Halloweenhead

Listen while you read:  Boo!

Here comes that shit again
I got a Halloweenhead
Head full of tricks and treats
It leads me through the nighttime streets
Black cats and fallen trees
Under ladders, always walking
Salt shaker spills, just throw it over your shoulder, babe

I got a bad idea again
I got a Halloweenhead
Halloweenhead

Head full of candy bags
Costume shops and punks in drag
Head full of tricks and treats
Places where junkies meet
And it leads me through the streets at night
That's all right, I just watch, I don't go inside
It's the same old shit again

I got a Halloweenhead . . . 

Lord, I got a Halloweenhead
What the fuck's wrong with me?
God, I'm a Halloweenhead

~  Ryan Adams

What the fuck's wrong with me? asks Ryan Adams. Well, aside from the fact that you're arrogant and bitchy and difficult, absolutely nothing. Hey, I can put up with Adams' social leprosy, as long as he continues to put forth some of the best music of the times. I have yet to see him in concert, although it has been on my bucket list for a long time to do so. I am prepared for him to be unpleasant, but I know his music will be great. "Halloweenhead" certainly is not one of Adams' better songs, but it's kind of funny. It's on 2007's Easy Tiger by Ryan Adams & The Cardinals.

While I'm fairly certain I loved Halloween as a kid, it's not a favorite for me these days. (Well, hell, I don't really like any holidays . . . except maybe St. Patrick's Day, when beer is celebrated.) When my kids were little, our street was full of kids, so Trick or Treat was doable. And then they all grew up, and I didn't have Trick or Treaters for years. As of this writing, I am on the third floor of a condo, so I am not expecting my doorbell to ring. (I don't even have a doorbell.) This is all fine with me.

Whether Ryan Adams is always in a Halloweenhead or if he reserves that condition for the last day of October, I'm not sure. By tonight, there will likely be millions of children suffering from Halloweenhead, filled up with sugar and chocolate and marshmallow pumpkins. Shout out to all the teachers who will suffer through the day tomorrow! I suspect that their Halloweenhead tomorrow night will have more to do with alcohol than candy.

As for the rest of you, just watch . . . don't go inside.

Season of the Witch

Listen while you read:  Donovan

When I look out my window, many sights to see
And when I look in my window, so many different people to be
That it's strange, so strange

You've got to pick up every stitch
You've got to pick up every stitch
You've got to pick up every stitch
Mmmm, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch, yeah
Must be the season of the witch

When I look over my shoulder, what do you think I see?
Some other cat looking over his shoulder at me
And he's strange, very, very, very strange

You've got to pick up every stitch
The rabbits running in the ditch
Beatniks out to make it rich
Oh, no, must be the season of the witch
Oh, no, must be the season of the witch
Must be the season of the witch . . . 

(Repeat, repeat, repeat . . . )

~  Donovan Leitch

So this song, which is categorized as "psychedelic rock," dates back to 1967's Sunshine Superman. Many of us thought that Donovan would be the next Bob Dylan. Alas, that did not happen, but I still like his stuff. And given that tonight is Goosey Night or Mischief Night or Cabbage Night (depending on where you live), "Season of the Witch" seemed an appropriate choice.

Whatever "psychedelic rock" is, it seems that this song qualifies. Why are those rabbits running in the ditch? And what does knitting (You've got to pick up every stitch) have to do with anything? Did Beatniks ever get rich? Really? The only explanation for these lyrics is a drug-infused influence. And since Donovan got busted for marijuana shortly after he penned these words, perhaps the psychedelia was prescient?

In my research for this post, I googled "witchcraft." Whoa! Go to the Wikipedia entry for "witchcraft" and learn more than you ever wanted to know! In my opinion, witches have gotten a bad rap, and I suspect you may share that opinion, too. For one thing, religion has never been a fan of witches, which is kind of ironic, since both believe in a spiritual world. Yep, witches are just all right with me.

In the video linked above, there's a bat circling the ceiling. So I'm going to take advantage of that to post a picture of the bat that I almost killed. (I would never intentionally kill a bat.) I'd become accustomed to bats entering my home up north, and I had a routine to get them out of the house. (The problem has since been resolved, thanks to my expert exterminators . . . and no bats were killed in the process.) On the night that I took this picture, the circling bat had awakened me in the wee hours. I did the usual: turned on the bedroom lights (they hate the light!), opened the door to the deck, and stepped outside to await the bat's eventual exit. Unfortunately, my ceiling fans were on, and the bat ran into one. He/she plummeted to the floor. Thinking it was certainly dead, I got the dustpan and broom out to scoop it up, taking time to snap a picture first, of course. But when I tried to scoop up the bat, he/she flew up to the ceiling again! The rest of the story involves me discovering the bat on my pillow just as I was getting back into bed, but rest assured, the bat left the premises before any biting took place.

But it's the season of the witch, not the bat, right? Well, you're getting a picture of the bat anyway. Now get out there and do some mischief!

Everything Waits to Be Noticed

Listen while you read:  Art Garfunkel

Everything waits to be noticed
A tree falls with no one there
The full potential of a love affair
Everything waits to be noticed

Twenty-eight geese in sudden flight
The last star on the edge of the night
A single button come undone
The middle child, the prodigal son

Everything waits to be noticed
A trickle underneath a dam
The missing line from the telegram
Everything waits to be noticed

The whispering pains that say you're living
The slow burn of not forgiving
The quiet room, the unlikely pair
The full potential of a love affair

Everything waits to be noticed

Looking for braver days
Cautiously turning a phrase
Going unnoticed

But everything wants to be noticed
The changing light in the upper air
The full potential of a love affair
Everything waits to be noticed

~  Garfunkel, Mondlock, Sharp

Of course you know Art Garfunkel from his partnership with Paul Simon. In that relationship, it was Simon's brilliance that was responsible for the lyrics. Garfunkel took a back seat and then settled into it, denying himself (and us) the opportunity to see what he could add to the poetry. Decades later, in 2002, he released Everything Waits to Be Noticed, an album for which he shares credit with Buddy Mondlock and Maia Sharp. He co-wrote the lyrics to six of the songs, including the title track. I, for one, am grateful that he finally shared his lyric-writing talents with us. These songs are gorgeous.

On the liner notes, Jann Wenner, founder of Rolling Stone, referred to the album as "an intimate and festive exploration of adult relationships and the language of the heart." Having just settled in after a ten-day road trip during which I visited friends and family, I feel like I've been a firsthand witness to a variety of adult relationships, and I listened carefully to the language of their hearts. I find the poetry in Garfunkel's lyrics to exquisitely capture the essence of that language. Yes, we all want to be noticed, but what exactly is it about ourselves that we want others to see? The whispering pains? Perhaps. The trickle underneath the dam? The missing line? We are so complicated, so much a product of every happenstance that has been visited upon us for so many years. And all of it seeks its time to be center-stage, to say, "Look at this! Here's a clue to why I am who I am!" Beyond wanting to be noticed, we want to be understood. Is it asking too much?

On my recent travels, I have encountered the unlikely pair, I have paid attention to the changing light, and I have seen the damage that the slow burn of not forgiving can inflict upon our attempts at love, the full potential of which we never seem to reach. I am no wiser for the observations, just more puzzled about what, exactly, our purpose here is. Wenner suggests that Garfunkel "teases apart all the tiny bits and pieces" of an examined life. It's a lot to have to notice.

