in the sun
when I play the poet game

~  Greg Brown

Today is World Poetry Day! Held on March 21 every year, the UNESCO-declared commemoration is meant to celebrate "cultural expression and identity that comes through poetry." In every culture, on every continent, "poetry speaks to our common humanity and shared values." I have always believed that if poets ruled the world, there would be peace.

Greg Brown's beautiful song, "The Poet Game" was released in 1994 on the album of the same name.  Although Ani DiFranco does an equally gorgeous version of it, I had to go with the song's poet on this one. The poem/song is made up of seven seemingly unrelated vignettes, each one ending in a reference to "the poet game." And each verse speaks of our shared humanity, for better or worse. In a January 1998 interview for No Depression, a journal of roots music, Brown said, "I see songs or poems as gifts. And once they're out there, they belong to whoever hears them or sings them. People can use them the way they want. I love it." This song is indeed a gift, and I am using it to acknowledge and praise the art of poetry.

I wrote my first poem, one celebrating spring, when I was seven. Hear the brook's running voices / and the robins' sweet rejoices / Hear the bluejays calling out / Pleasant calmness all about. That's the first verse; I will spare you the rest. (Clearly, I could not identify the bluejay's call. Pleasant calmness? I don't think so.) But that poem marked the beginning of a lifelong love of poetry for me. I embrace the label of "poet," and although I do not write poetry often enough, I have penned a few that I still love. I hope I have a couple more good ones inside me.

I am compelled to add another of the verses of "The Poet Game." Note how it still resonates more than two decades since it was written:

I watched my country turn into a coast-to-coast strip mall
and I cried out in a song:
If we could do all that in thirty years, then please tell me, you all --
Why does good change take so long?
Why does the color of your skin or who you choose to love
still lead to such anger and pain?
And why do I think it's any help for me to still dream
of playing the poet game?

Because it's a game worth playing.

Spring (Among the Living)

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/YDjGnCvDOk4

Boy, I was ready
Boy, I was ready for spring
Its beauty changes, changes everything
Done hibernating, we animals roam out of our holes
Then we spend all spring looking for the next one to go down

Among the living
Among the living again
Out in the light of day's warm embrace again

Among the living
Among the living again
I didn't think I'd make it

~  My Morning Jacket

So, yes. Today is the first day of spring. And yes, I am a snowbird, still in South Florida until it is nearly summer up north. But having spent 64 winters in the Northeast, I am still prone to getting excited about the onset of warm weather, house wrens, daffodils, tulips, garden readiness, after-dinner hours spent on the porch swing, that slant of evening sun, robins on the greening grass, and asparagus. All that and more.

I am a big fan of My Morning Jacket. I took my daughter Jenna to see them at Levon Helm's barn a few years ago. We sat in the front row. The musicianship of this band was a marvel to behold. And their humble gratitude at being able to perform in Levon's home was moving. It has been exciting to watch the band evolve over the years. Initially, they played it safe, highlighting songs that might make it into the popular playlists. But once acknowledged and respected, the band got a bit edgier, as evidenced by today's song choice.

This song was released on 2015's The Waterfall.   Did you watch the video?  My research tells me that the waterfall in the video is Vernal Falls in Yosemite.  If that is true, I have seen it.  The video is stylized enough, though, that I cannot recognize it.  Doesn't matter.  It's a magnificent waterfall.  All waterfalls are magnificent.

We animals roam out of our holes / Then we spend all spring looking for the next one to go down.  So I cannot resist the neon arrow pointing to the popular phrase "WE'VE GONE DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE!!"  I spent some time looking up various definitions of that phrase.  Obviously, it comes from Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.  It is clearly a metaphor for entry into the unknown or the disorienting.  It can also refer to entering a period of chaos or confusion.  But my favorite definition is this one, from Merriam-Webster:  "to enter into a situation or begin a process or journey that is particularly strange, problematic, difficult, complex or chaotic, especially one that becomes increasingly so as it develops or unfolds."

Yep.  And as sure as today is the first day of spring, we animals are heading deeper into one crazy rabbit hole.  Buckle up!

