we both so excited

Everyone in my family is way more into music than I am.  They will all tell you that.  They are always looking for le dernier cri in musical genres of all kinds while I am content to listen to my Neil tape (as it is called) or the Red Hot Chili Peppers CD that Kristen made for me, over and over again in my car - the only place I listen to music.  But they only think that, really, because they can't hear my interior sound track.  Let me give you an example.

Last week while Julie and Andrew were staying with us - because Hurricane Sandy knocked their power out early and it stayed out - I lost one of my hoop earrings.  It was not the fault of Julie or Andrew or Hurricane Sandy, that is simply when it happened.  I had a sense that I had lost it in my bedroom, and looked around quite a bit in there, but didn't find it anywhere.  I took the other earring out of my ear and put it on my dresser, thinking as I did so, "every time I see this sitting here, I will probably think it is the lost earring".  And that was the case, until several days later when I wised up and put the lonely earring in a small covered dish that is a piece (the powder jar) of my antique dresser set.

I looked around the house in a desultory manner over the next few days, not finding the lost earring, but finding a quarter in between the couch cushions among the dust and crumbs.  I was encouraged that I didn't find the earring mangled and bent after Katie found it somewhere and chewed it all up, but I was sad that it was gone because those earrings were expensive, damnit.

Then, yesterday, as I was changing my bed, I spotted the missing earring at the foot of my bed, underneath the bench where I sit to tie my shoes.  I know it wasn't there before because, of course, that was one of the places I looked.  I didn't care, however, and quickly picked up the earring and opened the powder jar to place it with its mate.  And do you know what song played in my head as I did so?  "Reunited, and it feels so good...."  I love that.

golden slumbers fill your eyes

We sang Lucie a thousand songs. Most of them didn’t have words, maybe – and some of them didn’t have much in the way of a melody, either – but we sang to her day and night. I liked to sing to Lucie when I carried her from place to place. I didn’t really give much thought to the songs I sang, and more often than not I noticed it was a college fight song I was humming into the soft, fluffy, fur on the top of her head. Because I was raised in such an odd way, college fight songs were my lullabies. I shared them with Lucie.

Julie sang to Lucie, too. Her songs were extemporaneous, and the styles varied widely, from polkas to marches to scat. They were all sung with great gusto and enthusiasm. The songs Ben sang were just between the two of them, but I know he did it, all the same, holding Lucie close so only she could hear. I like to think that Tom sang to her, as well, after Lucie won the hard-fought battle for his affection.

Yesterday afternoon after Julie and I took Lucie to the animal hospital for the last time, I noticed the song lyrics that were playing over and over again in my head without my even knowing it: “Sleep, pretty darlin’, do not cry. And I will sing a lullaby.” I can’t sing without breaking down right now, but this song goes straight from my heart to Lucie. It is my final song to her.


Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Golden slumbers fill your eyes
Smiles await you when you rise
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

Once there was a way to get back homeward
Once there was a way to get back home
Sleep pretty darling do not cry
And I will sing a lullaby

standin' at the end of a real long road

When we moved to Kent eleven years ago, I didn't know anyone there. I didn't have a single friend. I tried the ways I knew to make some. I went to a book discussion group. I didn't like it. I went to the fitness center. I didn't like it. What I needed was a job. That's how I have always made friends. And, the fact is, I have always made friends. Wherever I have gone, doggone it, people like me.

My brief stint working at a local public library brought me some friends, but they didn't last beyond my job there. When I started working at the university, however, I finally found some true friends. Friends I laughed and cried with. Friends I got drunk with. Friends I took vacations with. Friends who moved away and left me bereft. Friends who remained my friends even after I left the university five years later, feeling depleted and defeated. Friends who were some of the last people I saw before Ben and I made the big move. Joany, Kristen, Vince, you know who you are, but I want to give you a shout-out here. I love you guys.

