Here’s my song for week 46 of #songaweek2016. Typical me in November.
I’m sliding off the edge of another long year
and nobody here but the wind
oooh, and how my heart cries
for the gone and the passing away
Here’s my song for week 46 of #songaweek2016. Typical me in November.
I’m sliding off the edge of another long year
and nobody here but the wind
oooh, and how my heart cries
for the gone and the passing away
This past week was my son’s tenth birthday, so for week 45 of #songaweek2016, I wrote him a song and made a video to go with it. Now I have no more single-digit children!
Who could ever explain how a bald-headed bundle of joy
just by eating and sleeping and laughing and learning
grows into a long-haired long-legged ten-year-old boy?
I held you first
and right through the worst of those midnight crying hours
and I’ll be the last
to ever let go of the love you birthed in me
What a difference a decade of everyday days can make
first you’re reaching, then rolling, then crawling, then walking
jumping, kicking, running, swimming, climbing, never hitting the brakes
I held you first . . .
Be brave, be kind, be-you-tiful boy
I shouldn’t be shocked that you’ve been melting me from day one
cause chocolate bars and momma’s hearts
behave the same way in the light of the sun[son]
I held you first . . .
Week 43 of #songaweek2016 had an added challenge to “write a song to your younger self.” It also happened to be the week of my birthday, so instead of the usual advice song I might have written (which is more like this one I wrote earlier in the year), I made myself a musical birthday card of sorts. There are plenty of things I may wish I had done differently in my younger days, but there are also things I can thank my younger self for, choices and actions that have helped bring me to this point of life in one relatively happy and healthy piece.
What would you thank your younger self for?
Thanks for having faith in me
thanks for believing I could grow up and be okay
thanks for still inspiring me
thanks for caring, growing, and learning
thanks for filling my head
with colorful memories
and propelling my will
with bold new dreams
thanks for saving me some money
thanks for choosing that man
thanks for holding on to me
I’m still alive and well
still have some miles to run
and though you’re only one of the many
people who I have to thank
you still count.
My song for week 42 of #songaweek2016 is partly autobiographical. The shy girl part in general, and very specifically, once I was running in the predawn and a car pulled up just in front of me, a window rolled down, and something flew out of the car and scared me good and proper. Then I realized it was the morning paper delivery.
The song is also partly spontaneous lyric-writing. Not as spontaneous as it could have been though. The first line initially popped into my head as, “I waited all night in the pouring rain just to give you back your guillotine.” There’s quite enough mystery around the umbrella and how the girl got it and who she’s waiting to give it back to, but a guillotine? That’s just a bit too random.
And it’s partly finished. Someday I’d like to add at least another verse and round it out. But for now, here it is:
I waited all night in the pouring rain
just to give you your umbrella back
and when the paper lady stopped and rolled her window down
I nearly had a heart attack
I’m a shy girl, it’s true
just shy of you
I like to imagine that we’re holding hands
underneath a cloudless sky
but I’m lost in this fog ’cause I can’t even dream
of looking you in the eye
I’m a shy girl, it’s true
just shy of you
I even tried to make a deal with the devil
but the devil didn’t notice me
I’m a shy girl, it’s true
just shy of you
A good bit of this song for week 41 of #songaweek2016 was inspired by this poignant article by Andrew Sullivan, which was the cover story for the print version of New York magazine, which was sitting on my coffee table when I wrote the song. The headline on the cover reads “Put Down Your Phone.” The article discusses Sullivan’s identification of and struggle with his own “distraction sickness,” and its title and subtext read, “I Used to Be a Human Being: An endless bombardment of news and gossip and images has rendered us manic information addicts. It broke me. It might break you, too.”
And I was thinking about fall, this seasonal descent into dark and cold and emptiness, when organisms break down and fall asleep, and look dead, come so apparently close to death, but somewhere deep inside there’s a dream of spring, of impossible things happening, of starting over, giving it all another go.
Put your phone down, take it easy
sing a song with me
what is this old world coming to anyway?
When you think you’ve got it made cause you’re the top of the heap
of the people all sleeping their lives away
It’s a long hard fall into lonely winter
and summer’s a fading memory
it’s a long hard fall into lonely winter
and spring’s an impossible dream
Hold your hand out, let me touch it
let me know there’s life
out beyond my self-contained planet
all those dreams they made us dream when we were only sixteen
are now battered and broken to bits
somewhere there’s somebody, something, somehow
and nowhere there’s nothing at all
keep your faith in evolution
let your life unfold
give it time and anything can happen
from the ashes of the past rises new and resilienter
you even brillianter now
It’s a long hard fall into lonely winter
and summer’s a fading memory
it’s a long hard fall into lonely winter
and spring’s an impossible – springs an impossible,
ever, eternally, springs an impossible dream