I have three songs running through my heads; just bits of them, really. That one, "Creepin' up the Backstairs" by the Fratellis and something I woke up with in my head by Sharon, Lois and Bram that will take me a little time to identify, which goes, "How d'ya do? How d'ya do? How d'ya doodle oodle oodle oodle ooh, yeah!" but I'll remember it soon.
The point (insofaras one can be said to exist) is that it's now been over ten years since I started my blog. It wasn't this blog, but this is a direct descendent of it. The son and heir, if you will. (Of nothing in particular.) If you go back through the archives that far, it's kind of a mess. Things were different then. But it's mostly all here, at least text-wise.
Anyway. In my head, all words are keywords for a song. Any word, spoken with some certain cadence or tone, will trigger a song for me. Rhythms of sound do that as well, but words are the main triggers. I've learned to calm that down by having a continual background soundtrack in my head, and it's probably why I ended up listening to so much jazz and lounge music. But lately I haven't been filtering it all very well, so it's a bit like one of those CD sample stations at Target inside my head right now, looping through oddities.
Last night I was reading some ten year-old entries and they struck me as so young. I mean, very few of them should be read with any eye toward seriousness. They were mostly intentionally silly. But even that, well, if I am intentionally silly now, it sounds very different. To me, at least. And I'd hate for someone to go back through them all and read it without hearing an arch (albeit unsophisticated) tone. But it's me, nonetheless.
"If I Knew You Were Comin' (I'd Have Baked a Cake)" is the Sharon, Lois & Bram song I woke up with. It isn't on YouTube, but by golly, Bob Hope and Bing Crosby are.
Ten years ago I was the pedantic bohemian, now someone else is. I was merbelle, and kind of still am. I was sylph, and Emily, and Greer, of course, and those two things do go together. Now I'm Lily and it seems I really am, but if I'd known that would going to happen, I might have worked at being Lena, instead.
Do you think I am very, very shallow? Do you think I'm always laughing at life or at least at the people in it? Do you...equate being sincere with being serious?
When I was pregnant with my third daughter, who is now 21, the man tried to teach me to meditate, to turn off my endless running thoughts. He believed he failed. But that's not so. It was a very slow-burning lesson, perhaps. Some years later he got all into taoism and sucked the marrow out of that before moving on to the next thing, but I connected it to being pregnant with my daughter, quieting down, opening up, absorbing, resting, and letting go of urgency. However, when you have a lot of little kids and a sort of fickle living situation, it's so difficult to operate that way, slowing down time like a bird or a squirrel.
Now I have the luxury of seeing the snow fall outside my window right now just as I choose; as individual flakes, or as a stream of moisture, or as mostly air with tiny infinitesimal interruptions to it, too tiny to matter until they all collect together at the surface of earth over my garden.
And it's silly to have three songs in your head unless you consciously put them there to enjoy together. That's what I've learned over the past ten years.