One too many mornings

It’s 1:04 a.m. Sunday. Missed adventures and loss of innocence on my mind. I write “proximity to greatness” and “so near to promise” in my journal, thinking about me at 16 when I listened to this album every night, over and over. I only owned one album… Any Day Now by Joan Baez.


Here I am, 40 years later, nursing regret, fighting off longing. The same thing on my plate, the same plate even. I miss that promise—that restless, hungry feeling. At 16, with mom and dad sleeping in the next room, my sister gone to an early escape marriage. I wanted my own pairing-off to save me.

Strange irony of nature, this worry-waking, leaving me here to ponder my whole life just as I face a dwindling future. The pause…the pause to what? Evaluate, regret… yearn!

Lying here with GERD, unable to sleep either from hormones or acid reflux or longing for more—more future, more wishes, for believing the unexpected can still happen and it wouldn’t mean someone’s death. And what about security? I am more secure than I have ever been in my house, my life, and it feels like early death, like turning in for the night, ready for sleep that as a child might have seemed forever, and it will be.

It was Johnny Dep’s island that made me envious tonight, made me feel hopeless to find my own safe harbor with my family. The loss of younger children is immense.

Forty years ago I lay awake too, and I am still lonely as a school girl, still waiting for my real life to begin. I am really sad for that girl. She suffered so—at their hands and more. And she was so relentlessly hopeful that it was just a matter of time until her life began and all the past would be a dream.

But I’m still here.

If I am imprisoned, what is my crime? It’s self-imposed exile, but what do I imagine as my sentence? How long? Why hide? I fear cages more than I can imagine or admit. Swine flu, West Nile Virus, cancer, aging, death. Can I outwit it by hiding?

It’s 1:04 a.m. Sunday, and on one more morning I lie awake and I am 16 and 56 at once. I want to go to Nova Scotia. I want to see the ocean in every direction. I want to be at the farthest point east of here. I want to be overwhelmed and in unfamiliar territory. Am I merely another girl looking to join the circus when it comes to town, the more exotic the better?


Want to hear more of the album? It’s awesome. It’s also hopelessly morose and romantic. Joan Baez was my (pretend) loving big sister. Enjoy…

Here’s one that’s not on the album but is one of my favorites…

One more not on the album

One Too Many Mornings

Down the street the dogs are barkin’
And the day is a-gettin’ dark.
As the night comes in a-fallin’,
The dogs ‘ll lose their bark.
An’ the silent night will shatter
From the sounds inside my mind,
For I’m one too many mornings
And a thousand miles behind.

From the crossroads of my doorstep,
My eyes they start to fade,
As I turn my head back to the room
Where my love and I have laid.
An’ I gaze back to the street,
The sidewalk and the sign,
And I’m one too many mornings
An’ a thousand miles behind.

It’s a restless hungry feeling
That don’t mean no one no good,
When ev’rything I’m a-sayin’
You can say it just as good.
You’re right from your side,
I’m right from mine.
We’re both just one too many mornings
An’ a thousand miles behind.

Copyright ©1964; renewed 1992 Special Rider Music

9 thoughts on “One too many mornings

  1. I’m ariving breathless, knowing that I am horribly late. You posted this five days ago… five days? With no-one here to say… say what? Now I’m here I don’t know what to say to this. I think it is Spock in one of the old films who says “There are always possibilities.” I believe there are.

    Six months ago, you and I both started to blog, not knowing where on earth it was going to take us. Not knowing whether it would be worth the effort, or futile, or just a plain disaster.

    But look at us now! We have connected, over so many miles, and six months ago that would have seemed an impossiblity. So something is happening.

    Something. Is. Happening.

    You’re questioning, so something still lives in you. If you no longer even thought about the things you describe here, then you would be lost.

    I want you to go to Nova Scotia too – but I know that money interferes with our dreams. I want you to come to England and sit with me on the Cornish cliffs so that I may introduce you humbly to my ocean. Who knows what lies ahead – but as long as we have these dreams, we still live.

  2. There is nothing you need say, so I just welcome your company for the pleasure of it.

    I find writing very cathartic and, while I do love comments (feel free folks), I don’t mind if the release and acknowledgment of these revelations – and they are revelations to me – goes on only on this page and in my head. Like my art, it comes unbidden and I feel released by giving it form and structure. Think of it as an old photograph I found that revealed something I had forgotten. Now I can put it back in its box on a shelf. Feels good, not bad.

    And I would LOVE to see the Cornish Cliffs with you.

  3. Thank you. This post reminds me that empathy is something I still need to nurture ….. and it also resonates with truth. You write from the heart and all can see it’s a very nice place.

  4. @Steve Thanks for writing. If I were you, I would throw that “No Whining policy” off the boat and head for where I live…the Island of Empathy.

    Women who have suffered childbirth (especially natural childbirth – twice) are allowed to bitch, moan and whine. It feels good. And it keeps you sane. Humanity is a vast ocean. I don’t want to be alone out there.
    Empathy = connection.

    p.s. Thanks for the stumble…

  5. Writing this must have been incredibly cathartic. What a beautiful piece of writing about life and aging.

    But it’s sad. I don’t want it to be sad. I want to see hope and anticipation, even at age 56, 66, 76. Maybe I’m naive.

  6. @Vered Hi and welcome. It seems some of my YouTube links have been removed. I never understand how that works, since they provide you with the embed URL 😦

    Life is sad. It is also happy. Understanding that is the key. Holding both in your hands at the same time is vital. Yin/yang, dark/light, night/day, hope/despair. That’s why I write about the mosaic of moods. I hope you will find that some of my posts show my lighter times. There are always lighter times.

    About aging… acknowledging what you love means acknowledging what you stand to lose. Some of us learn that lesson too early and it shows. You are not naive. I hope you have a wonderful life. 🙂

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