For now, I am content to spend some time in this quiet room and put aside my need to be noticed. I can wait.

Two High

Listen while you read:  Peace.

When you feel the world around you spinning out of control
You can find someone around you to bring you out of the cold
But you don't ever have to hide what you really feel inside

So put 'em up high, two high
We can walk together with our hands up in the sky
So put 'em up tonight
We can come together
We won't give up the fight

Whoa-oh, so put 'em up, put 'em up two high

Sometimes it's hard to tell what we're really living for
Hear the voices calling out from the streets
Singing get ready, get ready for more
Singing get ready, get ready for more now

So put 'em up high, two high
We can walk together with our hands up in the sky
So put 'em up tonight
We can come together
We won't give up the fight

Whoa-oh, so put 'em up, put 'em up two high

Before we're gone, keep holding on

And put 'em up two high . . . 

~  Moon Taxi

If you paid attention to the spelling in the title, you should be able to figure out its meaning. "Two High," a single released by the Nashville band Moon Taxi a few months ago, is about the universal sign for peace. Frontman Trevor Terndrup says that it's "a song about hope. Hope for understanding, hope for acceptance, and hope for our future."

The song was a response to the push for peace that was a by-product of the Women's March in January. "We were inspired by the simple and universal peace sign. It's a gesture we would like to see more of," says Terndrup.

As for me, I have been doing my part. If you've been reading this blog, you probably know by now that I am a tree-hugging, Birkenstock-wearing, bleeding-heart liberal (and proud of it) old hippie. A few years ago, I made a habit of throwing the peace sign at passing cars during my morning walk. Next thing I knew, I was holding up the V whenever I wanted to acknowledge a traffic courtesy issued to me by another motorist. And as the habit became more and more ingrained in my practices, I found myself using it to say hello, goodbye, I love you, and, of course, peace. Does my habit change the world? Of course not. But if it makes one recipient register its intended meaning (not to be confused with Nixon's victory sign), then perhaps the small gesture contributes to a sense of calm and kindness within that person.

If nothing else, it's a lot better than flipping the bird.

So peace to all of you. Always.

Savannah Fare You Well

Listen while you read:  It was good to meet ya.

There is something in the wind tonight
Some kind of change of weather
Somewhere some devil's mixing fire and ice together
I got a feeling that the dark side of the moon is on the rise
Black as a crow's feather

Now I could stay another day or two
But what's the use of stalling
Deep in the winter even holdout leaves start falling
Lately every night above the declarations of our love
I hear the road calling

It's such a fragile magic
A puff of wind can break the spell
And all the golden threads are frail as spider webs
Savannah, fare you well

In a vision I had yesterday
It rained so hard that I drowned
While I waited for a hurricane to die down
The raging water rolling over me was wild as a heart
That love cannot tie down

~ Hugh Prestwood (for Jimmy Buffett)

This song appears on Jimmy Buffett's 24th studio album (the first on his very own record company label), 2002's Far Side of the World. The album was inspired by a trip he took to Africa. So what's a song about Savannah doing on it? Well, Buffett liked the title and felt that the word "savannah"(a sub-tropical grassland) fit in with his African theme. Seems to me that the song could be about the city in Georgia or about a woman named Savannah . . . or both. Anyway, surprise! I'm in Savannah!

This is pretty much my first visit to Savannah. (I was here once before, but the wind was so wild, it was not conducive to touristy stuff.) And yes, I read Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil when it came out in 1994. It has taken me a long time to finally get to see what Savannah's all about. And, like the persona of the song, I could stay another day or two.

We spent our time on the Savannah Riverfront, strolling along, sometimes on cobblestone streets. It was a perfectly beautiful day. First stop was an open-door pub for Bloody Marys and crab cakes. A bit of window-shopping, reading historical markers, and walking under Spanish moss-laden trees (golden threads are frail as spider webs) culminated in the purchase of dark chocolate-covered peanuts at Nuts Over Savannah. and then we heard the road calling.

It's such a fragile magic
A puff of wind can break the spell
Savannah, fare you well

Copperhead Road

Listen while you read:  . . . but I'm not in Tennessee

Well, my name's John Lee Pettimore
Same as my daddy and his daddy before
You hardly ever saw Grandaddy down here
He only came to town about twice a year
He'd buy a hundred pounds of yeast and some copper line
Everybody knew that he made moonshine
Now the revenue man wanted Grandaddy bad
He headed up the holler with everything he had
It's before my time but I've been told
He never come back from Copperhead Road

Now Daddy ran the whiskey in a big black Dodge
Bought it at an auction at the Mason's Lodge
"Johnson County Sheriff" painted on the side
Just shot a coat of primer, then he looked inside
Well, him and my uncle tore that engine down
I still remember that rumblin' sound
Well, the sheriff came around in the middle of the night
Heard mama cryin', knew something wasn't right
He was headed down to Knoxville with the weekly load
You could smell the whiskey burnin' down Copperhead Road

I volunteered for the Army on my birthday
They draft the white trash first, 'round here, anyway
I done two tours of duty in Vietnam
And I came home with a brand new plan
I take the seed from Columbia and Mexico
I plant it up the holler down Copperhead Road
Well, the DEA's got a chopper in the air
I wake up screaming like I'm back over there
I learned a thing or two from ol' Charlie, don't you know
You better stay away from Copperhead Road

Copperhead Road . . . 

~  Steve Earle

On the road again, on our way to visit dear friends on Hilton Head Island, contemplating a song for the blog. We pass a sign that says "Copperhead Road." So, of course, I took it as a sign (pun intended). Now, the Copperhead Road of which Steve Earle sings is in Tennessee. I'm in South Carolina, but hey, it's Steve Earle, and it's a damn good song! You can find it on the album of the same name, released in 1988, the same year that Steve Earle spent some time in a Dallas jail, charged with assaulting a policeman. Steve Earle is a complicated man. He recently became divorced from his seventh wife.

The song, of course, tells a story, and that story draws a parallel between Prohibition of the 1920s and the controversy over marijuana, which has been with us for decades. Earle's protagonist, John Lee Pettimore, learned a thing or two from his time in Vietnam, and one of the things he learned from "Charlie' (the Viet Cong) was how to take down your oppressor, usually by stealthy and covert means. But his time in Nam also introduced him to the benefits of cannabis, an issue about which we are still arguing. But like Prohibition, making the substance illegal (and thereby collecting revenue from those who defy that law), does nothing to stop the proliferation of the product. And now that Trump has today declared the opioid crisis a "national emergency," my guess is that this will enable Jeffrey Beauregard Sessions to pursue his agenda to impose federal law on those states that have legalized marijuana. As if that will do anything to help those who become addicted to painkillers. Let's see if Big Pharma is called on the carpet. Place your bets.

Meanwhile, Copperhead Roads exist all over the country, people defying the law, making their moonshine, growing their pot, trying to survive. Whatcha gonna do about it, huh?

John Lee Pettimore's cabin. (Just kidding.)

Georgia

Listen while you read:  Guess where I am?

