there was a me once
i miss being young.
i miss being 16 years old and sitting perched on my balcony railing at night in my home in the mountains, all of Vancouver laid out before me, shimmering in a sea of nighttime lights, me listening to the foghorn reaching out into the darkness with its forlorn, lonely call, warning ships of the danger below the surface of the waters lapping at the land, a call that reaches down deep into my very being, beckoning me to come home.
i miss long dark hair flowing down my back, black tights under short skirts, my navy trench coat bought at the Army & Navy store in the bellows of the shady part of downtown with its old winos hanging out in storefronts or empty lots.
i miss the loudness and wildness of rock n' roll that my parents just didn't understand or like, but that set the teenage heart, mind, and body racing.
i miss my little transistor radio that i held to my ear so i could hear all the songs my classical music-loving mother didn't want to hear in the house.
i miss buying a loaf of french bread and a chunk of cheese and eating it under a tree in the warm summer in Ambleside, pretending i was a young woman in France.
i miss being young and free and roaming the streets of Vancouver, no real responsibilities, no car, no job (except babysitting), no ambitions, no expectations for my future, no thoughts beyond the next minute.
i miss hanging out with Janice and the hippies at English Bay.
i miss spending almost all my money on rock n' roll records and awesome concerts like The Beatles, The Doors, Janis Joplin and the Holding Company, Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, Cream, The Who, Jefferson Airplane, and the Grateful Dead.
what i want to know is how i became who i am today. it feels as if something went awry. i am not who i am. i am someone else. or maybe i'm just wailing at a wall that keeps moving and since it looks the same, i feel like i'm stuck. but maybe i really am who i am; i'm just forgetting to notice. i mean, really, i can't be 16 forever, although it seems as if that girl never left me and so i'm constantly thunderstruck that the 1960s no longer exist and i now live in a world consumed with technology, speed, intimate violence, and bipolaristic (is that a word? well, it is now) viewpoints.
Peace, baby, peace . . . .
i miss being 16 years old and sitting perched on my balcony railing at night in my home in the mountains, all of Vancouver laid out before me, shimmering in a sea of nighttime lights, me listening to the foghorn reaching out into the darkness with its forlorn, lonely call, warning ships of the danger below the surface of the waters lapping at the land, a call that reaches down deep into my very being, beckoning me to come home. i miss long dark hair flowing down my back, black tights under short skirts, my navy trench coat bought at the Army & Navy store in the bellows of the shady part of downtown with its old winos hanging out in storefronts or empty lots.
i miss the loudness and wildness of rock n' roll that my parents just didn't understand or like, but that set the teenage heart, mind, and body racing.
i miss my little transistor radio that i held to my ear so i could hear all the songs my classical music-loving mother didn't want to hear in the house.
i miss buying a loaf of french bread and a chunk of cheese and eating it under a tree in the warm summer in Ambleside, pretending i was a young woman in France.
i miss being young and free and roaming the streets of Vancouver, no real responsibilities, no car, no job (except babysitting), no ambitions, no expectations for my future, no thoughts beyond the next minute.
i miss hanging out with Janice and the hippies at English Bay.
i miss spending almost all my money on rock n' roll records and awesome concerts like The Beatles, The Doors, Janis Joplin and the Holding Company, Frank Zappa and the Mothers of Invention, Cream, The Who, Jefferson Airplane, and the Grateful Dead.
what i want to know is how i became who i am today. it feels as if something went awry. i am not who i am. i am someone else. or maybe i'm just wailing at a wall that keeps moving and since it looks the same, i feel like i'm stuck. but maybe i really am who i am; i'm just forgetting to notice. i mean, really, i can't be 16 forever, although it seems as if that girl never left me and so i'm constantly thunderstruck that the 1960s no longer exist and i now live in a world consumed with technology, speed, intimate violence, and bipolaristic (is that a word? well, it is now) viewpoints.
Peace, baby, peace . . . .
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