Vault of lost lyrics, chapter 166

I rediscovered this song by accident — hadn’t heard it for years, possibly decades. It’s sugary, sugary pop — and also gloriously, smooshily romantic. What girly girl could resist?

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An Everlasting Love (Andy Gibb)

I've been here all your life

Watching your crying game

You were the heaven in my lonely world

And he was your sun and your rain

I was losing you before I ever held you tight

Before you ever held me in your arms

And I won't make you blue

And maybe an everlasting love will do

I've got an everlasting love

So tall, so wide, so high

Above the rumble of thunder down below

It's your love I need

It's the only show

And it's you on an everlasting dream

Can take us anywhere

All the tears are yesterday

We killed the pain

We blew away the memories of the tears we cried

And an everlasting love will never die

Take me out of the cold

Give me what I've waited for

If it's the pleasure of taking my heart that you need

Then it only makes me love you more

I was yours before the stars were born

And you were mine

I could have saved you all the pain you knew

And I won't make you cry

And maybe an everlasting love can try

I've got an everlasting love

So tall, so wide, so high

Above the rumble of thunder down below

It's your love I need

It's the only show

And it's you on an everlasting dream

Can take us anywhere

All the tears are yesterday

We killed the pain

We blew away the memories of the tears we cried

And an everlasting love will never die ...

[repeat chorus and fade] 

Vault of lost lyrics, chapter 23

Suzanne Vega is a fascinating singer-songwriter who writes wistful songs especially well. This is one of my favourites, not only because of the lyric but because of the delivery: so bouncy, lilting, and lurching, redirecting the listener’s attention from what the speaker is actually saying.

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In Liverpool (Suzanne Vega)

In Liverpool

On Sunday

No traffic on the avenue

The light is pale and thin like you

No sound down

In this part of town

Except for the boy in the belfry

He's crazy

He's throwing himself

Down from the top of the tower

Like a hunchback in heaven

He's ringing the bells in the church

For the last half an hour

He sounds like he's missing something

Or someone that he knows he can't have now

And if he isn't

I certainly am

Homesick for a clock

That told the same time

Sometimes you made no sense to me

If you lie on the ground in somebody's arms

You'll probably swallow some of their history

And the boy in the belfry

He's crazy

He's throwing himself

Down from the top of the tower

Like a hunchback in heaven

He's ringing the bells in the church

For the last half an hour

He sounds like he's missing something

Or someone that he knows he can't have now

And if he isn't

I certainly am

I'll be the girl who sings for my supper

You'll be the monk whose forehead is high

He'll be the man who's already working

Spreading a memory all through the sky

In Liverpool

On Sunday

No reason to even remember you now

Except for the boy in the belfry

He's crazy

He's throwing himself

Down from the top of the tower

Like a hunchback in heaven

He's ringing the bells in the church

For the last half an hour

He sounds like he's missing something

Or someone that he knows he can't have now

And if he isn't

I certainly am

In Liverpool

In Liverpool

Spoiled

Here’s a picture of the tableau awaiting us when we went to Sunday dinner last night:

 

Delicious cocktails were soon served, followed by a sumptuous supper of barbequed rainbow trout and, for dessert, apple crisp. Wow!

And then midday today, I received a text and went out my front door to discover this gorgeous object:

Yummy fresh raisin bread! Still warm! SO GOOD!

So, for anyone who took seriously my threat to eat cereal for 20 of my 21 weekly meals, have no fear. C is taking excellent care of me (and Zak, of course). Thank you, Ms C!

Vault of lost lyrics, chapter 195

In the late 1990s I saw Sarah Slean at the Sidetrack Cafe, opening for Oh Susanna, aka Suzie Ungerleider. When Oh Susanna took the stage, Ms Slean came back out to accompany her on the piano for this song. It was a staggering performance from both, and the song has always stopped me dead since. It is alt-country at its peak, the recording is gorgeously layered, and this track is meant to be played LOUD. Relish that deep, dooming final note.

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You’ll Always Be (Oh Susanna)

Well, the first time I saw heaven

you stood in my doorway

Scent of gardenia and lily

By your voice I was led into a forest of cherry

When you lay down beside me so softly you did say

You’ll always be my baby, my baby, my baby, yeah

You’ll always be my baby, my baby, my love

Well, you sure got some funny sense of forever

'Always' did end with the summer

I awoke in a bed that’s as wide as the river

And a voice in my head that softly did say

You’ll always be my baby, my baby, my baby, yeah

Now you’ll always be my baby, my baby, my love

Well, six seasons have weathered 

since you stood in my doorway

Now you’re stinking of blood and hard liquor

And you’ve come for a favour

for your sorry sight to cover

And you still got the nerve to softly do say

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my baby

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my love

Now I don’t need no tailor to sew this suit together

Your yarn is a worn-out old tether

And you better button that collar

for you’re going out to pasture

And I’ll be counting the bounty

when softly I will say

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my baby yeah

You owe this to me, my baby, my baby, my love.

House in Calder

Good morning, and welcome to the first day of classes. Anxious? Why, no, what makes you think that?

Because my thoughts are somewhat scattered, here's a picture:

My father lived in this house for some time during his teens. I know little more of the story than that, but I have the address of this house and can confirm that it is still standing. A tenuous connection, but I'll take it.

And now, back to frantic prepping. Cheers!

What dreams may come

Lately I’ve been rummaging through “stuff” both material and psychological, and my dreams show me the evidence at night. Last night I went back to my grade six classroom, to the seat I used to sit in, with all my grade six peers around me. I was the grade six me, but also aware of being contemporary me. The dream shifted, as dreams do, but when I awoke, I thought of this newspaper clip (actually published when I was in grade seven), and so here it is.

One thing I've learned: we always miss our friends, no matter how long they've been gone. Seeing them in dreams is bittersweet, but at least they're still with us. in our memories and hearts.

Misty water-colored memories

It’s Labour Day weekend, which is akin to New Year’s Eve for me (Labour Day itself being New Year’s Day, I guess). I’m eager to get back to the classroom but am still struggling to feel grounded. My most recent counselling session raised many old, sad themes and that, alongside other events this week, has left me quite wrung out. But pictures are often a good antidote.

Here's an obviously old photo — it's been in its frame for a couple of decades. It sits on top of my piano now. 

This picture was taken in Brooks more than twenty years ago. Can't say it seems like yesterday, but it also doesn't seem like twenty-plus years.

More importantly, this photo is inspiration to do that Janus thing and look back while looking forward. Alors: here's to what's gone before and to what's coming next. May the road rise up to greet us. Cheers!