My Winter Song

I am not a genius.

Despite my New Year's resolution to avoid snarky observations (well, at least public ones), I am on the cusp of sharing a sarcastic rant about Apple's surreptitious appropriation of the term "Genius." But don't worry, Apple (especially if you're reading this, Steve Jobs): all's well that ends well.



Last June, I was sitting at the so-called Genius Bar in the SoHo Apple store with a friend of mine. My friend's hard drive was doing suspicious things, which caused her much emotional pain and psychological damage. Apple products, after all, are made for ease of use by the lowest common denominator, right? I mean, my seven year old can navigate our iPad better than I can. So why the need to sanction a twentysomething hipster with a title of superiority to aid us less fortunate beings with disposable income?

After hours of waiting on some uncomfortable yet stylish post modern stool, our assigned Genius crinkled his brow and announced "you need to get a new computer." I saw in my friend's eyes the arc of her emotions in those few seconds before she was able to speak coherently again: surprise, helplessness, self-pity, and, finally, anger. I thought she would punch our Genius, and I had the urge to grab our Genius by the shoulders and shake him 'til he rattled. But instead, we did what any sane person would do when faced with adversity of this level: we hightailed it out of there and headed to the nearest dive bar. I bought the first round of several we had that night. Genius my ass.

So when the anonymous Genius on my iTunes suggests songs for me to purchase or mixes a playlist based on what's already in my music library, I usually ignore it. That evening in the SoHo Apple store revealed the irony behind the whole Genius label. And purchasing one Poison song certainly does not merit owning a whole album by Cutting Crew. (Apparently, iTune Geniuses are not familiar with sarcastic, nostalgic impulse buys.) But today I was intrigued by the title "Winter Song" and decided to hear a sample of it. Yeah, I wound up buying it and thus contributing to the whole Apple Genius notion, but take a listen and I'll explain more later.

Winter Song/Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson





I guess you can say that my month of December 2010 was the worst I've ever experienced. For anyone that's followed my 100 Days of Norma, you already know my story. My Mom died six months ago and since then I've been questioning many things in my life. Turning the microscope on oneself is extremely painful, especially when you discover deep holes in your being that you thought were just minor abrasions. It's one thing to know that someone you loved will never show up for another birthday or holiday. It's another to realize you were never equipped with the means to deal with such a grave and sudden loss.

So this song, provided by an unlikely source on a day fraught with reflection of the past year and expectation of the next twelve months, resonated in my heart (as corny as that may sound). Today I sat on my bed and played it over and over again until my kids couldn't stand it anymore. I played it over and over again until I could hear it without crying.

Because of this song, I finally have a goal for the new year, but for me the year ends on Father's Day, the day my Mom died. I need to find a place for the love I still have for my Mom. I still stubbornly carry it because it's all I have left. And it displaces all my other feelings and concerns. The questions of who do I love and do I still love and when can I love again are unanswered ones. And before I can answer them, I need to let go.

So this is my winter song, and I'll sing it with resolve.

Day Ninety Nine: The Finished Map and Stop Your Sobbing

Well, it's done.
I changed it from the land of "my" youth to the land of "our" youth. I've shared this journey with so many people that it seemed fitting to include them somehow. I know it's only a possessive adjective, but can you feel the love?

Ann Martin, Tamdoll, and my English twin Helen (aka icklebabe): you have been especially supportive and helpful these past 99 days. One more day is left in my 100 days, but I'm sure our friendships via our blogs will continue past tomorrow.

So I dedicate this last song on my "mixed tape" to you three lovely women. I will stop my sobbing! (I'm laughing as I write this...hope you are, too.)

The Pretenders/Stop Your Sobbing

Day Ninety Four: Daughter

Beginning to look like something.

I admit that it doesn't look like I've done too much with this whole cork map project. But did I mention that I'm simultaneously working on a painting that uses the same stencils that I've made for this thing?
I'm trying to get two projects made for the price of one. Call me frugal.

Okay, this is day 94 and I'm finally going to share a song on my mixed tape that I have a LOT of issues with. It's Pearl Jam's "Daughter."

Back in my roaring twenties, I held my Mom accountable for some stuff that really hurt me. Yes, I was angry. Very, very angry. Being a selfish young woman, I couldn't deal with her and her platitudes about forgiveness. I went through therapy only to learn the language of psycho-babble which resulted in me becoming--if it were possible--even more self-centered.

My anthem during my time of "I hate you and everything you didn't do for me" stage? Pearl Jam's "Daughter," of course.

