…Or To Die For A Cause Somewhere

I was home  the last few days while my wife and daughters were up visiting family (and building snowmen) in NJ. I’ll be making the trip to visit in two weeks and hopefully the weather will cooperate.

Lunch at the old, Valley Diner, "VD" with my parents.

Lunch at the old, Valley Diner, “VD” with my parents.

Tending to the cremation society, our four dogs and a neighbor’s two dogs, I was kept pretty busy, but did manage to visit with a few friends on Thanksgiving Day , catch a couple of football games,  take some time to reflect and listened to Alice’s Restaurant three times.

 

I was reflecting and the girls were partying down with the Karole Clan.

I was reflecting and the girls were partying down with the Karole Clan.

In a day or so, I’m going to write about one of those reflections…what it meant to be a funeral director when I entered the business in 1978 and what it means today….at least what it meant and means to this old undertaker, (HT –TVB).

As I pondered others that have to work on holidays, and those that do not, I was reminded of a song from back in 1982 that tells of a young woman’s quest to be relavent and to do something more than sit in front of a typewriter all day.

A live version of Pussy Willow from the Broadsword & The Beast  tour. As a special treat, a young, Phil Collins sat in as a guest drummer..he looks like he’s 15, but depending on the date of this show, was 29 or 30.

 

 

The Lyrics

In the half-tone light of a young morning she sighs and shifts on the pillow. And across her face dancing, the first shadows fly to kiss the Pussy Willow.

In her fairy-tale world she’s a lost soul singing in a sad voice nobody hears.
She waits in her castle of make-believing for her white knight to appear.

Pusy Willow — down fur-lined avenue brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs for the train — see, eight o’clock’s coming
cutting dreams down to size again.

Pussy Willow — down fur-lined avenue brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming cutting dreams down to size again.

She longs for the East and a pale dress flowing an apartment in old Mayfair.
Or to fish the Spey, spinning the first run of Spring or to die for a cause somewhere.

Pussy Willow — down fur-lined avenue brushing the sleep from her young woman eyes. Runs from the train. Hear her typewriter humming cutting dreams down to size again.

 

 

About Ray V.

Living between Aiken & Charleston,, South Carolina, USA, I like to share what I am looking at, thinking about or listening to. I refer to this as the view out my window. Thanks for stopping by.
This entry was posted in Jethro Tull and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to …Or To Die For A Cause Somewhere

  1. Ann Koplow says:

    Wonderful post, photos, and song ! Many thanks.

    Liked by 1 person

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