Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond
commissioned by CBC TV’s Midday, with a 2-day deadline

I’m a woman, I lead a woman’s life
I’ve had three kids, I’ve been a dutiful wife
along the way I suffered every female complaint
enough to try the patience of a female saint
now I’m pushing fifty, figured I’ve paid my dues
what’s my reward? It’s the menopause blues

The menopause blues, the menopause blues
hot flashes flashin’ from your hair to your shoes
brittle bones, insomnia and puttin’ on weight
except for the above I guess I’m feelin’ great
you say some women have no trouble, well thanks for the news
the rest of us are stuck with the menopause blues

I went to my doctor, I said is there a cure
she bit her lip and handed me a pink brochure
about the miracle of hormone replacement pills
the modern way to fix those pesky change-of-life ills
but oops! They might cause cancer—and I’m s’pposed to choose?
Good luck with sorting out all your menopause blues

The menopause blues, the menopause blues
hot flashes flashin’ from your hair to your shoes
so where’s the peace and wisdom that old age brings?
I’m feelin’ like a yo yo with these wild mood swings
would Medicare reimburse me for a round-the-world cruise?
I need a little compensation for these menopause blues

They say don’t fret over these changes that are comin’ on
the benefits may well outweigh the pains
they tell us it’s a natural phenomenon
well so are earthquakes and hurricanes—and rattlesnakes!

The menopause blues, the menopause blues
hot flashes flashin’ from your hair to your shoes
at least there’s no more unplanned pregnancy fear
a pity my libido’s also disappeared
comin’ soon to a body near you and you cannot refuse
so we’d better get used to the menopause blues
yes we’d better all get used to the menopause blues

(hey ,is it just me or is it hot in here?)

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

he won’t go to bed for you, but he does for me
she’s never been a sleepy head for you, but she always was for me
they get mad and scream at you, then beam in my direction
so I lead them off like little lambs while you smart at their defection

he won’t say thanks or please for you, but he will for me
she won’t eat her peas for you, but she’ll eat swill for me
now do you wonder why I have such charm and power
to get them doing all the things you can’t
am I some cross between Raffi, and Muammar Qaddafi?
No, it’s simple—you’re the mummy, I’m the aunt

they think my house is prettier
my chesterfield is cozier
my foolish jokes are wittier
my roses they look rosier
my Oreos taste better
and of course my water’s wetter
and the toys you bought that seem to bore them silly
when transplanted over to my house suddenly enchant
am I some cross between Raffi and Muammar Qaddafi?
No it’s simple, you’re the mummy, I’m the aunt

he won’t take a bath for you but he’ll scrub his hide for me
she won’t do her math for you but she’ll divide for me
Still, when disasters happen like a bee sting or a bad dream
and the tears won’t stop for anything not hugs or even ice cream
then a little voice will say
“I want my mummy right away”
because a mother can do special things a mother’s sister can’t
it’s simple—you’re the mum, I’m just the aunt

and though my water may be wetter
only mum can kiss things better
it’s simple—you’re the mum, I’m just the aunt
yes it’s simple—you’re the mum, I’m just the aunt
it’s simple—you’re the mummy, I’m the aunt!

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

something about you I realize
Japanese, Japanese
not your hair or your cheekbones or your blue eyes
none of these, Japanese
but some kind of stillness at the core
a mask that tells a story but hides much more
Japanese

the way you fold our bodies together
origami, origami
light as paper or a feather
floating from me
now we are two white cranes
in an ink-black sky
embracing in silence
as they fly
Japanese

your little house floats in the island mist
self-contained, serene
time opens like a fan with a flick of your wrist
there we are in the painted scene
have we not been here forever
taking tea in the garden green
tea in the garden green

you speak in haiku
when you speak at all
Japanese, Japanese
spare with the words
careful how they fall
Japanese

crimson lily caught
in a porcelain bowl
the tiger of passion
in the net of control

and even though we are only starting
I can see now how will be the parting
smiling and bowing, no tears please
Japanese

