Maybe You Had to Be There

I was a choir kid. Not show choir. Not Glee (really not Glee) – but boring, standing on risers choir. Sopranos and altos choir. I was a soprano until I was an alto. Who says girls’ voices don’t change. I will kick that person hard.

We sang a lot of songs. One of the songs I remember singing, I think this was elementary school, was The Rose.

This is how I remember it:

Some say love. It is a river. That drowns. The tender reed.
Some say love. It is a something else. That never. Learns. To Bleed.
Some say love. It is a fever? An endless. Aching. Need.
I say love. It is a flower. And you. Its only seed.

IT’S THE HEART AFRAID OF BREAKING THAT NEVER TAKES A CHANCE
IT’S THE KNEES AFRAID OF ACHING THAT NEVER LEARN TO DANCE
IT’S THE Oh I don’t remember this part at all but it is sung very loudly.

and then quiet:

Just remember. In the winter. Far beneath. The bitter snows
lies the bloom
that with the sun’s love
in the spring
becomes
THE ROSE

Didn’t we have fun?

(Real lyrics here, on The Rose’s own webpage)

Anyway, today I took Fresco to the Formerly Most Depressing Mall, henceforth to be known as That Happening Spot! – holy cats were there a lot of people in that place. He wanted a ride on the merry go round so I stuck him on there and made pretend merry go round noises and it didn’t work this time, my magic is gone. And then he wanted to, and I quote, “go see some other things interesting” so we walked a bit and looked at the shoe store where the size 11 clearance section was full of shoes that were SIZE 9 – you know, it’s not enough that I have these feet but you have to insult me by getting my hopes up with a cute, $10 boot and then it’s oh, sorry, that’s actually a size 9. You know, for the AVERAGE SIZED FOOT. Which you do not have.

Fuck you Shoe Warehouse. Fuck you and your bad shoe displaying skills.

Just past the shoe store, I heard it. The strains of a pan flute. No! Could it be?

When I worked at Granville Island, back in the early ’90s, there was a band of Peruvians. A band that played Peruvian music, made up of Peruvian people. They played every day at about noon on Granville Island. Then I noticed that they also played on the street in downtown Vancouver, at every public market or Quay in the city and sometimes on the beach. I have also seen them in Calgary, Chicago, and Saskatoon.

Don’t ask me how they do it. I guess if enough panflute fans pray hard enough, miracles can happen.

Anyway, I have heard them play El Condor Pasa about 17billiontytimes but I have never, until today, heard them play:

The Rose.

And I had this sort of horrible, gorge-choking impulse to raise my hands to the ceiling and wail along, harmoniously,

WHEN THE ROAD HAS BEEN TOO LONELY
AND THE NIGHT HAS BEEN TOO LONG
AND YOU THINK
THAT LOVE IS ONLY
FOR THE LUCKY
AND THE STRONG

(hey, that‘s the middle part!)

luckily I was holding the hand of a small child and it frightens him when I sing.

Instead I started to laugh. Because what the hell is the Band of Peruvian Pan Flutery doing playing The Rose?

And then I laughed harder. Because where is the line, exactly, that cannot be crossed, where cheezy love ballads, suburban malls and Peruvian Pan Flutery is concerned?

And how do I know about that line? Hint: there is no line!

I couldn’t stop laughing. (I might need more sleep.) The old folks at their tables in the food fair looked at me and then looked back at their blueberry muffins and their cups of coffee. Fresco and I walked on, to find some things interesting.