Road Trip Songs (Continued)

Recently, I signed out a book called Walk Like a Man: Coming of Age With the Music of Bruce Springsteen. Its memoir-like style with ample and often humorous footnotes makes it an entertaining read. Hope and I were talking about Walk Like a Man and she asked to hear “Radio Nowhere” from Springsteen’s 2007 album Magic. I wasn’t into Magic when it first came out. I remember Hope was in her car seat as I impatiently peeled the plastic off the CD cover and inserted the disc into our car’s CD player. We drove around until we had listened to the entire album. If I felt anything at all, it was irritation. But as often is the case with Springsteen CDs, Magic grew on me. “Radio Nowhere,” for example, was played at high volume many, many times.^[1] Today, I felt that familiar rush of nostalgia while listening to Magic. “You’ll Be Comin’ Down,” “Your Own Worst Enemy,” and “Last to Die” are all catchy tunes with lyrics that leave you feeling somewhat uneasy. In particular though, “Last to Die”^[2] is on repeat as it just happens to be another contemplative song from the perspective of a driver behind the wheel.^[3]

Oh, and today I heard a fine new release called “Way It Is, Way It Could Be” by The Weather Station.  Mentioned here because it’s another pensive road trip song. Hmmm, this mental playlist is expanding.

---

^[1] Before Hope was even two years old she could sing “Radio Nowhere” word for word. Well, kind of. She called the song “Nobody Right There.”

^[2] Did you know that the Pet Shop Boys covered “The Last to Die” on their 2013 album Electric? What?!

^[3] Read my blog post “Valentine’s Day.”

Valentine’s Day

I realize that I’m early for Valentine’s Day, but it’s on my mind and it’s sneaking up anyway. To treat myself, I picked up some variegated sweetheart roses and mixed them with Yoko Ono button poms that are a lovely apple green colour. I’ve also selected two tender, overlooked songs... Both are about longing and lonely car rides and would be perfect for a moody, winter road-trip playlist.

In Bruce Springsteen’s “Valentine’s Day,” a thoughtful, homesick man is travelling along a “spooky” highway in a “big lazy car.” The solitary drive seems to provide the clarity that his active mind seeks. I’ve liked this song since the first time I heard it. I have a memory from my early 20s of heading north on some dark Ontario highway listening to “Valentine’s Day” on cassette tape. There were snowflakes hitting the windshield and I had a feeling of excitement in my chest.

“Life Short Call Now” by Bruce Cockburn is a song that I only recently started obsessing about. The music’s almost relentless rhythm is like a long car drive and the lyrics capture that universal feeling of yearning so perfectly. The driver is passing by a depressing landscape of billboards and signs that “promise paradise” and more. He stops at some lonely hotel where the walls are too thin and sadly ruminates about the one that he loves. (An added bonus is that it’s easy to play on the guitar—D, Dmaj7, E, A, I think.) I like the song’s telegram-like refrain, as well. It’s urgent, desperate, and true.

Love You

Seems Excessive...

for just three vials
p.s. i need a hug

See What Is

Spending time with my mother who was recently diagnosed with cerebral atrophy is an enlightening experience. It is an honour to be with anyone who is in such a vulnerable state. My father is having a terrible time, as well.  He suffers from debilitating back and leg pain (not to mention emotional trauma over watching his beloved partner of 60 years fade away). I have gained much from their candour and disclosure of present challenges.  Most importantly, my mother’s condition reminds me that we are not our physical bodies, which includes our minds and even our personalities… If we are not who we think we are, who are we? Or rather, what are we? The energy of the mind and the dream of this world have enormous momentum that feels almost impossible to be free of. There is something beyond our confusion though. Imagine if we were always aligned with divine truth. “See what is,” Alan Watts instructs. It’s so simple, right?

This photo of Dad and Mom is bitter-sweet. I wanted to capture them in a flattering light. In truth, however, they smile infrequently now. Many tears of sorrow and frustration have been shed. I think of my mother as being in a type of cocoon. When she emerges at last—glittery and glorious—her smile will be genuine and bright! It is heartbreaking to witness someone you love suffering dreadfully. Yet, all too often, this is exactly what we are expected to do.