I'm from New Jersey

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/bHNGyc4QZos

I'm from New Jersey
I don't expect too much
If the world ended today
I would adjust

I'm from New Jersey
No, I don't talk that way
I watched too much TV
When I was young

I'm from New Jersey
My mom's Italian
I've read those Mafia books
We don't belong

There are girls from New Jersey
Who have that great big hair
They're found in shopping malls
I will take you there

I'm from New Jersey
It's not like Texas
There is no mystery
I can't pretend

I'm from New Jersey
It's like Ohio
But even more so
Imagine that

I know which exit
And where I'm bound
The tolls on the Parkway
They will slow you down

New Jersey people
They will surprise you
'Cause they're not expected
To do too much

They will try harder
They may go further
'Cause they never think
That they are good enough

I'm from New Jersey
I don't expect too much
If the world ended today
I would adjust

~  John Gorka

John Gorka is a funny guy. Quirky observations and a dry wit combine to contribute to his uniqueness as a songwriter and performer. And he wears red shoes when he performs. (As if he needed the attention.) "I'm from New Jersey" came out in 1991 on Jack's Crows. A quarter of a century later, I'm still amused whenever I hear it. And I heard it twice this morning -- on the radio in my car driving to the park and again five minutes later while walking to the accompaniment of my iPod on shuffle. I am learning to pay attention to these signs that point me to a song for the day.

Coffee and Sunday papers followed my morning walk, and I took notice of the several stories that warned of the many ways in which New Jersey will suffer if the new administration's budget passes. "The budget would be devastating to New Jersey families and communities, especially those struggling to get ahead," commented Senator Robert Menendez. And before any out-of-staters think New Jersey residents are all government-dependent inner-city dwellers, keep in mind that we New Jersey residents claim the highest property taxes in the country, accounting for our status of having the highest home foreclosure rate as well as the highest percentage of people leaving the state. More importantly, for every New Jersey dollar that goes to the federal government, we get back 48 cents in federal assistance. In other words, New Jersey is the least dependent on federal government of any other state.

We also have the most people per square mile. And the most horses per square mile, too! My county used to have more cows than people, but farms have been decimated in the Garden State, so that is no longer true.

And yet, despite all the negativity generated by our loser of a governor, most of us will still support our state. In my travels across the country, I have often felt a need to defend or to apologize for New Jersey in equal measure. When asked if he thinks the song disparages New Jersey, Gorka replied, "It tries to capture an attitude that some people have. I would use the word 'sardonic.' I don't think of it as a put-down at all."

Me, either.  "Jersey Attitude."  It's a real thing.

(I'm from the "Vast Wilderness of Rednecks and Retired Hippies.")

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/IVEATF7VNTk

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standing here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye

But the dawn is breaking, it's early morn
The taxi's waiting, he's blowing his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die

So kiss me and smile for me
Tell me that you'll wait for me
Hold me like you'll never let me go

'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane
Don't know when I'll be back again
Oh, babe, I hate to go

~  John Denver

I don't think I knew that John Denver wrote this song; I have always associated it with Peter, Paul & Mary. Denver wrote it in 1967 when he was part of the Chad Mitchell Trio, with whom he recorded it. It has since been recorded by several groups, including Spanky & Our Gang (remember them?), but it became a hit with the Peter, Paul & Mary version, released on Album 1700 in 1969.

I first heard the song in 1968 when I was a freshman in college. I lived on the 6th floor of North Hall (and climbed a lot of stairs during that time, as the elevator needed a human operator who worked sporadically at best). North Hall was an all-girls dorm, and most of us were indeed that . . . girls. But there was one resident on my floor who, despite being chronologically in sync with the rest of us, was definitely a woman. It surprises me that her name escapes me now, because I can still see her so clearly in my mind. Let's call her Sharon. She was beautiful, smart, and talented. She played an acoustic guitar and sang along in the best folkie style. She looked like Ann Margret in that opening scene from Bye Bye Birdie . . . the yellow dress, the blue background, the can't-help-but-notice nipples.

Sharon would bring her guitar out to the common area after study hours and play for us. That's where I first heard "Leaving on a Jet Plane" and fell in love with both the song and Sharon. We were all in awe of Sharon; we all wanted to be her. I wonder where she is now? I don't remember her after freshman year. I think she may have left school to live with a man, still a stunning thing to do during those years.

At this very moment, my son and his girlfriend are boarding a jet plane to return to Colorado. I dropped them off at the airport an hour ago, and to say that it was an emotional parting would be an understatement. We had a great week together . . . dinners with friends and cousins, an airboat ride in the Everglades, an afternoon on the beach, trivia night at a local brewery, a yacht cruise on the Intracoastal, a Mets spring training game, live music at an outdoor club . . . but you know what they say about all good things. What hurts my heart right now is that we will probably not see one another for at least six months. And this is not the only jet plane moment for me. In the past month, jet planes have taken my daughters away from me, too. But at least I will see them both in June.

My grandmother always told me never to say "goodbye." She said that "so long" means that you will see one another again.

