Casualties To Calendars: Why I Wrote This Song
Graveyards weren’t always on the outskirts of towns. They used to be in the churchyard. At least once a week you would be faced with your mortality. You were reminded that your days and weeks and years were not limitless, there were only so many. When they ran out, there were no more potlucks, picnics, workdays and weekends. There is only so much time to follow your dreams, let hold of a grudge or travel. I can’t help but think there’s a connection to our shunning of our local cemeteries and our desire to forget that death exists. Out of all the differences we have as human beings on this diverse earth we all have one very important trait in common. We’re all on the clock.
There’s a book of poems that my wife Carrie gave me for a wedding gift; Christopher Morely’s Chimney Smoke. He worked for Random House in the 1920’s. He wrote most of his poems on his train commute from his office in Manhattan to his country home in New Jersey. He was a man noted for not only is gregariousness but his voluminous literary output. He knew how to balance his accomplishments, while still being generous with his time to friends and his family. Chimney Smoke is full of life’s great and normal experiences. He writes poems about book clubs, his toddlers learning to eat, his fireplace, tea with his wife, smoking his pipe, his furnace, watching his sleeping children and the family cat. That’s what this song is about. It’s about the short wonderful time we have.