Those aren't the only friends I left behind, however. Not by a long shot. When I started working at Miss Chickpea's, my co-workers there became my teachers and my mentors, and to my surprise and delight, my friends. Janet and Kathy and Dianne made it a pleasure to go to work every day, and I was delighted when the orbit of my schedule allowed me to work with each of them over the course of a week. We had fantastic customers at that little shop, and it was a pleasure to see many of them walk through the door, but I would be remiss if I did not single out Amy, who became a true friend to me. Even after the shop suddenly closed, we all remained close, and the knitting groups we attended were full of laughter. I miss you all more than you can know.

When we moved here, I was delighted to realize that there is a yarn shop right here in the town where I live. It was one of the first places Julie and I stopped on one of our outings. I love knitting. I love knitters. Surely here I would find kindred spirits who might some day - with careful nurturing - become my friends. But, you know, I didn't like it there. I didn't like the yarns they carried (too pedestrian) and the staff was not friendly and welcoming in the ways to which I was accustomed. I go back there periodically, but, really, I have plenty of yarn. What I need is friends! And it seems to me that I don't have any friends here because I can't find a job, and I can't find a job here because I don't have any friends. It's a bit of a conundrum.

I try to keep in mind that after we moved to Kent it took me a year and a half to find a job at the university, but I hope it doesn't take me that long here. Because I really need the money, and you know, ya got to have friends.*

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*Yep, they're song lyrics, kiddies. From Bette Midler's debut album, The Divine Miss M. I must have listened to that album a thousand times, and probably could still sing every song on it, but these are the lyrics that keep running through my mind:


But you got to have friends
The feeling's oh so strong
You got to have friends
To make that day last long

I had some friends but they're gone
Someone came and took them away
And from the dusk 'til the dawn
Here is where I'll stay

I'm standin' at the end of a real long road
And I'm waiting for my new friends to come
I don't care if I'm hungry or freezing (freezing) cold
I've got to get me some

who could turn the world on with her smile?

Ali was already sick when I met her. In a way, I met her because she was sick. She came into the little yarn shop where I worked and asked to speak to the owner, who, of course, wasn't there. So Ali told us her story. She had brain cancer. She was on disability, so she wasn't allowed to work for pay. But the chemo seemed to be working and she was feeling a little better, and she just got so bored sitting at home all the time. Could she volunteer at the yarn shop? Could she just hang out there? We encouraged the owner to go along with the idea. We thought we were doing something nice for a sick girl. It never entered our minds that Ali would do so much for us.

Ali was so positive, so upbeat, so glad to be alive, I think. She had a beautiful smile and the most wonderful, unexpected laugh. And she laughed all the time. And she talked all the time. That girl could talk! We learned a lot about Ali in the short time that we knew her. We learned that she had been in college at McGill when she became ill. That she had come home to Cleveland to receive the best medical care available to her. We learned about the guy she was dating and the friends she had and the trips she and her mom took together. A trip to the west coast to see her brother and sister-in-law. A trip to Paris - the trip of a lifetime. We celebrated with Ali when she went back to Montreal to receive her degree. We worried over her when a dizzy spell at the shop one day turned into a trip to the hospital, and the discovery of another brain tumor. And when the shop closed unexpectedly last fall, we lost touch with her.

Today Ali died. As I read the announcement on Facebook, and my eyes filled with tears, I realized a song was playing in my head:

Who can turn the world on with her smile?
Who can take a nothing day, and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile?
Well it's you girl, and you should know it
With each glance and every little movement you show it.

I think Ali would have loved that. I think she would have laughed.

come sail away

If you had driven by me on my way to work yesterday, you might have seen me laughing and laughing as I drove down Newcomer Road. I pretty much only listen to the radio when I am in my car. I station-surf until I find a song I know (and like) to listen to. Yesterday the intro to a song I didn't recognize came on. The music was so stupid and queer that I left it on to see what it was. Then, an odd, nasal voice started to warble, "I'm sailing away..."

