A Rose for Valentine's Day

Today is my parents' 47th wedding anniversary. Thank you, Mother and Dad, for your commitment to each other and your loving guidance over the years. We love you both very much. Congratulations! - Lynn, Dave, Tucker and Calla

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This morning, my scheduled busking spot was Dundas Station, under the Eaton Centre. I like that spot, and it's out of the cold, so I decided to go there. Unfortunately, a major escalator overhaul had taken over the whole corridor, so I had to go someplace else.

I wound up at Osgoode, which is a so-so location at the best of times, and also tends to be very cold and damp.

Predictably, I encountered mostly sour faces as I sang my collection of love songs. Here's one I sang!

I was considering just going home after three songs or so, when a man stopped (during the song you're listening to, this being a multimedia experience) and bought a CD for his wife for Valentine's Day. Thus validated, I ended up singing for another hour, until my fingers were numb with cold.

Not many people donated today--or even smiled for that matter--but the ones who did were valuable to me and I will remember them. When I'm busking, I often notice that when few people seem to appreciate you, the ones who do really stand out. Maybe that's a commentary on love itself. We value our relationships with family and close friends (even if they're imperfect) so highly because they're so rare. Most of the time, our individual gifts are undervalued and virtually invisible to everyone else, as we all shuffle ahead quickly in this big moving crowd.

Today's task was love songs, and although I sang many of my own, I found myself also wanting to sing Amanda McBroom's "The Rose" (made popular by Bette Midler). In my opinion, this is one of the best songs ever written. The inspiring story of how it was written can be found here at Amanda McBroom's website. Also on her website, in the "Gossip" section, you'll find a wonderful speech by the writer Anne Lamott, which includes this:

"It's magic to see spirit largely because it's so rare. Mostly you see the masks and the holograms that the culture presents as real. You see how you're doing in the world's eyes, or your family's, or--worst of all--yours, or in the eyes of people who are doing better than you--much better than you--or worse. But you are not your bank account, or your ambitiousness. You're not the cold clay lump with the big belly you leave when you die. You're not your collection of walking personality disorders. You are spirit, you are love, and...you are free. You are here to love, and be loved, freely. If you find out next week that you are terminally ill--and we are all terminally ill on this bus--all that will matter is memories of beauty, that people loved you, that you loved them, and that you tried to help the poor and innocent." - Anne Lamott, giving a commencement address at the University of California at Berkeley in 2003.

Isn't it amazing, by the way, that I can go to the website of the woman who wrote "The Rose"?! Until just this minute, I've been connected with her only through the song...and I've always imagined her as some distant, mysterious genius-goddess. Now, I discover she's much like me, posting fun essays and stuff on her website. (It occurs to me that perhaps she can better afford to take time to do this because of The Song. Notes to self: Write Great Song. Sell Great Songs.)

I sang "The Rose" especially well at Osgoode Station today. Appropriately, the best rendition (I think) took place when the station was almost deserted and the few people passing by were pretending not to notice.

"Just remember, in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows...lies the seed that with the sun's love in the spring becomes the rose."

Thanks, Amanda.

Happy Valentine's Day.