Ironically, I sat on the fire pitted beach last night. Off in the distance, across the drag George Thorogood played the standards to my adolescence. Its irony only if you know me. The "man of the house" was a topic around my Friday night discussion. The responsibilities of coming into a family as that man. Into a single woman and child home, where you give her a reason to believe that life will be better for her, with you, that extra piece to her puzzle. And are you that perfect missing link? We (ladies) dream of that link, we hear stories of how that worked our for your Aunt's cousins daughters BFF. We apply to our reality. And one day we see, that you are our lives destiny and responsibility too.
And when it all goes to hell in a handbasket, where does it leave the daughter? The one that grew up with you? Do we chalk it up to bad genes? Do we just keep that day to day mantra? Do we grant leniency because of circumstances?
You took on that role, when you began cohabitation.
You took on that role, to be my role model.
I'm old now, my roots are still there. They are hard to tear out. Music brings you back, and I think Happy Birthday, in an odd quiet way. I'm so hard and old, and memories fade with stubbornness.
In my faded memory, its all there. The schism between life then and now, is stubborner
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And on that note, I downloaded JJ Cale's full discography, you want a copy on CD?
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