for families that are and are not my own. squishy couches. the twenty years I knew my mom. my dad. my step-family. my grandparents. the grandfather I never met who looks like my dad. boyfriends. ex-boyfriends. all the ways I realize just how much like my parents I am. car trips. Bella. friends in Atlanta. in Boston. in Little Rock. in DC. in Austin. etc. my job. bar-b-que sauce. the calluses on my fingers. neutral milk hotel. green bean casserole. carpets. ceiling fans. skirts. movies with happy endings. bras with wires that don't stab me. wireless internet. holidays. book stores. lamps. room mates. acoustic covers. textured paint. sperry's. all things past & the future.
I have been and will be hopping between Copperas Cove and Dallas until Sunday, using borrowed wireless on other people's computers. But I hope everyone's weekend is cozy and filled with people and things worth loving, even if they aren't physically present.
In that respect, I wanted to learn to play the song below on guitar, because after my mom died, it took on a new meaning for me, and one time I played it and realized I'd started crying. Lame, maybe, but true. My playing was not so stellar, so I skipped the personal cover. Regardless, for anyone who has to be apart from someone they love - for whatever reason - death, distance, serving in Iraq like Doug, about to go to Iraq like Hal, estranged - here's a song for you.