Tag Archives: personal stories

Pictures of You – The Cure

I almost cried today and it is Robert Smith’s fault.

Let me set the scene for you.  I was driving about 60 mph down the two lane highway that connects my home to my work.  The monotony of the drive sometimes gets the better of me.  The droning of public radio and the sprawling farmland can almost lull me back to sleep.  This was the case this morning so I resorted to scrolling through the radio to keep me awake.

I recently picked up a satellite radio and I will say that I love the variety of music that is available. But on a day like today my tolerance and attention are at a low point. I need to find that perfect song to get through what is left of my commute.

Credence Clearwater Revival , Nope.

Grateful Dead, Nope.

Bruno Mars, Nope.

Zac Brown Band, Not today.

That is where I finally come across the 80s alternative rock station. Often times I can pick up a song on this station that stimulates something within me, and that was definitely the case this morning.  The band was The Cure and the song playing was “Pictures of You”. This 1989 release is perhaps one of the most depressing songs I have ever heard.

Back in the late 80s I didn’t really like The Cure. I guess I thought their music was too emotional and too soft for me.  I was a punk rock fan. My bands were Minor Threat, Sex Pistols, Gang Green, and most other garage bands that were popular in the northeast.

Move forward 30 years and I have softened a little.  Although, I will still rock out to The Misfits version of “Where Eagles Dare”on the way to work, I often land on classic or alternative rock stations.  This morning, however, was a little different than most. I didn’t just find I song that I was able to connect to for a few minutes.  This song, “Pictures of You”, captured my full attention and began to stir emotions I didn’t even know existed.

Now have you ever listened to this song? The lyrics are truly poetic and scream of loss and depression.  Here is a quick sample

If only I’d thought of the right words
I could have held on to your heart
If only I’d thought of the rights words
I wouldn’t be breaking apart
My pictures of you

I don’t know what triggered me.  Was it the lyrics, or was it the way in which Robert Smith sings as if he just had his heart ripped out of his chest.  Maybe it was my ongoing self-diagnosed Seasonal Affective Disorder, or the right combination of events that tapped into some unresolved PTSD, or just overly sensitive nerves due to lack of sleep.  But as I listened to this song, I felt truly sad.

Back in the 1989 I was just 15 years old.  I remember that back then everything was alive.  Every day was a true adventure. Every experience was new, and the world was just starting to unfold.  To say I lived in angst would be an understatement.  Angst was the undercurrent of my life.  At times it was painful.  At other times it couldn’t get any better.  Life was electric and I was just playing in the current.  The Cure wasn’t the soundtrack to my life back then. In fact, The Cure didn’t even get a place in the intermissions of my personal movie.   But now The Cure provided the background music to my personal flashback scene.

There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to feel you deep in my heart
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you

These lyrics triggered memories of all those friends I have lost.  Those that have died from accidents, drug overdoses, or natural causes, their images come rushing to mind.  Those friends that I have never said good-bye to because I didn’t have to strength to stand in front of their graves.

The lyrics made me think of old girlfriends. Memories of promises that I never kept crept back to me.  We were going to be so strong and stay together for ever.  That all changed when I was easily swayed by the opinions of others, or when my own neurosis convinced me that what we had was built on lies and that it could never work.   These thoughts hurt the most.

I am almost a weeping mess as I approach the edge of town.  Merging into traffic it takes everything I have to stay focused on traffic signals.  The red light at the McDonald’s allows the song to come to its end.  I now have 5 more minutes to pull myself together.  Switching the radio back to pop radio station, I listen to a little John Mayer and pull into the parking lot behind work.   I turn the car off, step out into the parking lot, and let the memories of years past get taken away with a brisk morning breeze.

Damn You Robert Smith!  Or maybe I should say Thank You.

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Eyes in the Dark

eyeshine from flong.com

eyeshine from flong.com

It’s cold, dark, and quiet. I can hear the gravel crunching under my boots with every step.  I glance upwards to see the silhouettes of bare tree branches in the night sky.  It’s early still and I am out before most people wake up.  Stirred by bit of insomnia and a quest for solitude, Ava and I begin our 2 mile morning walk. 

Soon my walk becomes darker as the road bends and trees shift from mixed hardwoods to a collection of softwood trees.  The Fir and Spruce trees, with their branches filled with needles, diminish the amount of moonlight that reaches my path.  The increased darkness becomes paired with a gentle cold breeze that sends a chill through me. As I continue up the road, passing the old logging path on the right and then the entrance to the hunting camp on the left, an uncomfortable feeling sweeps over me.  The darkness and the cold has transformed my peaceful morning stroll into an eerie hike into the unknown.

The woods thin out on my left and my eyes are drawn toward to the clearing.  At first I don’t see anything, but then my light catches the reflection of a pair of squinty eyes out in the darkness.  The eyes seem to stand about six feet tall.  They are steady, persistent, and look back at me.  My mind races to identify the owner of the eyes.  Maybe it’s a cat . . . no  a raccoon . . .  a deer . . .  a bear . . .   a werewolf . . .  a monster . . .  a hatchet wielding maniac.

eyeshine-from-askville-amazon-com.jpg

“Ok, slow down and breath”, I say to myself, “these horror movie marathons you are watching are not helping right now”. 

 

I soon recognize that I have engaged in a staring contest with the eyes in the darkness. We are locked in battle to see who moves first.  Ava, who has become bored with this part of the road, finally tugs on the end of her leash. I lose my balance, stumble, and look away from the eyes.  When I regained my footing and look back into the woods, the eyes are gone.  Our encounter is over.