Georgia, I swear I've never seen such a smile
Gorgeous enough to make an angel's heart run wild
Your lazy eyes and small town lies have got me in your spell
Your drive-in boys and backseat noises, oh, you learned so well
Oh, oh, oh, so how was I to know?
You got me, you got me . . . by now

Georgia, your daddy was high the night he dreamed of you
Georgia, the stars were flying the night that you came through
Christmas in your eyes, oh what a nice surprise
Oh, oh, oh, and now I miss you so
But, baby, I'm coming back to you

Georgia, we will be together, dear, if they ever let me out of here
They will say that it's not true, but I did it all for you
Georgia, won't you tell them for me, dear

Georgia, girl, I never lived through a night like that
Sure enough, got your loving where I like it at
Moonlight through the pines
Oh, oh, oh, but how were we to know
That wasn't moonlight, they were searchlights
Oh, no

Georgia, we will be together, dear . . . 

~  Boz Scaggs

Well, I am in the state of Georgia, and you might be surprised how many songs are about the state of Georgia. So why did I select a song about a girl named Georgia? Because it's Boz Scaggs! "Georgia" is one of the songs on the incredible album, Silk Degrees, released in 1976. This was back in the day when an album got its cred for ALL the songs on it, not just the one chart-topper. Silk Degrees is home to "Harbor Lights," "Lowdown," "Lido Shuffle," and "What Do You Want the Girl to Do?" A great album.

As for the lyrics of the song, obviously, they tell a love story. Whether that love is unrequited or not is debatable. And although it appears that the protagonist of the story is confined to a jail or something, it is not clear what his crime was. I did it all for you. What? What did he do? His confidence in being with his love again seems idealistic, and alas, the story becomes a tragedy. 

My current situation would be the opposite of tragedy. I am again on a mountaintop in northern Georgia at the home of Jon and Michelle, Ed's brother and sister-in-law. I am looking at the same landscape that was the scene in August of the total eclipse, but now offers a different kind of beauty. We are enjoying more peak autumn foliage on a stunningly beautiful day. The combination of deciduous trees and Georgia pines offers a crazy quilt of nature. The air is crisp, but the sun is warm, and the day was made for outdoor adventure.

And that adventure took us to the waterfall in Tallulah Gorge, the top of Black Rock Mountain (altitude: 3,640'), and a tiny abandoned cabin tucked in the woods on our hosts' property. Tonight's bonfire will close out our visit to Clayton, and tomorrow we continue south to Hilton Head Island.

At Black Rock Mountain, Rabun County GA

Blue Ridge Mountain Blues

Listen while you read:  Blue Ridge Rangers (John Fogerty)

When I was young and in my prime
I left my home in Caroline
Now all I do is sit and pine
For all those folks I left behind

I got the Blue Ridge Mountain blues
And I sat right here to say
"My grip is packed to travel
And I'm back to ramble
To my Blue Ridge far away"

I'm going to stay right by my Pa
I'm going to do right by my Ma
I'll hang around the cabin door
No work or worry anymore

I got the Blue Ridge Mountain blues
Going to see my old oak tree
Gonna hunt the possum
Where the corn cob blossom
In my Blue Ridge far away -- woo!

I see a haze of snowy white
I see a window of light
I seem to hear them both sigh
"Where is my wanderin' boy tonight?"

I got the Blue Ridge Mountain blues
And I stay right here to say
Every day I'm countin'
Till I climb that mountain
In my Blue Ridge far away"

~  Traditional (John Fogerty version)

In 1973, a year after Creedence Clearwater Revival broke up, John Fogerty put out his first studio album . . . under the name Blue Ridge Rangers. The Blue Ridge Rangers was basically one man: John Fogerty. "Blue Ridge Mountain Blues" is Fogerty's version of a traditional folk song, and he delivers it with spirit and a homegrown confidence.

Yesterday, we drove back toward the Blue Ridge Mountains in horrendous rain, so our view of the spectacular scenery was severely limited. Trying to get to our lodging in nearby Hendersonville was not easy, as roads were flooded and/or closed off to traffic. We were certainly experiencing the Blue Ridge Mountain Blues!

But this morning we woke up to another gloriously beautiful day, so we picked up the Blue Ridge Parkway and headed north to Mount Mitchell, the highest peak east of the Mississippi. There were pockets of valleys and mountainsides on the way up that definitely qualified as peak foliage, or what I like to call "bowls of Trix cereal." It was cold at the summit of Mount Mitchell, about 40 degrees, and I remembered why I am heading south for the winter. The geese flying overhead punctuated my thoughts for me. Our search for fall foliage satisfied, we drove south on the parkway and headed toward our next stop, Clayton GA.

While I am not one to hang around the cabin door, I do appreciate a sentimentality for the place we each call home. My piece of land in New Jersey will always be home to me, but meanwhile, there is more wanderin' to be done, the kind that takes me to mountains and canyons and waterfalls and forests and deserts and beaches. It's a beautiful planet.

Soulshine

Listen while you read:  Warren Haynes and friends

When you can't find the light
That guides you through a cloudy day
When the stars ain't shining bright
And it feels like you've lost your way
When the candlelight of home
Burns so very far away
Well, you got to let your soul shine
Just like my daddy used to say

He used to say the soulshine
It's better than sunshine
It's better than moonshine
Damn sure better than rain
We all get this way sometimes
Got to let your soul shine
Shine 'til the break of day

I grew up thinkin' that I had it made
Gonna make it on my own
Life can take the strongest man
And make him feel so alone
Now and then I feel a cold wind
Blowin' through my aching bones
I think back to what my daddy said
He said, "Boy, there is darkness before the dawn"

Sometimes a man can feel this emptiness
Like a woman has robbed him of his very soul
A woman, too, god knows, she can feel like this
But hey, when your world seems cold
You got to let your spirit take control

Talkin' 'bout soul shine
It's better than sunshine
It's better than moonshine
Damn sure better than rain
Lord, now, people don't mind
We all get this way sometimes
Gotta let your soul shine
Shine 'til the break of day . . . 

~ Warren Haynes

After a string of gorgeous autumn days, driving with the top down, we've hit some rainy weather, just in time for our visit to Asheville. So I turned to Warren Haynes, who is from Asheville, for advice. And he told me that I need to let my soul shine. Recorded by The Allman Brothers Band in 1994 on Where It All Begins, Warren took "Soulshine" with him when he formed Gov't. Mule. The version linked above, recorded in New York City in 2007, combines the best of both bands, as Gov't. Mule performed with Gregg Allman, Trey Anastasio, Derek Trucks, and others.

I have been saying for years that Warren Haynes is the hardest working man in rock 'n roll. His work with the Allman Brothers Band and Gov't. Mule is exhausting enough, but he goes beyond that. Last year, I saw him in concert performing the songs of Jerry Garcia with the Hudson Valley Philharmonic. It was an excellent show.

The drive to Asheville was a stressful one with downpours that made driving quite difficult. We headed straight to the Sierra Nevada Brewery in Mills River, and I was able to tap into my soulshine once we hit the tap room. I'd been to the original Sierra Nevada Brewery in Chico CA a couple of years ago, but was unable to catch the tour there. I had better luck this time, and the tour was well worth it. As for the tasting, it's better than moonshine.

As I'm writing this (late; I'm sorry), the rain is over, the skies are blue, and we are headed for tonight's lodging in nearby Hendersonville. Tomorrow's weather promises a lot of sun, so we will try to see more of Asheville and its beauty.

There's a tiny me at the base of the photo.

