End of August

Listen while you read:  Yanni? Seriously?

Sorry. There are no lyrics. Well, when I google "yanni end of august lyrics," some lyrics come up. But then they cannot be heard on the videos. What the hell do I know of Yanni? Nada! Anyway, just listen, okay?

~  Yanni

I'm worn down. Strung out. Tired. Sad. Weary. Frustrated. Scared. All of those things and then some. I searched my music for inspiration and found none. Realizing that August was nearly over, I asked google for a song about that, and this Yanni thing came up. So I listened. And for the first time in awhile, I felt some calm. I think the track appears on In My Time from 1993, but I could be wrong. I know nothing, absolutely nothing, about Yanni.

What I do know is that this song (can you call it a song if it has no words?) appears to be just what I needed. A slower pulse, a saccharine mellowness, an endearing melody. Like being in an elevator, but minus the people who smell like Right Guard. Like sitting in a therapist's waiting room with a good sound system and no screaming kids. Like a funeral home before anybody else gets there for the viewing. Like shopping for avocados in a new age organic health food store down in a valley far away from the Walmart on a Monday night. You get the idea.

And don't even talk to me about the pictures selected for the video linked above. Those pictures do not represent August anywhere on the planet. More like October. But I can overlook that because Yanni has done for me what no one else has been able to do, even if it was just for four minutes and 55 seconds. He made me forget who our President is.

And now that I've reminded myself of that, I'm right back where I started. (See the first line of this post.) Oh, I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders! The Russians! The Wall! The Pardon! The Flood! And now (gasp!) Melania's Stiletto Heels! Help me, Yanni!

This, too, shall pass. September will arrive with Pumpkin Everything, I'll put my garden to bed, I'll buy bushels of apples and forget to make the applesauce and bake the pies, and then I will plot my course south. With any luck at all, Houston will recover sooner than expected, Game of Thrones will be available on Netflix, and Loggins & Messina will get back together again. In the meantime, there's always more Yanni.

Best photo I ever took!

Hay Fever

Listen while you read: Ah CHOO!

Sitting by my stereo all alone
My baby calls me on the telephone
She says, "Baby, take me out for a dance"
I tell my baby, "I feel so bad
I can't go out, and it's making me sad
But when you see me, I know you will understand"

I got hay fever, blocking up my head
Hay fever, I ought to be in bed
How can I dance when I can hardly breathe
Wish I could cure this infernal allergy
I got hay fever, blocking up my brain
Hay fever, feel the sinus pains
And all the pills and powders are in vain
Thought I was cured, but here it comes again
It goes ooh-ah

The pollen count getting higher and higher
My eyes are sore and my nose is on fire
My throat's dry now, and I'm starting to perspire
My stuffed-up head's killing all of my desire
I got hay fever, you wicked allergy
Hay fever, you put the curse on me
And I've inhaled every known remedy

I can't stay cool cuz I'm starting to sneeze
I can't make love when I can hardly breathe
We start to dance, and my nose starts to bleed
There must be a cure for this hay fever
Is there a pill or a powder I can take?
I must get a cure, my romance is at stake
.
Hay fever, you tore my image down
Hay fever, I must look like a clown
I must have used every tissue in town
I'm running 'round sniffin' like a hound
I go ooh-ah

I wanna kiss, but I'm sneezin' instead
I can't make love when my head feels like lead
How can I pose when my nose is all red
We should be home, should be tucked up in bed
But I got hay fever

Hay fever . . . 

~  Ray Davies (for The Kinks)

I'm betting that Ray Davies had some fun writing this one. In truth, the song was "left over" from 1997's Sleepwalker and instead appears on 1978's Misfits, The Kink's 16th studio album. Needless to say, it was not a big hit. But it is an appropriate choice for today's post.

Traditionally, hay fever begins (for me, anyway), mid-August, peaks around Labor Day, and subsides with the onset of frost. And why on earth is it called "hay fever"? It certainly isn't an allergy to hay! It does, however, coincide with the hay harvesting season, so consequently, its name. Or you can call it what it really is: allergic rhinitis. Either way, it sucks.

I am happy to say that my symptoms are not anywhere near what they were years ago. Fall allergies started for me when I was sixteen. They became horrendous during my twenties, when I think I should have been hospitalized for the duration of the season. But now, the older I get, the less they affect me. Thought I was cured, but here it comes again. In other words, I should bite my tongue, knock on wood, and buy some Claritin.

I have another week to seek out air-conditioned spaces, avoid my garden, and keep a supply of Kleenex on hand, and then I am off to Colorado to visit my son. While there is no guarantee that I won't suffer allergic reactions in Colorado, perhaps different pollens will take longer to kick in? I'll be sure to pack the Claritin just in case.

So you've now suffered through another whiny, complaining post. Bet you can't wait for tomorrow's!

Angel

Listen while you read:  Sarah McLachlan

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay

There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard, at the end of the day

I need some distraction
Oh, beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins

And maybe empty
Oh, and weightless, and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark, cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There's vultures and thieves at your back

The storm keeps on twisting
Keep on building the lies
That you make up for all that you lack

It don't make no difference
Escape one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness
Oh, this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees

In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this cold, dark hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

~ Sarah McLachlan

I am finding it hard to believe that this one goes all the way back to Surfacing, released in 1997. Is it possible that this song is already twenty years old? Sarah McLachlan wrote this (or it wrote itself, as she claims) about a drug addict, and if you listen to it that way, yes, it makes sense. The "angel" is the drug. But you might know it for its reincarnation as part of an ASPCA commercial on late night TV, the one that forces you to look at sorry pets in a shelter, breaking your heart right before you want to drift off into beautiful sleep. I don't even have cable TV, but that commercial has been running since 2007 when I still had cable, and I cannot remove it from my memory. The good news is that it generated $30 million in donations.

And that's kind of why I chose this song today. In my helplessness regarding Hurricane Harvey, which is flooding Houston, I needed to find a way to offer some help. Did you see the Facebook newsfeed photo of the dog carrying a bag of dog food through the flooded street? Or the rescuers carrying dogs to higher ground? Or the photo I posted yesterday of the dog trapped in the flooded, fenced-in yard?

My donation went to the SPCA of Texas. While there were a couple of animal charities I was considering, I like to rely on a website called "Charity Navigator" to let me know if the charities are legitimate. The others I was considering had not yet been rated, so I went with the one that was. Do I feel better about what's happening in Texas? Yeah, a little bit. There will be time and opportunity to do much more, I'm sure.

I've loved listening to Sarah McLachlan ever since she emerged from Lilith Fair in the late 90s. And I saw her in concert a couple of times. Oh, to be blessed with a voice like that! And piano and lyric-writing talents as well! In my next life . . .

Do what you can. Okay?

Texas Flood

Listen while you read:  Stevie Ray Vaughan

Well, there's floodin' down in Texas
All of the telephone lines are down
Well, there's floodin' down in Texas
All of the telephone lines are down
And I've been tryin' to call my baby
Lord, and I can't get a single sound

Well, dark clouds are rollin' in
Man, I'm standin' out in the rain
Well, dark clouds are rollin' in
Man, I'm standin' out in the rain
Yeah, flood water keep a rollin'
Man, it's about to drive poor me insane

Well, I'm leavin' you, baby
Lord, and I'm goin' back home to stay
Well, I'm leavin' you, baby
Lord, and I'm goin' back home to stay
Well, back home are no floods or tornados
Baby, and the sun shines every day

~  Joseph Scott & Larry Davis (performed by Stevie Ray Vaughan & Double Trouble)

It's a good day to be singing the blues. "Texas Flood" was written and performed by Larry Davis in 1958. But this video, recorded at the Presidential Inaugural Concert for George H.W. Bush in 1989, features Stevie Ray Vaughan and his band Double Trouble. The studio track can be found on the album of the same name, recorded in 1983.

