Snow can burn your eyes . . .

This morning, when I got to my desk, I started up my computer, went to get some coffee, returned, and fired up iTunes, so I could tune out the world while I worked.

Some mornings, iTunes’ song selection is so frustrating–it’s always on shuffle, due to my faith in serendipity–that I have to tear off the headphones, but not this morning.

This morning, iTunes was on fire. It started off my day with these songs:

Verdi Cries (10K Maniacs)

“Mornings we all rise to wireless Verdi cries.
I’m hearing opera through the door.
The souls of men and women, impassioned all.
Their voices climb and fall; battle trumpets call.
I fill the bath and climb inside, singing.”

Solomon Sang (Cassandra Wilson)

“He was praying for grace,
Ravens pray for rain,
And when he stood before the altar,
Solomon sang.”

Don’t Toss Us Away (Lone Justice)

“Don’t toss us away, there’s no reason why
Just because we’re not perfect
Oh, you know, we still try
I still love you
I want you to stay”

Willin’ (Little Feat, live)

“Out on the road late at night,
Seen my pretty Alice in every headlight
Alice, Dallas Alice.
I’ve been from Tuscon to Tucumcari
Tehachapi to Tonapah”

Alice-Tom Waits

“A murder of silhouette crows I saw
And the tears on my face
And the skates on the pond
They spell Alice . . .
Somewhere across the sea
There’s a wreck of a ship
Your hair is like meadow grass on the tide
And the raindrops on my window
And the ice in my drink”

Ah. There’s something about slow, sad songs in the morning . . . or maybe I only feel that way when I’m at work, when I’ve had to leave Mama and 3B behind at home. Maybe it’s the way 3B smiles at me, or waves goodbye, or chases me to the door as fast as he can crawl, or the way his muffled cries cut through the door after it closes between us.

This morning, Mama brought him out and they walked me down the hall to the elevator. But I still had to leave them behind and go down. And on the way down, I wondered if maybe Mom and Dad ever talked about this–what it’s like to leave every morning–and if maybe I would call Mom, just to ask, and if maybe she would know just what to say to me about it.

Maybe I would.

If I could.

There’s something about slow, sad songs in the morning . . .

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  • Awesome post, Bradstein Papa! I know how you feel and I absolutely love that 10,000 Maniacs song.

    Is it just me or should Natalie Merchant called herself “One Raving Lunatic” when she went off to do the solo thing?

  • I think that she should have. Mom always remembered 10K Maniacs as, “that band that has a name that sounds really violent, but that’s not.”

  • Nine months . . . long enough to have a baby or something. Nature has all these gradual cyclical progressions, colors that blend in the rainbow so slowly, so subtly, that you almost don’t notice when you’re blue that it’s dissipating into green, and then you think you’re green for sure, and here comes another bubble of blue.

    You go, nature.

    Speaking of bleeding into slow blends, nature also gives us Coffea arabica, which can help when the beat’s too slow and strong. Turns out nature knew about mornings too.

  • Anonymous

    Mom and Dad know. As I have watched my mom slowly go away over the last year from that bastard cancer, she has said things that open her up. One of them was her feeling of guilt when going to work. Both my parents worked and so I was taken care of by my brothers and other familyif needed after school until I was about 12. Then I could be somewhat trusted to be ok at home for 2 hours by myself. I have told mom that I never had a second thought about them going off to work, because I knew why they did it. And if I was ever sick she always stayed home with me. Which I am sure ate into vacation days and even lost money.A really great thing that came out of them working so hard early on was the fact that when I was older I got to spend more time with them in retirement. And that has been great. No one can stop you from feeling bad about leaving,but I know that you can show 3B why you do and he will understand as well.

    TCB on rambling on.

  • I was listening to some slow Simon & Garfunkle this morning…

  • There are still people you can call. It is not the same as Mom, but we are still here, and some of us have been over that bridge before.

    Your loving sister,

    #1

  • CA Girl: You’re right, of course. I should have added, “But even if I could, I probably wouldn’t call Mom because I’m bad like that about calling people.”

    Which is actually more reason that I should be calling you about these things.

    Your loving brother,
    #3

  • Struck home. Questions never die.