Yet again I’m at my desk, working, with music in the background. Again it’s Wilco. I’m learning a couple of their songs and I’m letting them sink in. I came across this live performance of Shot in the Arm. When I play it on my guitar it’s just me and it’s a simple song, though the song itself is infused with conflict and doubt. In this live version, you see Jeff Tweedy up front, singing and playing his simple chords. In the background a whole heckuva a lot is going on. The conflict can’t be avoided. Doubt is everywhere. It’s all in the music and it might be a chaotic mess if not for the simple story (Tweedy) holding it all together. It makes a simple song complex and engaging. Good art and good literature do the same thing.
this is one of the stories in my book, carnival dreams, available at Amazon, and the trunk of my car.
tomorrow will come
tomorrow will come, and i’ll sing an old song and think of the day, that the words came along i didn’t know then, that song was my last i didn’t know then, that time flies so fast
tomorrow will come, and i’ll look toward the sun and remember the spring, when i went for a run i didn’t know then, that it was my last i didn’t know then, that time flies so fast.
so remember the day, of all that was good when youth was forever, we’d play when we would remember the day, of life with no fears tomorrow is coming, and with it the tears
tomorrow will come, and i’ll think of my friend and read all the words, that he took time to send i didn’t know then, that they were his last i didn’t know then, that time flies so fast
tomorrow will come, and i’ll hear her sweet voice and laugh at her jokes, her spirit rejoice i didn’t know then, that her smile was her last i didn’t know then, that time flies so fast
so remember the day, of our one last good time when I touched your face, and your hand held mine remember the day, and when we would dance for tomorrow is coming, leave nothing to chance
“I am going away forever – and I shall never, never see you again. For I have learned here that life is hard and cruel and that in this world there are things that are – impossible.” — Lt. Lorens Lowenhielm, from the short story and film, Babbette’s Feast, by Isak Dinesen.
“And, I shall be with you every day that is left to me. Every evening I shall sit down, if not in flesh, which means nothing, in spirit, which is all, to dine with you, just like tonight. For tonight I have learned that in this world anything is possible.” — General Lorens Lowenhielm Dinesen, from the short story and film, Babette’s Feast, by Isak Dinesen.
I’m not a fan of subtitled movies. I have a hard enough time following stories without trying to read the subtitles instead of watching the scene. Babette’s Feast is a 1987 Danish film (and a short story by Isak Dinesen) about two sisters who live in a small village in Denmark. It’s without dramatic action, crazy plot twists, or wildly eccentric characters. It’s subtitled for English speakers.
And it’s terrific.
The quotes above are from the same character, the first when he was young and impetuous. The second when he was older and wiser.
And then there’s Babette, a secondary character without whom there would be no story. Her motives are pure.
“Through all the world there goes on long cry from the heart of the artist: Give me leave to do my utmost.”
If you can find it, give it a chance. You won’t be sorry.
The photo is a basement shoebox relic. It’s old. It’s bent and cracked. No Photoshop effects, here. Just a snapshot.
The subjects are familiar faces, but the photo was taken probably more than sixty years ago, before I really knew them. Maybe before I was born. Even in the older women there is youth I never saw in later years. From left to right, my Aunt Shirley; my grandmother Bettie Pearl, who I knew as Mom; my great-grandmother Tida, who we called Tidy; and my mother, Gloria, who looks to be with child.
The place, I believe, is my great-grandmother’s kitchen. If I had to guess, I would say it was breakfast. There’s the coffee pot and toaster. But I can’t imagine them gathering so early just for breakfast. Maybe lunch, which they called dinner. Dinner would have included fried potatoes and tomatoes from the garden. Supper was the evening meal. There would have been men in the picture by then.
There’s tension evident in the photograph. Not a one could manage a smile, which is very unusual for my mother and Aunt Shirley, especially in front of a camera. There’s a weariness, too. Maybe they had been working. Maybe canning tomatoes or beans.
They were all different.
My mother was the free spirit, enjoying every moment.
My aunt was sophistication personified, full of grace and elegance.
My grandmother, hardworking and kind, ready to share with everyone.
My great-grandmother, the strong, independent woman living by herself.
Maybe that was the source of the tension. Around the table love and respect, yet each one not quite understanding the other. One dreams of this, another of that. And dreams, what are they for, anyway? another may think. And Tidy, who has already seen enough heartbreak for all of them, keeps it to herself.
I’ll never know. They’re all gone now. Not that any of them would give me a straight answer anyway.
I think that’ s the wonder of old photographs. They tell a story, but never the entire story. A moment frozen in time that forces us to think about those who have gone on, to see if we can fill in the blanks. It forces us to remember them as they were, beyond the smiles and laughter. It forces us to remember who they really were.
Every nerve in my body is so naked and numb I can’t even remember what it was I came here to get away from Don’t even hear the murmur of a prayer It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there
Songwriter Lesson:
take a look at the second line of that verse. it’s too long. the rhythm is off. it’s grammatically incorrect. and he has to drag it out to make it work. so what. he’s just telling the story. the way it is.
Joseph E Bird 