You Got Light in Your Eyes

My chums and I play a weekly game called Mr. Football, but the rules and especially the weekly outcomes as they apply to yours truly are not worth mentioning, although I do wish to mention one aspect of the game. Each player is asked to respond to a weekly survey; and one component of that part of the game is called T3: Tell the Truth.

T3 is cool for a number of reasons but particularly because all one must do is…tell the truth. It’s just that easy. The player is presented with a “thing” (e.g. a name, a concept, a fact) and all he or she must do is admit if he or she knows of this thing without the benefit of assistance like Google or Yahoo! It sounds simple; and it is. Here’s an example: Tina Weymouth. Admit it (to yourself) do you know who this is? No? You can learn a lot about what other people hang onto and the stuff that doesn’t seem to sink in by their responses in T3. (Nabi painters? OK, I forgive you if you don’t know that one.)

In the case of the bass player and founding member of the Talking Heads, I did. In addition to her work with front man, David Byrne, Madam W. led the Tom Tom Club (which would have been a formidable T3 topic on its own). But here’s why I mention any of this at all: in the days after her name appeared in Mr. Football, I revisited the Talking Heads catalog—all of it.

I guess what they say is true—that sometimes, I mean sometimes, when you revisit something—especially after a long hiatus—that ‘something’ is gone. The thing you thought you would find and hoped would be there, just isn’t there or at the very least isn’t the same; too different. Going home again; right? Isn’t that what some people call it? Some do.

Home is where I want to be

Pick me up and turn me round

I feel numb - born with a weak heart

(So I) guess I must be having fun

The less we say about it the better

Make it up as we go along

Feet on the ground

Head in the sky

It's ok I know nothing's wrong…nothing

But I also guess that there are times, rare and precious times, when you revisit something and it reminds you of what you once knew, what you once loved, what you do love. It reminds you that you’re alive. You’re allowed a glimpse—the cherished reminder that the things for which you hope, are, in fact, very real.

I got plenty of time

You got light in your eyes

And you're standing here beside me

I love the passing of time

Never for money

Always for love

Cover up say goodnight . . . say goodnight

A few weeks ago on my drive to Baltimore, thanks to Ms. Weymouth and the rest of the Talking Heads, I was granted that peek. Surely, my impending move to Holland somehow affects my inclination to assign meaning to trivial things; but…

Home is where I want to be

But I guess I'm already there

I come home she lifted up her wings

Guess that this must be the place

I can't tell one from the other

Did I find you, or you find me?

There was a time before we were born

If someone asks, this where I'll be . . . where I'll be

…I sometimes think David Byrne wrote these words for me. Not to me, you understand—for me. When I hear them I understand (all over again) what it means to have something; to really have something.

We drift in and out

Sing into my mouth

Out of all those kinds of people

You got a face with a view

I'm just an animal looking for a home

Share the same space for a minute or two

And you love me till my heart stops

Love me till I'm dead

Eyes that light up, eyes look through you

Cover up the blank spots

Hit me on the head

(This Must Be the Place (Naïve Melody), David Byrne)

Here’s hoping that you are “home” this holiday season.

Merry Christmas.