Song A Day (1)

My friend Son of a Beach tagged me for ‘a song a day’ challenge. Beach is a lot of fun and has an awesome photography blog so you should go see him if you don’t follow already. The rules are to post the lyrics of a favorite song five days in a row, explain what they mean to you (if you like) and add the video if available. I’m supposed to nominate two other bloggers, so my choices are:

Cake or Death

Diane D of Ladies Who Lunch Reviews

I chose this first one for a number of reasons. The lyrics speak to the phase of life that I’m in. A transition point, where I’m not seeing the immediate future clearly. I think for a moment I have a grip on it and the next it’s changed. And the video is pretty cool…

Reflector – Arcade Fire:

Trapped in a prison,
in a prism of light.
Alone in the darkness,
a darkness of white.
We fell in love,
alone on a stage,
in the reflective age.

Entre la nuit, la nuit et l’aurore.
Entre le royaume des vivants et des morts.
[Translation: “Between the night, the night and the dawn. Between the realm of the living and the dead.”]

If this is heaven,
I don’t know what it’s for.
If I can’t find you there,
I don’t care.

I thought I found a way to enter;
it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)
I thought I found the connector;
it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)

Now the signals we send
are deflected again.
We’re so connected,
but are we even friends?

We fell in love when I was 19,
and now we’re staring at a screen.

Entre la nuit, la nuit et l’aurore.
Entre le royaume des vivants et des morts.

If this is heaven,
I need something more.
Just a place to be alone,
cause you’re my home.

I thought I found a way to enter;
it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)
I thought I found the connector;
it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)
Just a reflector.

It’s just a reflector, just a reflector.
It’s just a reflector, just a reflector.
Just a reflector, reflector.

Just a reflector. [repeat x 7]

Just a reflection of a reflection
of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection (ah!),
but I see you on the other side.
We all got things to hide.

Just a reflection of a reflection
of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection (ah!),
but I see you on the other side.
We all got things to hide.

(Alright let’s go back.)

Our song it skips
on little silver disks.
Our love is plastic,
and they break it to bits.

I want to break free,
but will they break me
down, down down,
don’t mess around.

I thought I found a way to enter;
it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)
I thought I found the connector;
it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)

It’s just a reflector. [repeat]

Thought you were praying to the resurrector;
turns out it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)
Thought you were praying to the resurrector;
turns out it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)
Thought you were praying to the resurrector;
turns out it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector)

Just a reflector.
Just a reflector.
Just a reflector.

But I see you on the other side.

Just a reflector.

(Ah!)

But I see you on the other side. (Reflector)
We all got things to hide. (Reflector)

Just a reflector.

But I see you on the other side.

 

It’s one of those days

Oh, the gloom. Isn’t it glorious? There are days when I just love the cloudy skies, chilly air and soft rain. Today is one of those days. I thought the bare branches against the slate grey sky made for a beautiful shot. It deserves a poem, I think. But alas, I am not the one to write it today.

The Neighbor (4) In 100 Words

The Neighbor (4) In 100 Words

A  short piece of serial fiction by Meg Sorick: here are parts one, two and three.

Adam rushed to open windows, switch on the ceiling fan. The sickening floral odor soon vanished. A chill crept up his spine, one that had nothing to do with the cool evening air rushing in the open windows.

He checked his watch. Miss Dietrich should still be awake and this couldn’t wait. He hurried down the steps and knocked softly on her door. Purposeful footsteps signaled the approach of a much younger person.

“Yes?” asked the heavily accented voice of Miss Dietrich’s caretaker, Martina. “Oh, it is you.”

“I need to speak to Miss Dietrich.”

“No. That won’t be possible.”

Novel Excerpt (59)

Novel Excerpt (59)

A scene from Breaking Bread, Book Five in the Bucks County Novels, by Margaret Sorick. Find links to all the excerpts here.

There were more tests to be run, evidence to be gathered. My family would have to wait to lay Tanya to rest. Immediately after Jack broke the news, Brad drove me to my parents’ house. My father looked ten years older as he sat, head in hands, staring blankly at the surface of the kitchen table. My mother had taken to her bed and didn’t respond to my knock. No parent expects to outlive their child. Ma was obviously in shock.

We had so many questions, but no one had the stomach to ask them at the moment. Michael and his parents came over and joined my father at the table. They spoke in hushed tones about things of no particular consequence. Platitudes and cliches were all that anyone could muster.

I couldn’t sit still. And since there was nothing I could offer in the way of comfort, I began rearranging all the books tin the bookcase. Alphabetical by author, then by print date. Everyone reacts in their own strange way when circumstances are too terrible to comprehend. Brad sat in the room with me, with the TV on and the volume turned low.

The phones rang intermittently. My parents’ home phone, my phone, Brad’s phone —everyone calling to pay their respects, no one knowing what to say. What could you say?

Neighbors stopped in, my parents’ friends from church. Brad eventually went to collect my grandparents. They both looked a hundred years old to me. The house had a steady stream of people coming and going until close to suppertime. The church ladies brought casseroles and cakes —offering solace in the form of food.

Jack called. It seemed a pretty open and shut case as far as the who, when and how the crime had been committed. Why was the big question. Could jealousy make someone go to these lengths? My own sister? I just couldn’t wrap my head around it.

We were getting ready to leave to drive my grandparents home when my mother finally made her way to the kitchen. My father stood and put an arm around her and she slumped against him. I took a tentative step towards her holding out my hands. She let me take her hand in mine and clung to my father with the other.

“Maya, you’re all I have left,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “What have we done?”

I squeezed her hand. It was a strange thing to say, but my mother was clearly devastated. I said, “I don’t know, Ma. I really don’t.”

She started to say something else, choked up and started crying. I put my arms around both my parents and the three of us wept.