Only a River

Listen while you read:  Bob Weir solo

Well, I was born up in the  mountains
Raised up in a desert town
And I never saw the ocean
Till I was close to your age now

Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you
Hey, hey, hey, your rolling river
Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you
Hey, hey, hey, only a river gonna make things right
Only a river gonna make things right
Only a river gonna make things right

I'm going back to San Angelo
The ground is hard and the count is dry
But I'm gonna get my fill somehow
Rivers of corn and wheat and rye

Oh, Shenandoah . . . 

Red, red, river bowing
Will she remember all the things we said?
And what's the chance that she'll remember
All those nights in the riverbed?

Oh, Shenandoah . . . 

~  Bob Weir & Josh Ritter

Last month, Bob Weir released his third solo album, the first in ten years, Blue Mountain. The first track, "Only a River," is a revision of the 19th century American folk song, "Shenandoah." Rolling Stone describes it as "a melancholy meditation on past and present that nevertheless finds hope in its chorus, Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you . . . only a river gonna make things right." Weir says the album was inspired by his wish to be a cowboy when he was a young teenager. I am grateful that Weir chose a career in music instead of herding cattle.

Today's drive takes us through Shenandoah National Park on the Skyline Drive in Virginia, one of the most beautiful scenic drives in the country. The road follows the Shenandoah River along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains for about a hundred miles. The speed limit is 35 mph, slow enough to allow one to easily pull over at any of the 75 overlooks. And when one reaches the end of the Skyline Drive, the beauty continues on the Blue Ridge Parkway. We will drive a portion of that tomorrow when we leave Chapel Hill, our destination this evening, and head to Asheville.

The weather continues to be beautiful, and the fall foliage muted with just enough reds and oranges to  keep us interested. A drive like this allows one to focus on America's natural landscape as opposed to its current political landscape. Only a river gonna make things right.

Gettysburg

Listen while you read:  The Brandos

By America's noble sons
If it hadn't been for Irishmen
What would your Union've done?
Hand to hand, we fought them all in the burning sun
Stripped to the pants, we did advance
At the Battle of Bull Run

On a cold October's day
The battlefield at Gettysburg
On a plaque I read my name
The wheels of time begin to turn
I see the years stripped away
I see their lines blue and gray

Down in Gettysburg, saw them fall
Bloody Gettysburg took them all
Waited for the word, never came
Retreat from Gettysburg

I've seen a lot of wicked things
Heard a lot of people cry
I knew it couldn't touch the pain of seeing 50,000 die
I saw the sun fall away
The moon shone white on their graves

Billy Yank said goodbye
Mother's son left to die
Dixieland, look away
Mother's son died today

Papa fought a bloody war
His father in the one before
Walking through the haunted field
I knew we couldn't give no more
I saw the year stripped away
I watched men die blue and gray

~  Dave Kincaid & Carl Funk (for The Brandos)

So I did not know this song or this band. But Gettysburg is the first stop on this road trip, so Google introduced me. One might interpret the song as a first person account from a dead soldier, but the truth is that Dave Kincaid had a great-great-grandfather who fought for the Union. Kincaid says he was not aware that his relative fought at Gettysburg until he saw his name on a plaque there. I guess he was compelled to write a song about it. "Gettysburg" appears on 1987's Honor Among Thieves.

The drive to Gettysburg took four hours, and upon arrival, we immediately went to the visitor center, watched the film (A New Birth of Freedom), solemnly experienced the Cyclorama light show, explored the museum, and then went back outside into the gloriously beautiful autumn day. I will admit to being sad that the Electric Map is no longer a feature at the park. (Apparently, they discovered some years ago that it was loaded with asbestos and prohibitively expensive to remedy.)

But let me repeat: the day was gloriously beautiful. It was warm enough to put the top down on our auto-tour around the battlefield. We climbed the observation towers, learned (or relearned) lots of history from the auto-tour CD, chatted with some park volunteers, and generally had an educational Gettysburg experience. But aside from feeling sickened by the realities put forth in the museum exhibits, I realized that I did not have the same emotional reaction to the on-site history lesson as I'd had on previous visits. Was it because the day was so beautiful that the nightmare of war didn't seem possible? Was it because this was my third or fourth visit, and the shock feature was not there? Or was it that, as Neil Young sang, I'm living with war everyday? Has war become our norm so much so that we are no longer emotionally devastated by our study of it? I am afraid of the answer to that.

But the thing that certainly came close to devastating me was the realization that in 1860, the country was so divided over the issue of slavery that there seemed to be no solution other than war. Today, I see our country divided, not over slavery, but over ideology. Over symbolic gestures like standing during the national anthem, or saying "Merry Christmas," or selling a wedding cake to a homosexual couple. None of those things comes close to the issue of owning another human being, and yet, the passion behind opinions on those things seems overwrought. I admit to being very uneasy as to how this division will be resolved.

The wheels of time begin to turn . . . 

Ventura Highway

Listen while you read:  Road trip: America

Chewing on a piece of grass, walking on the road
Tell me, how long you gonna stay here, Joe?
Some people say this town don't look good in snow
You don't care, I know

Ventura Highway in the sunshine
Where the days are longer, the nights are stronger
Than moonshine
You're gonna go, I know

'Cause the free wind is blowin' through your hair
And the days surround your daylight there
Seasons crying, no despair
Alligator lizards in the air

Wishin' on a falling star, waitin' for the early train
Sorry, boy, but I've been hit by purple rain
Aw, c'mon, Joe, you can always change your name
Thanks a lot, son, just the same

Ventura Highway . . . 

~  Dewey Bunnell (for America)

Back in 1963, when he was a kid, Dewey Bunnell recalls a memory of his dad changing a flat tire on the side of the road. It was a sunny California day, and he looked up to see a sign that said "Ventura." That memory became this song, which appears on Homecoming, America's 1972 album.

We all know how evocative songs can be, but I'm willing to bet that, for many of you, this is one of those songs that you can easily attach to a time and a place in your lives. For me, it was winter in the small town in northern Pennsylvania where I was a first-year teacher. Somehow, the song promised sunnier days than the ones I was experiencing. It doesn't matter that Ventura is in California; for me, this song is any highway, any road, as long as it's sunny and will take me somewhere.

And so, today begins our 8-day road trip to Florida, the Sunshine State. Our travel time this morning is short, just four hours to Gettysburg PA. And although it is mostly Interstate, plenty of that road is through rural areas. We are hoping to be able to put the top down for parts of the journey, so the free wind (will be) blowin' through (our) hair.

By the time this is posted, we will be on the battlefields of Gettysburg, relearning that terrible history, and most likely, experiencing the range of emotions that will be provoked by trying to imagine what it must have been like at that place where 51,000 people were killed, wounded, or captured in battle in July 1863. More on that tomorrow.

Seasons crying, no despair.

Tears in Heaven

Listen while you read:  For Peggy on her birthday

Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven

Would you hold my hand if I saw you in heaven
Would you help me stand if I saw you in heaven
I'll find my way through night and day
'Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven

Time can bring you down
Time can bend your knees
Time can break your heart
Have you begging please, begging please

Beyond the door, there's peace, I'm sure
And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven

Would you know my name if I saw you in heaven
Would it be the same if I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong and carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven

~  Eric Clapton & Will Jennings

On March 20, 1991, Eric Clapton's four-year-old son, Conor, fell from a window on the 53rd floor of a New York City apartment where his mother's friend lived. While there are no words to describe what an accident like this can do to a person, it seems that Clapton found some words to break our hearts at the very imagining of such a tragedy. Today, 25 years after "Tears in Heaven" was released on the Rush soundtrack album, the song can still make me cry.