I'm a mom now and I know that there will be a time in Masana's life when all she can focus on are the instances of  disappointment rather than the moments when I was her biggest cheerleader. That's life, that's motherhood. Most importantly, that's hindsight. I'm sure when we reach that point, I'll just have to suffer through it knowing that it will eventually end. Because I'm doing my best to put Masana above all the other people that shouldn't come before her. I know in my heart that I will never consciously let her down.

And I know that my Mom really did try her best with me. Our house and the (many) people in it were not the easiest bunch of characters to deal with. I just wish that I could tell her that all is forgiven. And that I'm sorry for being so hard on her.

Pride is a stupid thing when it gets in the way of loving someone.

Pearl Jam/Daughter (live SNL rehearsal)

Day Eighty Eight: Make You Feel My Love

In my search for a proper night time tea, I found this box of decaf green tea.
Back in February, I stocked up on this particular tea for my Mom and Dad. Well, more for my Mom. I knew that she liked this stuff and found it one day while perusing the aisles of a local Christmas Tree Shop with my friend Barbara (whom I affectionately call B-Rock, but for reasons I don't care to reveal). For those unfamiliar with the Christmas Tree Shop stores: 1. no, they do not sell Christmas trees or related items all year long, and 2. it's a discount store, in fact one of the best 99 cent stores you can ever imagine.

So when I came across this box of tea in my cabinet, I momentarily lost my composure. Silly to be so affected by a box of tea. But I was blessed with good timing, being alone and in the kitchen. The sadness lasted a few minutes and then I moved on. Two months ago, I would have been on the floor and in the fetal position. It helps to be a little further along in the whole grieving process.

But what helped me most of all was this song by Adele. Yes, it's another romantic unrequited love song, but there's a line about making you feel her love:

When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on you case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love

My Mom may not be able to tell me in so many words that she loves me, but I know that, wherever she is, her love still exists. Thinking about this song helped me realize love that strong doesn't simply vanish. It gets passed on. It's something that she gave me, and I now have it for my own daughter.

Last night Masana had a nightmare and came up to our room to talk about it. After laying in our bed for two hours, she went back to her room and finally fell asleep. When she woke up (a little late for school, but that's okay), I made her pancakes and gave her lots of hugs.

If my Mom didn't love me as much as she did when she was alive, I don't think that I could be the kind of mother that I am today. And that's how I know that her love for me still exists. That's how I feel her love.


Adele/Make You Feel My Love

Day Eighty Four: Trouble

Working on my latest map project.

I'm feeling a little under the weather.
So instead of starting on a new project, I've been tinkering with an old map project that I will hopefully finish before my kids graduate from high school. (Yeah, that's like, in 8 years.)

You can't tell from the picture, but there's cork tile and sewing involved---which might be why I haven't finished. Or really started. I am still working on the map stencil, line by freakin' line...

I listened to a lot of Ray LaMontagne this afternoon, a man who always sounds like he's in pain. Kinda like Joe Cocker, but in a good way, if that's possible. This song "Trouble" is one of my favorites, so add it to my Mixed Tape.


Ray LaMontagne/Trouble

Day Seventy Five: I Hope You Dance

Christmas 1972.

I'm not a big country music fan, nor do I like music videos with lots of egregious shots of the performer's assets (if ya get my drift).
But this song has such an inspirational message and I hope that you listen to the music and words of the video below. If need be, press play and walk away from your computer just so you won't get distracted by the visuals. I promise that the song is worth it.

There are days when, feeling a little numb, I go through the motions of my daily routine with the hope that the familiar will bring me back to life. I can usually snap out of it, but waiting for that moment to arrive in my head can feel like forever. So I have this song to keep me motivated, especially because it reminds me of my Mom.

She wasn't one to give advice in eloquent phrases. Her words, however heartfelt, were always terse and awkward. But my Mom and I knew her shortcoming was just a matter of language. On my birthdays, she always felt the need to give some motherly advice and sought out the perfect greeting card with poetry that contained stanza after stanza of wisdom, quotations from serious-minded individuals, or passages from the bible. She would hand me the card, tell me that she wished she could write the words herself, and laugh her funny laugh. I would place the card on our mantle for a week or so, until the dust gathered and the edges curled. Sometimes I would remember to put them in my drawer for safe keeping. Other times I would throw it away, knowing that there would always be another one next year.

There is no next year for my birthday cards, but I have this song in my head. And I know if she were alive today, she would probably find some silly card that had these lyrics in them. And knowing how much hurt still occupies the varied spaces of my day, she would hand me this card and laugh her funny laugh. These lyrics would be her words to me.


