Most People

Listen while you read: Most People

As she listens very carefully to a room of conversation
She can feel the planet orbiting through space
She hears pieces of arguments, beginnings of jokes
And the odd lines of a song she cannot place

And it all makes up an image that resists interpretation
Which is lately how she likes to see herself
How she does not believe in accidents, doesn't disagree out loud
And falls in love with every man she cannot help

And she thinks, "Most people don't talk enough about how lucky they are
Most people don't know what it takes for me to get through the day
Most people don't talk enough about the love in their hearts"
But she doesn't know most people feel the same way

If she focuses her energies on just walking through the neighborhood
With depths and shallows nobody could sound
Like January Christmas lights under billion-year-old stars
She comes up with more of what is lost than what is found

And so by the time that she explains to me just a glimpse of what she's understood
She betrays the meaning putting it in words
So she smiles at me lovingly and says, "Just let me hold your hand
So far, it's the only way I can let myself be heard"

~  Taylor Goldsmith (Dawes)

Debbie Downer here with your daily lyric fix. I'm blaming the weather. There is, literally, a dark cloud over my head and over the heads of everyone around. Dismal. Word of the week. There's a rumor of sun on Thursday.

When Dawes appeared on the scene a few years ago, with help from Jackson Browne, I found them to be so refreshing. Yes, they sound great, especially live. But Taylor Goldsmith is a lyricist in the vein of Jackson, and in my opinion, that is more a rarity than a norm in today's music. So many times, I hear a song that I love, and I consider it for this blog. Then I read the lyrics and they make no sense. That song gets crossed off my list unless there's some other compelling reason to post it.

Stories Don't End is Dawes' third studio album, released in 2013. That title is a common theme throughout the album. Our stories, our relationships with others, once begun, don't end. Our lives are not a neat beginning-middle-end plotline. In "Most People," Goldsmith (according to Rolling Stone) "digs with breezy introspection into the insights of a complicated woman living in a broken paradise." Rolling Stone goes on to suggest that he might be telling the story to a friend at a bar and be able to reveal the same "message of frustration, attraction, and passion" that the song suggests. I would love to be the friend at the bar with Goldsmith.

To my way of thinking, a good lyricist is also a good poet. And by that, I don't mean that he/she is able to rhyme "space" with "place" or "sound" with "found" or "orange" with "door-hinge." (And you thought there was no word to rhyme with "orange"!!) Rhyme has little to do with being a good poet. Although rhyme can make songs more lyrical, more often than not, rhyme is a liability rather than an asset.

But contemplate this line:

Like January Christmas lights under billion-year-old stars
She comes up with more of what is lost than what is found

That line is awesome! It has implied color, it has imagery, it has contrast, and it forces you to make a connection. What is lost? What is it that we are hoping to find? And once you get that far, you have to wonder, "What is the point of this living?" The answer isn't there, but that isn't the point of the question.

The pivotal idea of the song is that most people feel the same way. We are all wounded birds, trying to navigate our way through pain and sorrow and the elusive moments of joy that inspire us to keep going. When the woman temporarily abandons her introspective search for the meaning of life, she asks for the simple comfort of human touch. And there's the answer, at least for the moment.

I hope you find your moments on this otherwise dismal day.

Summertime Is in Our Hands

Listen (and watch) while you read: (The video tells a story.)

Summertime is always on my mind
Even in the winter I want the sunshine
Feel the rain falling from above
And wash away the pain of my years gone by

Because I believe, yes, I believe, and I believe we can
Yes, I believe what I believe, and I believe
That summertime is in our hands
Yeah, hands, yeah, hands, yeah
Summertime is in our hands
. . . 

~ Bowman, McGregor, Franti (for Michael Franti & Spearhead)

Again, serendipity. In preplanning my Memorial Day Weekend blogposts, I'd decided that I wanted to include a song that celebrates the "unofficial start of summer." I came across this Michael Franti song and decided it fit the bill. I mean, who doesn't get happy when a Michael Franti song comes up? And then Gregg Allman died and threw my schedule into confusion. I substituted an Allman song yesterday and put the Franti song aside for another day.

And then, yesterday morning, I received a phone call from Dave, whose wife Kathy passed away the night before. Kathy had been a student of mine four decades ago. Two years ago, she told me she had an incurable cancer and had six months to a year to live. She wanted to have a party with some of her friends from high school, so I offered to host it. We gathered at my home and celebrated all things Kathy. She called it "Kathyfest." Kathy was a great lover of music, and I was able to obtain a video of a private performance by Ellis Paul, one of Kathy's favorite singer/songwriters, in which he speaks to Kathy and sings just for her. We all had a great time and stayed in touch.

Kathy's "six months to a year" turned into two years, during which she exhibited tremendous courage and a remarkable lack of self-pity. Dave's description of their last hours together was a story of great love and affection.

Today, I returned to the Michael Franti song and watched the video. Serendipity. "Dedicated to the healing of those who have had to say goodbye too soon." I am a member of that club, as are many of my friends, especially Amy, Allison, Bonnie, Karen, Bev . . . and now Dave.

The video accompanying the song tells a story. Don't be thrown off by the lighthearted display of vacation happiness; in the end, you will understand the point of the story, although you may want to watch more than once to get it. If you want Michael Franti to explain it to you, go to Do It for the Love, his nonprofit to offer healing and respite for those facing an untimely death. (I wish I had known about this sooner.)

Dave, I hope you find peace now that Kathy has been released from her pain. And Kathy, I hope you have a front row seat for Gregg Allman's first concert in Rock 'n Roll Heaven.

We don't dance to escape life . . . we dance to keep life from escaping us.

Two Soldiers

Listen while you read: Two Soldiers

We show up every morning
Our uniforms are pressed
All spit and polish
We have to look our best

This message that we carry
Is a heavy load to bear
For those who pay the price with sacrifice
We have to show we care

Everybody has a duty
A way that they can shine
The ones who go over there
And those who stay behind

Some ain't coming back
Reality is grim
It's up to me and Sergeant Jack
To break the news to them

We're the two soldiers
No one wants to see
In a plain black sedan
Rolling down the street

Past the toys and bikes
Beneath the maple trees
Where fading yellow ribbons
Wave gently in the breeze

A loved one's in a better place
They won't be back no more
Now there's two soldiers
At the door

Sometimes they see us coming
And fall down on their knees
Tears are overflowing
Crying, "No, God, please."

Sometimes they just stand there
Silent as a stone
With no surprise in their eyes
Like they knew it all along

See the soldiers on the tarmac
Ready to deploy
Husbands and wives
With little girls and boys

Say a silent prayer
They all come back alive
And never see Jack and me
Pull up in their drive

~  Tim Stafford & Wood Newton for Blue Highway on Through the Window of a Train 2008


I think I'm just going to leave this one here. Enjoy your Memorial Day.