And there's an interesting story there. Stevie Ray (before he was famous) performed at a jazz festival in Switzerland in 1982 and was seen by both Jackson Browne and David Bowie. They were impressed. Bowie invited him to play on his 1983 Let's Dance album, and Jackson invited him to visit his studio in California. It was there that Texas Flood was recorded in only three days. And suddenly, the world was introduced to the legendary Stevie Ray. And speaking of legendary, be sure to watch the video to see Vaughan play his guitar behind his back, the signature move of a great guitarist.

Vaughan hailed from Dallas, Texas, and often played blues clubs in Houston, now the target of Harvey, a storm that will go down in history as catastrophic and then some. Vaughan was the victim of a different catastrophe when he was killed in a helicopter crash 27 years ago yesterday. He was 36 years old.

I don't know about you, but I've been feeling emotionally exhausted lately. Coming off the high of the total eclipse, I feel clobbered by the death of an old friend, the flooding in Texas, the ongoing nightmare of the current administration. Man, it's about to drive poor me insane. While I am not directly a victim of any of these things, and my life continues relatively untouched by tragedy, I find myself falling prey to a certain malaise, a kind of hopelessness. Maybe you feel it, too? I am trying to remind myself to count my blessings and take heart in a "glad it's not me" attitude. And yet, that seems so heartless and selfish!

Ed's sister and brother-in-law live in a suburb of Houston. Randall, with whom we shared the eclipse experience just one week ago, is keeping us posted. While they remain safe right now, they have experienced 27" of rain so far and are expecting 15" more. In his most recent post, Randall had this to say: "I was running around outside in rain boots, trying to figure out what I could do to stave off the imagined disaster. The answer I came to: there was absolutely nothing I could do."

There is something I can do. Today, I will decide on a charity to support. I am thinking of one that will take care of the displaced pets in the Houston area. Perhaps it will alleviate the helplessness I am feeling.

What will you do?

Claim Your Ghost

Listen while you read: Iron & Wine

Our winter keeps running us down
We wake up with love hanging on
Killers let go, killers let go

Some kids get a handful of rain
Our hope is the desperate die wise
Killers let go, killers let go

Morning falls from a tree and asks for a name
Claim your ghost, know the wine for what it is

The garden grows into our street
We're holding the blossoms up high
Killers let go, killers let go

Claim your ghost, know the wine for what it is
There's light holding onto the ground
Our music is clumsy and free
Killers let go, killers let go

Killers let go, our killers let go
Our killers let go, killers let go
Our killers let go, killers let go

~  Sam Beam (Iron & Wine)

Iron & Wine's 6th album, Beast Epic, was finally released two days ago, after the teaser "Call It Dreaming" appeared in June. "Claim Your Ghost" is the opener on the album.

I am not a big fan of esoteric lyrics, and I could easily dismiss this song since it seems to fall into that category. But for Sam Beam, I am willing to work a little harder to "get it." His husky voice and gorgeous arrangements compel me. So here goes.

The refrain, killers let go, is jarring in its opposition to the nature-inspired lyrics of the rest of the song. As Bandcamp Daily asks, "Is it a request? A demand? A prayer? All three?" I would say all three. With all the hate and violence that has emerged lately (not that it hasn't always been there), it does seem to be a plea for sanity and peace. Beam has also been known to include Biblical imagery in his lyrics, and it is possible that the references to the (holy) ghost, the wine, and the garden could be intentionally pointing to a need for spiritual intervention in these trying times.

But minus the religion and the rather depressing tone of the lyrics, there is some beauty to be found. Morning falls from a tree and asks for a name calls up the mood of an autumnal chill. There's light holding onto the ground conjures that late day slant of sunlight that comes earlier and earlier as the days shorten. We wake up with love hanging on reminds us that, whatever the season, there are reasons to embrace our being in this world.

Claim your ghost puzzles me. Call back what has died? Acknowledge what you have lost? Decide which departed loved one will become your guide? I'm not sure, and consequently, I don't know what Beam is asking of me. But as he admits, our music is clumsy and free. Just like us.

Killers let go. I think it's just a dream.

I Will Follow You into the Dark

Listen while you read:  Death Cab for Cutie

Love of mine
Someday you will die
But I'll be close behind
I'll follow you into the dark

No blinding light
Or tunnels to gates of white
Just our hands clasped so tight
Waiting for the hint of a spark

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

In Catholic school, as vicious as Roman rule
I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black
I held my tongue as she told me, "Son,
Fear is the heart of love," so I never went back

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

You and me, we've seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary, and the soles of your shoes
Are all worn down; the time for sleep is now
But it's nothing to cry about
'Cause we'll hold each other soon in the blackest of rooms

If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark

I'll follow you into the dark

~  Ben Gibbard (Death Cab for Cutie)

"It's just this idea that what if somebody dies and we're just floating, just stumbling around in infinite darkness, and I'm just trying to find some kind of spiritual kind of peace with myself and the world." Ben Gibbard performs this solo acoustic beauty on Death Cab for Cutie's 2005 release, Plans. It was the first song to come into my head when I learned of the passing of my dear friend Bill early this morning.

And no, I have no plans to follow Bill just yet. It's not my time. But it's comforting to think that souls reconnect in whatever darkness may await us. Love transcends.

I've written about Bill in this blog before. He was my high school best (guy) friend, my pen-pal during his service in Viet Nam, and then, as our lives moved in different directions, that dear old friend that I was delighted to run into in the A&P. After not having seen Bill for many years after he moved to North Carolina, I had the chance to visit him there after his ALS diagnosis in early March. I knew it would be the last time I would see him. And I am grateful for the memory of a sad but loving reunion with him. We reminisced, we laughed, we cried. We remembered that time when we were young.

Of the many friends, relatives, and acquaintances that have graced my life, a few stand out as being more than just people I know or love. They are the ones that connect with me on some higher level, the ones that make me believe that we spent time together in a different lifetime. Bill was one of those. Perhaps we belonged to the same tribe, one in which Bill carved arrowheads while I stirred the pot over an open flame. Or maybe we occupied the same jungle, where Bill scouted for the big cats that he was never able to kill, while I beat the drums to keep them away. Or maybe we were gardeners in some primitive Eden, waiting for the hummingbirds to distract us from our chores. As Bill always said to me, "No matter where you go, there you are."

And now Bill has gone into the dark. I imagine black velvet. I recall black onyx, like the bracelet he gave me the Christmas I was fifteen. I see obsidian, the volcanic glass found in the Southwest. Legend has it that an Apache tribe, outnumbered by the enemy, chose to jump off a cliff to their deaths rather than surrender. The women of the tribe cried dark tears of grief which fell to the earth to become the stones we call "Apache Tears." Consequently, the stones are said to relieve grief and sadness. I put a piece of obsidian in my pocket this morning, along with a picture of 16-year-old Bill. I will carry him with me today. And in my heart forever.

The time for sleep is now. Rest easy, old friend.

Driver Education

Listen while you read:  Indigo Girls

I fell for guys who tried to commit suicide
With soft rock hair and bloodshot eyes
He tastes like Marlboro cigarettes, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
A Pepsi in his hand, getting off the school bus

Films and drills and safety illustrations
The crushed cars of driver education

Now it's tattooed girls with a past they can't remember
Who pledged allegiance to a life of bending the curriculum
She tastes like spring, there she goes again
Drinking with the older guys, tripping by the lakeside

Films and drills and safety illustrations
The crushed cars of driver education

When you were sweet sixteen, I was already mean
And feeling bad for giving it up to the man just to make the scene
Where were you, back when I had something to prove
With the switchblade set and the church kids learning my moves?