I am deeply grateful to both my parents for their love, courage, and hard work. They have given much—not only to support their large family, but to the community through many years of volunteer work. Perhaps the closest thing that conveys what we truly are is touchingly expressed in the children’s book The Giving Tree—to give altruistically until we are physically no more. For now, our gentleness and generosity toward each other, and all living things, is vital.  In fact, it may be all that truly matters.

So Far Away

Show Up

Although this fiery autumn in Ontario has done its best to affect me, I find myself somewhat immune to its urgings and in much need of reprieve. The duality and duplicity of 2014 has wearied me. Also, Mercury is in retrograde and that’s not good for anyone. Fact.

If things have taken on a dark and ominous slant, let me encourage you with two things that garnered my attention today. The first is a book that I came across called The Sense of Wonder by Rachel Carson (the author of Silent Spring). A spark for dying embers. She writes, “Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.” Oh I hope so, Ms. Carson! Have you ever sadly pondered (to the point of panic) if your very essence is worthless? Then with perfect timing from the cosmos encounter something that validates your heartfelt endeavours? This intimate book with its natural photographs did that for me today. I love it so much that I may just put it beneath my pillow tonight. 

And lastly, a rousing quotation by writer Isabel Allende posted by a local abstract artist that I admire: “Show up, show up, show up, and after a while the muse shows up, too.” In other words, don’t give up! Never give up. Keep doing what you love and have faith that it’s right and good. 

Dear Mom

You are forever in my heart.

Breathe

Mid-August Dreams

A fox resting in our backyard! Magical!

6:00 a.m.

Simple Pleasures

shaking leaves transport me to the seaside

August insects make love in the tall grass

the high romance of flowers in bloom

sunlight dancing on water, leaves, and

in the highlights of her red/gold hair

health restored after weeks of illness

a feeling of lightness and ease

knowing for certain that someone cares

Silently Emerging

CLOUDS

"Let It Rain"

"Offshore Rain"

"My Foolish Heart"

Evening in June

Movie Night

I’ve been contemplating the role of the surrogate partner in the film The Sessions for weeks. Helen Hunt gives a compelling performance as a therapist that goes all the way with her clients out of compassion, a desire to heal, and a self-declared love of sex. Poet Mark O’Brien, paralyzed after contracting polio as a child, seeks a sex surrogate to make his dream of exploring his latent sexuality a reality. The film is based on autobiographical writings by O’Brien. The Sessions is tastefully filmed, poignant, and guaranteed to make you giggle. I would watch it again in a heartbeat.

This spring I devoured all things Jack Kerouac. It started with the movie On the Road. A film filled with strange moments of seemingly unlikely erotic encounters, drug use, and wild adventures. Or to sum it up nicely: sex, drugs, and jazz. Filmed with the eye of a photographer, On the Road is aesthetically striking. Director Walter Salles did a brilliant job of adapting Kerouac’s book to film. No small undertaking. The film brings believability and humanity to the characters that the book lacks. Actor Sam Riley’s gentle portrayal of Sal Paradise makes him endearing in a way that Kerouac’s writing never accomplishes. (I could fall in love with Sal. An open-minded, attractive French-Canadian writer? Umm... Yes!) Maybe it’s because the film doesn’t stay true to the book that it’s so successful. A point I’m sure hard-core Kerouac fans will find frustrating. 

As for the other semi-fictional books that I’ve read by Kerouac (are any of his books true fiction?), my favourites are Big Sur and The Dharma Bums. The Subterraneans leaves one with much to ponder on the nature of men. The dreadful way protagonist Leo Percepied treats his romantic partner Mardou Fox is exasperating! I do appreciate Kerouac’s honesty in his writing. He leaves nothing out. You see how he ticks, which can be wildly unattractive, yet enthralling. Was Kerouac candid in his writing? Or was he merely taking his readers on a long, fantastic ride? Regrettably, we may never know for certain. Alcoholism killed Kerouac prematurely at the age of 47.