The Same Mary - lyrics

The Same Mary
(kathy hussey)

I'm over here in the corner
At yet another family affair
It's strange to be the old relic
Propped in this rocking chair
The kids are all frightened of me
They only come with Mom's hand at their back
It's okay
There's no way
They could know that...

I'm the same Mary
Who once was her Daddy's little girl
I'm the same Mary
The pillow fight champion of the world
Catcher of lightning bugs,
Bull frogs and garden slugs
Climber of sky-tall trees
I'm the same Mary

They raise their voices at me
So I'm sure to hear what they say
Usually some pearl of wisdom like
"Are you feeling okay?"
Young men rush to my rescue
When I show signs of wanting to stand
I don't need it yet, but I accept
Cause they don't understand

That I'm the same Mary
Who danced 'til they threw us out at dawn
I'm the same Mary
Who played tackle football on the front lawn
Fixer of broken joys,
Mother of four strong boys
Coach, and referee
I'm the same Mary

But then he comes in the room
Not just a tired old man, but the love of my life
And I'm saved by his wink at my cranky ways
Cause I know that in his eyes
I'm the same...
shy little thing in pearls
prettiest of all the girls
just like the day he met me

I'm the same Mary
It's just me...
The same Mary

<---previous song next song --->

The Story:

Friday March 14, 2003

This also started out as a cool riff in DADGAD, like many of the songs on this album, actually.
The very first little bit of work tape that I have on this is just the riff and then me saying, "That
is SO cool!". Later on the tape Bob calls from somewhere on the road and I describe it to
him, kinda funwhen I forget to turn off the machine...

While I was in my office noodling around with this thing,my friend Carol called. She had
recently lost her mother - a long struggle with Alzheimer's and various home care, group
home, hospice care, and hospitalization scenarios that she was very drained from - and
suddenly her father-in-law was needing constant care and was going to move in with them.
I said how sorry I was to hear that she would be taking this on as well, without having had
time to really recover her energy, and she said that she wouldn't have him all the time...that
he'd be spending a couple weeks with this family member, and a couple weeks with that
family member, etc...they would just rotate caring for him so no one had to do it full-time.
When we hung up, it occured to me [ "he'd grown up just like me, yeah..." ] that it might be
perfect for the caregivers, but what about this man who suddenly has no home and is bounced
around knowing full-well that it's to keep him from being too much of a burden on any one
household. The whole reality of getting so old that you can't take care of yourself anymore
just bore down on me, and I extrapolated that even at my current, youngish age, I still find
myself looking in the mirror and thinking, "who's the old broad?" I still feel the same as I
did when I was 18, and I have heard MANY older folks say those exact words. It seems
like no matter how old we get, we all continue to think of ourselves as one particular
youthful age.

The discovery of the guitar lick and the conversation with Carol happened within moments
of each other - one of those magical combinations that I am always so amazed by and
grateful for - the lick started to sound like a time-changing device to me, like the Wayne's
World thing [you have to know exactly what I mean, to know what I mean] or the thing in
old TV and movies where the picture starts to go all wavy and then you're in the past, or
the future, or even a dream.

The name Mary came out of nowhere, really...actually the phrase "I'm the same Mary" just
handed itself to me, and I started coming up with images. I think the first one that struck
me was a picture of me when I was maybe 3 years old, visiting my mother's grandmother,
who, to me, was indescribably ancient and absolutely terrifying. Her hands were gnarled,
her face was wrinkled into what I guess I took to be a menacing scowl, and she smelled
like antique books and mothballs. I remember it vividly. I also recall being completely
aware that my revulsion was both cruel and unfair, but I never went near her on my own
volition. I couldn't help it. My mom would always come get me and forcibly propel me
over to say hello - that's where the line in the song came from "the kids are all frightened
of me, they only come with Mom's hand at their back"

The thing that fascinates me about this song is the many ways in which it wrote itself -
I mean, of course, there were plenty of things that had to be coaxed and/or wrestled into
place [see side note below], but so much of it was just a gift. I didn't even know that Mary's
husband was still alive until he walked in the room "not just a tired old man, but the love of
my life" - I'm completely serious. And when he did, I cried. I was so happy and relieved that
her story was going to resolve in such a joyful and life-affirming way.

People come up to me all the time since I wrote this to tell me about their grandmother, or
aunt, or mother, and most of them mention the "pillow fight champion of the world" line.

A funny side note or "Don't Start Handing Out the Cigars Just Because it Makes YOU Weep":

I can make my mother cry by playing just about anything - so when I play something that is truly
moving or sad (like "Man's Best Friend" off Stranger than Fiction...I'm not even ALLOWED to play
that one) we're guaranteed a gusher. After I finished the first version of this song (I'm not sure
that I have the original lyric anymore, too bad...), my mom was over here for coffee or something
and I immediately played it for her, thinking "this is gonna be good". When I finished playing it,
I looked up at her and not only was she dry-eyed, but slightly distracted - nodding and smiling,
like, "yeah, that's nice honey - do you have any more of these lovely millet scones". WAIT a minute.
Something had gone completely awry...it turned out that somehow, the way I phrased the first
verse left her thinking that Mary was a girl a wheelchair in the corner of the room, and she didn't
get the old lady thing at all - therefore none of the imagery made any sense. Wow. Back to the
drawing board. The revised version got a good deal of help from a writing group that I participate
in. They gave me some great ideas that allowed me to tweak it into submission. It's a tired old
lesson that seems to bear repeating ad nauseum : Even the songs that arrive in a brilliant flash
straight from the gods, all whole and stunning and complete, may actually need a rewrite or two.