Category: childhood

Saturday’s Theme Music

I was working at the community table yesterday in the coffee shop. Another couple joined me. Plenty of space, no prob.

The community table is usually used by people powering up ‘puters. This company were only sitting and chatting. They were to my left. She was closer. He was keeping his voice low and demonstrating a pensive, almost furtive air, as if afraid of being overheard.

I don’t pay them — or anyone at the table — much attention; I’m there to do my thang. But I do often hear on some level. It’s part of the background blend of the coffee house business environment. He was complaining about another woman, and what she said and did. (Wife? Sister? Friend?) Whatever she did (his voice dropped into the bowels of softness when he addressed this) had him very upside. (Mother? But he looked in his fifties..) (Co-worker?)

Then the woman said, “You and I know what she will do, and does do. Others won’t know until they experience.”

“I still need to warn them.”

“I know, I understand, I understand.”

Drinks were consumed in silence for a little time. (Ah, secrets. Insights. The things that we know that others don’t.)

I left soon after (nothing to do with them, just finished for the day). Walking along, thinking about my writing, etc., (clouds were moving in, and the sun’s heat was missed), I slipped back onto her comment, “You and I know.” That planted the seed of an old Dave Mason song, “Only You and I know”.

I had to think a while as I walked about what year that song must’ve come out. Fitting it into my personal history, I struggled – ’69, ’70, 71? Had to wiki it upon my return: 1970.

That prompted a death check to confirm Dave Mason is still kicking (he is, seventy-three years old). I enjoy the song (along with the Bonnie and Delaney version) but haven’t heard it in a looonnng time. So I fixed that last night, and share it with you today.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Once again, I get up, begin the day, and develop an earworm. My morning earworms are frequently related to my dreams or my thoughts. A third category consists of songs that leap in. I suspect that I heard reference to them or part of them in passing and they snuggled into the folds of my mind until a quiet moment arrives when they can burst through into my stream.

(It’s odd how word association will cause a flash-in of another song; in this case, I had been about to write, ‘break through’, which triggered “Break on through to the other side”.) (Remember that one? Jim and The Doors? The 1960s?).

This morning’s streaming song is out of 1968. I didn’t know who performed it; Google and Wikipedia revealed it was The Foundations (I only remember them slightly). So, here’s this morning’s flow, “Build Me Up, Buttercup”.

From my head, to yours.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

This one came into the stream out of nowhere. I call it nowhere, but it’s connections in my brain, innit? Sometimes, the how and why of deliveries to the stream is self-evident; other times, the connections are deep or nebulous, or too esoteric for the conscious mind to easily hunt down.

Either way, I like to go with the flow. So, today, from 1970, we have John Fogerty with “Long As I Can See The Light”. It’s post CCR, but an interesting cover, from 2010.

 

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Monday’s Theme Music

This song is arrives from memories that my dream about Mom’s house stirred.

After thinking about the dream and remembering the period, I recalled a return visit. I’d brought some tapes to listen to. One was Uriah Heep, which had the song, “Sweet Lorraine” on it. I enjoyed the album and song, but the Moog synthesizer Uriah Heep used took Mom aback.

I claim to so vividly remember her listening and asking, “What is that?”

I answered, “It’s music,” because I knew she was referring to the synthesizer. It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned my music, always with a mild scowl, but never a demand to turn it off. (Turning it down was often requested, though.)

She, as expected, answered, “That’s not music,” which made me laugh. Her subsequent eye roll (she’s a master at it) increased my laughter.

So, for Mom and old times, Uriah Heep with “Sweet Lorraine” from 1972, when I was sixteen. Side note: David Byron, the lead singer, was another who died too young, 37.

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The Clothes & Garage Dream

I had a large new home which made me proud and happy. Then, dream switch, I was visiting with Mom.

Mom wasn’t home. She and the girls were out. I was about my current age. Mom’s home was the small brick ranch style house where I lived from 1965 to 1972 in Pittsburgh before departing.

In the dream, she had coats hanging up outside, like on a clothes line that stretched from the house to a pole by the street. It was a temporary thing, but she’d had this going on for several days, and it bothered me. When it lightly rained and the rain then turned to ice, I decided that I needed to move them into the garage. However, the garage still needed to house Mom’s car. It was a one-car garage, so that would be a challenge.

