There’s so much content running through my brain as well as content already contained. I’d like to invite you, dear reader, into my world of Busted Flip Flops. We’ll explore observations of life, musings about becoming Mom, Cherry Pearl the snorting pug, weird dreams, recipes, movies, ’80’s nostalgia, picking up strays (the furry and the non), and unfeigned poetry. Watch for weekly upcoming posts as these beach reads begin to build and form like, well, a castle in the sand...
Among your heart’s desire
be there space for which to retire
Not in suffering resolution
but in courageous absolution
Contentment here as well as there
but something amiss in our breath’s air
And in between all feelings of woe
a dormant shimmering glimmer of hope
Destiny’s will come forth and received
a space to reshape the before besieged
Through clouds of storm and hurricane
among sorrow, forgiveness, exaltation, pain
Within your soul amid the muck and the mire
wholly a place to make a fire.
Because I last wrote about 5 songs that move me, and I am having trouble coming up with an interesting prompt, I’ll cover another list of favorites.
Smells, scents, aromas. Old man cologne will NOT be on the menu here. Don’t you hate when you hug someone who has way too much cologne and the smell transfers to your own hair and clothing for the remainder of the day? But I digress…
This is probably my very favorite smell. I love to say the word, love to put it in my coffee every morning, love the spicy, sugary scent of it wafting through a kitchen or market. It reminds me of the tasty treats of autumn and the freedom of summer. It correlates to home, family, cooking, festivals, parties, cozy nooks, sweetness. When a rat died in my attic space and the pest control guy couldn’t find the body, the first scent I scoured the candle aisle for was cinnamon. But you can’t cover up the stench of dead rat, only suffer through its depressing and repulsive cloud with the strength of a thousand cinnamon sticks.
I could inhale this lily white beauty for hours. I’m envious of those in my neighborhood who have a gardenia bush. I’ve thought of stealthily plucking a bloom while no one is looking but then my conscience prevails over my olfactory. You may see me in someone’s side yard with my face buried within the pedals. Gardenia’s scent is not overly sweet and smells as fresh as clean sheets, baby skin, a cold spring after a cool rain shower. I’d wear them everyday in my hair if I could, and disperse them in my various little vases and jars in every room in the house.
When I was pregnant with my son I couldn’t stand the smell of coffee. I chalked it up to nature’s way of telling me I should nix the caffeine for about 9 months. When the baby gloriously arrived into the air of the Universe so did my admiration for coffee bean. Every night when I prep the coffee maker for tomorrow’s brew I have to stick my face into the coffee can. It reminds me of breakfast (my favorite meal), my grandfather and his cling-clingy-cling-cling of the spoon against the mug as he mixed in the sugar. Nutty, robust, and warm, coffee in its various forms and flavors signifies both energy and relaxation. Add two Stevia and a dash of vanilla almond milk and my eyes are shut and I’m making that mmmmm sound along with a quiet “thank god for coffee.”
Not only do I get a high from purchasing a new pair of shoes (can I get a Yay-uh from my fellow shoe lovers, meaning all women?) but there is something about the smell of new shoes. I’ll walk into a shoe store in the mall, even if I have no use or money for purchasing a new pair, just to breathe in the scent of new shoe. I bet the employees there don’t even notice the smell anymore. Kind of like those people whose houses smell of cat yet profess rather matter-of-factly that see, “you can’t even smell Twinkles.”
There’s an old book I keep on my bedside table. I don’t particularly love the writing but I love its worn leather cover and the brownish pages inside. I’m one of those weird people who sniffs things in grocery aisles or antique shops and bookstores are no different. Some of my students look at me in bewilderment when I inhale a book at school, but then they will also come at me with their finger pointed, demanding “Sniff this!” and then I am doing the wincing. Old books not only tell the stories within them, but the stories from all the places they’ve traveled, the shelves on which they waited patiently, the hands of those who sifted through their mellowing pages.
So these are some of my very favorite smells. Also good are bacon, newborn baby, fresh-out-of-the-oven cookies, lemon, fresh basil, funeral home (because of all the flowers), the familiar and intoxicating scent of someone you love (who obviously smells really good to you). What are yours? I’d love to know…
As per request (and writing prompt) from one of my dear readers and a fellow music devouter, I’d like to share 5 amazing songs that build up emotion in my chest, take me to happy and far away places, or just leave me whirlishly dancing on the chipped-tiled kitchen floor.
