Dylan, Beatles and 'Looking for Space'

So, I'm exhausted.

Put in a full eight-hour work day today. Got to feeling rough about mid-day (countin' down the hours until Monday morning), but we had quite a bit of fun.

The Rossini Festival was fantastic. Yep, we're about $100 poorer, but it all goes to a great cause. We even found a few classical and Celtic CDs.

After lying down for a minute (I hate to even say the words, but I also think I've got a kidney stone), I made it to the Halls Alumni Dinner. Biggest crowd we ever had. Congratulations to Halls High Hall of Fame inductees Larry Hodge, Wilma Hacker Jordan and F. Carl Tindell.

Oh, yeah, they made some guy named Mabe the president.

On the way downtown, I got a call from Nathan Moses at Lost and Found Records. They had a copy of my all-time favorite John Denver album, "Windsong," which contains my all-time favorite John Denver song, "Looking for Space."

Hobbling up the steps, I noticed a sign that said "Sealed Records Inside."

I found two prizes: Bob Dylan's "Nashville Skyline" (my favorite of his) and -- get ready for it -- The Beatles's "Abbey Road." Yes, they are both SEALED.

Gotta run. We're heading to South Pittsburg, Tenn., for the National Cornbread Festival tomorrow. I'm covering it for the Shopper. Mom and Mike are driving.

Have a great Sunday, y'all.

Looking for space

There's this song I dearly love, a little ditty called "Looking for Space." If any lyric reflects my experience of life, surely it's that poem from the pen of John Denver.

It presents life as a roller coaster. Sometimes you fly like an eagle. Sometimes you're deep in despair. Anybody who has walked the long day's journey into night can relate.

Funny thing, life. I think sometimes that nothing turned out the way I thought it would when I was a lad and dreaming crazy dreams. Then I think that things have turned out better than it would have even had I scripted it.

I don't know. The song talks about things standing still just when you think you're moving. Been there. Done that.

The next line, quite vulnerable, is also quite honest:

I'm afraid 'cause I think they always will.

Why is it the heartache is remembered in Technicolor, while the joy tends to fade to monochrome? I remember the blank look on her face when I told her I loved her. I barely recall a better girl, and a better time, one winter's night in Nashville.

And so it goes. The nightmares seem more real than the dreams.

But, oh, these dreams of mine. I'll never forget the times a few of them came true, even if just for a moment.

They say we'll understand it all in the fullness of time. And that's usually the way of it. I never have forgotten Truman Capote's line about more tears being shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.

I've taken a piece of it all of it with me -- the smiles, the tears, the music and the madness. I told myself years ago that I'd live life to its limit -- loving too much, laughing too often, singing too loud, grabbing for the brass ring every lap around the carousel.

It's a good way. It also makes the tragedy play out in Technicolor.

But I keep going back to the words of that sad John Denver song.

It's a sweet, sweet dream; sometimes I'm almost there...

If there's an answer, it's just that it's just that way.

So it is, especially when you're looking for space, and trying to reach the stars.