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

planes on the runway
jet fighters overhead
planes flying through your dreams
when you’re lying asleep in your bed
and the job means being ready
for a war no one wants to fight
eternal preparation for those sirens in the night
down on the station

so they play it out in war games
the phone rings early dawn
papa says the code word, grabs his gear
and then he’s gone gone gone
and it’s the biggest tease of all now
imagine how it feels
to spend your whole life cocked and ready
but you never get to shoot for real
down on the station

and every year they move you
if you’re lucky every two or three
so you learn to be real adaptable
’cause that’s how a soldier should be
you get good at playing new kid in school
or new wife on the block
you learn not to get too close
you learn when not to talk
down on the station

Operation Nighthawk
mama’s pacing up and down the hall
she says “Go back to bed now, girls
nothing to worry about at all”
and for years of course you believe her
until one night you know the score
all it takes is a little bad timing
a slight miscalculation
a critical malfunction
and someone’s father don’t come home no more
down on the station

and booze was cheap in the mess halls
you can bet it was planned that way
to keep you from thinking too much at night
about what you did all day

so papa stumbles home around midnight
we listen upstairs in fear
he stalks the house like a stranger
mama’s once again in tears
oh god – and now he’s cursing and raging
he thinks no one understands
he feels trapped in this house full of women
where are the sons he’d planned?

because what could you do with daughters
back in 1962
can’t take them hunting
can’t talk about the war and flying
all the glory and the madness
all the tension and the terror
and how it finally gets to you
down on the station

and it’s the biggest tease of all now
imagine how it feels
to spend your whole life cocked and ready
but you never get to shoot for real –

oh papa can’t you see
we’re not the enemy?

but nobody knows who they’re fighting
nobody knows what for
nobody knows who the enemy is any more
down on the station

About This Song
I’m a songwriter who believes in writing – and singing – about what I know. I grew up an air force “brat,” in the fifties and sixties. (Back then we called the air force bases “stations,” hence the title and refrain.) My father and most of his fellow pilots had fought in World War II. Many had started drinking then – who could blame them? – and some just never stopped. The drinking was only censured if it interfered with work. After all, these men were heroes.
Unfortunately, this meant the families bore the brunt of the trauma. No one dared complain of, or admit to, the problem. In those days, with the military’s rigid, closed, feudally hierarchical organization, it would have been considered breaking rank. I think the families of pilots and their crews suffered the most, especially during the Cold War, for reasons the song describes.

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

quand Corinne était jeune she dreamed of love
et toutes les belles affaires that a girl thinks of
but suddenly at sixteen la voilà marieé
and one year later la mère d’un p’tit bébé

mais quelle malchance now it’s all uphill
un autr’ petit garçon and then her husband takes ill
before she’s twenty-three Corinne a perdu son mari
now she’s a poor young widow seule avec ses petits

lundi c’est le lavage, mardi le repassage
chaque jour de la semaine poignée dans l’esclavage
on fait de son mieux, on fait ce qu’on peut
et quand c’est pas assez ben on prie le bon Dieu

un p’tit peu plus tard she meets another man
y’est vieux pis y’est riche and he asks for her hand
she knows she can’t refuse him, faut qu’a pense à ses bébés
besides the old man likes to spoil her, pourquoi pas en profiter?

mais oû est le bonheur, now the money’s disappeared
le travail cà finit pas, a brand new baby every year
her second child is dying, elle se croit perdu
when all of a sudden, voilà l’imprévu…

who is that smiling at the door
à qui ce visage qui hante sa memoire
ribbons of laughter, les dentelles d’amour
it’s a shadow, it’s a dream, ce n’est qu’une histoire

lundi c’est le lavage, mardi le repassage
chaque jour de la semaine poignée dans l’esclavage
on fait de son mieux, on fait ce qu’on peut
et quand c’est pas assez ben on prie le bon Dieu

