There is a teenaged boy who walks around my neighborhood. I see him in the day and in the evening. He usually has an iPod and is always alone. And when I see him I feel a pang because I remember being about his age and being alone a lot. Walking home from the movie theater, where I would go by myself. Taking my dog down the beach past all civilization, or silently through festivals and crowds, or around my neighborhood at night. I remember the feeling of passing houses full of activity and feeling so close and distant at the same time. By some mixture of chance and awkwardness, I went for years without having any real friends my age. It was music that both kept me company and eventually would be my bridge to finding people I could connect with. This song is about those nighttime walks and about the belief that a friend would eventually be found. There’s a nod to a much-loved friend who once told me she was so over-worked she felt like “a shell.”
Posts Tagged ‘internal monologues’
Monday, February 6th, 2012
Tuesday, July 27th, 2010
As I said in my last post, I often wind up writing a song for a special occasion. Several years ago, my library asked us to perform at the annual summer ice cream party for the Junior Volunteers. We were happy to oblige, and I thought it might be nice to write a song just for the event. When I asked the volunteer coordinator to tell me more about the junior volunteers, I was soon grinning and scribbling away with my pencil as she listed off things like windexing sticky books, cutting out nametags, putting out the little pencils and slips of paper by each computer. And their time commitment, for me, was the cherry on top: one hour a week. Oh yes, I was going to enjoy writing this anthem. Here is the song that resulted:
Friday, February 26th, 2010
Here’s a song about that old childhood form of human sacrifice – the picking of teams. I consider this a song to sing to yourself while waiting in the line-up. It’s part resume and part kiss-off (with plenty of love for yourself and your fellow wall-hugger to spare).