Showing posts with label Stephen Stills. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stephen Stills. Show all posts

Sunday, April 19, 2015

Long May You Run

My kids on Bascom Hill

Library Mall


Marsh along Lakeshore Path
This was a pretty incredible weekend weatherwise. When I saw the prediction, I told the kids I wanted to go to some sort of state park and maybe even camp. They thought we needed to put more time into planning a camping trip and then couldn't agree on a destination for a day trip. So when we got up yesterday, and my son suggested we have a Madison adventure downtown, we agreed that was a capitol idea. The photos prove it!

Education Building
I heard this song today on the way to my son's soccer game in Marshall, which was especially fitting because I snuck in a run during his warm-up period, and it turned out to be a beautiful spot: Goose Lake Wildlife Area.

We've been through
Some things together
With trunks of memories
Still to come
We found things to do
In stormy weather
Long may you run.

Long may you run.
Long may you run.
Although these changes
Have come
With your chrome heart shining
In the sun
Long may you run.

Well, it was
Back in Blind River in 1962
When I last saw you alive
But we missed that shift
On the long decline
Long may you run.

Long may you run.
Long may you run.
Although these changes
Have come
With your chrome heart shining
In the sun
Long may you run.

Maybe The Beach Boys
Have got you now
With those waves
Singing "Caroline No"
Rollin' down
That empty ocean road
Gettin' to the surf on time.

I love me some Neil Young. And as my kids and I strolled around downtown Madison this weekend, I thought how long my run has been to this point, both on this Earth and as their mother. And I couldn't help but join Neil and his buddy Stephen in wishing this for my babes who are growing up so fast:

Long may you run.
Long may you run.
Although these changes
Have come
With your chrome heart shining
In the sun
Long may you run.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Church (Part of Someone)

Mentally and physically exhausted at the end of the day today -- having run 7.5 miles, practiced some yoga, taught an Ashtanga class, and spent 5 hours working on a consulting project -- I settled in for a little Hulu plus viewing on my laptop.

I ended up watching a particularly moving episode of Parenthood, dealing as it did with tough issues like separation and divorce, questions of faith, babies, promises, and family.

Especially poignant for me was this song, circa 1970 (when my mother was pregnant with me), which played close to the end of the episode:

You see, it's my thing
To be part of someone
As a true friend is part of me
You know that there's so much
Oh, little girl, we've got to tell each other
About the whole world
And most especially one another, oh yeah, all right
And you know, and you know?

And it's hard, yes it is
It's hard, yes it is
And I wonder
I wonder could it be a dream?
And you know that the self made man, babe
Is truly shallow
He knows he's no one
But who he wants to be
So while you still sing, baby
You got to tell me, baby
Is it your thing to be part of anyone?
Anyone, anyone

Often when I was a kid, I didn't feel part of anyone. I wanted to -- I think we all at least start out in this world craving that feeling -- but most of the time I didn't. Over time, I stopped believing that it was possible for me, and instead, lived life from the relative safety of staying in my head. If it's not my thing to truly be part of anyone, my subconscious seemed to reason, I can't be hurt if I'm not.

And it worked pretty well for a lot of years, but then my son was born, and my world was blown wide open: If this is what it feels like to be part of someone, this is exactly what I want for myself!

Yes, the love I felt (and still feel) for that baby (and the one that followed three years later) have been the catalysts I needed to do the very difficult work of coming back into my body, of healing, of reuniting my head and my heart, and of saying yes to being part of someone.

Children are such an incredible gift. It's true that parenting them isn't always easy:

And it's hard, yes it is
It's hard, yes it is

But I've never doubted for a second that it's worth it. Without my kids, I can't imagine that I'd have made as much progress with reconciling all the various parts of myself. And that might've meant missing out on the feeling I have today, that I'm part of someone, and creating a home where I believe my children feel they are part of someone too. I can't ask for anything more than that, except maybe a partner to share it with...