So long, Sam and Andrea! I hate to see you go. Let's make that September visit happen, okay?

The Great Defector

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/zYXQgKBl-6s

I am the defector, and you're the farmer's daughter
You been teasing us farm boys
Till we start talkin' about those rabbits, George
Oh, won't you tell us 'bout those rabbits, George?

I am the defector
I give it what it need
Let's make a new world order
Let's make it rhyme

You're the chocolate at the end of my Cornetto
I love the way your underwire bra
Always sets off that X-ray machine

Comin' in to land and now
I love the color of it all
Blue lights on the runway
I love the color of it all

~  Bell X1

Slainte! Of course today's song choice would have to be by an Irish artist, and of course, my first thought was Van Morrison. But, as happens too often to believe it's only coincidence, a song popped into my head, so here it is. Bell X1's "The Great Defector" was the big hit on the 2009 release Blue Lights on the Runway. Check out the linked video if a) you don't know the song or b) you forgot about how great the song is and just have to hear it again. Bonus:  it's a live performance of Bell X1's appearance on The Late Show with David Letterman on March 17, 2009. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I have legitimate Irish cred. I descend from the Noonans of County Cork and the O'Briens of County Clare. And I have been to Ireland; it was an amazing trip. I got very excited to see that the lead singer of Bell X1 is also a Noonan (Paul), but my guess is that we are not related, as he is from County Dublin, not County Cork. Then again . . . he is the Great Defector, so it's possible?

Noonan says that the song is about "timing your life between runways," a nod to his homesickness while touring. I suppose we all time our lives between something, be it seasons or holidays or work schedules/priorities or school years. And when we do that, there is always that excitement with anticipation, anxiety about the present, and regret about denouement. And while I'm throwing out literary terms, I hope all my former students know about the rabbits and who George is. Think, people. You know this. (Hint:  "Gonna live off the fatta the land!")

I will admit that most of these lyrics are somewhat silly. But I love the underwire bra one! I have set off the X-ray machine in the security line many times, even when my bra does not contain an underwire. Makes one wonder, right? In the middle of the song, Noonan sings, "I wish I didn't bite my nails," apropos of nothing. I just love this stuff! Oh, and speaking of cool lines, a Cornetto is a branded frozen dessert cone, like a Drumstick. You're the chocolate at the end of my Cornetto. It doesn't get much more romantic than that!

Enjoy your Irish Cream, your soda bread, your corned beef, your cabbage, and your green beer! And play some Irish music! Slainte!

Sunny Afternoon

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/VLs09J_x6-c

The tax man's taken all my dough
And left me in this stately home
Lazing on a sunny afternoon
And I can't sail my yacht
He's taken everything I got
All I got's this sunny afternoon

Help me, help me, help me sail away
Well, give me two good reasons why I oughtta stay
'Cause I love to live so pleasantly
Live this life of luxury
Lazing on a sunny afternoon

~  Ray Davies (The Kinks)

So if you think I am just continuing the weather theme in my song choices . . . okay, you can think that. It is a sunny afternoon here while I'm writing this. But the breaking news the other night was that someone's 2005 tax return (all two pages of it) were leaked (possibly by the individual whose return it was), and we all got to think about our own taxes after settling down from our disappointment that more was not revealed. And here is a gentle reminder for you: you have a month left to file your own 1040. Stop procrastinating.

Released on the 1966 album Face to Face, "Sunny Afternoon" was written very quickly by Davies during a time when he was ill, hence the raspy nature of his voice. He was also going through a difficult time emotionally. "The only way I could interpret how I felt was through a dusty, fallen aristocrat who had come from old money as opposed to the wealth I had created for myself." Hmmmm.

And I cannot help but wonder if there is someone else out there who might be wanting to escape from his current responsibilities.Well, give me two good reasons why I oughtta stay. Sometimes winning is the goal, not actually accepting what was won. You know, like the crazy kid who runs for senior class president and then actually wins . . . but has no desire to do any work for the benefit of the class? As a teacher, I saw it happen several times.

Ah, save me, save me, save me from this squeeze
I got a big fat mama trying to break me

These lines, says Davies, (although giving a nod to his mother, "a large woman"), are really an allusion to the government that tries to break people. "How are we going to get out of this *%@#ing mess?" he asks. And that was over fifty years ago. I guess we're still working on it.

Now go work on your tax returns.

