Thursday, March 17, 2005


I meant to write an essay, but this song came out instead. Only I can hear the music in my mind... but posting it is part of the closure.


You were young
But I was so much younger
You held on
But I was so much stronger
You tried to be my anchor but I was swept out to sea
Couldn’t swim
But I sure learned fast
Nearly drowned
But I laughed last
And you hated me for cutting free and I guess you had the right

I spent ten years in shark infested waters
Not bad for a land-locked only daughter
I’ve got the memories of a lifetime and the pictures to prove it

Coming home
Mom and Dad seem older
And they are
And November seems colder
And I think I look so different, but everyone knows me

Say my name
And I’ll say yours
Look into my eyes
I won’t flinch from yours
Tell me who you are and how you feel and what you see when you look at me

If you’re happy, why do you shake?
If you’re in love, where is she now?
Do you have everything you’ve ever wanted, or did you compromise?
If we’re nothing, why are we here?
If you hated me, why sit so near?
If you mean nothing to me, why do I feel like I’m on stage?

Your eyes are blue
And they hold me
In their deep wet depths
A familiar sea
If I can sense the tightly coiled emotion in you can you sense it in me?
Two feet apart
And that’s too close
My heart is heavy and my mouth is full of things we cannot say

I am happy now and I don’t hate you
You shouldn’t hate me but it’s ok if you do
If she’s good to you then she’s everything that I could never be
If you gave up a dream, then don’t ask why
Just focus on your wife and child and this given life
I loved you in my way, and it was the best I knew how to be

We were young
But I was so much younger
We had fun
But we were crazed with hunger
I knew we couldn’t give each other the lives we wanted
I guess you thought
It would be so easy
Being in love
Should make you feel
That the rest of life will fall into place…
Yeah… we were young

I forgave myself a long, long time ago
You should forgive me too, and finally let me go
This is the last goodbye and I won’t tell myself that maybe we’ll be friends

I wish you well
In your life on land
I’ll return
to the edge of the sand
And when I disappear under the waves this time you’ll forget my face

I got stuck on that series of essayes when I was trying to write the one about my Mother. Christ, that woman has had a life. A pseudo-career in theatre spanning something like 40 years. I bit off more than I could chew. BUT - stubborn Irish me, I did write a structure, and I'm waiting until I can get time to really interview her about the details. Hell, somebody needs to chronicle my Mom's life as an artist. It's too good a story.

So I skipped that one for now. The next one is "Another Ancestry." I learned some fascinating things about my older relatives, who had several husbands, kids who don't know who their grandparents are, etc. Maybe I'll get that one up next week.

I have this need to finish things.

IN OTHER NEWS: So far my St. Patrick's Day SUCKS. Nyack is dead right now. If I was in the city I'd already be tipsy. Half of Manhattan is already tipsy. The other half is working and will descend upon the city like a swarm of unruly leprechauns as soon as the day shift ends. There are Irish bands everywhere. I AM STUCK IN A SMALL TOWN. OH THE UNFAIRNESS. I INSIST that you all go and think of me when you're knocking back the Bushmills. See if you can find a bar that sells Bushmill's 16-year. That shit is the BEST. Erin go Bragh, and Cead Mile Failte, friends.

I'll wait until about 9 or so and head back into town. There's two pubs in the same block. I'll get my fiddlin' and my Bushmills at one of them.

And I really should have written a post about this holiday, and my Irish family history, and the stories my aunt Mary Kate told me, and my Grandpa and Mom, and how I feel about everything I learned about St. Patrick and the Christianization of Ireland and the virutal annhilation of the old religion, which I prefer to practice now, and the symbolism of the shamrock as the triple-faced goddess, and all that.

I miss you Grandpa, and Aunt Mary. Thanks for all the green 7-up and cookies. I won't forget any of the stories. I love you.


Anonymous said...

That was a nice post. I especially liked the lyrics to the song:

"Coming home
Mom and Dad seem older
And they are
And November seems colder
And I think I look so different, but everyone knows me"

Hope your St. Pat's day picked up.

Eric said...

Those lyrics are pretty powerful. Did they just come to you at once?

MzOuiser said...

Charlie: thanks! I didn't get my fiddle music, but I got my Bushmills, so I was a pretty happy girl by 10pm.

Eric: yeah... all in one shot. That's usually how it happens.