And it's been almost fourteen years since my best friend, Peggy, who would have turned 67 today, died of cancer. October 19 never fails to remind me of her, of our friendship, and of her legacy for those who knew her.

Peg and I met when I was three and she was two. Our back yards were adjoining, and my memory preserves an image of the two of us staring at one another one spring day at the point where our yards met. The fact that my memory has no parental figures in the picture is irrelevant. What matters is that this was the day that I came face to face with the person who would be with me every day of our childhood lives, except for that week every summer when Peg would go on vacation with her grandparents and I would be lost. Peg and I were a year apart in school, but at home, we were equals. Every Halloween costume we made, every book we read, every cake we baked, every flower we picked, we shared our interests, our creativity, our humor, and our love.

I will always miss Peggy. I will always love Peggy. I will always wish her a happy birthday . . . in heaven. But I cannot say there will be no tears.

The Riddle

Listen while you read: Kodaline

Sunday morning rain, together we're all alone again
And I can feel your breath
Beneath the sheets and on my skin
Come closer to me now, forget about the world outside
'Cause I could die right here
So kiss me like we're out of time

We are caught up
Stuck in the middle of our love
Chasing the riddle of what we need
We are all we need
It's your touch, gives me a shiver and a wild rush
Chasing the riddle of what we need
We are all we need
We are all . . . 

Come on, do it again
Hold me like you did before
You got me hypnotized
We're all that we've been searching for
I see it in your eyes
And the way you curl your lip and smile
And I could die right here
So kiss me like we're out of time

We are caught up . . . 

Your heart is my heart, and my heart is yours . . . 

~  Kodaline

So, yeah, it's a love song. You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs. Au contraire . . . we probably need a lot more of them these days. Kodaline, an Irish quartet, released an EP last week in anticipation of their third album coming up next year called I Wouldn't Be. These guys can deliver a passionate love song. If you missed it, give a listen to one of their previous songs, "All I Want." It'll move you.

Chasing the riddle of what we need. I like that idea. A riddle, not a question. Figuring out the answer to a riddle takes ingenuity and an instinct for deciphering the mind of a clever person. So the idea that our purpose here or the understanding of what we need to be whole is a riddle just makes sense to me. And how many of us can figure it out? How many wrong answers do we have to try before we finally reach that deeper understanding? My guess is that it takes a lifetime to solve the riddle.

While I'm not sure the answer is solely found in a singular connection with a partner on a similar journey, it's certainly nice when two can travel that riddled road together.

Speaking of which, my partner and I need to finalize our itinerary for this next road trip adventure. We'll be chasing the riddle through mountains and valleys, taking in the autumn beauty before we're out of time. We don't want to forget about the world outside. We prefer to be a part of it, slow meandering through winding switchbacks, convertible top down, and good music to accompany us on the journey. We are all we need.

Jet Airliner

Listen while you read:  Steve Miller Band

Leavin' home, out on the road
I've been down before
Ridin' along in this big ol' jet plane
I've been thinkin' about my home
But my love light seems so far away
And I feel like it's all been done
Somebody's tryin' to make me stay
You know I've got to be movin' on

Oh, oh, big ol' jet airliner
Don't carry me too far away
Oh, oh, big ol' jet airliner
'Cause it's here that I've got to stay

Goodbye to all my friends at home
Goodbye to people I've trusted
I've got to go out and make my way
I might get rich, you know, I might get busted
But my heart keeps calling me backwards
As I get on the 707
Ridin' high, I got tears in my eyes
You know you got to go through hell
Before you get to heaven

Touchin' down in New England town
Feel the heat comin' down
I've got to keep on keepin' on
You know the big wheel keeps on spinnin' around
And I'm goin' with some hesitation
You know that I can surely see
That I don't want to get caught up in any of that
Funky shit goin' down in the city

Big ol' jet airliner . . . 

~  Paul Pena

Paul Pena? Not Steve Miller? Yes. Pena was a folksinger from New England who wrote "Jet Airliner" in 1973. Conflicts with his record label prevented the song and its album, New Train, from being released, and meanwhile, Steve Miller Band recorded it for Book of Dreams in 1977. (New Train was finally released in 2000.) The live video linked above is from a 2007 Steve Miller Band concert in Chicago. Think about it: SMB's "Jet Airliner" is four decades old! And it still takes down the house.

As I am writing this, a man in Florida is boarding a jet airliner for a flight north. My guy is coming to the Northeast and will be treated to the fall foliage he has never seen as a native Texan and current Floridian. My current view is not showing the peak colors yet, despite what the "peak season maps" say, but it's still quite pretty out there. And we'll have ten days to watch it all evolve. By the end of the week, we will be road-tripping south to Florida, stopping in Gettysburg, Chapel Hill, Asheville, Clayton, Hilton Head, and Ponte Vedra on our way. Weather allowing, we'll wind our way through the Blue Ridge Mountains on the Skyline Drive in Shenandoah National Park and the Blue Ridge Parkway. Slow driving (35 mph on the Skyline Drive) but worth it if the fog stays away.

Jet planes can get you where you want or need to go, but a road trip lets you see where you are.

But I've got to cut this post short if I want to get to the airport on time. I've got a warm hoodie for the guy who just had a little meltdown when I mentioned last night's frost. He'll adjust. And before he's even ready to leave this beautiful place, we'll be driving back into the southern warmth.

Feel the heat comin' down.

Terry's Song

Listen while you read:  It's not about me.

Well, they built the Titanic to be one of a kind
But many ships have ruled the seas
They built the Eiffel Tower to stand alone
But they could build another if they please
Taj Mahal, the pyramids of Egypt are unique, I suppose
But when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

Now the world is filled with many wonders
Under the passing sun
And sometimes something comes along
And you know it's for sure the only one
The Mona Lisa, the David, The Sistine Chapel, Jesus, Mary, and Joe
And when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

When they built you, brother, they turned dust into gold
When they built you, brother, they broke the mold

They say you can't take it with you
But I think that they're wrong
'Cause all I know is I woke up this morning
And something big was gone
Gone into that dark ether where you're still young and hard and cold
Just like when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

Now your death is upon us
And we'll return your ashes to the earth
And I know you'll take comfort in knowing
You've been roundly blessed and cursed
But love is a power greater than death just like the songs and stories told
And when she built you, brother, she broke the mold

That attitude's a power stronger than death
Alive and burning her stone cold
When they built you, brother . . . 

~  Bruce Springsteen

My calendar told me that today is "National Boss's Day," so of course, I knew it was a day for a Bruce Springsteen song. But which one to choose? I found a list of some of his songs and started scrolling. (He's written over 300 songs!) And then I saw "Terry's Song." Wait. What? How do I not know this song written for me? Ah, but it was not written for me, and I am grateful for that. Frank "Terry" Magovern was Bruce's personal assistant for 23 years. He died on July 30, 2007. His death occurred a couple of weeks after Bruce's fifteenth studio album, Magic, had been announced. Bruce's memorial to him, "Terry's Song," was added as the last track, but since it was too late to include it in the listings, it became a "hidden track." Oh, so maybe that's why I was unfamiliar with the song.

