Once, a lifetime ago, I heard of a band called Bread.  They did soft rock, an eerie, almost whistful sound that for whatever reason still rings in my soul.  I don’t know why some songs stick with me; but they do.

I awoke on this Thanksgiving Day, solemn, almost depressed and, for the life of me, I don’t know why.  I have a family, two sisters and a brother, four sons, three-step daughters and three grandchildren.  I have loved and been loved by, some very great women, I have a God in Heaven who watches over me.

Somehow, none of that matters this morning.  Bread, the band not the carbohydrate, rings in my head with the haunting melody of their song, “The Guitar Man”.  I don’t remember particularly being a fan of the band, my older sister was, but, I am more of a Skynyrd and Molly Hatchet fan.  But, those sad, chilling words keep washing over me in waves.

Maybe, it’s the loss I have suffered, both parents in one year, my wife the year before.  Perhaps, its the fact that my children no longer need me; but, somehow, for the first time in a very long time, I feel isolated.  Not just physically, but emotionally as well.  “No man is an island”  I beg to differ, I am an atoll; just ask anyone who knows me.

Maybe it’s the nearness of the spectre of death.  He is a constant companion.  Chest pains, shortness of breath; he sits and grins at me even now.  One day, we are going to have a problem, and, I’m a little afraid I am going to lose this one.  He nods in agreement.  Atoll.

My younger sister would tell you I am too used to being part of a pair.  I have been “involved” in one way or another with women since High School.  For a guy who, at best is not too hidious to look at, I have been really lucky at love…the cords of another performer, Dan Fogelberg start and I know it’s gonna be one of those days.

Anyway, where was I?  Oh, yeah.  Terrie would say I am a compulsive partner.  She, as usual, is probably right.  Have I mentioned how much I love my little sister?  She’s alright; but, I digress.

The reason that I am here, on Thanksgiving 2010, writing my self-pitying tripe, is; this song.

Music, poetry at its most popular; is a passion of mine.  Give me a great writer, Bob Dylan, who may not be able to sing yet writes provocative lyrics and I’ll listen.  Give me a band like Bread, that paints with word and sound, I’ll listen.  Even some of the newer stuff; the loud, cacophonous bands like Coheed and Cambria write poetically.  Poetry, that elusive muse of life.  She is my greatest, deepest and most demanding love.

As a poor captive to her will, I struggle to achieve beauty.  Some days it happens, some days it doesn’t.  I simply have to take the good with the bad.  So, here we are.  And, yes I am an atoll.