Contented Must Be

Folks, I'm sorry about this ugly mess. More sorry than I can tell you. I hate getting myself into trouble when I can't quite get myself out of it on my own. Technology is one of those areas in which I am not naturally resourceful enough to go in and fix things. I'm no dummy, I've just wandered into an area I know little about, foolin' around with this blog. You wouldn't want me lookin' under your hood, either. I always am the first to say, "Leave it to the professionals."

But, it's ok. Either I'll eventually figure it out, or give up and start over. Kind of like most of life.

Most of the time, there's no use wishin' different. Sometimes, things just are what they are. Either it makes sense, or, it doesn't. And if it doesn't, it probably won't kill us.

Another master of the ancient ballad is Bruce Molsky. Legend has it that the American version of this Scottish song, "Green Grows the Laurel," turned on an American soldier's love for a Mexican woman. As it was sung by cowboys and ranch hands along the Texas border of Mexico, the words that stuck and were understood by their Mexican counterparts were "Green Grows..." well, you be the first to guess what happened with that.

I have always loved this song for its happy tune despite the tone of sad resignation. It's kind of the Mother of All "Oh Well" tunes. This is not the lyric with which I first fell in love, but it's the closest version I could find.

Oh well.

Green Grows the Laurel
(Clip from Bruce Molsky, "Contented Must Be,"
Rounder Records 2004)

Green grows the laurel and soft falls the dew
Sad was my heart when I parted from you
And in our next meeting I hope you'll prove true
Never change the green laurel for the red white and blue

I once had a sweetheart but now he is gone
He's gone and he's left me I'm here all alone
And since he has left me content I must be
I know he loves someone far better than me

I wrote him a letter so loving and kind
He wrote me another with sharp bitter lines
Saying, Keep your love letters and I will keep mine
And you write to your love and I'll write to mine

He passed by my window both early and late
And the looks that he gave me would make your heart ache
The looks that he gave me ten thousand would kill
Wherever he wanders he'll be my love still

I once was as happy as the red blushing rose
But now I'm as pale as the lily that grows
Like the tree in the garden with its beauty all gone
Can't you see what I have come to from the loving of one