I ran for miles through the suburbs of the 70s
Pollen dust and Pixy Stix, kissing in the deep end
Of swimming pools before I knew what's in there
We come into this life waterlogged and tender

Films and drills and safety illustrations
The crushed cars of driver education . . .

~  Amy Ray (Indigo Girls)

I prefer Amy Ray's performance of this song which appeared on her solo album Prom in 2005. I could not find a video for that one, so the link above will take you to the same song on Indigo Girls' 2009 release Poseidon and the Bitter Bug. Amy Ray, of course, is one half of Indigo Girls, with the other half being Emily Saliers.

I am trying to psyche myself into crossing an errand off my to-do list. I need to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles to renew my driver's license. I also need to obtain the title for my Subaru, which I just paid off last month. The car title makes for a happy errand, but the license renewal? It requires a photo, right? Ugh. Anyway, I thought this peppy song might motivate me to get moving.

But I also love the song, not just for its pep, but also for the way Amy Ray captures some of the dysfunction of our teenage years. Tell me you can't picture (and smell) that tough ass guy emerging from the school bus? My guess is that he is still too young to drive his own car to school, but he is certainly asserting his coolness in other ways. And the girls are tough, too, always being tested by their participation in sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Aside from having navigated the stressful teenage years myself, I also spent 30 years teaching teenagers. Despite my gratitude at having had such a rewarding career, I can also attest to the opinion that high school is not a very nurturing place. In fact, it often sucks.

Films and drills and safety illustrations / The crushed cars of driver education. I would suggest that this is metaphor for the whole enchilada. As youth, we are trained, we are warned, we are hit over the head with consequences . . . and the tool is fear. It's amazing that any of us survive.

We come into this life waterlogged and tender. Hands down, the best line in the song, and such a contrast to the song's imagery and emotion. It is the tenderness that suffers from our inevitable loss of innocence. I would like to believe that it still lives inside us, and that we must make an effort to let it emerge from the depths, waterlogged though it may be. Now would be a good time to do that.

But first, I'm off to the DMV.

Summer's Almost Gone

Listen while you read:  Sorry

Summer's almost gone
Summer's almost gone
Almost gone, yeah, it's almost gone
Where will we be when the summer's gone?

Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burned gold into our hair
At night, we swim the laughing sea
When summer's gone, where will we be?

Summer's almost gone
Summer's almost gone
We had some good times, but they're gone
The winter's coming on
Summer's almost gone

~ Jim Morrison (The Doors)

Well, that song's as short as . . . well, as short as summer. Back in 1968, most songs were short (with the notable exception of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"). "Summer's Almost Gone" is on The Doors' third album, Waiting for the Sun.

I think the long weekend in Georgia delayed my fall allergy symptoms, but this morning, I woke up sneezing, and that was followed by the predictable itchy throat. The temperature outside was 55 degrees. And then, the deejay reminded me that Labor Day is coming up next weekend. Until today, I'd been calmly unaware.

I know what you're thinking. I'm retired and I winter in Florida, so what does it matter? Well, from the year I started kindergarten until the year my youngest graduated from college, whether as a student myself, a teacher, or a parent of school-age kids, I have been tied into the school year calendar. That's 59 years, people. I had five years of no September stress when I was a little one (we didn't have pre-school back in the day) and three years since my son finished college. Is it ever going to be possible to shake off that feeling of dread and anticipation as September nears?

I try to remind myself that for me, summer is not over, at least not until the autumnal equinox in late September. (Cue Rod Stewart: It's late September, and I really should be back in school.)  See? It's hard to let it go.

The five-day forecast calls for abundant sun and temps reaching the mid-70s. Nights will drop to 50 degrees. Here in my neck of the woods, a killing frost usually does not arrive until mid-October. But before then, there will be days of long pants, sweaters, and, oh dear, socks! (At least Birkenstocks will allow me to avoid the dreaded shoes!)

I think I should pay attention to my own meanderings in yesterday's post and welcome this upcoming change of season. I can fall in love with apple orchards and corduroy and pumpkin ale . . . at least for a couple of months. All I need to do is become awake.

I Became Awake

Listen while you read:  Great Lake Swimmers

I became awake
From a very dark place
A patchwork of fear
Of poorly conceived ideas
With a blister of water
The mark of working hands
Ready to catch or cut
The senses aligned
The animal urgency
And voices picked up
Flowing over the static, late, quiet

All awake, all awake

I became awake
Fingers are open
Eyes, they are open
The firing of images
An orchestra of scribbles
The guts of an engine
The veins of a leaf
Light onto paper, exposed
A filament in a bulb
Up above or in the ground
Together, we are magic
Together, we are dreaming
Together, we reach endlessly
The centre of a seed
So full of possibilities

All awake, all awake

I became awake
I thought I was sleeping
But I was only forming 
A structure with no ceiling
With words like a runway
A cloud of a person drifting away
I was heavy, but now I am light
I was heavy, but now I am light

All awake, all awake

~ Tony Dekker  (Great Lake Swimmers)

I wish I could say that, post-eclipse, I became awake. It's a lovely idea. But the reality is that my life did not change in that moment. At best, I was able to register the event in a file drawer in my brain to pull out from time to time and smile at the memory. But maybe that's enough.

"I Became Awake" was released in 2007 on Ongiara. I am a big fan of Great Lake Swimmers. Aside from the soothing music that they produce, I find their lyrics emotive and gently compelling. And this song fits that description.

During the eclipse, we made an effort to pay attention, to take in every detail of the landscape, and to preserve the sounds and images to call back later, after the moment of totality had passed. And we did just that. We "made an effort." And there's the kicker: I (because I can only speak for myself here) felt that I had to try to pay attention to everything, as if I might have daydreamed through the experience if I didn't stay focused. I made an effort.

I would like to become awake enough to pay attention without trying to. I would like to observe my world with childlike wonder and take nothing for granted. I want to take notice of the blister of water, the veins of a leaf, the centre of a seed, even the guts of an engine. 

Two years ago, I devoted myself to a blog in which I fell in love with something every single day and wrote about it. (Yes, it got harder and harder as the year moved along. As in, "What the hell am I going to fall in love with today?") The exercise and discipline of the blog helped me to find the beautiful, the lovable, the remarkable in my world, even if it was a half-eaten bunny rabbit or dirty fingernails or fallen branches. For that year, I was tuned in to my surroundings, and in the process, I learned how to fall in love again.

I would like to think, to believe, that the eclipse experience will remind me to be more observant, to take notice, even when the moon and the sun are doing what they always do when there's not an eclipse.

All awake, all awake

Colors of the Sun

Listen while you read:  Tom Rush gives Jackson Browne a boost.

Colors of the sun
Flashing on the water top
Echo on the land

Digging for a coin
Many other tiny worlds
Slipping from my hand

Awake to understand you are not dreaming
It is not seeming to be this way

Dying men draw numbers in the air
Dream to conquer little bits of time
Scuffle with the crowd to get their share
But fall behind their little bits of time

Voices in the air
Sympathetic harmony
Coming from the trees

Hanging at my door
Many shiny surfaces
Clinking in the breeze

Oh, leave me where I am, I am not losing
If I am choosing not to plan my life

Disillusioned saviors search the sky
Wanting just to show someone the way
Asking all the people passing by
Doesn't anybody want to pray?

Oh, say goodbye to Joseph and Maria
I think they see another sky
From my fallen window I still see them
I'll never free them from the sky

~  Jackson Browne

So do you remember when you were in elementary or middle school (or maybe even high school) and your teacher taught you how to write a haiku? You know, 5 - 7 - 5 ? All you had to do was count syllables and you had yourself a poem! Seventeen syllables . . . anyone can suffer through that, right?

