the white album gave us something

Last year, it was very important to me that I learn all the words to "Big Rock Candy Mountain." We would listen to it on the way to wherever we were going and the line, "Where they hung the jerk, that invented work," really hooked me. It became essential that I learn all the words and before my daughter was born. Because I had decided that I would sing this to her when she needed it. It has a lot of lyrics, tells a story, all the things that are important to me. I felt it would keep me engaged.

I printed out the lyrics and studied them every morning after my shower for the last two months of my pregnancy. Other lines made me really happy, too.

In the Big Rock Candy Mountain, you never change your socks.
And tiny streams of alcohol come a'tricklin down the rocks.

I did sing that song to her many times. In the middle of the night when she needed soothing. Sometimes to sooth myself, even when it seemed to have no effect on her. It's a fun song to sing, and I recommend it.

But at some point late this past summer, I started singing different songs when I put her to bed. And I developed a routine. A certain Beatle trio: "I Will," "In My Life," and "Rocky Raccoon." It just sort of evolved, I think, because I got tired of "Big Rock Candy Mountain" and the only songs I know all the words to without hesitation are Beatles songs. When you're tired, you just don't want to think that hard. I knew once I got into Rocky Raccoon, it was almost time for the big put down. Sometimes she needed longer and I'd pull out an "Ob-la-di" or an "I'm So Tired." And then I'd have to use my brain a little more. But most often, without fail, right around the time Rocky falls back to his room, I could tell that she was nearly done and ready for me to leave.

Because I know the words so well, I have time to think to myself when I'm in there singing. I think a lot about how these songs represent the arcs of relationships, and the dips and dives. The first is such a sweet, tender lull. There's some talk of parting for a time, but they find each other at the close. And it says the way you are, and who you are, this is what makes me love you. The things you do endear you to me. And "I Will" whatever you need when you need it. I'll be the one to help you find it. And what you want, most of the time. I'll do those things, too.

I remember exactly where I was when I heard "In My Life." It was the summer at my grandmother's house in-between the fifth and sixth grade, and my sister had a Discman. There was a copy of "Imagine" rolling around, and I put it on. That's the song that made me a John girl, always and forever. I've been places and seen things, and there have been a lot of people. I've built relationships and some of them just didn't make it. Because you're not meant to have everything forever; where would you keep it all? Memories lose their meaning when I think of love as something new. Love is old. Love doesn't stop and end, I don't think. But people change and learn, if they're lucky. That song really is a life from beginning to end. It's a little bit of a heart turned inside out, and placed gently on the mind.

I thought about poor Rocky (who I believed was actually a raccoon for most of my life). What was it like before Nancy left? Did he call her Lil, was he the only one who didn't know her as something else? What was he going to find in the passages of Gideon to help the healing begin and end someday? I wondered where he got shot. It certainly wasn't in the heart. I like to ask a lot of questions, to figure things out. I like to know about people. But I'll never know anything else about Rocky or any of them. I want to see their faces and know what they've learned. What happens. Did they make it?

These three, they will represent something quiet for me always. That time in the evening when I left my daughter with a final sensation of the world. Stories of love done three ways. I've thought about telling her some day when I sang to her. The eye rolls that will probably ensue. But maybe we'll have a conversation about love and loss. And loving again, too.

About two months ago, we convened for our nightly routine. I got exactly this far into the first song:

Who knows how long I've loved you.
I know I love you still.

And she sat up and gently pushed me away. Having no idea what was going on, I stood up, and put my daughter down. She said, "Hi," and turned away from me. She fell asleep without me helping her do anything at all.