Ain't Wastin' Time No More

Listen while you read: RIP Gregg Allman

Last Sunday morning, the sunshine felt like rain
The week before, they all seemed the same
With the help of God and true friends, I've come to realize
I still have two strong legs and even wings to fly

So I ain't wastin' time no more
'Cause time goes by like hurricanes and faster things

Well, Lord, Lord, Miss Sally, why are you cryin'?
Been around here three long days, lookin' like you're dyin'
Go step yourself outside and look up at the stars above
And go on downtown, baby, find somebody to love

Meanwhile, I ain't wastin' time no more
'Cause time goes by like pourin' rain and much faster things

You don't need no gypsy to tell you why
You can't let one precious day slip by
Well, look inside yourself, and if you don't see what you want
Maybe sometimes then ya don't
But leave your mind alone and we'll all get by

~ Gregg Allman

Once again, my Facebook newsfeed is full of pictures and commentary on the death of another rock legend. Gregg Allman died yesterday afternoon. I was enjoying live music at an outdoor concert venue when I heard the news, and I could not help but recall the first time I saw The Allman Brothers. It was in July 1973 at another outdoor concert venue, Summer Jam at Watkins Glen, a weekend festival featuring The Grateful Dead and The Band, along with The Allman Brothers. Duane Allman had already been gone nearly two years, having died in a motorcycle accident on October 29, 1971.

Shortly after Duane's death, his grieving brother Gregg completed "Ain't Wastin' Time No More," and it was recorded that December to be included on 1972's Eat a Peach, perhaps the most known Allman Brothers album. While some of the tracks on Eat a Peach included Duane's participation, the album was finished minus that brother.

And now we are minus another brother. Gregg had been having health issues in recent years, so his death comes as no surprise. I have been to recent incarnations of ABB, and while Gregg's presence was important, he seemed willing to lend star attention to Warren Haynes and Derek Trucks and others. But Haynes and Trucks both left the band in early 2014, and the remaining ABB played their final concert at the Beacon Theatre in NYC on October 28 of that year.

The video attached to this post is from Gregg's solo performance in January 2014 captured on Live: Back to Macon GA. I think it's a beautiful performance of the song, one that now takes on a bit more urgency. At the time of his death, Gregg Allman was not quite three years older than I am right now. At this age, I take nothing for granted. I have a long bucket list, and despite the fact that I have been regularly crossing items off that list, somehow the list continues to grow. I still have two strong legs and even wings to fly has become my mantra.

But you don't have to be my age to take wisdom from the song. How much time do we all "waste" on television, on cellphones, on drama, on consumerism? How much time are we wasting while our planet, our morals, and our security are all being compromised every single day by the greed and lack of compassion demonstrated by our government? You can't let one precious day slip by.

By all accounts, Gregg Allman was a kind, gentle, and loving human being. He spent his life providing music for us to enjoy. We owe it to his legacy to heed the messages he embedded in his songs and to pass them along.

We'll raise our children in the peaceful way we can
It's up to you and me, brother
To try and try again

We ain't wasting' time no more

Darling

Listen while you read: There's a horse in the video!

The black and yellow finches 
That nest in our new ferns
Which hang upon our front porch 
Wait for the warm sun to return

Impatiently, as I wait for you
Impatiently, as I wait for you

The night surrenders swiftly
The moon retreats from sight
The darkness that surrounds me
The sun cuts like a knife to shine

Impatiently
Impatiently

The birds singing
The sun rising
Impatiently
As I wait for you
For you, for you, for you

~ Martin Courtney (Real Estate)

This is the second Real Estate song I've selected. (See "Talking Backward" from March 26.) I can't find anything to not like about this band, and I'm not the only one. I read several reviews of their latest album, In Mind, released earlier this year. While every reviewer commented in some way on the lack of excitement in the band's steady style, each one determined that it was okay. More than okay. Real Estate gets great reviews. And of course, I'm proud to say that they are from my home state of New Jersey! (We need all the pride we can get. It eases the pain of the property taxes. Well, not really.)

While I'm writing this, my public radio station is playing Bob Dylan's "Masters of War," paying tribute to him on his birthday. So I can't help but consider the contrast: Dylan's angry, political protest songs and Martin Courtney's melodious and soothing lyrics about nature and sweet love. And, needless to say, both kinds of music are necessary. I've spent a lot of time in this blog on songs of protest and discontent. Sometimes, it's nice to just chill with a pretty song.  In fact, Real Estate has been referred to as a "chill band," although Courtney is not particularly thrilled with that label. I guess it's all in how you interpret it. I mean, The Grateful Dead is a chill band, right? Chilling is good! Especially these days.

Impatiently. That's me, waiting for the warm sun to return. It's still cool and cloudy here in the Northeast, despite the lush greens and blossoms. Birdsong wakes me in the morning, and then I try to decide whether or not to turn up the heat. I am impatient for summer, but who in the North isn't?

I need to chill. Real Estate to the rescue.

Listening to Levon

Listen while you read: Love for Levon

I was sitting with Mary in my dad's blue Valient
Rain was coming down and the radio was playing
Mary was talking a million miles a minute
I could not hear one word she was saying

'Cause I was lost, I was gone
I was listening to Levon
In another world, in another place
I was lost, I was gone
I was listening to Levon

I was looking at Mary's eyes but I was listening to Levon

Mary's hair was black, that much I remember
Mary's skin was smooth, I remember that, too
And she opened her eyes sometimes when she kissed me
I don't know why she did that. Maybe Mary knew
. . . 

I changed her name to protect the innocent
I might have even lied about the car
This is just to say sorry if I hurt you
Maybe if you're out there, you know who you are

I'm sorry, Mary

It serves me right if you can't hear me singing
If you tuned me out a long time ago
And it served me right if you already changed the station
And you're listening right now to that old boy on the radio

And you're lost and you're gone
Listening to Levon
In another world from some other place
Are you lost? Are you gone?
Listening to Levon
Is there a smile on your face while you're listening to Levon?

~ Marc Cohn

Levon Helm, most famous as the drummer for The Band, would have turned 77 years old today. Levon died on April 19, 2012, already five years ago. (These time passages frighten me.) The video linked above (which I really hope you watched) was filmed at the "Love for Levon" concert at the Izod Center on October 3, 2012. I was in the audience for that show.

Marc Cohn's gorgeous ballad, which pays tribute to young love and to the music of The Band, appears on the 2007 release Join the Parade. At "Love for Levon," Cohn was backed up by The Levon Helm Band. I've seen this band many times, most often while Levon was still with them. Most of those performances took place at Levon's Barn in Woodstock NY, a 150 - 200 capacity studio adjoining Levon's home. Those concerts were intimate and exciting, and I was usually in the front row. Consequently, I got to shake Levon's hand many times. Yes, I was a big fan of Levon's.

My favorite memory of concerts at Levon's took place when I took my 19-year-old son to see guest band moe. After the show, one of the security guys walked up to us as we were exiting and handed my son a pair of Levon's drumsticks wrapped in a copy of the set list. "Levon wants you to have these," he said. And that was Levon, taking note of the "youngster" sitting in the front row with his mom and gifting him with a memory that he will keep forever.

In the video, take note of the band. That's Teresa Williams singing back-up vocals, along with her husband, Larry Campbell, playing a tiny guitar (which I think belonged to Levon). Jim Wieder, who at one time played with The Band in their later incarnations, plays the electric guitar solo. Wieder now tours with The Weight, a band made up of musicians who've all played with Levon or The Band at some point. Larry and Teresa are scheduled to play tomorrow at Dylanfest, a 3-day tribute to Bob Dylan at the local Warwick Valley Winery. Barring a rain-out, I expect to be there. The music lives on.

Much love for Levon.

Note the tiny guitar?

