Van Morrison and my heart remembers

by Kathy Larson

I asked Google
to play some music.

She chose
Van Morrison.
And a memory
of you pops like a tiny
iridescent bubble.
I see you, smiling,
that Mennonite rebel
farm boy
who swept me off the dusty streets
of our small prairie town
and into the front seat of his
souped-up ’67 Dart Swinger.
Oh, I loved you.
Loved your wild hair,
your cupid-bow smile,
your dusty, brown shoes
with the platform heels.

You were trying so hard
to break free,
be different,
but your plaid shirt
and dirty jeans
your sad eyes
and the weekends spent at home
on the farm:
you knew.
We both did.

At 15 I thought
I was a woman,
At 19 you thought
you knew what it was
to be mature. To be
a man.
Oh, I smile at that.
But never laugh, no,
never laugh.

I heard,
years ago,
that you made a life for yourself
on the farm.
Beautiful Mennonite bride
beautiful Mennonite children
to carry on the legacy
you thought you could deny.
As sad as that makes me,
I’m happy for you.

But, today
when I heard that familiar, raspy voice,
the one that you introduced me to,
I couldn’t help but wonder
how you are
and if your heart
remembers.


Saturday Afternoon

Went to the farmer’s market in St. Albert this morning.  Forgot the damn camera!  We were on the bike, so in the hurry of trying to remember everything we need for that, the camera got looked over.  Sigh.

The market was nice — got some fresh onions, spinach cherries and tomatoes.  Yum!  Saw an old friend, had a great visit.  Couldn’t find anywhere to grab a quick breakfast, did manage to snag a coffee.  then. . .

. . . lost Tim for about a half an hour.  So, I just found a bench sat and people watched.  Very relaxing.

I should be out in the yard right now, but wanted to do this first.  Check in on a couple of acquaintances and get a few thoughts down.

Something nice passed on to me today — you should definitely check it out:    http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=hN8CKwdosjE

Can’t say why, really, but this made me cry when I watched it.  Something I suppose about the earnestness and honesty of youth, the unconditional belief that good things happen just because you believe they will, something like that.  Anyway, it touched a chord, ’nuff said.

No picture, sorry, perhaps I’ll be more with it tomorrow.