This summer has been devastating for life -- death seems to have taken quite the opposite of a holiday. More like working overtime. And that's not news; it's the way the cycle works. We're under a microscope. First we live the music and the movies and the art and the marches and the dream. Then we live the moments of our own lives. Celebrate. Endure. Breathe. Finally, we mourn, release, and are mourned.
[on edit: I haven't been able to get my head around losing Ted Kennedy. I don't consider him part of "pop" culture. I consider him an amazing, human, humane, compassionate, tireless worker on behalf of all Americans. His loss requires more than a few passing thought. I'm considering a vast array of emotions and reactions. In time, I'll spill here where nobody really pays much attention, thank goodness.]
Somewhere in the many moves and changes, I lost my guitar. But I never lost my inner folk singer -- I still have my Joan Baez Songbook.
Namaste, Mary Travers. Namaste.