59th Street Bridge Song

Listen while you read: Updated version

Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feelin' groovy

Hello, Lamppost, nice to see ya
We might get bombed by North Korea
We're getting close to World War III
So run for the shelters, feelin' groovy

Ba da da da da feelin' groovy

The Arctic's melting, the seas are boiling
These aren't the first pants that I'm soiling
We won't survive the century
We're all doomed, I'm feelin' groovy

Kellyanne Conway makes no sense
And even if Trump goes, we're stuck with Mike Pence
But he might win the big one in twenty-twenty
Nevertheless, all is groovy

Ba da da da da feelin' groovy

~ Paul Simon (with help from Stephen Colbert)

In case you missed it, Paul Simon was on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert last night. (And lest you think that I actually stay up that late, I caught the video on social media this morning.) Although Simon's main feature was his first live performance of the beautiful "Question for the Angels," he and Colbert sang a remake of "59th Street Bridge Song," linked for you above. They began with some banter in which Simon says he loathes that song because it "doesn't sound like 2017." Thanks to Colbert, now it does.

The original "59th Street Bridge Song" was released in 1966 on the iconic Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme. It can still send me back to being a teenager and feeling upbeat and light whenever the song came on the radio. Such a happy, sunny song! And I guess that's why Simon said that it doesn't sound like 2017. Whether it's age or politics or culture (or a combination of all three), the times don't feel so sunny anymore. (At a political fundraiser the other night, we were entertained by Chris Sieber,  known for his performance as Galahad in Spamalot, who sang the Monty Python classic, "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." That song always boosts my optimism a few notches, too.)

So what to do? The answer is easy: laugh when you can! Thanks to people like Colbert and Seth Meyers and Trevor Noah and John Oliver and the cast of SNL, there are many opportunities to laugh.  Sure, the topics aren't really funny at all, but laughing seems a better alternative to crying. With any luck at all, maybe we won't get to the point where there's nothing to laugh about anymore and all we can do is cry.

Ba da da da da feelin' groovy. For the moment, anyway.

Lost Cause

Listen while you read: This one's weird  or you can try this one .

Your sorry eyes cut through the bone
They make it hard to leave you alone
Leave you here wearing your wounds
Waving your guns at somebody new

Baby, you're a lost
Baby, you're a lost
Baby, you're a lost cause

There's too many people you used to know
They see you coming, they see you go
They know your secrets, and you know theirs
This town is crazy; nobody cares

I'm tired of fighting
I'm tired of fighting
Fighting for a lost cause

There's a place where you are going
You ain't never been before
No one left to watch your back now
No one standing at your door
That's what you thought love was for

~ Beck Hansen

"Lost Cause" was part of Beck's eighth album, 2002's heartbreak-themed Sea Change. He wrote it after a break-up with his girlfriend of many years. Despite its age and the number of times I've heard it, my ears still perk up whenever it's played on my music sources. Its sadness and melancholy get me every time.

And yes, my melancholy lingers, as melancholy is wont to do. Maybe if the thermometer would rise above the mid-sixties and the sun would turn the skies blue, I would snap out of this. Meanwhile, I'm wearing fleecy Uggs slippers and rubbing my hands in search of warmth. I know, I know, this, too, shall pass.

But I thought I might have some fun with this song, see it through a lens other than heartbreak. I am thinking that there's a lost cause residing in a certain white house on Pennsylvania Avenue, one with sorry eyes and sorry hands, waving guns at somebody new.  There are all those people you used to know, like Frederick Douglas and Luciano Pavarotti, who see you coming and see you go, as ghosts will. Who comes to mind at the line They know your secrets and you know theirs? Michael Flynn? Paul Manafort? Carter Page? Roger Stone? Jefferson Beauregard Sessions? This town is crazy; nobody cares.

There's a place where you are going
You ain't never been before
No one left to watch your back now

Oh, the image! The head bowed in shame! The handcuffs! The FBI escorts! The cheers from the people! The very thought lifts me out of my blues.

I'm tired of fighting. But I'm not giving up, and neither should you. (Props to Kate McKinnon.)

Darkness of the Dream

Listen while you read: Darkness of the Dream

And so I'd stumble in the light
The night was always there
To end all repetition

Insane? I bother with the blinds
Carry on and love will be here

I met this girl from my old town
But sadly she could see
I'm still a bunch of memories
And shit that I believe

And suddenly the rain is the only part you feel

And there's the darkness of the dream
And there's the darkness of the dream
. . . 

~  Kristian Matsson (The Tallest Man on Earth)

Dreaming is fascinating. And frightening. Always fun to ponder the idea that reality is the dream, and the dreaming is what's real. That might be cool . . . if it wasn't that dreaming is often so dark.

Kristian Matsson is a Swedish folksinger who goes by the moniker The Tallest Man on Earth. And if that causes you to conjure up visions of giants, consider that he is 5'8". (Being height-challenged, I have always hated the culture that tells us taller is better. Nonsense.) "Darkness of the Dream" appears on The Tallest Man on Earth's fourth release, 2015's Dark Bird Is Home. Matsson has been compared to Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, and others, but he insists that he is not emulating anyone. It's just how he writes his songs. While his songs are quite poetic, it may be his unique voice that grabs your attention. The video linked above might grab your attention, too. It has a certain dark beauty to it.

Tired from gardening, I fell asleep early last night, and dreams were abundant. A pleasant moment of summer grass and slow kisses was suddenly interrupted by a JetBlue pilot asking me if I was ready to board. I told him my flight wasn't until 6:30 that evening. He said that he'd sent me several letters informing me that the flight would be departing at 1:20, and everybody was waiting for me to board. And then I realized that I hadn't even packed yet. The slow kisses evaporated into the dreamy air as I worked myself into a panic about what to do. Welcome to the darkness of the dream.

But it was just a dream. This morning's scroll through my Facebook newsfeed revealed another kind of darkness. A former student, a friend, enigmatically sent out an SOS. The subsequent commentary revealed his contemplation of ending his life. I added my comment to the others, trying simultaneously to acknowledge his pain while encouraging him to work through it. We all do that. But don't we also wonder if maybe, just maybe, there is light somewhere else?

The summer is deep and the memories still
The garden is full and I'm way over the hills
I see there's a line that I'm walking
And I'm just the same
It's an endless game
In the darkness of the dream

Avant Gardener

Listen while you read: Avant Gardener

I sleep in late, another day
Oh, what a wonder, oh, what a waste
It's a Monday, it's so mundane
What exciting things will happen today?

The yard is full of hard rubbish, it's a mess and
I guess the neighbors must think we run a meth lab
We should amend that, I pull the sheets back
It's 40 degrees and I feel like I'm dying

Life's getting hard in here, so I do some gardening
Anything to take my mind away from where it's supposed to be
The nice lady next door talks of green beds
And all the nice things she wants to plant in them

I wanna grow tomatoes on the front steps
Sunflowers, bean sprouts, sweet corn and radishes
I feel proactive, I pull out weeds
All of a sudden

I'm having trouble breathing in . . . 

~ Courtney Barnett

Coming back to my New Jersey home last weekend filled me with mixed emotion. While it was wonderful to be "home" again, there were some not-so-wonderful issues, like the destruction that the groundhogs wreaked while digging out the foundation of my two gardening sheds. And then there were the weeds. Overwhelming. And the emergence of poison ivy in places that I thought were safe! I admit to being overwhelmed by all the work that lies ahead. My mantra: weed by weed, weed by weed, weed by weed.