Beware of Darkness

Listen while you read: https://youtu.be/T3D68KWfZOo

Watch out now, take care
Beware of falling swingers dropping all around you
The pain that often mingles inside your fingertips
Beware of darkness

Watch out now, take care
Beware the thoughts that linger, winding up inside your head
The hopelessness around you
In the dead of night

Beware of sadness
It can hit you, it can hurt you
Make you sore and what is more
That is not what you are here for

~  George Harrison

Beware the Ides of March! The nerds among you will recognize that dictum as the soothsayer's warning to Julius Caesar on the date of his assassination on March 15 in the Shakespearean play, Julius Caesar. The Ides were determined by the full moon, reflecting the lunar origin of the Roman calendar.

"Beware of Darkness," which appeared on George Harrison's 1970 release, All Things Must Pass, was also a featured song at The Concert for Bangladesh at Madison Square Garden in 1971. The concert, organized by Harrison and Ravi Shankar (father of musical artists Norah Jones and Anoushka Shankar), was intended to raise awareness of the plight of refugees from East Pakistan (now known as Bangladesh). It funded relief efforts to the tune of a quarter of a million dollars as the first-ever benefit concert of such a magnitude. Performing along with Harrison were such greats as fellow Beatle Ringo Starr, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton, Billy Preston, and Leon Russell. Those were the days!

The song warns against falling victim to the negativity that surrounds us, a timely reminder applicable to the politics of today. Speaking of which, it is noteworthy that when the Beatles' "Here Comes the Sun" played as Ivanka Trump took the podium at the Republican National Convention last year to speak on behalf of her father, the Harrison estate tweeted that the use of that song was "offensive and against the wishes of the George Harrison estate." They suggested that "Beware of Darkness" would have been a better choice!

We have a refugee crisis today that may or may not exceed the Bangladesh situation in the early 70s; I cannot say for sure. But my guess would be that the Syrian refugee crisis is as bad, if not worse. Where are the fundraising concerts? Where is the international outrage? Instead, we live in a country where refugees are denied sanctuary. That is not what you are here for.

Watch out now, take care
Beware of greedy leaders
They take you where you should not go

Sometimes in Winter

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/F3nu-qmxM0w

Sometimes in winter
I gaze into the streets
And walk through snow and city sleet behind your room

Sometimes in winter
Forgotten memories
Remember you behind the trees with leaves that cried

By the window once I waited for you
Laughing slightly, you would run
Trees alone would shield us in the meadow
Making love in the evening sun

Now you're gone, girl
And the lamp posts call your name
I can hear them in the spring of frozen rain
Now you're gone, girl
And the time's slowed down till dawn
It's a cold room, and the walls ask where you've gone

Sometimes in winter
I love you when the good times
Seem like memories in the spring that never came

Sometimes in winter
I wish the empty streets
Would fill with laughter from the tears that ease my pain

~  Steve Katz (Blood, Sweat & Tears)

There's a blizzard in the Northeast, and even though I am not there, I am predisposed to stressing about it from afar. So with the first day of spring only five days away, winter is still on my mind. And I find myself curious as to why so many songs about winter are on my list of favorites. I suppose it has something to do with the proclivity of Northerners to seek warmth and comfort in fireplaces, blankets, soups and chowders, hot chocolate, furry pets, and large oil bills. A thousand miles away from the storm, I still want to crawl under the covers with a good book and a purring cat.

"Sometimes in Winter" first appeared on Blood, Sweat & Tears' second album, curiously titled Blood, Sweat & Tears, in 1968. It won a Grammy for Album of the Year in 1970 due to its long run in popularity. But my memory tells me that I knew the song as the B-side to the band's big hit, "Spinning Wheel" (or maybe it was "And When I Die") on a 45 rpm. I fell in love with the song and with Steve Katz' voice in equal measure. Not only does the song transport me to my college dorm room, but the imagery places me smack in the middle of a grey winter city scene.

Of course, the song is a heartbreaker. Aren't they all?

Back to the Island

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/r7MoZuP3JBo

But the time is past for living in a dream world
Lying to myself can't make that scene
Of wondering if you love me or just making a fool of me
Well, I hope you understand I just had to go back to the island

And watch the sun go down
Hear the sea roll in
But I'll be thinking of you
And how it might have been
Hear the night birds cry
Watch the sunset die
Well, I hope you understand I just had to go back to the island

~  Leon Russell

On the first evening of DST and the sun setting later (by the clock, anyway), I was thinking of song lyrics about sunsets.  I am not surprised that the first song that came into my head was "Back to the Island," as it has long been a favorite.  The song appears on Russell's 1975 release, Will o' the Wisp.