Going through the garage, considering angles and materials, I began thinking about how I could do it. My little sisters (who had been out with Mom) arrived and commented on my plans, expressing doubts that it could be done. (They were their current ages and appearances, and in the dream, I wondered if they as little girls were with Mom while their adult selves were present in the garage.) I was gaining confidence that it could, then, and passed off their objections with jokes. They left.

As progress was being made, TC arrived. He and I had been stationed at Onizuka together. The same rank, he retired a few years after I did and moved away.

In the dream, he was coming for a visit. I was expecting him. He showed up in an exoctic burnt orange car, not the kind of vehicle that he would ever drive. He had young twin children with him. I played with them as we exchanged greetings. The car then went off and I realized that he’d been dropped off.

I returned to working on hanging the coats in the garage. I could show progress. TC asked what beers I had. I’d been planning that moment and replied as a joke with the names of a number of cheap American beers such as PBR, Schlitz, and Old Milwaukee. He always drank Miller Lite, and I knew that’s what he wanted.

Then, in a move that surprised me, he said he was going to the neighbor’s house. He said he and the neighbor were friends. As we discussed this, I stepped outside. The light rain had ceased. A car drove by on the street. Dusk was falling. My Mom’s neighbor was at a table in his yard, waiting for TC, who walked toward him.

The dream ended.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

This one is courtesy of Hyundai Sonata’s “Smaht Pahk” Superbowl LIV ad. Here’s the ad:

 

As the commercial ends, the strands of “Dirty Water” by the Standells (1965) started playing. It squirted into my stream and scythed into an infinity loop. A share is required to release the song back into the wild.

 

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Today’s song is due to a Andy Greene article in Rolling Stone about Peter Green. Peter Green was the founder of a little group called Fleetwood Mac, named after Mick Fleetwood (on drums) and John McVie (on bass). After reading the article and listening to the video, I went in search of Peter Green and re-discovered his rendition of The Supernatural. A comment said it was recorded in 1966.

I don’t know. I remember hearing it somewhere as a teenager and wondering, who is that? It was brilliant guitar work. I eventually learned that it was Peter Green. After buying the album used at a head shop, I started playing it at home.

Friends and family weren’t impressed. “There’s no one singing,” was the comment lament. “What’s it about?” “It’s just a guy playing guitar.” These questions and comments left me speechless. Didn’t they hear what he was doing with that guitar?

Peter Green’s skills fell out of my mind as he disappeared from public life after some bad drug experiences. Good of Mick Fleetwood to pay tribute to him and remind us who Peter Green is.

 

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

Dream residue leaves me with “Touch Me” this morning, a song by The Doors from 1968. I was twelve when it came out.

Don’t know why it came up after the dream. Mind works in bizarro manners. Could be the name of my mind: Welcome to Bizarro Manor. Fits. I’m always being accused of having an unusual sense of humor and thinking differently than others. Alas, guilty, but it does bring a sense of isolation.

Hmm, maybe that’s where this song comes in. “Come on, touch me, babe. Can’t you see that I am not afraid? What was that promise that you made?”

This was an interesting video from that era.

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Friday’s Theme Music

After I’d finished writing, I headed into the wilds of Ashland’s streets and sidewalks. Using the East Main crosswalk by Sherman, I saw a young woman driving an SUV toward me. She seemed to be steering with her elbows, as her left hand was holding a phone to her head as her right hand worked on applying lip gloss. Like, holy crap, just what you want to see coming toward you as you’re crossing the street.

The day had warmed to an almost balmy 56 F. Sunshine was blooming but rain was lurking on the mountains. The clouds seemed shifty, like they were planning a move. I decided I wouldn’t mind a little rain, so pressed on, heading down Fourth Street.

Down on the corner of Fourth and B was a pile of popped corn. Look, hey, what the heck is this doing here?

Must it be said that the sight stirred a 1972 song into my stream? ‘Course not. The song is a synth-pop ditty name “Popcorn” by Hot Butter. Seriously. And it was an international hit. Seriously.

I don’t know what’s up with that, but here it is in all its glory. Listen to it, please. Let me know if you’re familiar with it. Just curious, ya know?

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

Don’t know why – perhaps because I’ve been battling with a cold and flu the last few days, and have finally seemed to be winning – but an old Stones’ standard has flooded the stream. Maybe a sense derived of snuggling in bed under heavy blankets during the day, when I’m supposed to be out adulting, contributes to a mood of being a little kid again, eating buttered toast and drinking warm fluids to soothe my throat and head.

Here’s “19th Nervous Breakdown” from 1966.

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