Courtney Barnett is a hoot. "Avant Gardener" appears on an EP from 2013, A Sea of Split Peas. Based on a true experience, Barnett had this to say about the song: "Aw, it's a stupid song. It's so long and has no chorus and it's not catchy, you know?" Nonetheless, it caught my attention; how could it not?

This past weekend, I visited my friend Jeffrey at his organic nursery, Wild Yarrow, in upstate New York. Jeffrey has 100 different varieties of heirloom tomato plants! While I only purchased 20 of them, I am excited about how they will evolve this summer. I also purchased eggplants, peppers, broccoli, cauliflower, basil, Swiss chard, lovage, and I-don't-even-remember-what-else. By the time you read this, I will have planted all my purchases, along with lettuces, peas, and beans from seeds. God willing and the creek don't rise, I will not suffer from wasp stings or poison ivy rashes or bad encounters with evil woodchucks.

I proudly claim status as a half-assed gardener. I know a thing or two, but there's way more that I don't know. Not all my crops are successful. There are many times when I think that Mother Nature has targeted me for challenges. Grubs, Japanese Beetles, Tomato Hornworms, Late Blight . . . her army is vast and varied. But for every crop that fails, there's one that succeeds, and I will content myself with the sustenance I can derive from the successes.

Always Sad

Listen while you read: Always Sad

You ain't like those other girls
There's nothing like you in this world
You got something more than curls
You ain't like those other girls

You ain't like those other guys
There's something different in your eyes
You got something hard to find
You ain't like those other guys

I think I'm always sad
I think I'm always sad
I think I'm always gonna be sad
'Cause you're the best I've ever had

A million miles between us now
Why can't we just work things out?

I think I'm always sad
I think I'm always sad
I think I'm always gonna be sad
'Cause you're the best I've ever had

~ Jim & William Reid (for The Jesus and Mary Chain)

The Jesus and Mary Chain is another one of those bands I missed while I was busy birthin' babies back in the mid-80s to early 90s. When James Mercer referenced them in The Shins' recent release "Mildenhall" (see my post from March 23), I became curious. And then, as if the Universe heard my question, The Reid brothers released their first album since 1998. Damage and Joy came out a couple of months ago, and "Always Sad" is getting quite a bit of play on my music sources. Jim Reid is joined by guest vocalist Bernadette Denning on this track. Despite the word "sad" in the song, it's really a kind of poppy, upbeat, catchy song. And I like that contrast. I like the simplicity of the lyrics in a jangly, rockin' production. Yep, I like this song.

Since returning home a week ago, I found myself in a state of melancholy bordering on malaise. Trying to figure out why only exacerbated the sadness, and I've been at a loss how to shake myself out of it. Simply put, I'm in a funk. Seeking out some close friends to discuss this with helped to put some perspective on it, but it didn't get rid of the overwhelming introspection. Perhaps that's why this song has so much appeal to me right now.

I think I'm always gonna be sad.  Yes. So I've been thinking about our expectation that we're always supposed to be sad's opposite. Always happy? Seriously? Talk about unrealistic expectations! Seems more likely to me that sadness is our natural state. It's like when you're deep in contemplation of something compelling and someone commands you to "Smile!" as if you've been doing something wrong. I hate that. Those occasional run-ins with happiness are only made more delightful when they are the exception rather than the rule.

I often return to the Buddhist philosophy of the duality of opposites. In order to know happiness, one must know sadness. So rather than continuing to try to shake myself out of this melancholia, I am going to embrace it, to let it be, to wallow in it if necessary. Accepting it allows it to feel natural. I am not debilitated by it, so why not leave it alone? I suspect that one morning I'll wake up and realize that I'm not feeling sad. True, it might take the removal of 45 from office for that day to come, but I'll wait for it.

And you thought I could get through a blog post without a reference to the political nightmare we are living in! Always sad.

Say Something Loving

Listen while you read:  Say Something Loving

Say something loving
I just don't remember the thrill of affection
I just don't remember
Say something loving
I need a reminder, the feeling's escaped me

I went looking for it
Could have been anyone's kiss
Throwing my arms at no one
When I gave up, I found love

The thought flows through my mind
And it's growing all the time
I do myself a disservice
To feel this weak, to be this nervous

You say something loving
It's so overwhelming, the thrill of affection
It feels so unfamiliar
You say something loving
Without hesitation, it hits me
It feels so unfamiliar.

~  Croft / Sim (The xx)

I usually write these posts a day ahead of posting. Tonight, my favorite public radio station (WFUV)  is live-streaming a concert in NYC by The xx. While The xx is fairly new to me, they got their start in 2005. The 2017 release I See You is their third. So it took awhile, but they now have my complete attention.

The xx is an "electro trio," consisting of Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim on vocals and guitar, along with mastermind, drummer, keyboardist, and producer Jamie Smith. Croft and Sim met in preschool in London at age 3; they met Smith at age 11. So the trio has history.

While "Say Something Loving" is certainly a romantic ballad, enhanced by gorgeous vocals, it transcends tradition. Croft and Sim are both openly gay, so if their duet makes it sound like they are madly in love with one another, think again. And what does it matter? The message inherent in the song goes way beyond what was once perceived as conventional practice. Say something loving. We all need affirmation, no matter our sexual inclination.

I spent a dozen years in widowhood with no offering of romantic affirmation or loving or affection. To then have this gift placed in my lap was an awakening I never expected. When I gave up, I found love.

The message is clear. Don't give up. Give, and you may receive. Tell the one you love that you love him/her. Show affection. Say something loving.

Go ahead, do it.

Hope the High Road

Listen while you read: Hope the High Road

I used to think that this was my town
What a stupid thing to think
I hear you're fighting off a breakdown
I myself am on the brink
I used to want to be a real man
I don't even know what that means
Now I just want you in my arms again
And we can search each other's dreams

I know you're tired and you ain't sleeping well
Uninspired and likely mad as hell
But wherever you are,
I hope the high road leads you home again
To a world you want to live in

I've heard enough of the white man's blues
I've sang enough about myself
So if you're looking for some bad news
You can find it somewhere else
Last year was a son of a bitch
For nearly everyone we know
But I ain't fighting with you down in the ditch
I'll meet you up here on the road

~  Jason Isbell (for Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit)

Well, if you're looking for some bad news, you can pretty much find it 24/7. I am likely mad as hell with the daily shitshow of incompetency coming from this administration. While each episode of breaking news puts more and more fear into our need for national security, at the same time, the news seems to be getting us closer to ending this nightmare that we've been experiencing. It's not easy balancing that fear with anticipation of better days, so it's no wonder we ain't sleeping well.

This new song from Jason Isbell (formerly of Drive-By Truckers) will appear on the June 16 release of The Nashville Sound. I believe Isbell wrote the song earlier this spring, and clearly, it was his reaction to the new administration. "I try to document where I am in my life, and right now, one of my primary concerns is, 'What is my role as a white male in a society that really is in dire need of understanding and empathy for people who aren't white males?'" he told Entertainment Weekly.

The song is a prayer for sanity. I am reminded of Michelle Obama's advice: "When they go low, we go high." As hard as it is to take the high road in these difficult times, lowering ourselves to name-calling and lies only divides us more. "I want listeners to feel encouraged to be vigilant but to still stay classy, for Christ's sake. If you're doing too much yelling and too much screaming and acting out of frustration, you're not effecting change in any positive way," Isbell opines.