The truth is this: Haiku is a legitimate form of Japanese poetry, and it's much more complicated than what your fifth grade teacher would have led you to believe. So wiki it yourself and learn as much as you want.

Meanwhile, there are four verses in Jackson Browne's song that qualify as haiku. (Can you identify them?) I discovered this back in the 70s, when I first learned of Jackson Browne. "Colors of the Sun" appears on his second album, 1973's For Everyman. But I first heard the song on the eponymous Tom Rush album from 1970, and it still grabs me, so that is the version in the link above.

My guess is that Jackson was still a teenager when he wrote this, and who knows? Maybe he started it as an English homework assignment to write some haiku! Granted, it is not his best work, but we can forgive his youth for that and agree that he certainly got better over the years.

So on the flight home, I was searching my brain for a song to punctuate yesterday's total eclipse experience. Minus the wind chimes and Joseph and Maria, I think this song captures the dreamlike quality of the experience. If, indeed, it could possibly be captured. This is what I remember:

Totality brought a cool and a stillness to the land. We'd been sweating in the mid-day Georgia sun, and suddenly, the earth air-conditioned itself and pushed us into a stupor of other-worldliness. Despite the increasingly frantic screams of the locusts, we observed our surroundings in a slow-motion quiet that felt like a dream. Within seconds, that quiet was disturbed by the persistent, soulful howls of coyotes. A lone bat sped across the dimmed twilight sky before us. Thinking it was time, gnats formed circular spotted clouds above the landscape. And we humans, all six of us, screamed in fear or jubilation or both.

Despite the accuracy of technological timepieces of the day, Sperling's 8-second Law claims that any total eclipse lasts only eight seconds. It seems to affirm that, no matter the actual length of time, our memories will only allow the experience to last for eight seconds. And I have to say that I think that is true. I am still having a hard time processing the experience, but I know that it is already a very brief moment in my memory. How can I possibly name it? Explain it? Validate it?

I can't. No sooner had the diamond ring of the corona emerged than we seemed to return to our original forms, small human inhabitants in a universe so large and random that planets could crash into one another without our even knowing. We talked, we laughed, we put our eclipse glasses back on for glimpses of that which had moments earlier amazed us. The eclipse was happening now in reverse, but we were so full of ourselves, we barely paid attention. The music came back on, and we sang and danced to "Age of Aquarius." We were joyful, but we were also human again. Here, have a beer. Never mind that celestial orbs just danced over our heads in a frightening display of chance. We're still here, aren't we?

While moon conquers sun
Coyotes try to warn us
Deaf, we dance alone

Photo credit: Martti Cade

Eclipse

Listen while you read:  Pink Floyd

All that you touch
And all that you see
All that you taste
All you feel
And all that you love
And all that you hate
All you distrust
All you save
And all that you give
And all that you deal
And all that you buy
Beg, borrow, or steal
And all you create
And all you destroy
And all that you do
And all that you say
And all that you eat
And everyone you meet
And all that you slight
And everyone you fight
And all that is now
And all that is gone
And all that's to come
And everything under the sun is in tune
But the sun is eclipsed by the moon

(There is no dark side of the moon, really. 
Matter of fact, it's all dark)

~  Roger Waters (Pink Floyd)

As you already know, this is the closing track on Pink Floyd's eminent Dark Side of the Moon from 44 years ago. Forty-four years! The working title for the album was Eclipse: A Piece for Assorted Lunatics. Well, I guess all of us assorted lunatics have kept this treasure in our heads and hearts for nearly five decades now, so that tells you something. Roger Waters said of his masterpiece, "I don't see it as a riddle. The album uses the sun and the moon as symbols: the light and the dark, the good and the bad, the life force as opposed to the death force." We have always known that this life is a constant struggle between good and evil. And, like a Harry Potter novel, there are times when evil seems to be winning the war. Fueled by a power akin to the sun's, evil threatens to obliterate humanity. But the sun is eclipsed by the moon. The tiny moon. The moon is us. Or are we the sun?

By the time you read this, it is likely that the total eclipse will have already happened. I will not be able to collect my thoughts about viewing this spectacular event in time for this post, so please tune in tomorrow for that. But there are things to say in regard to the thing that is about to happen, and I will turn to Annie Dillard's well-known work of literary art, "Total Eclipse," which can be found in her 1982 collection of essays, Teaching a Stone to Talk.

Experiencing the total eclipse in Yakima, Washington, in February 1979, Dillard refers to the "shadow cone of the moon" which comes rushing at the earth one second before the sun goes out. This wave travels 1,800 miles an hour and is 195 miles wide. It is not uncommon for those watching this sudden and terrifyingly dark shadow roll over them to scream, as if screaming would protect them from certain annihilation.

"This was the universe about which we have read so much and never before felt: the universe as a clockwork of loose spheres flung at stupefying, unauthorized speeds. How could anything moving so fast not crash, not veer from its orbit amok like a car out of control on a turn?" asks Dillard.

And then, minutes later, the sun re-emerges, the shadow cone of the moon speeds away, and the world, still full of good and evil, seems as secure and as fragile as it ever has. "We blinked in the light. It was as though an enormous, loping god in the sky had reached down and slapped the earth's face."

We needed that.

The voice at the end of the track is that of Gerry O'Driscoll, the doorman at Abbey Road, where the album was recorded. Asked what he thought the dark side of the moon was, he replied, "There is no dark side of the moon, really. Matter of fact, it's all dark." So symbolically, are we the moon? Or is it possible that we possess the power and light of the sun to emerge from this darkness and shine?

Total Eclipse of the Heart

Listen while you read:  You knew this was coming, right?

(Turn around)
Every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming 'round
(Turn around)
Every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears
(Turn around)
Every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by
(Turn around)
Every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes

Turn around, bright eyes
Every now and then I fall apart
Turn around, bright eyes
Every now and then I fall apart

And I need you now tonight, and I need you more than ever
And if you only hold me tight, we'll be holding on forever
And we'll only be making it right 'cause we'll never be wrong together
We can take it to the end of the line
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time
I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks
I really need you tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight
Forever's gonna start tonight

Once upon a time I was falling in love
Now I'm only falling apart
And there's nothing I can do
A total eclipse of the heart
Once upon a time there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark
Nothing I can say
A total eclipse of the heart

~  James Richard Steinman (for Bonnie Tyler)

So here I am on a beautiful day in Clayton, Georgia, eagerly anticipating the big event planned for tomorrow afternoon. I am at Ed's brother's house, high on a mountain overlooking 82 acres of green, awash in a stillness that is only interrupted by the persistent locust cries. And beyond this mountain lie another 400 acres of pristine beauty owned by the US Department of Agriculture. I do not think city lights or noise are going to interfere with viewing the total eclipse tomorrow. The weather forecast looks damn near perfect. And yes, we have our solar eclipse glasses. I'm feeling very fortunate.

James Steinman, who wrote this song for Welsh singer Bonnie Tyler (and who also wrote most of Meat Loaf's hit songs), said it was originally intended to be a "vampire love song." Well, the video is Gothic enough to support that intention. "It's all about the darkness, the power of darkness, and love's place in darkness," he stated. The 1983 chart-topping song appears on Faster Than the Speed of Night. And ever since, it has been a karaoke favorite. Go ahead, sing along! With passion!

It's all about the darkness. And it seems that we are living in dark times. We're living in a powder keg. But I made a promise to Ed that we would take a vacation from the news while we are here, so I am not going to go where you just thought I was going. And anyway, this is really a love song, vampire or not, right? I will just tell you that reunions are sweet, and I am happy to once again be with someone I love. And under some fine circumstances, too.