"And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance...

I hope you dance."

Lee Ann Womack/I Hope You Dance

Day Seventy Four: A Little Alicia Keys

Here's a quick post. It's Friday and there's lots to do. The brown bags are piling up in my little work room. Help!


I went for my usual run this morning and was humming this Alicia Keys song in my head. (Yep, didn't get that new iPod yet. I know, I know, what am I waiting for...) Thought I'd share it with you. Every time I hear her sing, I get goose bumps.

Yeah, I'm going to sing this song (only in my head, of course) all day until my mental vocal chords are hoarse. And maybe she can help me inject some urban chic into my work.



Alicia Keys/Try Sleeping With a Broken Heart

Day Seventy One: Wish You Were Here

Today I went into the city and took a break from my usual melancholic self. It was a good day.

I was in the company of some terrific people. So thanks for making me smile and laugh.

Here's a song for you.

Incubus/Wish You Were Here

Day Sixty Six: God of Wine

Some cheap Malbec we had in our wine "cellar."

I fell asleep this afternoon and dreamt of a magical walk through underground steam tunnels, a bit of Fritz Lang's "Metropolis" without the dramatic piano accompaniment. Call me crazy, but that was the highlight of my day.



In the evening, I needed multiple glasses of wine. And searching through our little wine "cellar" beneath the basement stairs, I found two bottles of Malbec. I am currently drinking the second bottle.

And I am listening to Third Eye Blind's "God of Wine." A perfect song for the melancholic mood I'm in.




Wish you were here, Mom.

Day Sixty Three: Let It Be

My Mom. Date of picture unknown.
I mysteriously found this photo in my purse after her funeral.

When I was a little girl, my parents had very few contemporary music albums in the house. It's not that they were strict about music. They just didn't know any better.
There were some Elvis 45's, a Diana Ross and the Supremes double album, Paul Anka (I think...or maybe Tom Jones?), and Wings. Yes, I said Wings, as in that Paul McCartney band after the Beatles. For a large portion of my ignorant childhood, I associated Paul McCartney with Wings and no other band. You can imagine how stupid I sounded when trying to talk about music with some of my more musically educated friend. Paul McCartney? Oh, sure. He's that guy from Wings. Duh.

When I finally heard a Beatles tune, it was in music class at school. Our teacher Sister Maryla played "Penny Lane." I was 9 years old, and later on that year John Lennon was shot and killed in front of the Dakota apartment building in Manhattan. On every news program, cameramen scrambled to get footage of the hundreds of fans that kept vigil. They looked like an endless sea of candles, flowers, and pictures, crowding the sidewalks in front of the Dakota building. They spilled out into the streets and the entrance of Central Park. Everyone was besot with grief, crying with limp shoulders and bowed heads. The spectacle was too big to ignore, even when the tv was turned off. Everyone talked about it, from the nuns at school to the cashiers at the local Key Food.

When my Mom died, I thought about John Lennon and those images on the television. Back then, I regarded the outpour of emotion too much for a man who was only a year younger than my Mom. Why was he so special? And then as I got older and more appreciative of the power of music, it dawned on me that John Lennon died too soon. But in his short 40 years, he touched so many people through his music.

It was the same with my Mom. The turn-out for her wake and funeral was incredible. She was loved. She was appreciated. She touched so many people not with music but her own life. She made herself available to others if they needed help. When she died, there was a huge hole in the place where she used to exist. Her absence was felt and everyone who knew her mourned. And though it may have taken me years to appreciate her, I can honestly say that I knew it would be this way. I knew that she would be greatly missed.

The next song in my mixed tape is a Beatles song, Let It Be. Of course, my Mom is my Mother Mary. And I know she is standing right in front me.

The Beatles/Let It Be

Day Fifty Nine: Where Is The Love?

My iPod has finally succumbed to its multiple wounds.

Before my morning run, I tried to turn it on and almost heard it gasp its last breath before completely shutting down. Re-charging it has done nothing. Oh, green little iPod, it was good while it lasted.

Desperate for some running music, I grabbed Dave's iPod and headed out the door. And during my morning run over potholed streets and beneath majestic trees, I was re-introduced to a song that added a little hop and skip to my pace. I was practically dancing through the village.

I think that I'm through with sad songs for a while.

Whether you like hip hop, heavy metal, country, or jazz music, there's something about this song that makes you want to move and do something.