I'm attending a political fundraiser next week, and I've located a local Indivisible group that I am happy to join. I want to effect change in a positive way. But meanwhile, I cannot promise that I will not be bitching and moaning on this blog, because, hey, it's my blog. Read it if you want; ignore it if I piss you off.

We'll ride the ship down
Dumping buckets overboard
There can't be more of them than us
There can't be more

Keep the faith.

Imagine

Listen while you read: Chris Cornell cover

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today

Imagine there're no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion, too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world

~  John Lennon

Part of my daily post-run morning routine is spending way too much time on my Facebook newsfeed. Even before I read the paper. My justification for this is that the newsfeed is often more current than what was put to press in the wee hours of the morning. So this morning, I was subject to several articles and commentary on the death of Chris Cornell, former "grunge" musician, at age 52. Cornell was a founding member of Soundgarden in 1984. I have to admit that I am only marginally knowledgable about the grunge movement, primarily because I was birthin' babies in the years that the Seattle Sound was popular. (This is a true story: to this day, I wake up every morning to the theme song from Sesame Street in my head. That should tell you something about my music experience for those years.) I do feel like I missed an important era in rock music. Nonetheless, I am saddened by the untimely death (possibly suicide?) of Chris Cornell.

My newsfeed this morning also offered me several links to video of the brawl between supporters and opponents of Turkey's President Erdogan in Washington DC on Tuesday. To say that the video is disturbing is an understatement. So I scrolled through endless posts about Chris Cornell interspersed between video and stories about the DC violence. The two events intertwined in my head in some unexplainable, compelling way. And then my radio station (WFUV), in tribute to Cornell, played his cover of John Lennon's "Imagine," and the connection was clear.

Cornell's "Imagine" cover is from his 2011 live collection, Songbook. He is credited with an astonishing four-octave vocal range. For a good example of this talent, listen to this cut from his 2015 solo effort, Higher Ground: Nearly Forgot My Broken Heart.  

Imagine all the people living life in peace.  Why does that possibility seem further and further away? Where are we headed? Samantha Power, former U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations (and commencement speaker at my son's 2014 UVM graduation), tweeted this: "Clearly Erdogan's guards feel complete impunity, drawing on tools of repression they use at home & knowing he has their back, no matter what." Why our current administration champions brutal dictators while insulting our allies demands investigation. Speaking of which, we may finally get some answers regarding his ties to Putin. Wait for it.

I'm Writing a Novel

Listen while you read:  Get ready for Crazy

I ran down the road, pants down to my knees
Screaming "Please, come help me! That Canadian shaman
Gave a little too much to me!"
And I'm writing a novel because it's never been done before

First house that I saw, I wrote "house" up on the door
And told the people who lived there they had to get out
"'Cause my reality is realer than yours"
And there's no time for the present and there's a black dog on the bed

I went to the backyard to burn my only clothes and the dog ran out and said, 
"You can't turn nothing into nothingness with me no more"
Well, I'm no doctor, but that monkey might be right
And if he is, I'll be walking him my whole life
. . . 

~  Father John Misty (Josh Tillman)

Are these lyrics crazy? Yes. I warned you about Father John Misty, aka Josh Tillman, on my April 13th post. But, gee, these times are crazy, so what the hey? Let's all fall down the rabbit hole and go with it. Are you with me?

"I'm Writing a Novel" appears on the 2012 release Fear Fun. The Chicago Tribune has compared Tillman to Randy Newman. "He's funny, with songs that contain wit that's somewhere between scathing and biting, and he's also damn good at making completely accessible music despite its meta lyrical content." I don't even know what that means, but I also don't know what Tillman's lyrics mean, so I guess it doesn't matter. The Tribune also credits "I'm Writing a Novel" with "infectious bluesy swagger." That part I get. Just try to listen to this tune and not slap your thighs to the rhythm. I'm definitely chair-dancing while writing this post.

"I'm Writing a Novel," despite its reference to Neil Young, makes little sense. Rolling Stone accuses Tillman of "goofing off and sharing candid moments of life on the road. For Tillman, this means buying a hearse, digging into some records, shooting some guns, playing dress up, and snapping a pic with Santa." Yep, rabbit hole stuff. And why not?

For years, I have considered writing a novel. I suppose it's fear of failure that prevents me from taking on such an endeavor. But I still think about it. This afternoon, I spent several hours pulling up weeds from my garden beds in preparation for massive planting this weekend. At first, the weeds overwhelmed me. And then I recalled Anne LaMott's father's advice about writing. She recalls her brother having to write some paper about birds while being overwhelmed at the weight of the assignment. Her father advised his son to just "take it bird by bird." Anne used this advice as metaphor for the writing process. I used it to inspire me to keep pulling weeds. Weed by weed. I got a lot done today (but much, much more awaits me tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow). Writing a novel? I should take it bird by bird, weed by weed, word by word. I know that. Well, maybe after this year of song lyrics? I'll need something to fill the void, right?

Meanwhile, Josh Tillman can continue to write nonsensical lyrics and I will continue to listen to his music. It all seems to fit the times. Crazy.

A Lover's Concerto

Listen while you read: A Lover's Concerto

How gentle is the rain that falls softly on the meadow
Birds high up in the trees serenade the flowers with their melodies
Oh, see there beyond the hill the bright colors of the rainbow
Some magic from above made this day for us just to fall in love

Now I belong to you from this day until forever
Just love me tenderly and I'll give to you every part of me
Oh, don't ever make me cry through long, lonely nights without love
Be always true to me, keep this day in your heart eternally

Someday we shall return to this place upon the meadow
We'll walk out in the rain, hear the birds above singing once again
You'll hold me in your arms and say once again you love me
And if your love is true, everything will be just as wonderful

~  Randell / Linzer (for The Toys)

The other day, I found this message from my old friend Brian: "Have you written a blog post about young love? Drove today through the parking lot of my school looking at the kids and thinking how sweet teenage love was. It was for me and lots of folks now our age. I'd love to read about that and attach a song." So, Brian, this one is for you.

The Toys, a trio out of Queens, never reached the stature of The Supremes, perhaps the most successful of the "girl groups" of the period, but "A Lover's Concerto" did reach #2 on the Billboard charts. Aside from that popular sound, "A Lover's Concerto" had something else that got our attention. It was "classical" music, something we didn't know a whole lot about, but sounded impressive to our teenage brains. Well, no, it wasn't exactly classical music, but the melody was taken from "Minuet in G." Although we attributed that piece of music to Johann Sebastian Bach (impressing our friends when we stated our knowledge of that), it was revealed some years later that the actual composer was Christian Petzold. Eh, not quite as impressive. Nonetheless, the song was what all teenage girls wanted . . . an ode to everlasting love and devotion. When we fell in love, we fell hard, and there was never a doubt in our minds that "forever" was the right word to use in proclaiming our love. Hell, we invented romantic love.