Of the Magic album, Bruce said the title refers to the "times when what's true can be made to seem like a lie, and what's a lie can be made to seem true." (Sound familiar?) Although "Terry's Song" is devoid of political commentary, there are other songs on the album which speak to Springsteen's disillusionment with the state of American society, especially the never-ending wars in which we become engaged.

National Boss's Day. (Is it a day to honor the President of the U.S. Virgin Islands? She said, tongue-in-cheek.) Bruce Springsteen was Terry Magovern's boss for over two decades, and Bruce called him "brother." Sounds like a pretty good working relationship. If you have a good boss, maybe today is a good day to let him/her know it.

As for me personally, I have had a few bosses, but I have never been anybody's boss. (Well, maybe my kids' boss for a nano-second.) I don't think I'd want to be anybody's boss; I'm too thin-skinned to be the subject of employees' disgruntlement. I guess essentially, I am the boss of me.

Wishing myself a happy day!

Pain

Listen while you read: The War on Drugs

Go to bed now, I can tell
Pain is on the way out now
Look away and domino falls away

I know it's hard looking in
Knowing that tomorrow you'll be back again
Hang your head and let me in
I'm waiting so long

I was staring into the light
When I saw you in the distance I knew that you'd be mine
Am I moving back in time
Just standing still?

I met a man with a broken back
He had a fear in his eyes that I could understand
I can't even shake the pain without breaking

I've been pulling on a wire, but it just won't break
I've been turning up the dial, but I hear no sound
I resist what I cannot change
But I wanna find what can't be found

I'm aware that you're tired and lost
Like a dream in the doorway, waiting to be born
But I'm here all alone, just begging

Pull me close and let me hold you in
Give me the deeper understanding of who I am
Yeah, I'm moving back again
I'm waiting here

I'm just pulling on a wire, but it just won't break
I've been turning up the dial, but I hear no sound
I resist what I cannot change, own it in your own way
Yeah, I wanna find what can't be found

~  Adam Granduciel (for The War on Drugs)

Okay, I've been spending too much time inside an old juke box, spinning out songs from so many decades ago. While I recognize fully that those years of my youth provided a renaissance of great music, that magic did not stop . . . unless one chooses to shut oneself off to listening. Good music is still out there. You just might have to search a little harder for it. Enter The War on Drugs. Man, if you like the music that came out of the 60s and 70s, you just have to give this band a listen. A Deeper Understanding, the band's fourth album, was released not quite two months ago.

If the video footage looks slightly familiar to my Northeast friends, that's because it was filmed on the Schuylkill River in Philadelphia. The band is performing out on a barge, in black and white, and the effect serves as a statement to the song's theme. It's a theme that I have been contemplating for quite some time and more acutely since November 8, 2016. Pain.

This morning's newspaper featured a story that seems to be on repeat. It stated that now, four out of ten Americans are obese. Wasn't that long ago that it was three in ten. And those statistics are about obesity, not about being overweight. There's a difference. I am by no means fat-shaming here. The theme is pain. Why are so many Americans obese? Why are there so many opioid addictions? Why is alcohol so abused? Why, why, why?

We are all in pain of varying degrees. We all self-medicate. Some of us choose drugs, some choose alcohol, some choose food, some choose religion. There are as many addictions out there as there are sources of pain. (Well, I don't know if that's really true, but you get my point.) We all just want to numb the pain.

Pull me close and let me hold you in
Give me the deeper understanding of who I am

I'm not even sure I can articulate why those lines get to me. I think it has to do with the solitary way in which we attempt to numb ourselves. While you may be binge-drinking or shooting up or pigging out or praying with other people, what you are doing is really an individual choice you are making. You are your own doctor when it comes to pain relief. If nothing else, pain is personal. Your pain is not my pain, and my pain is not your pain. Pain is lonely, because we feel it alone. "Here, take this. It will make you feel better." And how on earth would you know that?

But go back to those lines. He doesn't say, Pull me close and hold me in. What he is saying gets to the heart of easing our pain. Connection. Pull me close and LET ME HOLD YOU IN. It's a two-way street. Give me the deeper understanding of who I am. And, if the connection is there, I will do the same for you.

Yeah, I wanna find what can't be found.

Old Friends

Listen while you read:  Happy Birthday, Paul Simon!

Old friends, old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes of the high shoes of the old friends

Old friends, winter companions, the old men
Lost in their overcoats, waiting for the sun
The sounds of the city sifting through the trees
Settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends

Can you imagine us years from today
Sharing a park bench quietly
How terribly strange to be seventy

Old friends
Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fears

Time it was and what a time it was
It was a time of innocence, a time of confidences

Long ago . . . it must be . . .
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you

~ Paul Simon (for Simon & Garfunkel)

Paul Simon's birthday was actually yesterday, October 13, but I'm writing this post a day ahead, so it is still his birthday while I am writing it! He is 76, so I guess he is way past knowing how terribly strange it is to be seventy. The video linked above is from a Lorne Michaels TV special in 1977, when Paul and Art were only 36. Stranger still is the reality that Paul Simon was only 24 when he wrote this heartbreaking song about aging and mortality. It appears on their 4th studio album, 1968's Bookends.

Yesterday morning, I went to the local library's semi-annual book sale, and as usual, ran into an acquaintance who is a couple of years older than I, a classmate of my sister. Several of the friends from that Class of '65 get together regularly, despite the fact that it's been over five decades since they sat together in study hall. Sharon mentioned that a group of them were celebrating their 70th birthdays this weekend. And later, driving home from the library, the deejay announced that it was Paul Simon's birthday. What line do you think came into my head? How terribly strange!

I don't know that I have that much to say about the lyrics to this song. They speak for themselves. As with so many of Paul Simon's songs, the imagery is enough to arouse our emotions, a perfect example of the old "show, don't tell" wisdom. Listening to the song, we are confronted with two distinct reactions: we call up our sympathy for these two old characters lost in their overcoats, and we then call up our fears, imagining ourselves spending our purposeless days on a park bench. Yep, it's a downer, all right.

Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you

Go make some memories today. That's my plan.

Bad Moon Rising

Listen while you read: It's Friday the 13th!

I see a bad moon a-rising
I see trouble on the way
I see earthquakes and lightnin'
I see bad times today

Don't go 'round tonight
It's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise

I hear hurricanes a-blowing
I know the end is coming soon
I fear rivers overflowing
I hear the voice of rage and ruin

Don't go 'round tonight
It's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise

I hope you got your things together
I hope you're quite prepared to die
Looks like we're in for nasty weather
One eye is taken for an eye

Oh, don't go 'round tonight
It's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise
There's a bad moon on the rise

~  John Fogerty (for Creedence Clearwater Revival)

Do you suffer from paraskavedekatriaphobia? Then this song, from 1969's Green River album from Creedence Clearwater Revival, is for you! And you are not alone in your fear of Friday the 13th, although I cannot claim to share your paranoia. I was born on the 13th, and although my birth was not on a Friday, I have celebrated noteworthy birthdays on Fridays. When I turned 26 (2 x 13) and when I turned 31 (13 backwards), I celebrated on Friday the 13th. And I'm still here to tell you about it.

Fogerty says that he kept a little notebook of song titles, and "Bad Moon Rising" was a title he had before he ever wrote a song to fit it. After the success of "Proud Mary," Fogerty felt pressure to come up with another song right away, and so "Bad Moon Rising" became his mission. His inspiration was a 1941 film noir, The Devil and Daniel Webster, in which the main character sells his soul to the devil. Fogerty specifically recalls a hurricane scene in the film; hence the references to natural disasters.

