Fighting Over Pink Floyd

Myra MacDonald gave me a hard time, in a good way, about the Pink Floyd Total Art blog post. She and her son Eddie used to fight bitterly about Pink Floyd when Eddie was a teenager. I was not surprised to hear that Eddie is about my age. We had our share of Pink Floyd fights in my house back then too. They were one of the ultimate rebel bands and parents in those days hated them. It was delightful.

"Eddie," Myra remonstrated, "We are country-western people." Eddie shot back that Pink Floyd had transformed the universe. "You and your Purple Floyd," she would sigh. Eddie would widen his eyes in horror. "Pink Floyd, Mother! Pink! PINK!" Meanwhile, I was softly singing somewhere in Ohio, "All in all you're just another brick in The Wall." The Wall was another of those bestselling-albums-of-all-time creations that Pink Floyd generated. And here they were in the 1990s still playing. The Pink Floyd Grandfathers. I invite you to go with me through their song "Time." I've heard that the basis for all religion is the fact that human beings live and one day we will die. I've never heard that fact conveyed in more powerful or poignant terms than it is here. This video has had more than five million views. I scrolled down through the comments on the video. One writer admitted, "This song scares me to death."

How to Grieve

Even in this usually lighthearted blog, the blogger has her somber moments. It was my sister's birthday last week, if she had lived. I would like to have given her a party. But she died 15 years ago. Sister Lisa and I did not always get along, but blood is thicker than water as they say and there is something about a sibling that isn't replaceable. I've been thinking about her and about my father who died last year and my aunt who died a couple of months ago. The hardest thing about getting older may be all the losses.

But I have a way to deal with this. A little way past Sea City is my favorite stretch of beach where, if I go in the late afternoon, very few people are there. If I walk a half mile or so it's just me, the foaming waves, and the seagulls. With the crashing water to drown me out, I stand on the sandy shore and have discussions with Dad, Aunt Jean, and Lisa. I ask them how they're doing up there and if they're playing cards like we used to down here. I urge them to think of us now and then and stress that I haven't stopped thinking about them. I tell them I'll see them before long. And the waves keep rolling in. There's something eternal about it all.