Could it be? Was this the queer song that Cartman has to sing compulsively whenever someone mentions it to him? As I listened and waited for the refrain, I marveled at the grandiose music and the total inanity of the lyrics. I had never listened to this song before (because it was so stupid, and because I hate Styx) but it had to be the one.

At last - the refrain: Come sail away, come sail away... I could immediately picture Cartman singing faster and faster, unable to stop until he sang it all. I burst out laughing as I drove along and continued to laugh until the song was over.

Man, I love to laugh like that, and wish I could do it every day. I include the lyrics below in the hope that they will make you laugh, too. (I bet they will.)


I'm sailing away,
set an open course for the virgin sea
I've got to be free,
free to face the life thats ahead of me
On board, I'm the captain,
so climb aboard
We'll search for tomorrow on every shore
And I'll try, oh lord, I'll try to carry on

I look to the sea,
reflections in the waves spark my memory
Some happy, some sad
I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had
We live happily forever,
so the story goes
But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold

But we'll try best that we can to carry on
A gathering of angels appeared above my head
They sang to me this song of hope,
and this is what they said
They said

Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me
Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me

I thought that they were angels,
but to my surprise
They climbed aboard their starship
and headed for the skies
Singing

Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me
Come sail away, come sail away
Come sail away with me.

May 4th

Later today, as I do every year, I will drive over to campus with four bunches of freshly-cut flowers. I will lay them at four temporary memorials marked out in the parking lot where I used to park when I worked at the university. It is the only way I know to leave a concrete symbol that I remember what happened there.

Thirty-eight years ago I was a junior in high school. The first knowledge we had of something gone horribly wrong at Kent State was a frantic phone call from my aunt. Shots had been fired, she told my mother, "I'm going up there to get David." Davey, my much-loved cousin, was a KSU student living on campus that spring. My aunt and my grandmother got in their car and drove from Canton to Kent to "rescue" my cousin. I learned later from countless news stories about the hell they drove into. We all learned about it. It was the only topic of conversation in all my classes in the days that followed.

You know what happened that day - or you should. Government troops had arrived and set up camp on the university commons. Armed soldiers patrolled the campus perimeter. When students protested the military presence on the campus where they lived and attended classes, the troops opened fire on the unarmed students. Thirteen of them were shot, four fatally. Two of the dead students were a part of the protest; two of them had been walking to class when they were gunned down.

So many thoughts swirl through my mind as I remember that day. The one that I come back to time and again, though, is how it feels when spring finally comes to Kent, Ohio. The winters are long here. The days are cold and snowy, the skies are gray for months on end. When the temperature finally climbs above 70 degrees and the sun shines and all the flowering trees on campus bloom, it is the most joyous time of the entire school year. Everyone is outside, playing frisbee, laying in the sun, checking out the opposite sex, for sure. Doing anything, really, just to be outdoors on a glorious spring day. I know if I had been on campus that day, I would certainly have been on Blanket Hill to see what was going on, and, yes, probably to protest an armed government presence on my campus.

Allison and Jeff, Bill and Sandy were older than me when they died - I was still in high school, after all, and they were college students. The years have passed, however, and now my own children are older than they lived to be. I think of their sunny, bright, young faces in all the photos I have ever seen of them, and I know I won't ever forget them or how they died in that sunlit parking lot - killed by agents of their own government. I hope you will always remember them, too.


Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We're finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio.

Gotta get down to it
Soldiers are gunning us down
Should have been done long ago.
What if you knew her
And found her dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?

Tin soldiers and Nixon coming,
We're finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in Ohio.

Ohio - Neil Young

look out, Mama...

Ben was listening to some Neil Young music that he had downloaded the other night, and it reminded me how much I love Neil Young's music. Not all of it, of course. I mean, there is just too much to love. The man has been writing and performing music for, like, forty years now.