I would hope you are as aware as I am of the way in which songs seem to attach themselves to certain times or events in our lives.  Whenever I hear "Back to the Island," I am transported to a summertime visit to a friend who lived along a river in southwestern Virginia.  There was something so peaceful about that lazy river, and Leon provided the soundtrack to the time we spent on the dock.  Although this visit occurred sometime back in the mid-70s, the hazy memory of that time and place persists whenever I hear this song.

But even if I didn't have that delicious memory to flood my senses, the song would still put me at peace.  It opens with the sound of the tide rushing onto shore, punctuated by birdcalls sweet and melodious.  Although the song is clearly about a lover's breakup, the sadness is dispelled by nature's gift of a comforting landscape.  I am easily transported.

Of course I saw Leon in concert several times back in the day.  A couple of years ago, I saw him warm up for Bob Dylan at Bethel Woods (site of the Woodstock Festival).  Because Dylan does not allow the large screen images at his concerts, there was no way to view Leon's hands on the keyboard.  He sat stiffly behind his piano, and quite honestly, appeared somewhat lifeless.  To say it was disappointing is an understatement.  But then, we all get old . . . even rockstars.

Leon died in his sleep last November at age 74.  I hope he is back to the island, watching the sunset die.  Peace, Leon.

Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/8qssWO8NSq0

People runnin' everywhere
Don't know where to go
Don't know where I am
Can't see past the next step
Don't have time to think about the last mile
Have no time to look around
Just run around, run around and think why

Does anybody really know what time it is?
Does anybody really care
If so, I can't imagine why
We've all got time enough to cry

~  Robert Lamm (Chicago Transit Authority)

Yeah, I know . . . today's song choice was predictable. Daylight Saving Time began at 2:00 a.m., whether or not you remembered to turn your clocks ahead one hour. ("Fall back, spring ahead.")  And yes, while you were sleeping in on a Sunday morning, you lost an hour.  Lost. You'll get it back in October, though. There's an adage, attributed to an unnamed Native American, which posits:  "Only the government would believe that you could cut a foot off the top of a blanket and sew it to the bottom of a blanket and have a longer blanket."

I am well aware of the controversy regarding this attempt at manipulating time, but I have to admit that I don't mind at all losing sixty minutes when it means that I can enjoy the evening sun an hour longer.  Arizona and Hawaii are the only two states that do not abide by DST.  I was in Arizona last summer, traveling into Utah.  It was a bit confusing, and I do recall feeling the bonus of that extra hour of daylight when we crossed into Utah.  So, as silly as moving the hands of time twice a year is, I'm fine with it.  I will be on my balcony at 7:30 tonight as the sun goes down.

Chicago Transit Authority released their first album of the same name in 1969, but "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" did not reach its peak popularity until the following year when it reached #7 on the U.S. charts.  And the band had to shorten its name when the city informed them that they could not use the CTA moniker. The song remains today as one of their most popular.  In case you do not recognize the block of lyrics that I selected, they form the spoken word portion of the song, words that are somewhat obscured by the band's horn section.  I chose them because I think they still speak to our hurried culture.

Originally concerned with political and protest songs, Chicago eventually found non-political pop-rock to be more lucrative, so they left the protests behind. Thankfully, there were enough other bands around to keep the cause alive.  But "Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?" presents an existential question, a theme that was certainly popular in the late 60s.  Is there really any such thing as time?  Isn't it a human invention?  A friend and I had a conversation yesterday about wearing a watch.  He said that he feels naked without his watch on.  I replied that I stopped wearing a watch when I retired.  In a teaching career, clocks rule. There's one in every room.  Loud, brassy bells ring to announce the time as classes change.  Sometimes, I would close my eyes as the bell rang, and the disturbing noise would seem to go on forever.  I was happy to leave the clocks behind when my career ended.  And although we all have phones that tell us the time all the time, I am happiest when I really have no idea what time it is.  And I don't really care.

Enjoy the after-dinner sunset tonight!

White Winter Hymnal

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/DrQRS40OKNE

I was following the pack, all swallowed in their coats
With scarves of red tied 'round their throats
To keep their little heads from falling in the snow
And I turned around and there you go
And Michael, you would fall and turn the white snow
Red as strawberries in summertime

~  Robin Pecknold (Fleet Foxes)

It snowed up North.  In fact, the schools in my county were closed.  Snow Day! And there's a Nor'easter coming next week. So of course, even though I am not there, I will pay tribute.

You must listen to this song, and if you do, you will be entertained with a claymation video that is quite compelling.  But listen to it . . . because it's the harmonies that make the song so wonderful.  Even Robin Pecknold, the writer of the song, said, "It's lyrically fairly meaningless."  He intended the song to be like "Whistle While You Work" from Snow White -- "something to hum along to as you do the dishes."