Don’t You Forget About Me by Simple Minds
This song of course is married to the ever-universal teen angst classic The Breakfast Club, making it even that much more endearing. That last scene when the song smacks in and John Bender gives a requited fist pump in a freeze frame forever is one of the best movie endings.
Don’t You Forget About Me reminds me of precious 80’s nostalgia, the innocence and simplicity there regarding music and hand-written letters and Walkmans and trips to the mall sans security personnel.
And the meaning: Don’t you forget about me. We all want to be remembered. We cannot let time or circumstance or distance allow the brain to turn us into static and the heart unforgiving or worse, ignored.
This one is for belting out fearlessly and dancing feverishly. My students have seen me do this. On my fortieth birthday this is the song I boldly requested at the skating rink among all the preteens and their Taylor Swift enthusiasm. I’ll be singing and dancing to this one when I’m an old, old lady.
Don’t you forget about me. I’ll be alone, dancing, you know it, baby…
Us and Them by Pink Floyd
I listened to The Dark Side of the Moon on a constant loop along with The Cure’s Disintegration on a summer stint in Italy in my early teens. I know Roger Waters was talking about war in his lyrics but to me the “us” and “them” represented both the subtle and not-so-subtle differences I experienced between Americans and Italians. We spoke different languages, ate at different times of the day, looked different, but in the way we were different we were also the same. Just people trying to make it in the world, experience life, try not to trip on pebbles.
To this day, every time I hear that keyboard intro I feel the welling up in my chest. I am completely transported back to that balcony in Sardinia, back to that innocent 15 year old taking in everything never witnessed back in Antioch, Tennessee. I’m reminded of all the people I met and their cultural and nurturing influence on me.
Us, and them. And after all, we’re only ordinary men…
The Fool on the Hill by The Beatles
The Beatles were a big part of my growing up. They were not forced on me but rather gently introduced as my parent’s record collections included many Beatles albums and 45s. My brother and I would sit on the shaggy carpeted floor of our basement-turned-playroom and listen to them on our Fisher-price turntable. We fashioned ourselves as rock singers, belting out tunes as the grated vinyl spun round and round.
But when Fool on the Hill rolled along and into the tiny speaker, we would quietly sing together. Never looking up, frozen in that moment with lyrics and melody I swear brought welling up in my goofy sibling’s eyes.
That is one of my strongest and most fond memories of us together as children. Later in our teens we traveled to Lexington, Kentucky with a group of like-minded friends to see Paul McCartney in concert. I was enthralled to be in the presence of a Great. And to enjoy it with my bro at my side.
But the fool on the hill, sees the sun going down, and the eyes in his head, see the world spinning round…
A Forest by The Cure
This haunting song is one of the reasons I will forever be a Cure fan and Classic Alternative junkie. I was first introduced to the Cure when Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me came out. During this era I was blown away by this sound which at the time never reached the local radio airwaves.
A Forest mirrored my teen angst, depression, and need for creative inspiration as sheets of rain seemed to fall endlessly in the grey, Tennessee winter. This dirge didn’t exasperate my feelings as my parents agonized. Instead it encapsulated and provided solace. I wasn’t alone in my fervor.
And just the word forest. It conjures images of lush foliage where mystery hides and escape is possible.
A few summers ago I was driving alone in North Florida on a windy road away from friends and family with whom I’d just spent an unforgettable week. As soon as I entered Tate’s Hell State Forest, an unforgiving ominous expanse of swampy woodland, my GPS fell silent and A Forest shuffled on my auxiliary. I don’t know if there’s ever been more perfect timing between song and circumstance.
Come closer and see, see into the trees…
The Dead Heart by Midnight Oil
I could write an entire blog post about songs by Midnight Oil but for the purpose of not turning this into a biography I’ll sample this one.
I was introduced to Midnight Oil via the video for Bed’s Are Burning, seen on MTV’s Friday Night Videos. This unique sound from Australia fronted by a bald, passionate giant literally left me gasping in its strum guitar and water tank drum beats. I was instantly transformed. Life would never be the same. And then began a life-long love and adoration for the band, their extensive collection of songs throughout the decades, and their messages about equality and the environment.
The Dead Heart evokes singing and whirling, and to the tune of aboriginal rights in Australia. It’s as serious as it is heartfelt and in the end a hopeful dance. The Oils do a fantastic job of informing while entertaining and this song is no exception. When I hear it I’m in the Outback as well as on my old friend’s balcony (what’s with me and balconies) back in ’87 when all this alternative rock hoopla began voluntarily infiltrating my soul.