Where Is The Love?/Black Eyed Peas

Day Fifty Three: "Save Me"

Decisions, decisions. Me searching for jamon iberico in Madrid, 1995.

"An eager desire; a craving; a morbid appetite; an earnest wish; an aspiration."

Longing is not an easy emotion, especially when you feel it and don't know how to deal with it.


So what do I long for? There are so many things, like a continuous peace, a calm mind, and a restful night. But what I most desire is for someone to come out of the shadows and guide me through the minefield my life has become. I'm stuck with one foot in the air and I don't know where to take my next step.

I spoke with a friend today who lost her Mom a few years ago and realized this feeling of longing is going to stick around for a while. This scares me because I just don't know if certain people in my life can take much more of my sadness. Heck, I don't know how much more I can take of my own sadness.

Here is the next song in my mixed tape by Aimee Mann, the queen of sensitive sad music. The title says it all.

Ugh! Get ready to get depressed.

6. Save Me/Aimee Mann

Day Fifty Two: A Lost Tooth and "The Final Countdown"

The tooth before it fell out.

Last night my son Mack lost a tooth.

The only problem was that he accidentally ate it. When he realized what he had done, he tried to regurgitate it back up, which made me shriek at him. Disgusted by the whole spectacle, my daughter Masana threw her hot dog on her plate, crossed her arms, and announced that she had lost her appetite.


Actually I did, too. But then I felt horrible for reacting the way I did once I saw the tears well up in the boy's eyes. Dave tried to comfort Mack by pointing out that the tooth wouldn't stay in his body, that it would come out the other end. When he said that, I thought, and then what, Dave? We go through the boy's feces until we get his tooth?? I shot Dave a deadly look and he quickly changed the subject. But he got the message: there would be no Tooth Fairy visiting Mack that night or subsequent nights. 

Lately, I am not a roll-with-the-punches kind of gal. I know that I could have come up with a creative solution if my head were not so loosely attached to my shoulders. Instead of maybe suggesting that we write a letter to the Tooth Fairy to explain the situation, I flatly said that Mack shouldn't be too upset for this one little missed opportunity and we couldn't do anything to fix the situation. There would be other loose teeth in his future and he could look forward to that.

Today I kept thinking how I let Mack down and how incredibly tired I've felt. Putting on a happy face is hard work. And how ridiculous is it to say that I'm tired of feeling tired?

While I'm sad that my Mom is not alive anymore, I think that I am more affected by the people who are still here. I can deal with the loss of my Mom; I can't deal with the strange behavior of the select few who make my life miserable. (They shall remain nameless because it would be unfair to call them out here and now.) So I've decided to remove myself from this current reality and head--where else?--to the beach. Just me and the sandy shores of some place other than here.

But not to worry. My "tipple" friend is coming to keep an eye on me, and because someone's got to hold my hair back when I talk to the porcelain god.

I leave in 3 days. Let the count down begin. This Europe song from the 80's will be my anthem until then, cheesy metal hair and all.

Europe/The Final Countdown

Day Forty Nine: Waiting For That Day

Me in thoughtful repose.

I'm posting another song in my mixed tape, and please don't groan because it's a George Michael tune.

"Waiting For That Day" has a bit of the Rolling Stone's "You Can't Always Get What You Want" mixed in towards the end, which makes it very suitable for what I'm feeling tonight. I've been listening to this song over and over again, thinking about my Dad and how I'm completely baffled by our current relationship.

When I was little, my Dad was a bit of a mystery because he was never around. He worked a lot, sometimes two jobs to keep us youngsters clothed and fed, which meant long hours and only one day off a week. And when he was home, my Dad was surrounded by women--my Mom, two sisters, me, grandmother, and several aunts--who talked above each other to be heard. The only way he made his presence known was by whistling Elvis tunes while he tended to his plants around the house or shouting at the TV when the Yankees were losing a game. I didn't know anything about his side of the family or his childhood stories until I was almost in high school.

My Mom was always the keeper of my Dad's secrets. Little by little she doled them out like precious desserts: anecdotes of how they met, stories that my Dad's mother and father had told her, and old black-n-white photos that had seen better days. She painted a picture of a handsome, carefree man who sacrificed himself for the sake of his family, and which made me love him without fault. He became a romantic hero in the story of my life, the prequel of all the things I wanted to become. I simply adored my Dad.

These last two months have made me realize that I don't know him. I may know the sound of his voice or the shape of his face, but when he speaks to me I feel lost and confused. His words are often not what I expect to hear and sometimes a little hurtful. And I'm beginning to feel duped by my Mom.