The song appears on Fleet Foxes' debut album in 2008.  At that time, J. Tillman contributed to the gorgeous harmonies.  You may know him now as Father John Misty.  I do love his voice, and though his lyrics are sometimes crazy, I will always appreciate this line from "Chateau Lobby #4":  I want to take you in the kitchen / Lift up your wedding dress someone was probably murdered in."

But back to "White Winter Hymnal."  Pecknold suggested that the song speaks to a loss of innocence.  He says he went all through school with the same group of kids (as did I), and it troubled him to see how some of those kids chose paths that led them down dangerous territory.  But in the song, they are young and uncomplicated, despite the fear of losing their little heads.

I love the play of color in the lyrics.  As a poet, I have always appreciated the way that color can evoke mood and theme in a poem, and that is true of these lyrics. The sharp turn from winter to summer, accomplished through the color red, offers hope and promise.  I do hope that my northern friends are keeping the promise of spring alive despite the white landscape.

Lost in the Supermarket

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/qsrEAWcAvRg

I'm all lost in the supermarket
I can no longer shop happily
I came in here for that special offer
A guaranteed personality

I'm all tuned in, I see all the programs
I save coupons from packets of tea
I've got my giant hot discotheque album
I empty a bottle and I feel a bit free

~ Joe Strummer (The Clash)

OMG, how I love The Clash!  "The only band that matters!"  I got to see them at Bond's in NYC in the spring of 1981, hailed as "one of the finest moments in New York rock history."  "Lost in the Supermarket" was included on the 1979 release of London Calling, two years before their influential Sandinista.  I recall the Bond's concert as starting late, perhaps not until 10:00 or 11:00 at night . . . and I had to go to work the next day!  Obviously, I managed to survive the experience.

I went grocery shopping today, in preparation for the arrival this weekend of my son, his girlfriend, and one of my daughters.  I am so looking forward to this visit, but the trip to Publix was not so much fun.  And the shock at the cash register was no fun at all . . . until I realized that nearly half of my bill was because of beer and wine.  And that's not including the trip to the liquor store prior to my supermarket excursion!  But it's all okay.  We will likely not even make a dent into the alcohol that I purchased, but better to have more on hand than is needed than to run out.  At least, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

But this morning, I did have a moment of spacing out while waiting to check out.  It was weird.  Maybe because it was after lunch time and I was hungry?  Or maybe because the grocery store was cold while it was 82 degrees outside?  Or maybe it was because I was just momentarily caught up in all that is the American culture: the 102 flavors of Doritos (seriously, look it up), and the "flip side" crackers that offer you pretzel on one side and cracker on the other (because you cannot make up your mind?), the sugary drinks that take up an entire aisle (because Big Sugar supports Big Pharma), the shelves and shelves of cookies (doesn't anybody bake anymore?), the parade of breads that are loaded with preservatives, and don't even get me started on the frozen food aisle, with all its "convenience" offerings. But I have eggs and avocados and clementines and mushrooms and bananas and pistachios and lots of other good things. Including a guaranteed personality.

I empty a bottle and I feel a bit free.  I can understand that "escape."  It's a challenging culture. Cheers to those who find a way to navigate it or escape it.  Just remember:  those who wander are not lost.  Not even in the supermarket.

The Painter

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/vOuUu77Abc4

The painter stood before her work
She looked around everywhere
She saw the pictures and she painted them
She picked the colors from the air

Green to green, red to red
Yellow to yellow in the light
Black to black when the evening comes
Blue to blue in the night

It's a long road behind me
It's a long road ahead

If you follow every dream, you might get lost
If you follow every dream, you might get lost

~  Neil Young

Yesterday (when I was on strike) was my dear friend Angie's birthday.  (Surprise! Happy Birthday, Angie!)  Angie and I met when we were five or six, as far as I can recall.  Angie's Aunt Margaret lived next door to me on Maple Avenue, and when Angie and her sister Kim came to visit, my sister and I were right there, knocking on the front door.  We spent endless hours playing with our Ginny dolls on Aunt Margaret's screened-in porch.  If I were to recall the many stories that go along with my memories of Aunt Margaret's house, this post would turn into a novel.  Just let it be known that there were ribbons and ghosts and police cars and Aunt Margaret's suicide by hanging in her attic . . . which pretty much ended Angie's visits there. But we met up again when we attended the same high school, and as is true for so many friendships, Facebook reconnected us a few years ago.