Midnight Oil will forever be my favorite band of all time. And The Dead Heart is just one of many that fill me with emotion, the need to research, to help bring about change, and yes, to belt it out and move.
These 5 songs helped shape who I am. What are yours?
It has come to my attention
though arduous in its reasoning of how
There is room for things slunk away
in the corner of heart’s bough
that in this instance a sprouted seed
green with fury of survival
pushed away dirt and muck and haste
against the push and pull of rivals
I do not know when or how
the why I do however know
There is room here as there’s always been
for love’s arms to embrace
to free and grow
Yet with apprehension this ardor onerous
A virtue like truth to see
I’ve been listening to Midnight Oil nonstop for the past week. This wasn’t the case for chunks of time in the past decade. New music tastes, life occurrences, the band’s parting of ways on the stage and in the studio led my ears away from my FAVORITE BAND OF ALL TIME. But they were never gone from my heart. Ever since those warm Tennessee days in 1987 when I awoke to this new sound from a country so far away, they have stayed in my auditory cortex, in my blood.
Music lovers all over the world recognize this. If given the means and time I would have seen every show they ever did. But I’ve danced to them three times live, once just a week ago.
I traveled from Florida to Toronto to see them. It had been fifteen years. They are currently on a reunion tour. Fans all over the globe coming out in droves. Waiting in line for hours. Donning their old concert tees. Swapping stories. A quirky, nerdy, socially and environmentally conscious group of people sharing a diehard love for this Aussie band we only dreamed would reunite.
This rekindling of my love for the band has me sifting through all their albums and compilations and remembering why I started listening to them in the first place. They were different from any of the alternative bands I was listening to at the time and definitely different from the bubblegum pop dominating the radio. They brought global awareness even though many of the issues I did not quite understand, me living in Antioch. Who is Jimmy Sharman, where is Alice Springs, and what is a bullroarer? Midnight Oil inspired me to be more environmentally conscious, to research, to write, explore, travel, dance wildly.
I listened to them in my teens when I needed to be understood. I listened to them while waiting for my dad to have brain surgery. I listened to them while pushing my son in the stroller. I’m listening to them now as I write this, those teen years long gone, wrinkles on my face, my father alive and well, my son now a teenager.
Thank you Midnight Oil for sharing your gifts of music and awareness with the universe. Thank you for coming together, perhaps one last time, to re-instill all that we love about you and continue to. A special place in our hearts, always.
And damn did you rock the stage.
They say you can’t go back. Or perhaps you shouldn’t. But sometimes it’s inevitable.
Steely Dan Radio on Pandora. That’ll do it for me. A tinge of past immediately starts flowing through the neurons and blood stream. Back to childhood days in my dad’s mustard El Camino or hunched over the Fischer-Price record player with my brother. Back to teenage days, cycling through songs on random play from the new CD player. Back to college days, blasting out the sub woofers in my ’87 Nissan Sentra. And about a hundred other memories involving a Steely Dan song.
Whether you want it to or not, music will take you back.
There are those songs you can’t bear to hear. Either they bring back a dark memory or someone you’d rather not keep in your consciousness. Those we turn off as soon as we can, if possible. Or perhaps we need a good cry out and we let it rip.
Then there are those songs that fire up our frontal lobe like fourth of July sparklers and we are transported to a time and place no longer existing. Even if our childhood homes are still intact, or the city in which we grew up, it is never the same.
I guess that’s why they say you can never go back. Because no matter how bad we may want it to be there, it is gone.
And that is one of the many beauties of music– enabling us to hold onto a moment as if we were right there. Right there in our dad’s old car. Right there on the front porch with the Walk-man. Right there in the school parking lot with our quirky friends. Right there dancing with Grandma. Or and old friend. Or an old flame. Those that have moved on or passed away. In this moment they are alive.
And this is why I play Steely Dan on Sunday morning. So I won’t forget.
Trudging knee-high in leaves
discarded shelter now food for soil
The passing of time long arduous
and fleeting all at once
We wish for high winds
to carry all away
And when they do come
blow our hearts out of our chests
Maddening deafness except
the blind chatter of our minds
and the crunch swish crunch
of fallen foliage at our feet
Trek on still
with our eyes set forward
Lest we cackle like mad men
in the unforgiving forest of