I don't know where it was that I first heard of Red Molly. Maybe it was in a comments stream from Chocolatepoint on Flickr, or maybe somewhere on Facebook.
Wherever it was, the reference led me to "May I Suggest," which is a poem with music that I would have written to my son Adam, were I smarter than I am. It is appropriate in more ways than I want to make explicit, but I can say that the "seven generations" and the "from the west" parts are exquisitely in harmony with what I feel.
Adam is making sacrifices in his personal life now for people who may or may not appreciate his efforts. I want him to know that somebody appreciates it, in a very, very big way, and this song sings that vision, too: his efforts are, ultimately, beneficial to him as well, and in part make this "the best part of [his] life."
Enjoy:
More Red Molly, this time from an appearance at a small branch library, covering Nanci Griffith -- God, I hope these women hit the big time like they should; they are as good as the Indigo Girls or the Story were, as far as I am concerned:
Sunday, November 29, 2009
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5 comments:
I cannot express how desperately needed these few words were.
Werner's AND yours.
Thank you Dad. Thank you.
Thank YOU, sir.
You two fellows are priceless. Thank you for the love and richness of spirit you exude.
Thank you, Mary Ellen. That is a perceptive and well-appreciated comment.
Adam and I "have each other's backs," as the military-derived saying goes, not only because of our blood relationship, but because of a sequence of relatively recent events that have bumped our backs up against one another:
Fifteen years ago, this was the list of living people who were most closely related to Adam and me by blood (his and/or mine):
Mary Kroeger (his mother, my first wife)
Doug Harrington (his older brother)
Garnett S. Kroeger (his maternal grandmother)
Charles R. Kroeger (his maternal grandfather)
Catherine M. Harrington (his paternal grandmother)
Lynn Harrington (his paternal grandfather)
All of them are gone now.
It's as though he and I were in a foxhole, and a slow-motion grenade took out just about everybody we shared.
So we figuratively looked back at each other, gulped, and recognized the inevitable imperative: we'd damn well better back each other up, because pretty much everybody else has stepped on to somewhere else.
Not to diminish the support we each receive from elsewhere -- hugely notably from Diane and Lynda and from Adam's half-sister, Reva -- but we now have something of a shock-cemented fraternity that goes a little beyond our father-and-son relationship.
We kind of grasp at each other. And this pair of songs is an example of that.
I really enjoy how you put things Sherwood. Doug is looking down with a big grin on his face for all the memories you two are giving Grace:-)
xoxoxo
Lynda
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