Category: memories

Tuesday’s Theme Music

My wife and I were picking up fur last night. The cats leave it like Hansel and Gretel left crumbs to find their way back. I guess the cats, worried about losing their way from the litter box to their food bowl to their sleeping locations, leave the fur clumps to help them find their way. “I’ll just leave this fur and follow it back.”

Doing this task last night, I streamed, “I’m a fur picker. I’m a fur picker. Picking up fur. Fur, fur, fur.” The song was to the head music, “I’m A Girl Watcher,” a song from nineteen sixty-seven. I thought, that’ll be my Tuesday theme music.

Then, I began thinking about the song and the times. The song objectifies women. The attitude incubated at that point can lead to some of the rapes, molesting, and harassing now revealed across America.

Or I am overthinking it? I’m prone to such things. I can hear other argue, the song is about a boy who is growing up and developing an interest in sex, in this case, in girls. It’s completely innocent. To which I hear others say, it’s not completely innocent. It’s mostly innocent, but it’s part of larger cultural and social trends about women’s roles and men’s attitude toward women in America.

It was a lot to think about before my morning coffee. I decided not to do that song. Instead, I give you song from a year later, The Moody Blues with “Tuesday Afternoon.” I believe the song’s line, “The gentle voices I hear, explain it all with a sigh,” perfectly exemplifies my thinking conundrum about being a girl-watcher.

It’s a complicated world. My thinking probably makes it appear more complicated than it is.

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Monday’s Theme Music

Since it’s Monday, and so many songs feature Monday in their titles or lyrics, I thought I’d go with “Wooly Bully.” “Wooly Bully” does not mention Monday, as far as I know. I’ve never looked up the lyrics, but I must admit that I don’t understand most of them. As far as I know, they go, “Mattie told Hattie about a thing she saw. Something (with big horns?) and a wooly jaw. Wooly bully, wooly bully.” Mattie also tells Hattie to take a chance. The singer shouts, “I like it, I like it.”

I don’t know. I like singing that woolly bully chorus. Very liberating.

I learned the song from a forty-five RPM record on a little phonograph. I want to say it was a Capitol record, from what I remember, but I was young, and didn’t pay attention.

Here is Sam the Sham and the Pharoahs from, geez, I’m guessing mid-nineteen sixties, with “Woolly Bully.”

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Recalling another anniversary (my life is full of ’em!), this one being my retirement from the U.S. Air Force in November, 1995. I was stationed at Onizuka Air Station in Sunnyvale, California. This song, “Cumbersome,” by Seven Mary Three, was a popular tune of the time. To paraphrase the lyrics, I’d enjoyed my military career and had some success, but it had become cumbersome.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

From late in that magical decade referred to as the nineteen seventies comes this song.

But wait, was the nineteen seventies magical? I suppose it depends on how old you were, and where, right? If you’re a fortunate person, you experience one decade as magical in your life. The seventies are it for me. Moved to Ohio, met my wife, moved to West Virginia, graduated high school, joined the military, relocated to Ohio, bought a Camaro, married, served in the Philippines, sold the Camaro, bought a Porsche and drove across most of America, lived in Texas, quit the military, went back to West Virginia, bought a restaurant, quit the restaurant, lost the Porsche to fire, re-enlisted in the military, went back to Texas and bought a Firebird. It was action backed, and fun.

This song, “Don’t Bring Me Down,” by E.L.O. was part of the musical atmosphere. I find it fun to sing as I walk around, especially all those no, no, no, no passages, and “Grooss,” which I sing as Bruce, as most people do.

Here it is, from nineteen seventy-nine. Things weren’t simpler, just different.

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Friday’s Theme Music

Care for a little cream for your Friday coffee?

Robert Johnson’s masterpiece, “Crossroads” (or “Cross Roads Blues”) has been covered by many. I like the Cream version because it was the first one I heard when I was young. It’s hard to overcome that first love. More metaphysically, it’s a song that captures so much of life’s essence, IMO. We think, after making a journey, that we’ve gone somewhere. And we have, but then, we found ourselves at another crossroad. Decisions are made, moods are felt, directions are chosen, prayers are offered, and help is sought.

So here you are, on Friday, with a “Crossroads” about what to do, where to go, and maybe, who to be.

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Wrote That Scene

Wrote one of those scenes. You know what they’re like. You’re casting for something inside yourself and discover something hidden, so you drag it out and use it.

In this instance, I used a memory from when I was young. I’d seen a creepy movie that burned anxiety into me just in time for bed. Despite that, sleep managed to find me.

Awakening, though, I kept completely still in an all-embracing darkness. Even now, remembering, my blood pressure rises and my pulse thumps faster. In that darkness, I’d heard a noise while I was asleep —

Or did I?

Was it real or imagined? I listened and listened without daring to move, barely breathing to help me hear and minimize my presence. Just when I’d begun to accept the hypothesis I’d imagined it, I heard another sound. It sounded like slithering….

Snake, I thought.

A snake is in the room.