My sisters think that he might be experiencing a bit of a psychotic breakdown, which sounds worse than it actually is. In the aftermath of my Mom's death, I think it would be a normal thing to happen and I welcome this conclusion. But if it turns out to be something more, something that would make me believe that I was wrong all these years about my Dad, then I would be devastated.



7. Waiting For That Day/Can't Always Get What You Want/George Michael

Day Forty Six: A Song for Simpler Times

Simpler Times. The name says it all.

I was walking through my local Trader Joe's supermarket when I noticed the canned lager above. With a name like that, who could resist?  So I bought a six pack.

I honestly wouldn't recommend it to any beer afficionados out there, but sometimes our impulse buys are more about the irony of the moment than the actual quality of the product. 

Yesterday I was cycling through my husband's iPod and found Daniel Powter's "Had a Bad Day." It was my son Mack's favorite song when he was four years old, the only song that he wanted to hear over and over again. As cute as it was the first thousand times he belted out the lyrics, we had had enough and uploaded the song onto the iPod for his sole listening pleasure. When I re-discovered the song, it made me think of how simple it is to make kids happy. All they need is something to wrap their emotion around, like a song. When Mack is older, he'll hear his song and feel that twinge of nostalgia. These are his simpler times.

Today is the two month anniversary of my Mom's death. I'm listening to "Had a Bad Day." And I just might head to Trader Joe's for more Simpler Times.

Day Forty Four: All I Want Is...

It would have been a great little movie...

Let me just start by saying that I had this great idea for a blog post. But as luck is not on my side these days, I could not follow through.



When I feel a little out of control, I go for a run. And the last two months my sneakered feet have seen many morning jaunts through the little village I live in. I know every pot hole and hill intimately. Through the humid 90 degree weather and the sudden thunderstorms I've kept going and going and going. I play my mixed tape and run until I can't breathe.

There's a spot along the Sound that always makes me ease up on my pace and take in the view: the sun, hanging low in the sky, peaking above Long Island; the boats in the water bobbing and creaking; fellow villagers walking their dogs or sitting beneath a tree to catch a breeze. Everything is slow and a little sleepy, and I often wonder if I should stop running. But I never do. While the idyl of this scene would make anyone stop for a drink, I will only slow down.

This morning I brought my little iPod camera, hoping to take a little movie and share it on my blog. But sweaty hands and the inability to stop are a funny mix. Without knowing exactly how it happened, my iPod was flying in the air. It landed on some rocks and I was able to retrieve it. But I came home with a battered iPod and no movie.

I wanted to show you what I see when I go for these runs, bring you with me as I work out all the muscles in my body that also include my head and metaphorical heart. There's a million selfish reasons to stop at this spot on my run, but I can't. And I thought that if I could share it, then maybe that one reason would be enough to give me pause.

Anyway, here is the next song in my mixed tape, one of the songs that I listen to on my morning runs.


8. U2/All I Want Is You

Day Forty: Smile

An old music-loving friend recently sent me this song. While it's not officially part of my mixed tape, it has been getting a lot of air time.

Today was kind of a rough day. I was looking for some Advil and came across my Mom's toiletry bag in the kids' bathroom vanity. It's made of grey mesh so that the contents are visible from the outside: two toothbrushes with covers on them, a half-used tube of toothpaste, a travel size container of mouthwash, dental floss, and a matchbox from a restaurant called Jack's. The matchbox caught my eye as being out of place, so I decided to open the bag and take it out for further inspection. I got another surprise: my Mom had removed the matches and filled it with toothpicks. It made me laugh a little because that was a typical thing she did, repurpose things.  

The matchbox is worn and the strip of sulfur on the side is completely useless. It has seen better days. The address of Jack's places it right across the street from where my Mom worked until the day she retired, a job she held for about 25 years. The likelihood of Jack's still being a viable business is probably nil, but it's on my list of places to visit the next time I find myself in the city. And I'll be going soon, doing a tour of all the spots my Mom used to inhabit: her old office, the shops she often visited, the Church where she attended Mass during lunch or after work. And now Jack's. I'll go to the addresses of these places and hope they still are as they were when my Mom was alive. But if they aren't, at least being there will make me feel a little closer to her. I'll remember her there and feel her presence.

I closed up the grey mesh bag and put it back in the bathroom vanity; there's a part of me that isn't ready to admit that she will never visit again, so the bag will stay put. But I took the matchbox. It now resides on my work table, part of a makeshift shrine to my Mom. Whenever I come across something of hers that I can't bear to part with, I place it on my work table. Sometimes I take an object and carry it with me all day long, and then place it back on the table before heading to bed.