The song was still at the top of the charts when I began dating an "older man." I was 16, a sophomore in high school, and Eddie was, at age 20, two years out of high school. How my father ever allowed this dating to happen is beyond me, but I do have to admit that Eddie was "a perfect gentleman." Sure, we would go "parking," and yes, my glasses and the car windows would get pretty fogged up, but on some level, Eddie knew I was "jailbait," and he kept his hands where they belonged. (What? Where did they belong?) On these romantic occasions, we would listen to 77-WABC and wait for "our song" to play. And it always did. And then we'd make out some more and plan our future together because I belong to you from this day until forever.

And then Eddie enlisted in the Air Force and left for Texas, breaking my heart. For at least a week. And then, of course, I found another boyfriend and pledged my everlasting love to him.

A few years ago, thanks to social media, Eddie and I reconnected. One of the first things he mentioned when we began corresponding was "our song." He remembered that? Like over four decades later? Wow, I thought only girls catalogued those things. Anyway, on a subsequent visit back East, Eddie stopped by for a visit. Despite our disparate adult ideologies and politics, we spent several hours on my front porch reminiscing. It was one of those events where the years just seemed to melt away. It was fun to piece together the things I remembered with the things he remembered. And of course, "A Lover's Concerto" provided the soundtrack to our nostalgia.

And that's the last time I saw Eddie. His emails and messages faded away just like our teenage love affair did. And that's okay. But whenever I hear "A Lover's Concerto," I am reminded of that innocent and hopeful time when young hearts believed in forever. As Brian said, "To be in love at 16 and 17 was incredible! Nothing like it!" You got that right, Brian. Thanks for the suggestion to travel back there again!

Coming Home

Listen while you read: Coming Home

Baby, baby, baby, I'm coming home
To your tender sweet loving
You're my one and only woman
The world leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, girl
You're the only one that I want
I wanna be around
I wanna be around you, girl

Baby, how I'd be grieving
If you wanted to leave me all alone now by myself
I don't wanna party anywhere else
The world leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, girl
You're the only one that I want

~  Jenkins / Vivion / Block / Bridges (for Leon Bridges)

Okay, so the lyrics are not profound. In this case, they don't have to be. Listening to Leon Bridges sing anything is worth one's time. No profundity necessary. And, to offer a simpler excuse for this song choice today, I arrived "home" yesterday and will spend some time and mental meanderings contemplating that concept of "home."

"Coming Home" is the hit single from the album of the same name, released in 2015. I hope that you're familiar with Leon Bridges, but since I don't listen to commercial radio, I have no idea if he is accessible to all. His quick ascension to success in the music industry makes sense to me. In these times, when the world leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, it is not surprising that there would be a desire to travel back to what we now perceive as a simpler time. Leon Bridges' music is a throw-back to that time, a soul revival of sorts. Who doesn't love classic R&B? Bridges delivers. Of soul music, he said, "I love the realness and the simplicity of it. The soul music they were making back then was from the heart." And Bridges has heart. Oddly enough, when people began to compare him to Sam Cooke, Bridges had to spend some time becoming familiar with Sam Cooke's music. That new familiarity only served to make Bridges' music even better. The man is a natural.

Bridges was only 25 when he recorded Coming Home. Born Todd Bridges, he took on the nickname "Leon" as his performing name, but his mom still calls him Todd. (If your mind just directed you to Diff'rent Strokes, you will understand the name change. "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis?") Growing up in Fort Worth, Texas, Bridges' story is a compelling and heart-warming one. The first thing he did when he hit the charts was to buy his mom a house. If you'd like to know more about his story, read this wonderful article from D Magazine (D is for Dallas.)

Coming home. I drove the second and last leg of my trip home from Florida yesterday, ten hours non-stop. Along the way, I pondered what I would find when I walked in the door. Bats flying around the high ceilings? How many dead mice in the pantry? How many dead tree branches on the lawn or on the roof? But when I disarmed the alarm and unlocked the door, I stepped into my home. Talk about soul. My late husband built this house with his bare hands. It is where my kids grew up. It, like your homes, is full of memory, of joy and sorrow, of love and comfort. It is everything that is contained in that simple word, "home." And I'm here. I'm home.

And relieved to find only one dead mouse.

Stacy's Mom

Listen while you read: (It's Mother's Day)

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on

Stacy, can I come over after school?
We can hang around by the pool
Did your mom get back from her business trip?
Is she there, or is she trying to give me the slip?

You know, I'm not the little boy that I used to be
I'm all grown up now, baby, can't you see?

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on
She's all I want, and I've waited for so long
Stacy, can't you see you're just not the girl for me
I know it might be wrong, but I'm in love with Stacy's mom

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on . . . 

~  Fountains of Wayne

I certainly don't mean to be snarky, but here's my offering for Mother's Day 2017. I mean, it's a song with a Mom in it, right? Fountains of Wayne released "Stacy's Mom" on Welcome Interstate Managers in 2003. Seriously, the song is fourteen years old already? I remember buying the CD when it was released. I was not even a year into widowhood, and I was mourning the fact that my late husband had died before Fountains of Wayne had a big hit. Pete grew up in Wayne, after all. The band's name comes from an oddly revered garden center on Rt. 23 in Wayne, a sort of kitschy landmark that anyone driving to or from NYC would recognize as something that existed between suburbia and the "vast wilderness of rednecks and retired hippies" that is my home in New Jersey.

I also remember ironing in my bedroom one afternoon, blasting out the song and singing along. I was not aware that a couple of my kids and their friends were in the next room. It was one of those moments when their teenage brains could not discern between pride and horror that their own mother would be rocking out to such a song. "Mom, do you know what this song is about?" one of them asked. Duh.

And that scene, above, is what motherhood is about. Those sad, sweet, silly, stressful, and sentimental moments that get stored in your head to be retrieved fourteen years later when you're wishing that we didn't have these artificial "holidays" to endure. One day out of 365 to be good to your mother? What's wrong with this picture?

While I will be saying so long to one of my children on Mother's Day morning as I leave her home in North Carolina to continue my journey north, my other two offspring live too far away to see. It is what it is, just another day. I will spend this Mother's Day driving, rocking out to the tunes, getting closer and closer to my northern home in a state I share with Fountains of Wayne.

Putting my snarkiness aside, I hope your day is a good one, whether or not you are a mother, have a mother, or want to one day be a mother.

Sir Duke

Listen while you read:  Sir Duke

Music is a world within itself
With a language we all understand
With an equal opportunity
For all to sing, dance, and clap their hands
But just because a record has a groove
Don't make it in the groove
But you can tell right away at letter A
When the people start to move

They can feel it all over
They can feel it all over, people
They can feel it all over
They can feel it all over, people

Music knows it is and always will be
One of the things that life just won't quit
But here are some of music's pioneers
That time will not allow us to forget
For there's Basie, Miller, Sachmo
And the king of all, Sir Duke
And with a voice like Ella's ringing out
There's no way the band can lose

You can feel it all over

~  Stevie Wonder

I am old enough to remember "Little Stevie Wonder" and his first hit, "Fingertips," in 1963. Born in the same year, Stevie Wonder and I were both entering our teen years. But while I'd been taking piano lessons and practicing for six years, it had become clear to me that I had no musical talent. And here was this blind kid playing piano on a hit record. I was in awe.

"Sir Duke" appears on Songs in the Key of Life, released in 1976. It is Wonder's tribute to Duke Ellington. Now, let me tell you a little story. On the night of May 23, 1974, I had a dream that Ted Kennedy died. I was a big fan of the Kennedys, so the dream disturbed me. As I recalled the dream on my drive to work the next morning, I turned on the radio to find out if I had psychically predicted that death. The news revealed, however, that Duke Ellington had died. No mention of Ted Kennedy's demise. So I wasn't psychic after all.