Corinne’s still knitting mittens à quatre-vingt dix ans
a grey-haired grand’maman to her many p’tits-enfants
où est las jeune fille? the young girl is gone
mais dans son coeur the secrets and the dreams live on

lundi c’est le lavage, mardi le repassage
chaque jour de la semaine poignée dans l’esclavage
on fait de son mieux, on fait ce qu’on peut
et quand c’est pas assez ben on prie le bon Dieu
toujours faut travailler, souvent on veut brailler
mais chaque fois qu’on a la chance bien sur qu’on va danser
mais chaque fois qu’on a la chance bien sur qu’on va danser

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

well he came in to the bar
just as our set was ending
and he didn’t get very far
before he tried to catch my eye

well I’d seen that look before
so when the set was over
I tried to slip out the door
but he was no fool either

and he stood there in my way
saying things about the music
like “I like the way that you play, honey,
you know I play a little bit too.”

Chorus:
“Won’t you let me come up to your room
and we’ll sing and we’ll talk a while
you know I’ve never met a lady quite like you before,
oh won’t you let me come up to your room”
I said, “Sorry, but it’s kind of late
and anyhow, I don’t sleep with strangers anymore.”

oh, he looked about twenty-two
tryin’ to act like thirty
but it was all that he could do
to cover up his surprise

he said, “Listen you’ve got me wrong
I only want conversation, maybe
play you some of my songs
get to know you a little more.

Chorus

No, I don’t sleep with strangers anymore
I’ve had my fill
of one-night stands
in cheap hotels
with dust on the windowsill
and you think it might be worth it
for a moment while you’re touching
oh but after you turn away
then you know it was all for nothing

well then he smiled like a man caught out
confessed that he’d been hoping
he said nothing was gained without a try
and surely I had to agree

that ships passing in the night
could still bring each other comfort
I said, “Maybe, but for me it’s
the harbour light of home that I’m headed for”

“Won’t you let me come up to your room
and we’ll sing and we’ll talk a while
you know I’ve never met a lady quite like you before
oh won’t you let me come up to your room”
I said, “Sorry, but it’s kind of late
and anyhow, I don’t sleep with strangers anymore”

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

well it’s sweeping ’cross the nation
but it’s not a dance
it’s sweeping cross the nation
and you don’t stand a chance
with radiation [radiation]
oh yeah radiation [radiation]
you’d better start a demonstration
at your local hydro station *
radiation

well they dump it in the lake
and they dump it in the sea
it gets into the fish
then the fish get into me
it’s radiation [radiation]
ah-ha it’s radiation [radiation]
you’d better start a demonstration
at your local hydro station
radiation

Mulroney** tells me that the levels are safe
but hell, what does that mean?
I woke up this morning
I counted my toes
my God, I had sixteen!

well they give us a choice
as to how we can go
we can either blow up
or we can go real slow
with radiation [radiation]
yeah radiation [radiation]

you’d better start a demonstration
at your local hydro station
start a demonstration
to prevent proliferation
start a demonstration
for to stop the mass mutation
radiation

for you know one head
is better than two

* Electrical power generation plants in Canada are often called hydro stations

** My least favourite Canadian prime minister (1984-93) until Stephen Harper

Music: Marie-Lynn Hammond & Aaron Davis   Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

I am a student at Our Lady of Misery Catholic all-girls school
once a year only the sister let us have a dance
so I prayed real hard for a date to St. Jude of the desperate cause
and when Walter Pinkowski asked me out
I accepted despite his flaws (he has pimples and wears glasses…)

Sister Estella rang her little brass bell
she said girls you know the dance is soon
so those who are going now would you mind showing
after chapel in the common room
well a bunch of us stayed, I mean we always obeyed,
and besides there was no way to prepare
for the strange revelations that Sister shared with us there

she said you’re temples of the Lord, handmaidens of Our Lady
and vessels of Holy pride
so no strapless gowns girls, and no wrap-arounds
they’ll either fall down or blow open wide
and you must never choose black patent leather shoes
for as every filthy boy knows
by looking down there he’ll see your underwear
reflected in your shiny toes

chorus:
well the devil can’t stand a good Catholic girl
that’s the kind he likes to tempt the most
so remember when you’re dancing close,
leave room for the Holy Ghost!