The song also has one of those acclaimed "misheard" lines. Apparently, "There's a bad moon on the rise" has been misheard as, "There's a bathroom on the right," and Fogerty has even deliberately mis-sung the line while pointing offstage right. It probably provides great relief to those attending a Fogerty concert at a venue that sells beer. (Pun intended.)

But, damn, look at those lines from 1969 and apply them to today! I know the end is coming soon pretty much sums up how I feel every frigging morning when I wake up and Trump is still in the White House.  I hear the voice of rage and ruin. That I can tell you. Believe me. Make America Scared Again.

I'll be taking Fogerty's advice and staying in tonight. How about you?

Your Cheatin' Heart

Listen while you read:  From the Way Back Machine

Your cheatin' heart will make you weep
You'll cry and cry and try to sleep
But sleep won't come the whole night through
Your cheatin' heart will tell on you

When tears come down like fallin' rain
You'll toss around and call my name
You'll walk the floor the way I do
Your cheatin' heart will tell on you

Your cheatin' heart will pine someday
And crave the love you threw away
The time will come when you'll be blue
Your cheatin' heart will tell on you

When tears come down . . . 

~ Hank Williams Sr.

This one is for my father. Today would have been his 96th birthday, but he was only 51 when cardiac arrest claimed him. Yes, he shares a birthday with Christopher Columbus. But my dad's given name was Valentine. Go figure. "Your Cheatin' Heart" was one of my dad's favorite songs, and he loved singing it to my mother. Which made no sense, really, because I don't think my mother ever even thought of cheating on him, let alone doing so. I think it was some kind of joke between them. He would also sing Engelbert Humperdinck's "Please release me, let me go . . . " to her. Funny guy.

I remember that we had some old radio thing in our house, on which we could tune in some obscure radio station. This was years before WABC or WMCA. And maybe it had a turntable. Yes, it must have, because I can recall spinning old 78 rpm records by Gene Autry and Pat Boone, not to mention the Christmas records, all of which were by Bing Crosby. I don't remember that we had the Hank Williams Sr. recording on vinyl, but memory can be selective, you know?

So, anyway, memory likes to call up happy times, doesn't it? I like to think of my mother and father dancing to "Your Cheatin' Heart" in the living room after dinner. Is the memory real? Or did I just make it up? My father had a volatile temper, and there is no doubt about the veracity of my memories of him turning over a table or slamming the front storm door so hard that the glass shattered. At the same time, I can remember him coming home with flowerpots full of petunias and marigolds, a gift for my mother. He loved roses, too, and planted  them around our house. They were always pink.

I have spent way too many years trying to understand my father's love (or lack thereof) for me, to no avail. It is on my list of questions to ask when I reach the Great Hereafter. Do I expect an answer that will make any sense? I don't. However my father loved me (or didn't) matters little now. I have fashioned my life regardless.

But today, 96 years since his birth, I pay tribute to the man who gave me a curiosity about monarch butterflies and fox dens, my hazel-to-green eyes, and what little artistic talents I may have. I guess he did the best he could in raising me during a time when child-rearing was considered best left to the mothers. I would have liked more from him, but "wish in one hand and spit in the other . . . see which one gets full first."

Happy Birthday, Daddy.

Wildfire

Listen while you read: On Letterman, 2007

She comes down from Yellow Mountain
On a dark, flat land she rides
On a pony she named Wildfire
With a whirlwind by her side
On a cold Nebraska night

Oh, they say she died one winter
When there came a killing frost
And the pony she named Wildfire
Busted down his stall
In a blizzard, he was lost

She ran calling "Wildfire!"
She ran calling "Wildfire!"
Calling "Wildfire!"

So by the dark of the moon, I planted
But there came an early snow
There's been a hoot-owl howling outside my window now
Six nights in a row
She's coming for me, I know
And on Wildfire we're both gonna go

We'll be riding Wildfire
We'll be riding Wildfire
Riding Wildfire

On Wildfire we're gonna ride
We're gonna leave sod-bustin' behind
Get the hard times right on out of our minds
Riding Wildfire 

~ Michael Martin Murphey

If you are of a certain age, you remember this one. It was a chart-buster in 1975. And it has been loved and hated ever since. Prominently placed on a list of "blatantly bad 70s songs," it became a long-running joke between David Letterman and Paul Shaffer on The Late Show until Letterman invited Murphey on the show in 2007 to perform the song. And it's a good performance! You can watch it via the link above. The piano intro is quite lovely. The 1975 recording appears on Murphey's Blue Sky - Night Thunder.

Murphey claims that the song came to him in a dream, recalling that his grandfather used to tell him a story about a legendary ghost horse that the Native Americans talked about. Little did Murphey know how popular the song would become. You are probably aware of why I selected it today, the fourth day of raging wildfires in California. Despite the song entering my brain, I had no idea who the singer was until I looked it up. I think Murphey sings cowboy songs in Texas these days.

Anyway, it's either a very pretty song . . . or a blatantly bad one. You decide.

The wildfires in California are beyond blatantly bad. I have dear friends who live in Napa, the heart of California wine country. They have posted themselves as "safe" on social media, but say they and their dogs are ready to leave if the call to do so comes. My heart breaks thinking about the kind of stress they are enduring. And if you have ever visited the Napa and Sonoma Valleys, you understand that the vineyards are the life-force of the region. Add another long recovery to the list of areas that have been devastated by natural disasters.

Hurricanes, floods, fires . . . what kind of devastation does the universe have planned for us next? (I will not hold the universe responsible for the possibility of nuclear war. That is entirely man-made. And you know what two men I will hold responsible.) I was four years old when loss of innocence visited me in the form of Hurricane Hazel. A storm named after the color of my eyes? And a year later, in 1955, Hurricane Diane made Hazel look like a rain shower. My memory has stored an image of little me, looking out the window at the dark clouds forming, frightened beyond anything I could articulate. I can still feel my fear. Was the end of the world near?

And today, over six decades later, I am still asking that question. I try to remind myself that the world has always known fear and destruction and evil. And yet, here we still are. Perhaps we have lots of time for more blatantly bad songs to love.

Brilliant Disguise

Listen while you read:  Bruuuuuuuuce!

I hold you in my arms as the band plays
What are those words whispered, baby, just as you turn away?
I saw you last night out on the edge of town
I want to read your mind to know just what I've got in this new thing I've found
So tell me what I see when I look in your eyes
Is that you, baby, or just a brilliant disguise?

I heard somebody call your name from underneath our willow
I saw something tucked in shame underneath your pillow
Well, I've tried so hard, baby, but I just can't see
What a woman like you is doing with me
So tell me who I see when I look in your eyes
Is that you, baby, or just a brilliant disguise?

Now look at me, baby, struggling to do everything right
And then it all falls apart when out go the lights
I'm just a lonely pilgrim, I walk this world in wealth
I want to know if it's you I don't trust 'cause I damn sure don't trust myself

Now you play the loving woman, I'll play the faithful man
But just don't look too close into the palm of my hand
We stood at the altar; the gypsy swore our future was right
But come the wee, wee hours, well, maybe, baby, the gypsy lied
So when you look at me, you better look hard and look twice
Is that me, baby, or just a brilliant disguise?