In reading the newspaper later that day, I learned that Ellington's real name was not "Duke." His name was "Edward Kennedy Ellington." True story.

And why did I pick this song for today? My oldest daughter is graduating with another masters degree from Duke University! And I will be there with her to celebrate! She will also have earned her teaching certificate with this degree, and like her mother before her, will be pursing a career as a teacher of English. In other words, she will be giving up every weekend of her life to grade papers as part of the best career there is.

Congratulations, Katrina! Here's to your future! I can feel it all over. XO

Wagon Wheel

Listen while you read: Wagon Wheel

Headed down south to the land of the pines
I'm thumbing' my way into North Caroline
Starin' up the road and pray to God I see headlights

I made it down the coast in seventeen hours
Pickin' me a bouquet of dogwood flowers
And I'm a hopin' for Raleigh 
I can see my baby tonight

So rock me, Mama, like a wagon wheel
Rock me, Mama, any way you feel
Hey, Mama, rock me
Rock me, Mama, like the wind and the rain
Rock me, Mama, like a southbound train
Hey, Mama, rock me

~  Bob Dylan and Ketch Secor (Old Crow Medicine Show)

Who doesn't love this song? Although it appeared on the 2004 release O.C.M.S., it was a few years later that the song became well-known. Maybe more people heard it when Darius Rucker recorded it in 2012? I don't know; I knew it long before that. Four years ago, I went with two of my kids (who were both living in New England at the time) to see a concert in New Hampshire. It was Old Crow Medicine Show and The Avett Brothers. My son was mad that The Avetts got top billing, and I kind of understand why. Although both bands put on amazing shows, it could be argued that Old Crow exhibited more versatility. This is one of those bands in which all the members can just switch off instruments because they are so multi-talented.

You may have been surprised to see Bob Dylan get some credit for writing the song. Apparently, he wrote the chorus and the melody during the Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid time. Somehow Ketch Secor of Old Crow got ahold of that much and added the verses. Google it if you're interested; it's a cool story. And it includes a geographical mistake which can only be attributed to youth and inexperience.

And I'm a hopin' for Raleigh / I can see my baby tonight. While you are reading this, I am on the road again, heading for Raleigh-Durham, and I hope to be there some time tonight. My first-born (my baby) awaits me there. Unlike the singer in Old Crow Medicine Show, I am going north, not south, and I am driving, not hitching. And there's no way that I am enjoying a nice long toke. But I am enjoying some good tunes on the drive. Hey, Mama, rock me.

And if you haven't already, watch the video (linked above). It's a hoot.

Russians

Listen while you read:  Russians

In Europe and America, there's a growing feeling of hysteria
Conditioned to respond to all the threats
In the rhetorical speeches of the Soviets
Mr. Krushchev says he will bury you
I don't subscribe to this point of view
It would be such an ignorant thing to do
If the Russians love their children, too

How can I save my little boy from Oppenheimer's deadly toy?
There is no monopoly in common sense
On either side of the political fence
We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the Russians love their children, too

There is no historical precedent
To put the words in the mouth of the President
There's no such thing as a winnable war
It's a lie we don't believe anymore
Mr. Reagan says we will protect you
I don't subscribe to this point of view
Believe me when I say to you
I hope the Russians love their children, too.

We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
What might save us, me and you
Is if the Russians love their children, too

~  Sting

"It's not a pro-Soviet song. It's pro-children," said Sting. Appearing on 1985's Dream of the Blue Turtles, the song was written during the Cold War, which lasted from 1947 to 1991, ending two years after the fall of the Berlin Wall. The Soviet Union no longer exists, nor do Krushchev, Reagan, or Oppenheimer. And the children about whom Sting sang are now in their 30s. But the theme of the song is eerily prescient. What might save us, me and you, is if the Russians love their children, too.

And of course they do. I chose this song today as a reminder to us all. As the political dysfunction intensifies, we need to step back from the labels we use to separate ourselves from one another and the artificial borders used to divide the planet in order to recognize our common humanity. While this is hard to do in regard to the power-hungry "leaders" who complicate our world, it is not that difficult to acknowledge the very human elements of love and family that we share, no matter where our homeland. We share the same biology regardless of ideology.

It is so easy to target and blame "the other." We do it all the time. Perhaps it is just human nature to do so? Is there a difference between hating political leaders and hating entire political parties? Is there a difference between hating foreign governments and hating the citizens of those countries? If one chooses to hate an alien population, does that include the children of that population?

In no way do I want this current corrupt administration to get a pass on its assistance in the compromising of our democracy. Bring on the appointment of a special prosecutor to conduct an independent investigation of the Trump - Russian ties. Priority One. But in our enthusiasm to trash "the Russians," let's remember that, indeed, the Russians love their children, too.

It's a Great Day to Whup Somebody's Ass

Listen while you read:  You're fired!

Have you ever had one of those days when nothing goes right?
Your wife starts bitching about whatever it was she was bitching about last night
So you escape into the bathroom just to sit there on your throne
But after you finish your business, the toilet paper's gone

Well, it's a great day for me to whup somebody's ass
It's a bad day, so you better get off my back
You might get cold-cocked if you cross my path
'Cause it's a great day for me to whup somebody's ass

~  Donald Trump  Paul Thorn

Well, the star of The Apprentice did it again. In case you've been vacationing on another planet (which sometimes sounds like a good idea), James Comey, Director of the FBI, was relieved of his duties last night. As the NYT tells it, Comey was making a presentation to some FBI agents in LA when the TV screens behind him revealed that Comey had been fired. Comey thought it was a prank, a funny one. And then he was escorted into another room where he learned, once again, of the impetuous behavior of the man who holds the nuclear codes.

I got to see Paul Thorn last month, which you may recall from my post on April 21. Wry and honest, Thorn's lyrics tell it like it is. He is as entertaining a live performer as anyone could want, and I hope I have the opportunity to see/hear him again. In searching for songs about getting fired, this one came up. It appears on 2003's Camel Toe. Later in the song, the persona does get fired and plots his revenge. We can only hope that Comey is doing the same, although preferably without the use of a crowbar.

This latest event, 110 days into an SMH administration, has sent the country reeling. Journalists, government agencies, politicians, and all us regular folk are scratching our heads in disbelief. And some of us (including me) are hoping that finally, this is the beginning of the end. We of a certain age remember Watergate all too well. Saturday Night Massacre? The parallels are blatantly obvious.

Once again, fasten your seatbelts. There are a few more bumps ahead. And be sure to turn the music up. Loud. It helps.

Teacher Teacher

Listen while you read: Teacher Teacher

Young love, teacher's pet
Cheeks flushed, apple red
Ringing you every day
Begging for a word of praise
I've put aside my foolish games
I run and hide and call names
School's out, the bells'll ring
Now's the time to teach me everything

Teacher, teacher, teach me love
I can't learn it fast enough
Teacher, teacher, teach me more
I've got to learn to love for sure

Lesson one, just begun
Growing up ain't much fun
Growin' up, out of school
Out of luck and out of rules
No one there to tell me how
A different world, teacher, teach me now

Lesson two, nothing new
I can't love, just passing through

~  Phillips / Pickett (Rockpile)

Okay, so don't read too much into this. Did I have crushes on teachers when I was a kid? Of course. Did any of my students have crushes on me? Probably. Is this unusual? Not at all. As much as it disturbs me greatly when I read in the news about some liaison between a teacher and student, I do understand how easily it can happen. And I am grateful that it never happened to me.