well we got the gym, we hoped the lights would be dim
but for once they didn’t want to save power
so the lights stayed on full while the nuns used their pull
to make the band play only one waltz per hour
when they finally slowed down Walter’s arm snuck around
and he tried to pull me close
I said Walter don’t you do it, hey Walter you blew it!
you’re squashing the Holy Ghost

chorus

and girls if in a crowded situation you should ever have to
sit on your boyfriend’s knees
remember to insert between the two of you
a telephone book please—for insulation now

Anna Calarco and Frankie Demarco
were dancing cheek to cheek
Sister Estella rang her little brass bell
and let out a terrible shriek
Anna turned red and in shame hung her head
but later she was heard to boast
that though Frank wasn’t God he had a much better body
than the — Holy Ghost!

chorus

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

Oh I met him at an ice rink in Flin Flon
’twas a mild night, just 20 below
as we skated in circles he reached for my hand
but what it felt like i’m not sure I know
for I had on two pairs of mittens
and he wore a thick sheepskin glove
but if the trembling I felt wasn’t due to the cold
then maybe perhaps it was love

Oh Canadian love, Canadian love
it’s either 40 below or it’s 90 above
and though it’s hard to be yearning
when you’re freezing or burning
like the dollar we keep falling—in Canadian love

So we ended up going to his place
where I peeled off my mits at the door (both pairs)
and after 10 minutes of struggle my boots and my socks
lay in a pool on the floor
then he tenderly took my wool tuque off
and he rolled down my leg warmers too
by now it was 10 to 11 and we
still had a lot left to do

Oh Canadian love, Canadian love
it’s either 40 below or it’s 90 above
and though it’s hard to be yearning
when you’re freezing or burning
like the dollar we keep falling—in Canadian love

with a sigh he unknotted my muffler
then he stopped for a much needed rest
I could tell he was getting discouraged—with reason!
For he was still fully dressed
but when he finally unzippered my parka
I caught sight of the clock and cried “Oh!
It’s quarter to 12 and I promised my mother
I’d be home an hour ago!”

Well, he looked like a man who’d been broken
but it wasn’t emotional pain
it was just that he couldn’t stand having to watch me
put all that stuff back on again

Oh Canadian love, Canadian love
it’s either 40 below or it’s 90 above
and though it’s hard to be yearning
when you’re freezing or burning
like the dollar we keep falling—in Canadian love

Well, we met the next summer in Wawa—
An only slightly more hospitable clime—
and if it hadn’t been for the black flies and the heat wave
we might just have made it that time

Oh Canadian love, Canadian love
it’s either 40 below or it’s 90 above
and though it’s hard to be yearning
when you’re freezing or burning
like the dollar we keep falling—in Canadian love

Two True Stories About This Song:
1. In the old days of folk festivals, guys always seemed to get the sexy workshops like “Rebel Songs That Changed the World” and “Really Fast Train Songs with Lots of Instrumental Breaks So the Guys Can All Try to Out-Solo One Another,” while the gals got stuck with “Lugubrious Lullabies” or “Interminable Ballads about Masochistic Women Who Die on the Scottish Moors of Broken Hearts.”
When an artistic director asked me what workshops I’d like to be in for one festival, I said, “Anything but ‘Love Songs.’” On arriving at the festival, I found I was to host a workshop called “Canadian Love.” In mock revenge I dashed off this ditty.

2. The first two lines of the chorus actually made it into John Robert Columbo’s The Dictionary of Canadian Quotations, so, God help me, this may be the only thing that I’m remembered for.
Oh, and it was written during a recession, hence the line about the dollar falling; and before Canada went all metric, hence “90 above.” I came across my quote again in one of those teeny stocking-stuffer books of Canadiana and found the same two lines there, but an editor had amended the 2nd line to “It’s either 40 below or it’s 40 above.” Tsk tsk. That’s just editing gone anal!