I’ve been easing my way into 2024. Here we are in March and I’m sharing a song I wrote for my mom’s surprise birthday party in January (her actual birthday is in Feburary). But why not draw out the celebration for such a lovely human? I could tell that the monumental number felt a bit frightening to her, so this song was partly to remind her that seventy and sunny, which she now is, is just about as delightful as it gets. (Although I’m quite sure she’ll go on to fill every number beyond with joy!)
My Nathan learned to play ukulele just for this song, and the vocal harmonies he came up with are so sweet. I love the sunny Beach Boys vibe.
Oh hallelujah hello how does your garden grow? with joy and peace and elbow grease And tender loving care
Seventy and sunny Blue skies in your eyes Through the darkest cold Your heart of gold Ever shines a gentle light of love
Oh celebration so sweet Oh happy dancing feet Every day a holiday whipped cream with a cherry
Seventy and sunny Blue skies in your eyes Through the darkest cold Your heart of gold Ever shines a gentle light of love
Oh you bring us home You bring us back to life
Oh wow you wonderful one Two is so much fun But three and four and then some more Is such a feast to share
Seventy and sunny Blue skies in your eyes Through the darkest cold Your heart of gold Ever shines a gentle light of love
This past summer into early fall I reread The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, and I’ve been making music for several of the songs from those books. This one was sung (the words at least) by Legolas in The Return of the King. I’m no elven musician but I enjoyed putting some music to J.R.R. Tolkien’s lyrics.
Last week Nathan and I spent a couple days in Duluth and I took several what I like to call “still videos” of beautiful Lake Superior. I used one of them for this song’s backdrop. Minnesota’s inland sea calls to me, so I try to visit Duluth at least once a year (this last time I decided maybe I should go every season).
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying, The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying. West, west away, the round sun is falling. Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling, The voices of my people that have gone before me? I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me; For our days are ending and our years failing. I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing. Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling, Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling, In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover, Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!
June is nearly gone but once again I’m getting my monthly song posted in time! Wish I had more time to do a better recording of this one but my summer is full of distractions, interruptions and plenty of fun that gives me little time to spare for recording.
Reading, though – I’ve been enjoying rereading The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and this is the first but may not be the last of the songs I’ve come across in the books that I set to music. Bilbo speaks these words towards the very end of The Hobbit, as he is returning home to the Shire.
Roads go ever ever on, Over rock and under tree, By caves where never sun has shone, By streams that never find the sea; Over snow by winter sown, And through the merry flowers of June, Over grass and over stone, And under mountains in the moon.
Roads go ever ever on Under cloud and under star, Yet feet that wandering have gone Turn at last to home afar. Eyes that fire and sword have seen And horror in the halls of stone Look at last on meadows green And trees and hills they long have known.
I have actually written a song each of the last three weeks but didn’t get around to putting them on the blog each week. So here’s a catchup post.
Week 41: An acquaintance was in ICU with COVID the week before I wrote this song. Her husband left her phone with her at the hospital, hoping she would wake and call him. He texted me Sunday afternoon that she had finally woken up and called. I was so touched thinking about that moment, and it (along with the week’s prompt of “too soon”) inspired this song.
Sunday afternoon she woke up Rolled her body over Picked up the phone and called to talk to him
Not a moment too soon This is the right time No turning back now Everything unwinds
In the dusky light I heard them Lovely hungry birds in Trees where my hands had laid their table out
Not a moment too soon . . .
You there staring at the mirror Shedding weary tears for the years that have turned and walked out of your life
Not a moment too soon . . .
Human you’ve been waiting too hard
Breathe now, feel your body slow down Feel the trees below ground Reaching their roots to feed their leafy crowns
Not a moment comes too soon This is the right time No turning back now Everything unwinds
Week 42: A poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins, published in 1918. The video features a ceramic candleholder made by my talented niece Eva.
I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the morning: The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the candle, Or paring of paradisaïcal fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless, Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the mountain; A cusp still clasped him, a fluke yet fanged him, entangled him, not quit utterly. This was the prized, the desirable sight, unsought, presented so easily, Parted me leaf and leaf, divided me, eyelid and eyelid of slumber.
Week 43: Do you name your cars? We do. Our oldest car (randomly dubbed Joe Bryanson by my then-nine-year-old son) deserved a special tribute this week because poor Joe has been through a lot, including getting mugged last week. Bonus track is a voice memo my co-pilot Nathan sent me today, I think he’s working on his own ballad for Joe. You’ll have to watch the video to see/hear the bonus track and maybe understand the depths of Joe’s despair.
I started out in Colorado in the mountains carrying a treasure of a woman to a job she didn’t love She left me in the foothills with a Big crack in my windshield and I Sat there being hopeful I could still be of some use
I am Joe Bryanson I’ve been around the block Mile after mile I have run I don’t drink much, I’ve got a hitch I’m such a dream to park Count on me to get the job done
A couple came from Loveland and they Laid their money down and made Me their one and only And got that big crack fixed And then a few years later we Drove across the Great Plains and they Parked me in a driveway in a City on the river
I am Joe Bryanson . . .
Soon enough I had to share that Driveway with a minivan and Then they turned me over to a Newly licensed kid They kicked me to the curb because they Went and bought a third car that they Plugged in like a toaster And babied like a baby
I am Joe Bryanson . . . But that kid became a treasure of a woman And she played my radio loud On her drive to her first job that she just loved And I felt so young again
But life out on the street, well it’s no Asphalt bed of ease, I’ve had my Mirror cracked, my side swiped, I’ve been Robbed of precious metals I’m getting near three hundred thousand Miles and I don’t know just how much Farther they might let me go But I just keep on truckin’
Short and sweet (or bittersweet?) this week – an old poem by Charles Kingsley that lent itself very well to a folk song vibe.
When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day.
When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad, And all the wheels run down; Creep home, and take your place there, The spent and maimed among: God grant you find one face there, You loved when all was young.
Julia Bloom 