A lot of peoples memories of home tend to be lukewarm: no one got detained, no drug court, no passionate screaming fits, just pleasant Memorial Day weekends on some lake with the extended fam or going to local professional sports team events in matching face paint and jerseys and eagerly cheering the team on to victory. And overall, there seems to be a general flatness to these families, engaging in one event after the other with the occasional comment or How are you? and rare reflective moment--which is of course met with unfamiliarity and bewilderment by the other members of the house. With mine, however, its one exteme after the next. And so, when grief, sadness, and hurt come around, they dont politely knock on the door and patiently wait to be let in, and after two hours are gently told, Well, its getting late. Its been a swell visit! On the contrary--they surround the house, deface all the windows and doors, and set the lawn ablaze. We have been emptied, hollowed, carved, and whatever else you want to call it; and it sometimes seems impossible to find our way out of whats been dealt. But on the other end of the spectrum are moments like rediscovering this soft, haunting and gorgeous song, which serves as a reminder of beautiful images of childhood and the lovely, less gritty side of what can be so often hostile. Three minutes and twenty-nine seconds of guitar, demure vocals, and xylophone make up hours and hours and hours of arguments and gnashing of teeth. This song may not take you to Happy Sunshine Land, but its the realest thing youll ever hear. Give it a listen, itll change your day.
Posted on: Wed, 19 Nov 2014 06:11:51 +0000
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