Wake Me Up When September Ends
I recently posted this on my Facebook wall:
If it's not familiar -- it's from a song, Wake Me Up When September Ends. Click to listen.
If you know me, you know that my fondest dream is to be a writer. I always wanted to write fiction, to be able to write something that made a difference to a reader. To tell a story and create a connection. And, to give voice to some of the things I feel inside as a way of creating something lasting and beautiful.
Now that I'm older I think I would like to be a song writer instead. The way I dream about moving people is more like the strong reaction you have to a song. A song can make you happy and a song can bring back pain. But most of the time, even when it hurts you, it's cathartic to express that pain for a few minutes to music. At least I think it is.
I know that not everyone feels that way about music. Some people only hear the beats and instruments and pay attention to the sound. I've had people ask me why I don't like a particular song, and when I tell them I can't stand what it says, they give me a blank look. Sometimes they've said, I never noticed the words. I get moved by the beat and the music, too -- but for me it is always, always about the lyrics.
Today on a walk I was listening to music and a song by Paul Simon came on, Kodachrome. Click to listen. The first line is this: When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school/It's a wonder I can think at all.
When I heard those words, it struck me how the singer/songwriter Paul Simon managed to pack so much meaning into that sentence, and since the very first time I ever heard the song -- before I myself had even been to high school -- I felt something. These feelings have changed as I've grown up, gone to high school, left it, and now look back on it. But I always feel something inside when that song comes on.
You may remember that we named our kitten Paul Simon a few years ago. He was such a special cat. Then when we got another kitten we called him Art Garfunkel. We had so much fun playing with their names. One Christmas, after searching months for just the right sized guitar, we created a copy of the Simon & Garfunkel album cover, Bookends.
We made fun of another Paul Simon song, You can call me Al. Click to listen. It's a rambling, fast, fun song that tells the stories of different people and makes you feel like walking on city streets. It was easy to imagine Paul the cat singing, You can call me-ow.
Paul Simon the cat was lost to us, violently, more than a year ago. So much heartbreak. And so now when I hear Kodachrome, along with everything else I've always felt, I also feel the piercing sorrow of losing Paul Simon the cat. I feel drawn to walk by the place on the street, around the corner from our house, where Paul's body was found, just to be close to him for a moment, and to remember. All that from a song.
Okay, that's it for the sad September stuff. Click to listen.
Comments