As of this moment, I still have a headache. There is no Advil in any of the bathrooms. But I'm listening to this song sent by my friend. Today I'm accepting the sadness for what it is and letting a little happy music influence my thoughts.

Day Thirty Six: Fire and Rain

I'm stuck in Nostalgia. Perhaps you've been to this country?


It started yesterday when someone sent me a "friend" request on one of those social networking sites (that shall remain nameless despite its transformation into a verb). The name, the face, the mutual "friends"--why couldn't I remember this person?

I began a search, a mining of artifacts from my childhood that precisely takes up the space of one old gun box. (Don't worry--I bought the wooden gun box at a flea market without the actual guns. It's just a really cool piece of furniture.) After an hour of reading some bad sixth grade poetry and strange letters from high school friends, I forgot about the reason for this little trip down memory lane and breathed in stale paper and dried flowers for almost three hours.

When my parents moved out of my childhood home, they gave me two shopping bags filled with my things: medals, certificates, photo albums, diaries, and boxes of letters. I purposely left all those things behind when I moved into my own place, and completely forgot about them by the time I got married. When it was all "re-gifted" to me, I unceremoniously dumped everything into that gun box and never went through it. That is, until yesterday.

I won't wax on about simpler times and the happiness of being young/innocent. That's a bit trite, and I really don't want to bore myself let alone anyone else who reads my blog. But I do want to share my next "mixed tape" song, which sums up not only my feelings about my Mom but those who I have yet to see again, if I am blessed to do so.

There was this one note from a friend that caught my attention, a person who was so sure that he would see me again. We had been friends since the third grade and shared many laughs throughout elementary and high school. My Mom even took a picture of us on graduation day, with our stupid grins and bad hairdos. I found it among my things. I haven't seen him since.

When we are kids, we take things for granted, like seeing certain individuals because they've been part of our lives for as long as we can remember. Back then, my friend couldn't imagine a time when he wouldn't see me again. And I couldn't imagine a life without my Mom.


9. James Taylor/Fire and Rain

Day Thirty Two: My Mixed "Tape" and song #10

Romeo and Juliet. You'll understand why I included this image when you get to the bottom of this post.

My kids are into watching music videos on youtube.com.
Of course, I am the arbiter of all things watchable on the computer, and I jokingly call myself the "VJ" when the kids request a song. This morning, as per Mack's request, we watched/listened to Taio Cruz's song "Dynamite" three times before heading off to camp. That kid sure loves dance music.

I've been thinking a lot about music these days, thinking about my youth and how I associated certain songs with specific times in my life. Summers had odes to first loves, high school had break-up ballads, and college had anthems of empowerment. When I felt the urge to create a soundtrack to whatever I was going through, I made a little thing called a mixed tape. (Maybe I'm showing my age here, but once upon a time there were things called cassette tapes. This was after the 8-track and before the CD...and it was a golden time!) I still make soundtracks, and in today's gadget-conscious society it's now called a playlist on an iPod. But I flipped the purpose of music so it now creates a mood rather than expresses my feelings. It's working from the outside in rather than vice versa. My playlists are tools to motivate and influence me, like when I am working on a craft project, going on a long run, or trying to relax.

In the aftermath of my Mom's passing, I've been going "old school" and using music to express my grief and thoughts on family. Some songs are melancholic and little lovelorn while others are light and funny. And there are angry songs, "you did me wrong" songs, and "why did you leave me?" songs.

I thought I'd share them with you, let you listen to the mixed tape that carries me through my days. If I'm feeling like Rob Fleming, that Nick Hornby character from his book Hi Fidelity  (or at least the John Cusack movie version of him), please bear with me. I do have a top ten list, but I'll only share one song with you today, song number 10.



10. Dire Straits/"Romeo and Juliet"
This original version has a folksy sweetness that gets lost in the 2006 rendition by The Killers (my apologies to Brandon Flowers). And there's something about the cheesy 80's style video that furthers my association between it and my parents.
And that kooky lookin' fella in the video--Romeo--reminds me of my Dad.
My Dad has been telling me a lot of stories about how he courted my Mom back in the early 1960s, which is bittersweet for me to hear. Growing up, I always heard my Mom's version of the events, and it never occurred to me that my Dad cared too much about it. But he did and he's now willing to tell me his side of things.

So when I hear this song, it's almost like my Dad is the one singing, telling his story about my Mom.





Happy Friday, Dad.