Angie is an extraordinary artist, which explains my song lyric choice for today.  Although I cannot relocate the information to verify, I'm pretty sure Neil Young's painter is his daughter.  "The Painter" came out on Young's 2005 release Prairie Wind, which many claimed brought him back to his Harvest and After the Gold Rush mood.  Having some health issues at the time, it is not surprising that he would compose such emotive tunes as those that can be found on Prairie Wind.

What is so unique about Angie's watercolors is that they are miniatures.  I mean like postcard size.  The precision and detail that Angie incorporates into her country scenes is mind-blowing.  I am certain that she has the steadiest hand and best eyesight of anyone I know.  Well, here . . . take a look for yourself:  http://www.perennialdesigns.net/?page_id=2413  Angie and her husband John own Letterpress Studio in Old Lyme, Connecticut.  Through their website, you can purchase Angie's beautiful paintings on notecards and calendars.  My intention here is not to promote Angie's or anyone's products, but Angie's work is so beautiful, I thought you might be interested.  (By the way, if you view the video of Neil's song linked above, those paintings are not Angie's, although they, too, are beautiful.)

Angie followed her dream, and she did not get lost.  She picked the colors from the air. I hope your birthday is as beautiful as your paintings, Angie . . . and as beautiful as you are!

A Day Without a Woman

I'm on strike today.  See you here tomorrow.

Eye in the Sky

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/ET6jMQ1teZU

Don't think sorry's easily said
Don't try turning tables instead
You've taken lots of chances before
But I ain't gonna give anymore
Don't ask me, that's how it goes
'Cause part of me knows what you're thinking

Don't say words you're gonna regret
Don't let the fire rush to your head
I've heard the accusations before
And I ain't gonna take anymore
Believe me, the sun in your eyes
Made some of the lies worth believing

I am the eye in the sky looking at you
I can read your mind
I am the maker of rules dealing with fools
I can cheat you blind
And I don't need to see any more
To know that I can read your mind

~  Alan Parsons Project

Seems to be something in the news about wiretapping someone's phone?  "Eye in the Sky" jumped into my head this morning, so I decided to go with it in the spirit of surveillance.  If you listen to the song via the above link, you may be disappointed that it is not the familiar 1982 Alan Parsons Project version.  I chose Jonatha Brooke's cover off her 2004 release, Back in the Circus, just because I love it.  Of course, now I realize the serendipity of that title to the events of the last six-and-a-half weeks.

When the song first came out, there was talk that it was inspired by George Orwell's 1984, but the Alan Parsons Project has never indicated that there's any truth to that.  My suspicion is that anyone who said that never actually read 1984.  In its simplest interpretation, the song seems to be about a lovers' quarrel.  Eric Woolfson, lyricist and member of the band, did claim to be inspired by being shown the security system at the Tropicana Hotel in Las Vegas.  "I thought it would make a good subject for a song."  And it did.  It's the biggest "hit" the APP ever had, reaching #3 on the U.S. charts.

Jon Stewart was a guest on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert last week.  He presented a video mash-up of a certain politician punctuating his talk with the phrase "Believe me."  And then he made the point that anyone who repeatedly says "Believe me" is probably lying.  Believe me, the sun in your eyes / Made some of the lies worth believing.

If you have found yourself being distracted by a dog and pony show lately, take note of the closing lines of "Eye in the Sky."  I ain't gonna live any more believing / Some of the lies while all of the signs are deceiving.

Home

Listen while your read:  https://youtu.be/9YK-tWOkLhs

Putting on old clothes in a new way
Putting on a pose of a new stage
Waking up every day just a little bit changed
As it breaks over us like waves

Long live beauty, short live pain
Lust for wonder, and hunger pain
Face your fears, not your shame
'Cause in the end, it just wears away

Leave the lights on
'Cause it might be nighttime when I get there
And I'm on my way home

~  C. Porterfield (Field Report)

If you visited this space yesterday, you can understand that I am a bit emotionally overwhelmed by my visit with a friend who is facing what we all we face eventually.  And part of that exhaustion is due to the fact that I will probably never see him again.  But despite the heartache, I feel good about having made the trip, and the memory of my visit will stay with me strong for the next several days.  While you are reading this, I will be making the long drive home, turning the music up and down, scanning the GPS for clues, shifting uncomfortably in my seat, and munching on a granola bar and an apple.  I will have one goal in mind:  home.

