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,
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”
“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 . . .