Solitaire

Before we discuss the lyrics, it should be noted that the skittish shuffle of the rhythm track is one of Vega's finest.

The song is about, as it says, "playing solitaire." It may seem like an odd choice for a song, but recall this is a breakup album, and someone who is recently separated might not be ready to go out just yet, or even want to watch TV (all the shows and movies are about relationships anyway) before going to bed. So, out come the cards.

It's also a great thing to do to focus on something other that that thing you are avoiding, without also having to really focus on it, either. In fact, you can do it while "tired." It will help you "unwind" and relax, too.

Aside from the rules, there are certain strategies and "superstitions" that could help: "Otherwise, you're going to lose." So let's begin... shuffle and deal...

But first, we should note that there are two sides to the game. Finding and making patterns can be fulfilling-- "black on the red, and the red on the black... Jack on the Queen and the 10 on the Jack/ it's a happy repetition."

It can even be empowering: "Take what's wrong and make it go right." Who doesn't yearn for that kind of control (especially when enduring the end of a relationship)?

And then, once you really get into it, "Compulsion makes you listen."

What was that? Oh, just the other side of the coin-- success is addictive, and make you want to try again. Failure makes you try again, too-- no one wants to stop on a down note. So, a compulsion is bred: "Do it again, when you find you're all done... You see, you almost won." Oh, c'mon... one more game!

It starts with "try your luck," and ends with "shuffle up your luck." The game itself is tied to superstition-- how will the thing you are about to attempt turn out? Play solitaire and see-- the game's outcome will predict yours.

This leaves "you and your fate in a kind of check-mate." Who is in control-- your will or random chance? Maybe you can tip the balance with some Divine aid: "weave it like a prayer." Maybe the game itself can help you tap into that chaos and subvert it to your will with Heavenly help.

In basic solitaire, 79% of the time, the game is winnable... but no one wins 79% of the time: "You are your only competition." You could win... but can you? Can you muster the insight, the focus? Can you see the way through the maze of numbers and colors? Or will you run smack into a dead end (that you'll never know if you could have avoided)?

Perhaps the question is a matter of intent. If you don't care, you will most likely lose simply because you aren't mentally present. You have to "wrestle down what you want."

If you don't care, you will lose... but then, you didn't care, so did it matter? Yet, if it didn't matter, why did you bother at all?

On the other hand, you could care a whole lot... and still lose. But then, you'll be crushed. You really tried, and still failed. What does that say about you?

"Wonder if you'll spend the night... playing solitaire." The song's repeated question is a tease, a cruel joke. Before the pause, it's an invitation to a night of "romance." After the pause... oh, for crying out loud, what's on TV?

Sitting all alone with a pack of cards was supposed to help us forget the break-up. Now it's just another metaphor for it: What could I have done to make it work? What chances did I miss? Was the failure in the cards, or was it me?

OK, come one... just one more game.


Next Song: St. Claire

Widow's Walk

A "widow's walk" is a small walkway, really more of a platform, above the roof of many coastal homes, from New England to Italy, where they originated. The idea is that the wife of a sailor can watch the water to see if her husband is coming home... or if she has become a widow.

This song owes something to the great, ancient ballad "Sir Patrick Spens," about a ship that went down in a storm. It is safe to say, however, the main inspiration was the break-up of Vega's marriage.

The speaker begins "Consider me a widow, boys." So her husband died-- very sad. Well, no, she continues, "It's not the man, but the marriage that was drowned."

"So I walk the walk," she says, which has a double meaning. One is that she is authentic, she doesn't only "talk the talk," but fulfills it by "walking the walk." The other meaning is that she walks the "widow's walk," the structure described above.

This we know because she already mentioned "drown[ing]" but now continues that she is "wait[ing]" and is "watchful" of the "sky," while "looking for a kind of vessel." She is clearly evoking the image of a sailor's wife on a widow's walk, worried at the weather and gazing hopefully for the safe return of her husband's boat. But, she says, she has "never found" this kind of vessel.

Still, she did find some kind of vessel, because she "saw it splinter" and tear apart when it "hit the rocks." 

She has becomes somewhat obsessed about the incident. She finds that she "keep[s] returning" to "where I did see the thing go down... as if there's something at the site/ I should be learning."

She does "grieve" at the demise of the ship, even though, she says, "I knew the ship was empty by the time" it shattered on the rocks. How did she know this?

"We watch the wind and set the sail," she says, at the beginning of the voyage, "but save ourselves when all omens point to 'fail.'" When they saw the storm was surging, and knew that a crash was imminent, they abandoned ship-- as anyone would.

So she blames no one: "We could not hold on when fate became unruly." She chalks the whole disaster up to "fate."

She has four more things to say. One is to ask, "Does the weather say a better day is nearing?" She does hold out hope for the future, and has not discounted the possibility of future relationships, er, voyages.

The second is that she will "set [her] house in order now." This is a typical response to a loss. For one, it is a practical necessity. Emotionally, it helps distract us from the pain and helps us reclaim a sense of control in a chaotic situation.

The third is that she will "wait upon the Will." This could mean her husband's last will and testament, or in the case of a divorce, the judge's rulings. But the fact that it is capitalized indicates that this refers to the Divine Will. She feels she is bad at controlling her life, so she asks that God take the helm for now.

The last comment relates to that: "It's clear that I need better skill at steering." Oh, God has the wheel for now. But as soon as she regains her confidence, she will switch from "Sir Patrick Spens" to "Invictus," which ends: "I am the master of my fate/ I am the captain of my soul," and take back the helm.

She keeps returning to the site of the wreck, hoping to learn something. I think that, ultimately, she does, and the lesson is:

Ship happens.


Next song: "(I'll Never Be) Your Maggie May"