Now there is one other place to be tomorrow that might be equal in awesomeness to where I am. Check this out: Bonnie Tyler is going to be performing "Total Eclipse of the Heart" aboard the MS Oasis of the Seas, a Royal Caribbean cruise ship with a capacity of 6,296, during the ship's passage through the swath of totality! It will only cost you $3,676 per person to be on board! And forgive the rhyme, but here's a bonus; in the back-up band will be Joe Jonas!

Oh, wait. I'm sorry. By the time you read this, that ship will have sailed. Too late.

As for me, I'd much rather be exactly where I am for this wondrous event. Where there's only love in the dark.

Oh, Atlanta!

Listen while you read:  Alison Krauss and Union Station

Same old place, same old city
What can I do? I'm falling in love
I'm just an old hound dog
Roaming around, door to door
I've got all this and heaven above

Oh, Atlanta, I hear you callin'
I'm coming back to you one fine day
No need to worry
There ain't no hurry
I'm on my way back to Georgia
I'm on my way back to Georgia

I got a feeling in me
When I remember all those crazy days and crazier nights
Can't you hear the music playing?
You must have heard them saying
"We're gonna rip 'em up and light up the night"

Oh, Atlanta . . . 

~ Mick Ralphs

You learn something new every day. This version of "Oh, Atlanta" (not to be confused with the Little Feat song of the same name) is a cover of a Bad Company song! I did not know that! The one linked above is from 1995's Now That I've Found You: A Collection, and also appears on 2002's Live by Alison Krauss and Union Station, a group that has been together . . . well, forever. I am fortunate to have seen them a couple of times. I always say that if angels had voices, they would sound like Alison Krauss. (And Aaron Neville, too.)

That's Jerry Douglas on dobro. Hands down, he is the best dobro player in the world. He's played on and off with Alison for many years.

By the time this is posted, I will be in the air, headed for Atlanta. Unless I get denied boarding, a strong possibility since I purchased United's new "Basic Economy," which is a cheaper, more restrictive version of Steerage. No carry-on, no assigned seat (and you know what that means). With any luck at all, I will be wedged in between two very large people in a middle seat with a tiny overnight bag crammed under the seat in front of me. But not to worry! There will still be a tiny bag of "Savory Snacks" for me to enjoy. "Savory" makes everything seem better.

I remember all those crazy days and crazier nights. Although I've puzzled my way through the Atlanta Airport several times and driven through Georgia on my way north or south more than a few times, there was one visit to Atlanta that I do remember. It was back in my Deadhead Daze. I was a passenger in a van full of music lovers headed to see The Grateful Dead at the Omni Theatre. I think it was 1974. Of course, as memory is prone to trick us, maybe it was The Who that I saw at the Omni, and maybe it was 1976. Either way, what I remember clearly is camping at Stone Mountain. Have you ever been there? Carved into the granite mountain are the likenesses of three Confederate figures: Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee, and Stonewall Jackson. Absent today's controversy, the carvings were impressive, but now I see that there is some buzz about removing them. Hmmmm . . . not as easy as removing a statue in a park! These guys are carved into the granite! My research also revealed that Stone Mountain was the site of the revival of the KKK in 2015. Yikes!

Well, there is no Stone Mountain planned for this visit. Just good company, my guy, and a solar eclipse that should blow our minds. All this and heaven above.

Oh, Atlanta!

One More Cup of Coffee

Listen while you read:  It's Emmylou Harris, not Joan Baez!

Your breath is sweet
Your eyes are like two jewels in the sky
Your back is straight, your hair is smooth
On the pillow where you lie

But I don't sense affection
No gratitude or love
Your loyalty is not to me
But to the stars above

One more cup of coffee for the road
One more cup of coffee 'fore I go
To the valley below

Your daddy, he's an outlaw
And a wanderer by trade
He'll teach you how to pick and choose
And how to throw the blade

He oversees his kingdom
So no stranger does intrude
His voice, it trembles as he calls out
For another plate of food

One more cup of coffee . . . 

Your sister sees the future
Like your mama and yourself
You've never learned to read or write
There's no books upon your shelf

And your pleasure knows no limits
Your voice is like a meadowlark
But your heart is like an ocean
Mysterious and dark

One more cup of coffee . . . 

~  Bob Dylan

Yes, tomorrow I will have one more cup of coffee and then head to the airport for my flight to Atlanta! And a couple of days later, there will be jewels in the sky and stars above as I watch the solar eclipse!

Desire came out in 1975, and quickly became one of my favorite Bob Dylan albums.  Notice I said "one of my," as I find it next to impossible to pick favorites by artists I like. This may have been my introduction to Emmylou Harris, and who doesn't love Emmylou?

"One More Cup of Coffee" is a rather sad love story about a man and a gypsy lover. It is lush with imagery, not only of the heavens, but also of a domineering bandolaro, fortune-telling women, and a wandering lifestyle. The violin adds to the mystique of the scene. My favorite line, by far, is the last one: Your heart is like an ocean, mysterious and dark. The upcoming solstice will be mysterious and dark. But I cannot help but wonder how many of us have hearts that are mysterious? Or dark. Or both. And I'm just going to leave that there. Because for the next few days, there are brighter things to think about. Like coronas. (And not the beer.)

I do believe it is time that I start packing. I've got Georgia on my mind!

Two Lights in the Nighttime

Listen while you read:  Bonnie Raitt with Ben Harper!

No river can hold you, darlin'
No covers can hide you tying your shoes
My cupboards are overflowing
The wine is sublime; I'm flying, too

So slide on over and forget it's wrong
We're two lights in the nighttime, baby
Come on over and pick up your song, it's new
And darlin', so are you

Don't know nothin' 'bout no here and gone
We're two lights in the nighttime, baby
And nothin' that a fightin' heart won't do
No, no, no

My government owns the bible
My government owns the title, too
The car that I got this mornin'
The car that I got for me and you

So what's comin' on down that road
It's two lights in the nighttime, baby
You know that I'm gonna wanna share my load with you
And, boy, you know it's true

We'll stay together till the end of time
We're two lights in the nighttime, baby
Ain't nothin' that a fightin' heart won't do
No, no, no
. . . 

~  Pat McLaughlin & Lee Clayton (for Bonnie Raitt)

Looking for a song with "two" in the title, I came upon several possibilities. Contenders were Santana's "Two Points of View" and Elvis Costello's "Two Little Hitlers." It would have been fairly easy to include some political commentary in my remarks on either of those songs. But then along came Bonnie Raitt. And to sweeten the pot, Ben Harper was there for the video! I do love Bonnie Raitt, so my decision was made. This gem appears on Souls Alike, a fabulous album from 2005.

You know how I love coincidence. One of the writers of the song is Lee Clayton, right? Well, Clayton, Georgia is where I am headed for the solar eclipse!

One of the reasons I love Bonnie Raitt, aside from her bluesy voice and her guitar skills is that she has no gimmicks. No crazy costuming, no theatrical dance moves, no outrageous statements. Just pure rock and roll with some blues stirred in to keep us mellow. Bonnie has long been somewhat of a political activist, especially on environmental issues. She is highly respected by her fellow musicians. Forgive the cliche, but Bonnie is the real thing. And sexy in such an authentic way.

Two lights in the nighttime. Sun and moon. My guy and me.  You know it's true.

Number Three

Listen while you read:  TMBG Live!

