Saturday, October 01, 2016

October 1 - Tree Of Love/Ballad Of A Broken Heart

So today is a rather special day. On this date in 1948, my grandmother and grandfather had their fifth child. After three girls and a break with one boy, they welcomed their fourth daughter to this world and named her Guri. She would eventually move in to the "big city" - to Trondheim, which is big really only by Norwegian standards. She moved with her younger sister and best friend Bjørg (or maybe Bjørg followed suit and moved a little later - my knowledge here is a little murky) and started working as a long-distance operator at the telegraph, which was the Norwegian phone company at the time. So she was indeed gainfully employed when she met a tall and skinny guy whom she later would marry (we already covered that part).

Anyway, she got pregnant, they got married, and then they got stuck with me. And I know I can say that, because I certainly did not get stuck with them. I can honestly say that if I could choose parents myself, I couldn't have chosen any better. It is the luck of the draw indeed - and man, was I lucky.

When I was born, my dad had a job that paid sufficiently for my mom to quit working and become a full-time mom. Having her home was always a good thing. It meant being read to, having meals made, and generally feeling safe and secure. We also lived in what I believe should be labeled the best place ever to grow up. We lived in what could be considered a townhouse, and the entire development was filled with families mostly in the same stage of life, which meant that they had lots of kids my age. It was also developed with great green areas where we could play soccer and run around all summer long - and it had a great hill for skiing in the winters. We could ride our bikes around safely - motorized traffic was restricted in most of the area - and we had a local grocery store, post office, and bank within a 10 minute walk. Looking back at it, I still smile - even though the houses were closer to one another than I remember them the last time I visited and walked around. Maybe they shrunk.

And in all of this I always had my mom. I was lucky indeed. My mom is also part of the reason I started playing guitar. She had a guitar because she had learned to play a little. I am not sure if that was because her dad played or because my uncle, her only brother who was only about a year older than her, was a guitarist in a rock band (I am still in awe of his playing abilities - he quickly became a guitar hero to me). I eventually appropriated the guitar and taught myself how to play with the help of Lillebjørn Nilsen's Guitar Book (I think that also was covered before).

For more than 44 years now, my mom has been a constant support. We have fought. Rather intensely at times. I think we had periods where we gladly literally would have bitten each others' heads off, but luckily it only happened figuratively. But through it all, I never doubted that she loved me. Not once. Even though we don't say that much in Norwegian - the word elske, which means love, is traditionally limited to romantic love and doesn't always translate easily to the broader reach it has in English. I know that appears to be changing in Norway now as well - but the thing is, I never needed to hear it to know it.  She has been there for me in my darkest moments - and on the brightest days. I can't expect any more - heck, I shouldn't even expect that.

My mom has taught me what it means to truly love unconditionally. I don't know that I am as good at it as she is, but I know who I am trying to model that part of my emotions after. And so she is 68 years old today (I am sorry for giving it away, mom - but anyone with minimal math knowledge knew that from the very first paragraph). As always, I wish I could be there to celebrate, but that is more difficult. When people ask me if I miss Norway, I always answer that I don't miss the country, but I miss the people (and the chocolate, don't forget the chocolate). But most of all I miss my family. And my family starts with my mom.

So to celebrate, I found a double header. I just happen to know that this first song is one of my mom's favorite songs (and I think she really likes the second one too). The Norwegian band Difference is Norway's best kept secret from the 60s. Their melodies and arrangements - including the vocal arrangements - are among the best I have ever heard from this era. Yes, I would argue that both of the songs included here are reaching the levels only The Beatles reached at that time. These versions are both the original ones - Tree of Love is from 1967 and Ballad of a Broken Heart is from 1968.They were rerecorded in the 70s (1974?), but the original versions are what were on singles in my mom's collection - and they are so incredibly good. Happy birthday, mom!



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