Field Report's sophomore album, Marigolden, came out in August 2014.  I fell in love with "Home" immediately.  The opening verse is beautifully written, but it makes references to Christmas tinsel, so I jumped right to the second verse for this post.  In an interview in which he discusses the song, Porterfield says, "When you're on the road, it's a total personal recalibration as opposed to coming home."  Now of course he's talking about being "on the road" as in "touring with the band."  As much as I have romanticized about that life, I can't even carry a tune, so when I talk of being "on the road," it's a reference to driving from Point A to Point B.  But despite how tired I am right now, the metaphor does not escape me.  I listened carefully when Cat Stevens told us that we were "on the road to find out."  And whichever road you are on, you should wake up every day just a little bit changed.

I can say that I woke up changed today.  And it broke over me like waves.

There's another line in the song that I find compelling.  The body remembers what the mind forgets.  I think the more predictable line would be its opposite, but I like the deliberate reversal.  I just like the whole song.  And I'm on my way home.

Good with God

Listen while you read:  https://youtu.be/dDMMd4zx7is

I'm not afraid, I'm good with God
I got my sins, in fact, I got a lot
I got a soul that's good and flawed
I'm good with God, I'm good with God

I'm not afraid, got no regrets
I paid my dues, I paid my debts
I made a mess, but it's my bed
No regrets, no regrets

Goodness knows, I've done you wrong
I'm not too gone to see
All's I know's I'm good with God
I wonder how She feels about me

~  Old 97s and Brandi Carlile

So on some days, when I have the luxury of time, I sort through songs and their lyrics until I settle upon one for that day's blog.  Other days, some event or remembrance dictates the song choice.  And then there are days like today, when I'm occupied with more important things (like visiting my daughter in North Carolina) and I've had no time to think about which song to choose.  But I went to bed last night with a song in my head, and sure enough, it was still there when I woke up this morning.  And then I had that "Duh!" moment.

I am heading out in a couple of hours to return to Florida, but this afternoon, I will be making a surprise visit to a dear old friend whom I have not seen in several years.  Bill was my best guy friend when we were teenagers, and he has remained dear to my heart for over 50 years.  When I think of those teenage years, the same scene is foremost in my memory.  It's 1966, and there's Bill and me, sitting in a booth at Eddie's Restaurant, the popular after-school hang-out in our small hometown.  We're drinking cherry Cokes and listening to Lou Christie on the juke box, or maybe The Rolling Stones.  Bill is teaching me about drag racing, his favorite spectator sport, and I am memorizing the details, mostly because it's way more interesting than my algebra homework.  Bill walks me home later and then hitches a ride to his home, several miles away.

Two years later, Bill is off to Viet Nam and I am off to college.  We become penpals.  Although he does not reveal much about his activities, there are always vague references to "Charlie," and I know enough about the horror of that war to pick up the fear behind his chatty letters.  I kept all 96 of them for a very long time, but somewhere, they disappeared.  Bill did not.  He returned from Nam in tact (at least physically) and we resumed our friendship, although his move to Florida put us back in penpal mode, but without the intensity.  In the years since, we have lived our separate lives, touching base occasionally, but always caring about one another in our hearts and memories.

After a few years back in the Northeast, Bill moved to North Carolina, but Facebook reconnected us. And here we are.  But there's something different.  Bill has been diagnosed with ALS and told that he has a number of months before that disease claims him.  My visit to him today will likely be the last time I see him.

Old 97s released Graveyard Whistling a couple of weeks ago, and "Good with God" is getting a lot of airplay.  The band, teaming up with Brandi Carlile, rock this song with intense rhythm and a bit of Texas twang.  The song is a duet between lead singer Rhett Miller and Carlile, who takes on the persona of God.  The song surprises with Carlile's response to Rhett's opening verse:

You should be scared, I'm not so nice
Many a man has paid the price
You're pretty thick, so I'll tell you twice
I'm not so nice, I'm not so nice

I made you up and I'll break you down
I'll do it slow, how's that sound?
You're just a joke that's going 'round

Clearly, the song raises larger questions about redemption and spiritual reckoning.  We're all going to face this crisis of mortality eventually.  Some of us get caught off-guard, but some of us get to see it coming.  Is that a blessing or a curse?  As reviewer Jonathan Keefe commented, "If hellfire and brimstone are about to rain down, the band sounds unafraid to meet their fate."  I hope my friend Bill is able to get to that place.

Needless to say, today will be a mix of emotions for me.  And I will, once again, question my own standing with God, whoever He or She may be.

You might think you're good with God
We're gonna have to wait and see
I guess we'll have to wait and see

There's one thing I know for certain, though.  Bill, you are good with God.  And with me.