There's only two songs in me and I just wrote the third
Don't know where I got the inspiration or how I wrote the words
Spent my whole life just digging up my music's shallow grave
For the two songs in me and the third one I just made

A rich man once told me, "Hey, life's a funny thing"
A poor man once told me that he couldn't afford to speak
Now I'm in the middle like a bird without a beak
'Cause there's just two songs in me and I just wrote the third
. . . 

So I went to the President and I asked old what's-his-name
Has he ever gotten writer's block or something like the same
He just started talking like he was on TV
"If there's just two songs in ya, boy, whaddaya want from me?"

So I bought myself some denim pants and a silver guitar
But I politely told the ladies, "You'll still have to call me 'Sir'
Because I have to keep my self-respect, I'll never be a star
Since there's just two songs in me, and this is Number Three"

~  John Flansburgh & John Linnell (They Might Be Giants)

I thought it might be time for some levity. But first, time for that clever little anomaly called Coincidence. In anticipation of my trip to Georgia, I've been counting down the days, and today, I needed a song with the number three in it. So I did the usual; I googled "songs with three in the title." While I love Ray LaMontagne's "Three More Days," I didn't think there would be much to say about it, so I kept scrolling down the list. I listened to a few, including Willie Nelson's "Three Days," remarking to myself that I was unfamiliar with that song, even though I know a lot of Willie's stuff. I settled on TMBG's "Number Three" and started typing the lyrics.

And then something caught my ear. I had WFUV streaming, as I do every day. What song were they playing? "Three Days" by Willie Nelson! Did WFUV read my mind? Seriously, I don't think I'd ever heard that song, certainly not on WFUV. Man, I love this shit.

So They Might Be Giants might be the Kings of Clever. This song, from 1986, appears on The Pink Album. And it begs the question: how in the world did TMBG predict the Presidency of what's-his-name who talks like he's on TV back in 1986? Whaddaya want from me?

There's only two songs in me . . . I have written two songs (lyrics, not music). One has been recorded by The Good Whuppin' String Band. And I've been asked to write another one for them, so maybe TMBG just gave me a nudge to do so. It's now on my to-do list.

Now I'm in the middle like a bird without a beak. I will spend the rest of the day contemplating that line while I get started on packing for my trip. Three more days, Georgia. Three more days.

Positively 4th Street

Listen while you read:  Bob Dylan

You got a lotta nerve to say you are my friend
When I was down, you just stood there grinning
You got a lotta nerve to say you got a helping hand to lend
You just want to be on the side that's winning

You say I let you down, you know it's not like that
If you're so hurt, why then don't you show it?
You say you lost your faith, but that's not where it's at
You had no faith to lose, and you know it

I know the reason that you talk behind my back
I used to be among the crowd you're in with
Do you take me for such a fool to think I'd make contact
With the one who tries to hide what he don't know to begin with?

You see me on the street, you always act surprised
You say, "How are you?" "Good luck," but you don't mean it
When you know as well as me you'd rather see me paralyzed
Why don't you just come out once and scream it?

No, I do not feel that good when I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief, perhaps I'd rob them
And now I know you're dissatisfied with your position and your place
Don't you understand, it's not my problem?

I wish that for just one time, you could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment, I could be you
Yes, I wish that for just one time, you could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is to see you

~  Bob Dylan

So two days ago, in the aftermath of the tragedy in Charlottesville, I posted Jakob Dylan's "6th Avenue Heartache" and suggested that perhaps I should change the title to "4th Street Heartache" in recognition of the street where Heather Heyer was killed by a domestic terrorist. At the time, I never even thought about Jakob's father's song, "Positively 4th Street." Weird how that stuff happens, isn't it? Although Bob Dylan's famous song was only released as a single, it does appear on his Greatest Hits album, released in 1965. Although I recall being aware of Bob Dylan in his early career (mostly because everyone laughed at his voice), his Greatest Hits album was the one that really captured my attention. A little late to the game, but I've never stopped paying attention to Bob Dylan, even when he acts like . . . well, like Bob Dylan. For me, that was last on display at Red Rocks in Colorado last summer. He was kind of stiff, and of course, there were no big screens, as he will not allow them at his shows. But his voice was good, and he had a good back-up band. I don't think he will ever excite me as much as he did back in the day, but I still have a lot of respect for him and always will.

Dylan lived for a time on 4th Street in Greenwich Village, but there was also a 4th Street at the University of Minnesota where Bob also lived for awhile. So which one is it? The answer to that might be as elusive as the answer to, "Who was his target in the song?" There are more than a few theories, and you need only find the song on Wikipedia to learn of the many contestants. I always imagined it to be a female, but that may simply be because most of the songs we heard back then were male singers addressing female love interests. In any case, it doesn't really matter. Dave Marsh, who is probably the most knowledgable critic of rock and roll, referred to the song as "an icy hipster bitch session." Okay. He further said it was "Dylan cutting loose his barbed-wire tongue at somebody luckless enough to have crossed the path of his desires." Oh, if only that man living in our White House could write poetry instead of tweets . . .

So by now, you know where I will be in four days. Right now, the weather forecast for Clayton GA on August 21 calls for showers and thunderstorms, but surely that can change, right?

Positively.

2 + 2 = 5

Listen while you read:  Really creepy cartoon video

Are you such a dreamer to put the world to rights?
I'll stay home forever, where two and two always make a five
I'll lay down the tracks, sandbag and hide
January has April showers, and two and two always make a five

It's the devil's way now, there is no way out
You can scream and you can shout
It is too late now

Because you're not there 
Payin' attention . . .

Yeah, I feel it, I needed attention
Payin' attention . . .

I try to sing along, but the music's all wrong
'Cause I'm not, 'cause I'm not . . .

I'll swallow up flies? Back and hide
But I'm not . . . 

Oh, hail to the thief
Oh, hail to the thief
But I'm not . . . 

Don't question my authority or put me in the box
'Cause I'm not, 'cause I'm not . . . 

Oh, go up to the king and the sky is falling in
But it's not, but it's not . . . 
Maybe not
Maybe not

~  Selway, Greenwood et al (Radiohead)

I don't usually like to choose songs that seem to have some lyrics that are incomplete or non-sensical or just plain lazy. This song has some of those. I am also not very knowledgeable on Radiohead. But I needed a song with the number five in it and was surprised, once again, to find an old one that could have been written yesterday. "2 + 2 = 5" (also called "The Lukewarm") appears on 2003's Hail to the Thief.

The title of the album, which is also a line in this song, is a response to the 2000 Presidential election in which Al Gore won the popular vote, but lost to George W. Bush. (Sound familiar?)  The members of Radiohead claimed that they did not start out to be political, but there it was. And I don't think you can claim to not be political when your song is rife with references to George Orwell's 1984, the quintessential political novel.

I think the opening lines are eerily applicable to our circumstances today, fourteen years after the song was written. We can choose to participate in our government actively or passively or not at all. There is no question that voter apathy and ignorance played a part in the election of the current administration. It is too late now.

Or is it? There is hope that the tragedy in Charlottesville this past weekend, as well as Trump's refusal to denounce, by name, the groups that gathered to foment hatred and bigotry, may provide the turning point in our frightening descent into a totalitarian state. Don't question my authority sang Radiohead. "The powers of the President to protect our country are very substantial and will not be questioned," declared White House aide Stephen Miller back in February.

In case I haven't reminded you enough, in five days, I will be flying to Georgia for the solar eclipse. The sky is falling in!

Maybe not. Maybe not.

(Note: Trump's denouncement was issued after this post was written. Too late?)

6th Avenue Heartache

Listen while you read:  The Wallflowers

Sirens ring, the shots ring out
A stranger cries, screams out loud
I had my world strapped against my back
I held my hands, never knew how to act

And the same black line that was drawn on you
Was drawn on me
And now it's drawn me in
6th Avenue heartache

(The following verse is not included in the video:)
Below me was a homeless man
Singing' songs I knew complete
On the steps alone, his guitar in his hands
It's fifty years, stood where he stands

And the same black line . . . 

