"Mercy Street" Peter Gabriel

Nowhere in the corridors Of pale green and gray Nowhere in the suburbs In the cold light of day There in the midst of it So alive and alone Words support like bone Dreaming of Mercy Street

Wear you're inside out Dreaming of mercy In your daddy's arms again Dreaming of Mercy Street I swear they moved that sign Dreaming of mercy In your daddy's arms

I know I have posted this song before, but I felt it so strongly today while walking the rainy streets of Madison. I guess I should have selected "Red Rain" but "Mercy Street" captures my mood today. SO was such an impactful album my freshman year in college. It still hits me on a level that few records do now.

Looking for Mercy.

We worked quickly today and were out by 12:30--giving grace to explore the city a bit further, my mind recording everything for next time. Hoping to see you, a stranger, around the next corner.

Time is so odd on these trips. I close the blinds at 7pm and it could be midnight. Then I wake at 4am and do the job.

Maybe one of these jobs will land me an opportunity to advance to something more than breaking down boxes and stacking pointless evals. I guess the presenter's kids (who are still in college) know more about efficient management than a 33 year teacher-- but whatever.

I think about how your future and your life really depends on the leverage of your parents. If they didn't make it, or struggled, you are at a disadvantage. Even if they were climbing the corporate ladder or were doing all of the things, you don't have that Golden Ticket. The Pedigree.

My parents were first generation college (their parents had community college or less)-- and I guess it showed. We had to work hard for everything.

My girl will be better than I was, and hers will be even more at an advantage-- but she (just like I) learned, it takes hard work. Once people no longer know what it's like to work for success, they fall into a different category--one I will never understand.

Should I tell you about the 6th grade overnight birthday party to Laura Spitsberg's where I brought a Jigsaw puzzle for a gift (because that was what I would have liked as a gift) and she got designer make-up, perfume and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans from other girls... Humiliating. Mom didn't know better. I wore Garanimals clothing and played with strawberry shortcake dolls and plastic dinosaurs. I wasn't into makeup or boys or designer clothes. I was a child. Not a cotillion bred darling or Jewish princess. She lived in the coveted Eden Glen neighborhood-- what was the richest part of Carmel at the time before Crooked Stick was developed. She invited every girl from our class to the party. And you remember what I thought of that 6th grade homeroom..

Well, I was never added to that friend group. I was laughed at for the rest of my time in Carmel, driving a 1974 Ford hatchback Pinto with balled tires and no radio. Think Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink but a lot less glam.

Ugh...sorry Rabbit Hole.

Laura, I sure hope you are happy with your well-to-do life wherever you are now. I guess you didn't have to "marry up."