I couldn’t move. If I left the bed, I might step on the snake. It might be coiled on the floor, waiting to strike.

But I couldn’t remain in bed, because the snake might crawl up into the bed. Which was worse, waiting in bed, or stepping down and getting bitten?

It was a rush of words to write, but it fit the novel like a found puzzle piece. As for the young boy who feared what might be in the dark, he carefully stood up in bed. Balancing himself and profusely sweating, he leaped across the yawning gulf where the snake might be waiting, and threw on the lights.

Time to go write like crazy, at least one more time.

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Monday’s Theme Song

Having a beer last Wednesday night with friends, we toasted Fats Domino. With his death as our hinge, we talked about old rock, old pop, and old beer (PBR, Hamm’s, Rolling Rock, and Iron City, among them). Conversation veered to Buddy Holly and Richie Valens’ deaths, along with the other two band members that night. We couldn’t remember who’d given up their seat. The net was consulted; Waylon Jennings was the answer.

That surprised us. As Chris put it, “I wouldn’t have guessed Waylon Jennings in two thousand guesses.” No, we didn’t know that Waylon had played with the Crickets.

Anyway, I ended up inflicted with nostalgia. I awoke today with “Luckenbach, Texas,” streaming through my mind, “Luckenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love),” to acknowledge its full title. It’s a song about being remembering a simpler life, and the dissatisfaction that success can sometimes bring.

Stream along with me, if you know it. Fake it, if you don’t.

 

 

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Saturday’s Theme Music

Fall has claimed us. Leaves have turned. Many have rained down, filling gutters and carpeting lawns and sidewalks. So I turn to “Dancing Days” by Led Zeppelin. I have firm reasoning, oh, yes, I do. Although the vegetation is going along with the timeline, we have glorious sunshine. A cold front has taken command. Nights are cold, but the sky is clear, and that sunshine pushes our temperatures up into the mid seventies. We might even touch eighty.

So dancing days are here again. It may be fall, but it feels like summer afternoons. Maybe it’s just a state of mind.

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Thursday’s Theme Song

Drifting further back along the memory stream today, back to nineteen seventy-two, I stumble over one of my favorite artists, a person named David Bowie.

Bowie’s song, “Changes,” came out when I was in high school. My most vivid memory, though, was talking about the song during my first permanent duty assignment in nineteen seventy-five, three years later. I was with the 2750ABW at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. Permanent meant that I was assigned to the place, and would be there for a while. I was a command post emergency actions controller for the base and HQ Logistics Command. Three of us were on duty at a time, for twelve or eight hour shifts.

One night, I was on duty with Dale and Sistrunk. Studying, as we were often doing, I was singing the song to myself. “What is that you’re singing?” one asked. I explained what it was, and who performed it. They knew Bowie, but not that song, which surprised me. It was a youth’s surprise. I thought we all inhabited the same universe in America, where we all listened to rock music. But Sistrunk didn’t listen to music in his car or at home, and Dale preferred light jazz. I didn’t know the light jazz performers he enjoyed, and was amused, thinking of him as dated, when he shared their names.

That’s why “Changes” is perfect for that memory, and this time. As years passed, windows opened on myself, but they still remained small and few. I stayed in my personal garrison, spying on others, wondering what they think of me, as I thought of them. I think about the child I was, and then the man I was, and now, the person that I became, and wonder who I’ll be next.

Bowie’s lyrics capture the sentiment. “Every time I thought I’d got it made, it seemed the taste was not so sweet. So I turned myself to face me, but I’ve never caught a glimpse of how the others must see the faker. I’m much too fast to take that test.”

We think of the universe, world, and its inhabitants in terms of static existences, but really, we have snapshots of moments that we consider permanent. Almost everything is always changing. We’re just not fast enough to comprehend it.

As a bonus, it was Rick Wakeman on the piano in “Changes.” Wakeman was already known for his session work on many albums, but had formed Yes with others, another group I greatly enjoyed.

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Tuesday’s Theme Music

It feels like an eighties kind of day. I should clarify that it feels like a day from the nineteen eighties, vice another eighties, like twenty-one eighties, or seventeen eighties. The clarification is needed to reduce confusion that older people or time-travelers might have.

If you didn’t live in the nineteen eighties, you probably don’t know what I mean. Having lived in that period, I’m not certain what I mean. I’m assuming that I lived during the nineteen eighties. I have memories of the period and events. But, for all I know, I could be an unknowing time-traveler. I also could be suffering from a disease whereas I think I’m someone who lived in the nineteen eighties, or a robot, or alien, unaware that I’m a robot or alien. I could be a fiction character, writing about that time to make a point to others, or entertain them. Or, I could be living in a virtual reality where the matters of nineteen eighty that I remember are all fake, to make me think that I’m alive. Who knows, right? We assume we do, and cling to that, because it’s safer and more comfortable than alternatives, and as far as we know, it’s true.

So, here’s “It’s Like That,” by Run-D.M.C. It’s a song that I think I heard when I thought I was living in the nineteen eighties.

On Earth, BTW. Just to clarify.

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