Tonight our bed is cold, lost in the darkness of our love
God have mercy on the man who doubts what he's sure of

~  Bruce Springsteen

It was thirty years ago today that Tunnel of Love, Springsteen's 9th album, was released. Yep, three decades ago. Are you feeling old yet? (Bruce isn't.)

There's little doubt that this song is somewhat autobiographical. At the time, Bruce was married to his first wife, Julianne Phillips, but there was trouble in paradise. Later on, when he was married to his current wife and band-mate, Patti Scialfa, "Brilliant Disguise" was still on his setlist. Bruce had this to say: "Songs shift their meanings when you sing them, they shift their meanings in time, they shift their meanings with who you sing them with. When you sing this song with someone you love, it turns into something else." Rationalization, maybe, but who cares? The song speaks to all of us regardless of the circumstances of its birth.

Who are you, really? Does anyone know you as well as you know yourself? We all wear masks, appropriate to the company we are keeping at any given moment. And I am not suggesting that this is a bad thing, although certainly there are times when it can be. There have been enough memes highlighting what might happen if we were always honest with our acquaintances! You know, like saying to a stressed-out friend, "Man, you look like shit today!" (As if she didn't already know.) Protocol would instruct us to say instead, "Hey, I love that outfit you're wearing!" There is often wisdom in dishonesty.

Relationships may be another matter. You better look hard and look twice. And then, if what you see is real, abandon your suspicions and put your faith in trust.

I think Bruce is sure of what he sees in Patti. At least, I hope so.

America

Listen while you read: Indigenous Peoples' Day

In fourteen-hundred-and-ninety-two
Columbus sailed the ocean blue . . .  

Far, we've been traveling far
Without a home, but not without a star
Free, only want to be free
We huddle close, hang on to a dream

On the boats and on the planes
They're coming to America
Never looking back again
They're coming to America

Home - don't it seem so far away?
Oh, we're traveling light today
In the eye of the storm
In the eye of the storm

Home, to a new and a shiny place
Make our bed, and we'll say our grace
Freedom's light burning warm
Freedom's light burning warm

Everywhere around the world
They're coming to America
Every time that flag's unfurled
They're coming to America

Got a dream to take them there
They're coming to America
Got a dream they've come to share
They're coming to America

Got a dream to take them there
They're coming to America
. . . 
Today, today, today, today

My country 'tis of thee
Today
Sweet land of liberty
Today
Of thee I sing
Today
Of thee I sing

~  Neil Diamond

Oh, the irony! While I am not particularly a fan of Neil Diamond (not even the iconic "Sweet Caroline"), this song is my pick for this traditional but controversial holiday once known to every baby-boomer as "Columbus Day." (And I am old enough to remember when Columbus Day was only celebrated on October 12, his birthday, which was not always on a Monday.) The song, which reeks of nationalism bordering on jingoism, appears on Diamond's 1980 release, The Jazz Singer.

So perhaps I've offended some of you already. Well, try to imagine how offended Native Americans were when they got news that Christopher Columbus, who never set foot on the continent, "discovered" America, the land they'd inhabited for tens of thousands of years. Columbus Day has been designated a national holiday since 1937. While I can remember making construction paper cut-outs of the Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria while passionately singing the 1492 song when I was in elementary school, these days the holiday means two things to me: we're at or near peak fall foliage, and there's no mail delivery. I find it difficult to "celebrate" a holiday that pays tribute to a man who promoted the trans-Atlantic slave trade and is responsible for the genocide of indigenous people. Western colonialism at its worst.

But Columbus Day aside, take a look or a listen again to the song lyrics above. Yes, the song is 37 years old, and yet many of us can remember a time when we would respond to such a song with pride and recognition of how great our country was. We knew our ethnic ancestry and visited Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty as rites of passage. We memorized and sang the ending to the Emma Lazarus ode to freedom, "The New Colossus": Give me your tired, your poor . . .  There was no need to "make America great again" because, in our eyes (and perhaps our brainwashing) it was already great.

What has put America's greatness into question is not that we have allowed too many foreigners in. It's that we no longer do. Our sweet land of liberty is not so sweet anymore, especially if you are from  Chad, Iran, Libya, North Korea, Somalia, Syria, Venezuela, or Yemen. What countries will be added to the list as this administration ramps up its xenophobia?

Meanwhile, whether you live in one of the growing list of American cities that celebrate it or not, Happy Indigenous Peoples' Day!

King Harvest

Listen while you read:  (Has Surely Come)

Corn in the fields
Listen to the rice when the wind blows 'cross the water
King Harvest has surely come

I work for the union 'cause she's so good to me
And I'm bound to come out on top
That's where she said I should be
I will hear every word the boss may say
For he's the one who hands me down my pay
Looks like this time I'm gonna get to stay
I'm a union man now, all the way

The smell of the leaves
From the magnolia trees in the meadow
King Harvest has surely come

Dry summer, then comes fall
Which I depend on most of all
Hey, rainmaker, can't you hear the call?
Please let these crops grow tall

Long enough, I've been up on skid row
And it's plain to see, I've nothing to show
I'm glad to pay those union dues
Just don't judge me by my shoes

Scarecrow and a yellow moon
And pretty soon a carnival on the edge of town
King Harvest has surely come

Last year, this time, wasn't no joke
My whole barn went up in smoke
Our horse, Jethro, well, he went mad
And I can't remember things bein' that bad

Then there comes a man with a paper and a pen
Tellin' us our hard times are about to end
And then, if they don't give us what we like
He said, "Men, that's when you gotta go on strike"

Corn in the fields
Listen to the rice when the wind blows 'cross the water
King Harvest has surely come

~  Robbie Robertson & The Band

Although Robertson is given full credit for writing this song, Levon Helm claims, in his book This Wheel's on Fire, that it was a "group effort." I'm going with Levon. I will give Robertson credit for his story-telling abilities, especially when he reaches back in time to produce a slice of Americana pie. "It's just a kind of character study in a time period," he says of the song. "King Harvest" is on The Band's eponymous second album, released in 1969.

Likely referring to the emergence of share-cropper unions in the South during the years 1928 - 1935 (think Great Depression), the song evokes images of Jim Casy's efforts to unionize the California farm workers in The Grapes of Wrath. The economic desperation of workers of that time made them rife for exploitation, and the hard-fought unions were what saved them. In recent decades, we have witnessed a decrease in the power of unions, coinciding with the furthering divide between the haves and the have-nots. I am always amazed at how the wisdom of people like John Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie seems to get lost in a nation that gravitates more and more toward greed.

During my career, I belonged to a union and was grateful for the opportunity to do so. I was glad to pay those union dues. I felt safe and protected. Although we never went on strike, there was a time when our local association took a vote to do so. And that was enough to inspire management to come to the table again and resolve the issues at hand. Without the union, it would have turned out much differently.

Yesterday, despite a temperature of 80 degrees, I finished the back-breaking task of putting my vegetable gardens (all thirteen raised beds) to rest for the winter. My sadness at the end of the season in which I can feed myself from my own space and efforts was minimized by the fact that I no longer have to spend my mornings weeding! I still have baskets full of peppers, the last pound of green beans in the frig, and a bowl of tomatoes ripening on the windowsill. I have garlic and onions to get me through the next several months and pesto and sauce and more green beans in the freezer. Oh, and one baby zucchini.

King Harvest has surely come.

Levon Helm at John Gill's Fall Farm Festival 2008