Now walkin' home on those streets
The river winds move my feet
Subway steam, like silhouettes in dreams
They stood by me, just like moonbeams

And the same black line . . . 

Look out the window, down upon that street
And gone like a midnight was that man
But I see his six strings laid against the wall
And all his things, they all look so small
I got my fingers crossed on a shooting star
And just like me, he just moved on

And that same black line that was drawn on you
Was drawn on me
And now it's drawn me in
6th Avenue heartache

Now it's drawn me in

~  Jakob Dylan

I feel like I should retitle the song "4th Street Heartache" in tribute to the tragedy in Charlottesville yesterday. The opening lines of this Wallflowers' song, which I chose today for the number six, are somewhat haunting. Jakob Dylan wrote this when he was eighteen. It appears on the Wallflowers' first album, Bringing Down the Horse from 1996. (Adam Durtz of Counting Crows provides back-up vocals on this track, and Tom Petty's guitarist, Mike Campbell, also adds his talent to the cut.) And yes, Jakob is Bob's son, but also an excellent musician in his own right.

In its simplest interpretation, Jakob tells of living in New York City and looking down from his window upon a homeless man playing his guitar on the street. That same black line implies that they both consider music their world, also symbolized by their guitars. I had my world strapped against my back. And then one day, the homeless man is gone, leaving his guitar behind, while Jakob hopes that he's just moved on, as many of us eventually do.

Jakob admits to often using metaphor in his songwriting, and one cannot help but wonder if the homeless man represents his famous father. The young Bob Dylan spent a lot of time in New York City. If this metaphor bears true, the lines about the same black line would make sense.

In light of recent events, I cannot help but find new interpretations for those lines. The same black line that was drawn on you was drawn on me. A more known phrase might be "We all bleed red." The practice of judging people based on skin color has long escaped me. Growing up in a predominantly white community in the 1950s, I had no experience on which to base any prejudices. But I remember one remarkable moment that has never left me.

I was seven years old, in second grade. We were outside for recess, instructed to form a circle for some playground game. I ended up next to the new girl in school. Janet Brown was "colored," as we politely labeled her race back then. When we were instructed by our teacher to hold hands, I had a moment of panic. Rumor was that if you held hands with a colored person, your skin would turn brown. I had very little time to decide what I should do.

I reached out and held Janet Brown's hand. My skin did not turn brown. In that moment, I learned not to believe everything I heard. But I think I learned much more than that.

On another note, in six days, I will be in Georgia for the total eclipse. I look forward to the reminder that we are all just specks in a vast universe and that our time here is perhaps as brief as the totality of an eclipse. And, having grown up in a world of science fiction, I will ponder whether the end of the world is near. We'll see.

Seven Days

Listen while you read:  Joe Cocker, Eric Clapton, Ron Wood . . .

Seven days, seven more days, she'll be comin'
I'll be waiting at the station for her to arrive
Seven more days, all I gotta do is survive

She been gone ever since I been a child
Ever since I seen her smile, I ain't forgotten her eyes
She had a face that could outshine the sun in the skies

I been good, I been good while I been waitin'
Maybe guilty of hesitatin', I just been holdin' on
Seven more days, all that'll be gone

There's kissing in the valley
Thieving in the alley
Fighting every inch of the way
Trying to be tender
With somebody I remember
In a night that's always brighter'n the day

Seven days, seven more days that are connected
Just like I expected, she'll be comin' on forth
My beautiful comrade from the North

~  Bob Dylan

Perhaps you've been unaware of this little Dylan ditty? It was new to me, even though it was written back in the mid-70s. It appears on the Bootleg Series, Vol. 3: Rare and Unreleased which came out in 1991. But the video linked above is another story.

In 1983, Ronnie Lane, a former bass guitarist with Small Faces and then later with Rod Stewart in Faces, was suffering from Multiple Sclerosis. Several musician friends, including Eric Clapton, Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Bill Wyman, Charlie Watts, and Steve Winwood, got together to do some benefit concerts for Lane. The concerts were billed as an "Appeal for Action Research into Multiple Sclerosis (ARMS)." In December 1983, ARMS, now joined by Joe Cocker, came to Madison Square Garden. The video linked above, featuring Cocker on lead vocals, was recorded at that concert.

After suffering with MS for 21 years, Lane died in 1997 at age 51.

As for Dylan's history with the song, he added it to his setlist for concerts in April 1976, but then dropped it after a few performances. It was added again twenty years later in April 1996 and had a longer run. I'm not surprised, as it seems not to live up to expectations of a Bob Dylan song. The covers of the song seem to be just excuses to jam. So why did I pick it for today's post?

In seven days, I am flying to Atlanta and meeting my man at the airport. We'll drive two hours north to his brother's home in Clayton, which happens to be in the path of totality for the solar eclipse! Yes, I am counting down the days! There will indeed be a night that's brighter'n the day, at least for eight seconds! (See Sperling's 8-second Law.)

Let the countdown begin!

Last of My Kind

Listen while you read: Jason Isbell (again!)

I couldn't be happy in the city at night
You can't see the stars for the neon light
Sidewalk's dirty and the river's worse
The underground trains all run in reverse
Nobody here can dance like me
Everybody's clapping on the one and the three
Am I the last of my kind?
Am I the last of my kind?

So many people with so much to do
The winter's so cold, my hands turn blue
Old men sleeping on the filthy ground
They spend their whole day just walking around
Nobody else there seems to care
They walk right past them like they ain't even there
Am I the last of my kind?
Am I the last of my kind?

Daddy said the river would always lead me home
But the river can't take me back in time
And Daddy's dead and gone
The family farm's a parking lot for Walton's five and dime
Am I the last of my kind?
Am I the last of my kind?

I tried to go to college, but I didn't belong
Everything I said was either funny or wrong
They laughed at my boots, they laughed at my jeans
Laughed when they gave me amphetamines
Left me alone in a bad part of town
Thirty-six hours to come back down
Am I the last of my kind?
Am I the last of my kind?

Mama says God won't give you too much to bear
That might be true in Arkansas
But I'm a long, long way from there
That whole world's a lonely, faded picture in my mind
Am I the last of my kind?
Am I the last of my kind?
Am I the last of my kind?

~ Jason Isbell

I think this is the third Jason Isbell song I've included in this blog. So, yeah, the more I hear him, the more I like him. I heard this song on The Loft this morning, and it fit right in with what I've been reading and thinking about lately. "Last of My Kind" appears on Isbell's latest, The Nashville Sound, with The 400 Unit.

For the last few years, many of us have been acutely aware of how polarized our country has become, and with the 2016 election, that divide seems even greater. Sociology has always fascinated me, so I have spent a lot of time contemplating this polarization. I know that, as much as I cannot understand the ideology of others, they cannot understand mine, either. I don't think it's as simple as what news channel you listen to, although that is certainly a factor . . . and a scary one, at that. And "party loyalty" contributes to the divide. So does religion, socio-economic realities, apathy, ignorance, and the destruction of truth as we once knew it. Spin doctors, lobbyists, trend-setters, and advertising are complicit. So how in hell do we find our common ground again?

Two op-ed pieces in this morning's paper seemed to offer an explanation for our current state. In one, E.J. Dionne opined about the change in "neighborhoods." In the post-war years (and by that, I'm referring to WWII), we knew our neighbors. Most of us grew up with a sense of community. I know I did. (I can still tell you who lived in every single house in my little neighborhood five or six decades ago.) But Dionne suggests that we no longer know our neighbors. You can blame diversity, technology, stressful living, or air-conditioning . . . but basically, we seem to cloister ourselves in our little safety zones with no interest in who the people in our neighborhood are or what they believe or what talents they possess. We have become insular. Why?

