Driving in, dragging in, another morning in a long string of reluctant mornings. The baby sleeps heavily, a catch in his throat. It is springtime, and none of us are breathing freely.
Well the smart money’s on Harlow and the moon is in the street
And the shadow boys are breaking all the laws
And you’re east of East Saint Louis and the wind is making speeches
And the rain sounds like a round of applause
This morning I drive the truck to work – our 2003 Tacoma that I, a person who prides herself on preferring experiences to status symbols, am totally bummed that we have to sell. It is probably healthy for me to give it up. I moodily ponder my materialistic love of this vehicle – its silver color, its extended cab, the bed liner and car seat anchors, a perfect match for what we wanted – a used car with barely any miles that my husband found on Car Trader years ago. Before he was my husband. I sometimes wonder if that truck sealed the deal.
And Napoleon is weeping in a carnival saloon
His invisible fiance’s in the mirror
And the band is going home, it’s raining hammers, it’s raining nails
And it’s true there’s nothing left for him down here
Once I discover that NPR is doing the wretched spring fund drive, I switch the stereo to play whatever’s in the CD player. Tom Waits pops up, growling about being a single guy who goes out when he wants and comes home when he pleases. The guy I carpool with doesn’t get Tom Waits – he gives me the stinkeye whenever I play this album. But today I ride alone.
And they all pretend they’re orphans and their memory’s like a train
You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away
And the things you can’t remember tell the things you can’t forget
That history puts a saint in every dream
The anti-wedding song ends, and then Tom begins to sing about Time. This is my favorite Tom Waits song, which is probably predictable. I cannot escape what I am, which is a sentimental sap.
Well she said she’d stick around until the bandages came off
But these mama’s boys just don’t know when to quit
And Mathilda asks the sailors Are those dreams or are those prayers?
So close your eyes, son, and this won’t hurt a bit
It is melancholy, and suits my mood. Tears well for a moment, as they do when art or music or theatre pours itself into a space and fills up an emptiness that no silver truck or glass of wine or friend’s kind word can reach.
Oh it’s time time time, and it’s time time time
And it’s time time time that you love
And it’s time time time
And I think of the important things I do. I make music with a handful of guys, and people dance. I sing lullabies to my son, and he calms. Although it’s been years, I have performed in plays that broke apart and knitted together the people who watched them. I make blankets for babies I love. I nourished and delivered a little soul, another sunny smile for the world.
Well things are pretty lousy for a calendar girl
The boys just dive right off the cars and splash into the street
And when they’re on a roll she pulls a razor from her boot
And a thousand pigeons fall around her feet
It’s just a little more time, until we will have peace. There is no race here. It is hard for me to be happy, it’s been hard for a while, but the sun is shining today. My son is 4 days shy of turning one year old, and never did a happier or healthier baby plunge his pudgy fingers into a piece of chocolate cake.
So put a candle in the window and a kiss upon his lips
As the dish outside the window fills with rain
Just like a stranger with the weeds in your heart
And pay the fiddler off ’til I come back again
I’ve shut my door at work and ignored the phone. So perhaps our truck will be sold, and our house, in exchange for some future gratification. We have collected, and now we will un-collect. So it goes. A vehicle is not happiness. A mortgage is not success. Time, and love, and purpose – these we need, and these we have.
Oh it’s time time time, and it’s time time time
And it’s time time time that you love
And it’s time time time
And it’s time time time, and it’s time time time
And it’s time time time that you love
And it’s time time time