Disclaimer done. And why did I pick this song today? Because it's National Teacher Appreciation Day!  Sure, I could have picked "Teach Your Children" or "To Sir, With Love." But "Teacher, Teacher" makes me want to get up and dance! Appearing on 1980's Seconds of Pleasure, Rockpile's only album, the song endures, at least in my head. Nick Lowe's voice may be pretty grovelly these days, but I still like him.

A few years ago, I attended a multi-year class reunion for students I taught early in my career. It was a lot of fun seeing what these eternal teenagers (in my head) had become. One of them, Diane, greeted  me with this: "I always remember that 'a lot' is two words!" And I immediately recalled saying to my students, "If you learn nothing else from me, learn that 'a lot' is two words!"

Well, I hope I taught them more than that! I hope I taught them love. Love of literature, love of language, love of ideas, love of learning. Love of music. I hope I taught them tolerance and compassion. I hope I taught them responsibility and accountability. I hope I taught them that all great literature is about what it means to be human. And that if poets ran the world, there would be peace.

Teaching is hard work. It's emotionally exhausting. It's the best career there is. And I liked it. A lot.

I want to thank Mrs. Newton, Mrs. Lawrence, Mr. Sim, Mr. Kinney, Mr. Molina, Mrs. Jeager, Ms. Brown, Mrs. Dewhurst, Mr. Walko, Mr. Mull, Mr. Kleedorfer, Joe Bellamy, Mark Doty . . . and a lot of others. What teachers do you want to thank?

Get Out the Map

Listen while you read: Get Out the Map

The saddest sight my eyes can see
Is that big ball of orange sinking slyly down under the trees
Sitting in a broken circle while you rest upon my knee
This perfect moment will soon be leaving me

Suzanne calls from Boston, the coffee's hot, the corn is high
And that same sun that warms your heart will suck the good earth dry
With everything it's opposite enough to keep you crying
Or keep this old world spinning with a twinkle in its eye

Get out the map, get out the map, and lay your finger anywhere down
We'll leave the figuring to those we pass on our way out of town
Don't drink the water. There seems to be something ailing everyone
I'm gonna clear my head, I'm gonna drink that sun
I'm gonna love you good and strong while our love is good and young

~  Emily Saliers (Indigo Girls)

I love maps. I always have. Even when my world never extended beyond the tri-state area (NJ, NY, PA), I loved studying maps. Perhaps it was just that the names of places were so intriguing. Or maybe it was the reality that there were towns and streets and houses and people in so many places! There was a promise that one day, my world might become larger.

And it has. It just took a long time. As the old saying goes, when you have the time, you don't have the money. And when you have the money, you don't have the time. I'm comfortable enough with both right now, and I'm still pretty healthy, so . . . get out the map!

There are maps covering both my kitchen and dining room tables right now, and my guy and I are map-deep in finalizing our itinerary for a summer road trip in the Northwest. Our route is set: two countries, two provinces, four states, and ten national parks and monuments, with ocean, rivers, mountains, forests, bridges, ferries, cities and towns along the journey. And lots and lots of driving.

I remember that when I was a kid you could pick up road maps for free at gas stations. And I did. In the age of the Global Positioning System and Google Maps, the need for actual road maps has decreased significantly. I am grateful that my AAA membership allows me to secure all the maps I need, along with tour books. And, in case you were wondering, I am quite adept at folding the paper maps. Old habits die hard.

Before this exciting Northwest adventure happens, I will be undertaking a couple of smaller road trips on my own, beginning with the drive back north this weekend. Not as much fun, but somebody has to do it. Before I leave, however, I hope to have all our lodging booked for the Northwest; four more to go. And then the fun part of the planning begins, pouring over the maps and tour books to design each day's adventure. How many waterfalls can we hike to? Where can we get the best views of the mountains and volcanoes? Should we zipline over the gorge? Are there any concerts we want to see? Where are the 4th of July fireworks? Will it snow in the mountains in July?

I'm gonna clear my head / I'm gonna drink that sun / I'm gonna love you good and strong while our love is good and young.

Get out the map.

Idiot Wind

Listen while you read: Idiot Wind

Someone's got it in for me, they're planting stories in the press
Whoever it is, I wish they'd cut it out, but when they will I can only guess
They say I shot a man named Gray and took his wife to Italy
She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me
I can't help it if I'm lucky
. . . 

Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth
Blowing down the backroads headin' south
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot, babe, it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe
. . . 

I woke up on the roadside, daydreamin' 'bout the way things sometimes are
Visions of your chestnut mare shoot through my head and are makin' me see stars
You hurt the ones that I love best and cover up the truth with lies
One day you'll be in the ditch, flies buzzin' around your eyes
Blood on your saddle
. . . 

Idiot wind, blowing like a circle around my skull
From the Grand Coulee Dam to the Capitol
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot, babe, it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe

~ Bob Dylan

This live version, from Dylan's 1975 - 76 Rolling Thunder Tour, clocks in at over nine minutes. And needless to say, I hand-picked which lyrics to include, no easy task, but necessary for efficiency's sake. I recall seeing Dylan in NYC for the Rolling Thunder Revue, and it was a good time, though not as good as the first time I'd seen him, which was his reunion with The Band in early 1974. I saw two of those shows, at Madison Square Garden and Nassau Coliseum. I thought I was in the same house as God. I guess Dylan had become a little less god-like by the time I saw him with Rolling Thunder. Maybe Alan Ginsberg helped to put it all in perspective? Most recently, I saw Dylan at Red Rocks in Denver last summer. No god, but he had a good back-up band.

Appearing on 1975's Blood on the Tracks, the song's lyrics have been referred to as some of Dylan's "most malicious." Perhaps. But Dylan was long past his youthful idealism, and Blood on the Tracks is testimony to his growth.

Written in the summer of 1974 when he was separated from his then-wife, Sara, many felt that the song's venom was directed at her. Dylan has always denied this. "I've read that the album had to do with my divorce. Well, I didn't get divorced until four years after that." Bob's and Sara's son, Jakob, however, has stated that the song (and others on the album) is "his parents talking." Whatever the inspiration, the song demonstrates how a writer's mood and circumstances can inform the song's content. Little does it matter whether Sara was Dylan's target or not. The song survives on its own, regardless of Dylan's motivation for writing it.

And that's why I picked it for today's post. Still reeling from the House of Representatives' passage of the AHCA on Friday, I happened to hear "Idiot Wind" on my iPod shuffle. The first two lines made me chuckle,  thinking of them coming out of the tweet of someone not named Bob Dylan. The million dollar inheritance gave me another chuckle. As the song continued, I wasn't chuckling much. You hurt the ones I love best and cover up the truth with lies. It's just not that funny thinking about loved ones who will be unable to get or afford insurance coverage.

I noticed at the ceremony, your corrupt ways had finally made you blind.  And you, DT, have only become more blind. All you can see is your own ego. Well, here's a reality check for you: You'll find out when you reach the top, you're on the bottom.

Idiot wind.