Coming to terms with the fact that the eyes had slipped back into the woods, Ava and I continued on towards the end of the road.  As we walked, I contemplate the idea that even in the darkness of the early morning on a deserted road you are rarely ever completely alone in nature.

 

 


Salamanders

The weather was different that morning.  It was warmer and just the start of the fall season.  It was early morning and I was comfortable walking the dogs with just an old sweatshirt to keep the occasional cool breeze off my skin.  It was dark, very little moonlight and a patchy cloud covered sky.  You often really can’t tell cloud cover at night, but you know when it is thick because things seem darker than normal and the LED lights on the headlamp seem to struggle to light the ground.  But that morning, the light moved more freely and it reflected off the moisture of the rocks in the road. 

I have traveled this road many times before, over a thousand times perhaps.   That morning things were moving along as normal until my light glistened off a dark object near the edge of the road. 

 I approached the object slowly, mainly concerned that it might be something that I didn’t want the dogs to eat.  As I got closer, my eyes focused in on the object.  It was slightly rounded and presented the classic crescent shape of a resting salamander.  Yet it was larger than most salamanders I have seen, and much larger than the Red Efts I see on many spring mornings. I quickly realized that I was looking at a medium size Spotted Salamander. 

A Spotter Salamander photo borrowed from Maine Audobon

A Spotter Salamander photo borrowed from Maine Audobon

A Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum) can grow up to nine inches long, but this was seemed closer to six inches long.  Its bluish black body had several yellow spots irregularly spaced on its back which provided great contrast in the reflection of my headlamp.  The Spotted Salamander is the largest of Vermont’s salamanders and spends most of its time living underground in mole holes or mouse tunnels.  This was truly quite a treat to see this creature in the wild.   The Spotted Salamander is an elusive animal and I have spent several early spring evenings searching for migrating salamanders in the wetland and woods around my house with no success.  Unfortunately, my excitement was short lived as I began to suspect this Salamander was dead.

I kneeled down on the side of the road.  The Spotted Salamander became circled in a beam of light from my headlamp.  I slowly reached down and touched him.  He was cold, moist, and made no attempt to move.  I picked him up and he showed the distinct indications that it had been run over by a car. I held him for a moment before I moved him off to the side of the road.  I placed the Salamander in the tall grass on the side of the road as I felt like this was the best way to show respect to this beautiful and mysterious creature.   I took a moment to let the mixed emotions of this event pass over me before I got up and continued on my walk a little more aware of the fragility of life.

Picture of a Spotted Salamander borrowed from www.wildlife.state.nh.us

Picture of a Spotted Salamander borrowed from http://www.wildlife.state.nh.us

Red Eft picture borrowed from National Geographic

Red Eft picture borrowed from National Geographic

 


1985 and today

On Monday afternoon I was driving north on I-89.  I was heading back toward Stowe from a meeting in the southern part of the State.  It was a clear day, probably about 70 degrees, and the start of  fall foliage season.  My cruise control was set at 68 mph and my radio was tuned to the independent radio station.  They were playing a song from the 1980s.  It was that title track from the movie The Breakfast Club, Simple Minds’ Don’t You (Forget About Me).  As the song played and I could almost see Judd Nelson strutting off over the football field behind the school after getting the prom queen’s earring, thrusting his arm into the air in a hormone filled victory.  Classic.

As the song began to fade out and the DJ came back on the radio, the monotony of the road and the weather report began to take its effect.  My mind drifted back to 1985 as the radio slipped into 10 minutes of commercials. 

I was probably about 12 when I first saw the Breakfast Club.  At that time I really connected with the movie.   My teenage angst was emerging and their story was my story.  The characters were so real and the actor’s lived as I could only imagine.  As I grew older, my angst increased and my anger grew.  When I was 16 or 17 I had my first Saturday detention, but it was nothing like theirs.  There was no smoking pot in the library and I never did get to kiss the prom queen.  But at that time I was still alive with emotion, optimism, and self-righteousness.  

Twenty years later, here I am driving 68 mph in my economical Honda, cruise control set to keep the speed down.  No more detentions or speeding tickets for that matter.   As the more daring and reckless drivers passed me by, I wondered where did my angst go?  What happened to that edge of anger that surged through me as a young adult?  When did I slip into the world of the professional human services worker wearing the khakis and button down shirt every day?  

In the 1980s I felt alive; in 2013 I am searching for what it means to be human. When I was 16 it was so simple and the world was new and exciting.  Now that I am pushing 40, I question the meaning behind everything and strive to find the simplicity that will bring life back into the

 And sometimes, as I am filling out paperwork at my desk, looking at budgets and running numbers for grant reports, I sigh as I realize the passion has slipped from my life.

breakfast-club

 

 


Bird Song

It is 5:30 in the morning and I am out with my dogs. It is a normal morning. Dark, not that cold, and quiet. Me and the two dogs meander up the hill to the road crossing. I was pleasantly caught up in my own internal rantings.

“Why do I always have to walk these dogs?”

“Why is it always dark when I come out here?”

“Its Saturday, why is it that I have to go to work again?”

“Why can’t I live a life that isn’t filled with with all this crap?”

As we reach the flats, before T in the road, there was a light breeze. This breeze was unseasonably warm. The air disrupted my thoughts and brought my attention back.

I noticed the sun breaking into the darkness. The dogs were diving into the smells on the side of the road that were left over from the animals that wandered the night. I heard a few small chirps from a unknown bird signalling the beginning of the morning chorus.

Then, just as quickly as my mind was drawn to the present, it retreat to the past.

I remembered sitting in the desert with a gun by my side, praying the patrols went alright, watching a similar sunrise, and wishing for the song of a unknown bird to break silence.

Single shrike in trees