Editor’s Note

There are many classic songs about shelter: “Gimme Shelter” by the Rolling Stones and “Shelter from the Storm” by Bob Dylan, to name two. But today I would like to speak about the lyrics of “Shelter Song” by Temples. It’s not exactly high art—assuming that means anything—but it’s a catchy tune and has some nice turns of phrase:

Last night
I came on over to you My oh my
We played a song or two Lifetime
I read a poem aloud
My time
I wrote a song for thee.

(I take umbrage to thee, but it’s a song, so I’ll give it a pass.) In a song about shelter, to me it seems the most natural thing in the world to discuss making art together.

Once, navigating Dallas freeways, an old friend and I sang this song really loud, especially the chorus:

Now I know the lonely days are gone
Don’t you know that I can see
Like a summer day that’s always long
We repel the wet of tears
As the shadows lighten up the day
Through the cons we laugh away
Like a windy day that’s always wrong
We take shelter where we can.

We’re not as close as we used to be. Both of are disenchanted, married, with our own grown-up lives, doing Big Important Things. I know it happens as folks approach their thirties, but I still get wistful when this song comes on the radio.

Now, instead of being lost in a falling-apart truck and rushing to rehearsal for a show no one came out for, I’m typing this Letter from the Editor at my grown-up job, between calls from angry or confused consumers. I’m grateful for slow days. I’m grateful for being married, living in a house, doing all the grown-up things.

And yet. The song slaps. Moreover, it makes me nostalgic for doing stupid shit and not having a clue, for still having the energy for the mad scramble—even when I work on things that people actually show up for, even though I am so, so grateful. Thank you, for showing up.

We take shelter where we can.