The other op-ed was by the ("failing") New York Times' David Brooks. He suggested that this country has been divided into three blocks, and I think he is spot-on.  One group consists of those who espouse white evangelical Protestantism that, at least on its public face, seems to care more about eros (sexual love) than caritas (Christian love of humanity). The second group is devoted to secular progressivism that is spiritually formed by feminism, environmentalism, and the quest for individual rights. And the third group supports "realist nationalism that gets its manners from reality TV and its spiritual succor from in-group / out-group solidarity."

I know in which group I fit. Do you know where you "belong"?

How to bring these three groups together? Unfortunately, I think one historically tested way is by waging war. Are you as scared as I am?

Isbell has made it clear in interviews that he is no longer the persona of his song, but that he once was. Politically minded, his songs often provide commentary on the current state of the union. Of "Last of My Kind," he said this: "I know a lot of people who are still stuck in that 'the country's gone to hell' feeling, and you try to remind them that 'Well, what about the Civil War? You must have missed that day in history class, because there were a lot of people watching from the bleachers as soldiers shit themselves to death.' This is not our lowest point. But I guess I was trying to understand the minds of folks who feel like they don't belong in the universal city that we sort of all wound up in."

"This is not our lowest point." Oh, dear.

Maybe the Poet

Listen while you read:  No maybes about it!

Maybe the poet is gay
But he'll be heard anyway
Maybe the poet is drugged
But he won't stay under the rug

May be the voice of the spirit
In which case you'd better hear it
Maybe he's a woman
Who can touch you where you're human

Male, female, slave or free
Peaceful or disorderly
Maybe you and he will not agree
But you need him to show you new ways to see

Don't let the system fool you
All it wants to do is rule you
Pay attention to the poet
You need him and you know it

Put him up against the wall
Shoot him up with Pentothal
Shoot him up with lead
You won't call back what's been said

Put him in the ground
But one day you'll look around
There'll be a face you don't know
Voicing thoughts you've heard before

Male, female, slave or free . . . 

~ Bruce Cockburn

My daughters and I were having a conversation yesterday about the scary state of things ("the fire and the fury"), and one of my daughters made the comment that if women ran the world, there would be peace. I've often said that. While it sounds like a feminist statement (which it is), I think it would be hard to argue with the truth of it whether or not you embrace feminism. Anyway, I added something else to the conversation when I said, "Or poets." That, too, is something I've often said. So today, I stumbled upon this song, "Maybe the Poet," by Bruce Cockburn. (Please pronounce his name correctly! "KO-burn.") I thought it would make a good follow-up to my poetic endeavor on yesterday's post. The song is on 1984's Stealing Fire. (And how appropriate is that?)

And then I realized that today is Mark Doty's birthday! Mark, one of my favorite poets, was my advisor in grad school. I have heard him read a few times since then, but not in awhile, although he does remain a friend on social media. I welcome his thoughtful and wise posts. Yes, he could be the poet in Cockburn's song.

Poetry has been a part of my world since I wrote my first poem when I was seven. Once I learned that I could do it, I never stopped, although I admit that there are periods of time when I ignore the Muse and pursue other arts and distractions. I think that now is a good time to pay attention to the poet, whether it's the one who lives inside me or inside someone else. But then again, I suppose this blog allows me to pay attention to the poets every single day. Thanks, Bruce, for being my poet today.

And birthday wishes to Mark! Thank you for showing me new ways to see.

We Didn't Start the Fire

Listen while you read:  Watch it!

Harry Truman, Doris Day, Red China, Johnnie Ray
South Pacific, Walter Winchell, Joe DiMaggio
Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon, Studebaker, television
North Korea, South Korea, Marilyn Monroe

Rosenbergs, H-Bomb, Sugar Ray, Panmunjom
Brando, The King and I, and The Catcher in the Rye
Eisenhower, Vaccine, England's got a new queen
Marciano, Liberace, Santayana goodbye

We didn't start the fire
It was always burning since the world's been turning
We didn't start the fire
No, we didn't light it, but we tried to fight it

Joseph Stalin, Malenkov, Nasser and Prokofiev
Rockefeller, Campanella, Communist Bloc
Roy Cohn, Juan Peron, Toscanini, Dacron
Dien Bien Phu Falls, Rock Around the Clock

Einstein, James Dean, Brooklyn's got a winning team
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland
Bardot, Budapest, Alabama, Krushchev
Princess Grace, Peyton Place, trouble in the Suez

We didn't start the fire . . .

Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac
Sputnik, Chou-En-Lai, Bridge on the River Kwai
Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball
Starkweather Homicide, Children of Thalidomide

Buddy Holly, Ben-Hur, Space Monkey, Mafia
Hula Hoops, Castro, Edsel is a no-go
U-2, Syngman Rhee, Payola and Kennedy
Chubby Checker, Psycho, Belgians in the Congo

We didn't start the fire . . . 

Hemingway, Eichmann, Stranger in a Strange Land
Dylan, Berlin, Bay of Pigs Invasion
Lawrence of Arabia, British Beatlemania
Ole Miss, John Glenn, Liston beats Patterson

Pope Paul, Malcolm X, British Politician Sex
JFK blown away, what else do I have to say?

We didn't start the fire . . . 

Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again
Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, Punk Rock
Begin, Reagan, Palestine, Terror on the airline
Ayatollah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan

Wheel of Fortune, Sally Ride, Heavy Metal, suicide
Foreign debts, homeless vets, AIDS, Crack, Bernie Goetz
Hypodermics on the shores, China's under martial law
Rock and Roller Cola Wars, I can't take it anymore

We didn't start the fire . . . 

~  Billy Joel

"They will be met with fire and fury like the world has never seen." So said our own Dear Leader yesterday, and today, we're all just a little nervous. I tried to console myself with the fact that I have lived through a lot of years and a lot of fears. But there's a part of me that is still that frightened little kid watching my parents glued to the TV set during the Cuban Missile Crisis and wondering if the world was going to end. "We Didn't Start the Fire" appears on 1989's Storm Front.

Here's something I didn't know. Every two lines of the song represent a year, starting with 1949, the year Billy Joel was born. That seemed to bear true until I found a big chunk of years missing. The events go from "JFK blown away" (1963) to a mish-mash of stuff that happened from 1969 through the 80s. (What happened to 1964 - 1968? A lot of things, as I recall!) Well, I guess Billy Joel either got tired of it all (I can't take it anymore) or he knew he'd never be able to remember all the verses to perform in concert. And by the way, Joel isn't fond of this song, claiming it has no melody.

When we're scared or angry, we often turn to art or humor or recreation, all attempts to distract us from our fear. I offer you a new verse for "We Didn't Start the Fire," compliments of my frazzled brain:

Build the Wall, fake news, Muslim ban, rallies HUGE
Wiki-Leaks, Golden Showers, wire taps at Trump Towers
Reince Priebus, Mike Flynn, Sean Spicer, win-win
Sally Yates, James Comey, Preet Bharara, follow the money

Scaramucci, Kellyanne, Make America Hate Again
Paris Accord, TrumpCare, orange skin, yellow hair
Mar-a-Lago, Kim Jung Un, NRA, get your guns
Russian ties, White House Dump, tax returns? IMPEACH TRUMP!

There's a lot more material out there, in case you want to write your own verses. And remember, if you didn't vote for Trump, you didn't start the fire.

But when we are gone
It will still burn on and on and on
And on and on and on and on . . .