I love the songs on the Neil Young tape that Ben made for me so many years ago. And I mean those songs and those versions, specifically. No others will do. And Julie feels the same way I do about that. We have nearly driven Ben crazy over the years, with demands to exactly replicate that tape before it is worn out and lost to us forever. (As an aside, I am delighted to report that the tape has been successfully tranferred to CD, so it will never be lost to us, but that is not what this post is about.)

I love different songs for different reasons. You might think Four Dead in Ohio would be my favorite, what with living in Kent and all, but after parking in the lot every day for five years where four innocent college students died, it's just too sad for me. Southern Man always takes me back to the times when Julie and I sang or hummed the song softly to each other as we walked through countless flea markets and antique shows all across northeastern Ohio.

Hurricane was my favorite for many years, and how convenient it was that Ben had placed it as the first song on Side 2 of my tape. I could re-wind and play it over and over again. And I did. I loved the story Ben told me that this particular version had been a pre-concert sound check, and the musicians just kept playing as they realized how incredible it sounded.

I realized a couple of years ago, however, that my favorite Neil Young song was actually the live version on my tape of Powderfinger. To tell you the truth, I don't know why I love that song as much as I do. Well, there is Neil Young's guitar-playing, of course. Need I even say that? But, also, I find the lyrics so sweet and sad and evocative. Imagine my surprise when Ben and Tom and Julie all agreed this was one of their favorite Neil Young songs, as well. Ben even found some fascinating on line discussions where other fans discussed what they thought the enigmatic lyrics meant.

So, what the heck, I include the lyrics below. What do you think they mean?


Powderfinger

Look out, Mama,
there's a white boat
comin' up the river
With a big red beacon,
and a flag,
and a man on the rail
I think you'd better call John,
'Cause it don't
look like they're here
to deliver the mail
And it's less than a mile away
I hope they didn't come to stay
It's got numbers on the side
and a gun
And it's makin' big waves.

Daddy's gone,
my brother's out hunting
in the mountains
Big John's been drinking
since the river took Emmy-Lou
So the powers that be
left me here
to do the thinkin'
And I just turned twenty-two
I was wonderin' what to do
And the closer they got,
The more those feelings grew.

Daddy's rifle in my hand
felt reassurin'
He told me,
Red means run, son,
numbers add up to nothin'
But when the first shot
hit the docks I saw it comin'
Raised my rifle to my eye
Never stopped to wonder why.
Then I saw black,
And my face splashed in the sky.

Shelter me from the powder
and the finger
Cover me with the thought
that pulled the trigger
Think of me
as one you'd never figured
Would fade away so young
With so much left undone
Remember me to my love,
I know I'll miss her.

More

Yesterday I went to Macy's to check out the end-of-season sale on summer clothes. I know we have a lot of hot weather left, and I figured I could always use a couple more tops. As I browsed the racks, it occurred to me that I was really in a very good mood. That realization was immediately followed by the understanding of why I felt that way. The sound system in the store was playing "More" by Bobby Darin.

You know the song. You think you don't, but you do. To refresh your memory, here are the lyrics:

More
Than the greatest love the world
Has known
This
Is the love I'll give to you
Alone.

More
Than the simple words
I've tried to say,
I'll only live to love you
More each day.

More than you'll ever know,
My arms long to hold you so.
My life will be in your keepin',
Wakin'... sleepin'... laughin'...weepin'.

Longer
Than always is a long, long time,
But far beyond forever,
You'll be mine.
I know I've never lived before,
And my heart is very sure
No one else could love you more.


See? You know it. I don't know whose version you are familiar with. It has been covered many times, I know that - most recently by Harry Connick, Jr, I believe. But I am telling you here and now that you haven't really heard that song until you have heard Bobby Darin sing it.

The song is meant to swing, granted. But no one else has ever made it swing like Bobby Darin did. It is irresistibly finger-poppin'. That's not what really makes this the best version evah of this song, however. It is the joy he brings to it. It is an upbeat, joyous, tell-the-world declaration of his feelings. Who can resist that? Not me. I bought two blouses.