Tag: childhood

Monday’s Theme Music

Preparing to depart the coffee shop yesterday, I bused my table. Looking into the roasting room, I saw one of the Noble employees back there. My jaw dropped.

He’s a spitting image of Chuck Negron of Three Dog Night back in the late 1960s.

640px-Three_Dog_Night_1969

Negron, Wells and Hutton of Three Dog Night in 1969

Thinking about that as I walked the town, I went through a few TDN songs – “Eli’s Coming”, “One”, “Joy to the World”, “Mama Told Me Not To come”, and “Liar”. The song that arrived to stay in the stream was one where Negron was the featured lead vocalist. That would be TDG’s cover of “Easy to Be Hard” from Hair.

Not only was it fittin’ to have Negron, the secret coffee roaster (maybe he cloned himself) singin’ a song, but the song whose lyrics fit these times of rollbacks in how we treat one another to the point of open hostility and cruelty.

How can people be so heartless
How can people be so cruel
Easy to be hard
Easy to be cold

How can people have no feelings
How can they ignore their friends
Easy to be proud
Easy to say no

Especially people who care about strangers
Who care about evil and social injustice
Do you only care about the bleeding crowd
How about a needy friend
I need a friend

h/t to AZLyrics.com

Cheers

Love the bumper stickers in the video.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

Clear night last night, after a quasi-balmy day. That’s a day when warmth and cold — spring and winter — have repeated rounds, looking for victory. Walk in sunshine and it’s so warm, and yeah, baby, spring is almost here. Then, stepping into the shadows, wintry winds slash your cheeks and hands and you’re, like, geez, that’s friggin’ cold. Even the smell between these experiences is different, with one offering a definite winter scent to the air.

Back to last night, it was clear, feeling like winter settling in for the night, but I was out, looking for stars and the moon. No moon was found, which made me cycle through what I remembered from seeing the moon (oh, yeah, we had that big full moon weekend earlier this month) (was that this month?) (how many weeks ago?). Then I spotted her, a waning crescent, by my guess, just peeking past trees, houses, and mountains, shy, like she’s uncertain of her role here.

All that released song lyrics into the stream. I had to strike a pose to remember. (Something about the moon and crossing…who was that?) I vaguely heard the guitars and vocalist…the voice seemed familiar.

More lyrics were found, and then I remembered, that’s REO Speedwagon. With a little more coaxing, other lyrics came, and finally, the name, “Ridin’ the Storm Out”.

Here’s the initial verse that I was trying to recall regarding the moon (thanks, Metrolyrics.com)

And I’m not missing a thing
Just watchin’ the full moon crossing the range
Ridin’ the storm out, ridin’ the storm out

Wikipedia.org says it’s from 1973. Cheers

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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

Well, time was up.

Past ‘up’.

I was supposed to have departed the fix about fifteen minutes before, so I was now behind my schedule. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop writing. Coffee was gone, butt was uncomfortable, and my sciatic nerve was causing pain issue from being perched on the coffee shop’s new hard chairs. All the signs were aligned, time to go, mo-fo.

But —

Yes. Closing up with a stern order, go now, I packed it all up, strapped on the backpack, and headed into the sunshine. It was doing little good against the wintry air, but it was in the low 40s, a better place to be than, say, single digits that some in Alaska are enduring, and it’s better than Australia’s fires and blazing heat. So, couldn’t complain.

Walking up the hill, the distinctive piano playing of the Moody Blues cover of “Go Now” (1964) arrived in my stream. It’s a wondrous juxtaposition when the thing you’ve been doing, memories of places and events, and what you’re now doing come together in a perfectly mellow mood. I usually need a beer, a glass of wine, cup of coffee, or the toke of a joint to arrive in such a state.

But here I was, just me and the small town, with myself and music in my head, cold in the air, and sunshine on the other side of the valley.

 

 

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Saturday’s Theme Music

I was outside, watching light seep out of the day. Purples and grays stole in, and then darkness. Solstice – the longest night for us northern dwellers – was almost here. And as I watched, thinking about the fading daylight and growing night, I remembered a song.

Several groups made “(I know) I’m Losing You”, but it was the Rare Earth’s version from 1970 (when I became fourteen years old) that sprang to mind. “Your love is fading. I feel it fade.”

No, it wasn’t love fading; just the light, and it’s going to be coming back soon.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

“Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me” by Elton John and Bernie Taupin was released in 1974. I’ve been hearing a live cover by George Michael, with Elton John as his guest (1991) at the coffee shop. Naturally, it ended up stuck in the stream, looping around a few times.

There are many memories associated with the song (like dances, kisses, and good-byes). It came out right after I graduated high school and went into the military, so it’s branded as part of that era, that transition from teenager living at home to adult on their own. As the Michael version came out during my final tour, it almost exactly bracketed my military career. Just a little coincidence, but one that ends up attaching sentiments to the song for me.

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Snow Memories

As an adult, snow and I share a difficult relationship. Snow wants to do what it’ll do, and I prefer that it doesn’t disturb my routines. I think these things even knowing that snow is necessary for the snowpack that provides us water throughout the year (so go up in the mountains and snow heavy there, right?) and some of our local industries (like the ski lodge on Mount Ashland) depends on the snow.

But a day of blinding, fat flurries (like today — look out that window — how can you not?) always takes me back to snow memories, especially childish times. When I was a boy in school, seeing snow outside the windows was a harbinger of entertaining times like snowball fights, forts, and sledding. Snow diffused daylight, blending night and day into a special, secret zone of being. Snow muffled the sounds and tamped adult activities, leaving the world to us, the brave, the crazy, the children. Interruptions would arrive – cars stuck on hills, tires spinning in a whining hiss, vehicles with chains clanging past, snowplows grinding by, building new boundaries of small mountains alongside the roads.

Après outings were coming into a warm house where boots, mittens, and layers of frozen soaked clothes were shed. All had to be hung, put onto radiators or into dryers, depending on the era and house. Hot chocolate with marshmallows and cookies were offered, or tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches (white bread and American cheese, in those days) with a dill pickle.

Evening would come with a hesitant stillness, slipping in like it didn’t want to disturb the world. Books were read, drawings were completed, games played, television watched. Popcorn and fudge was made. The television was watched for news — would there be more snow? Will school be cancelled tomorrow? (Fingers crossed, breath held, eyes big as the news was awaited.) And more gazing out the window, at the amazing white world and the wonders of snow, were indulged.

Young and innocent, protected and secure, playful and happy. Everyone should enjoy such a life.

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Thursday’s Theme Music

I was walking toward my writing location today, a coffee shop owned by others, yes, but it’s my usual place, and thinking about what I was going to write. Boom days have continued, which is always a pleasure. So I told myself to just keep chugging along.

Then I plugged that into an old standard, “I just keep chugging along, singing my song, side by side.” Well, naturally, that prompted me to remember the song, “Side By Side” into my stream. Coming out before my Mom was born, leave off me, it’s one of those songs that’ve been part of the national consciousness for decades. There’s no doubt that I know it from my mother singing it, sometimes to me, sometimes to herself, and sometimes as it played on the record player.

The song’s real lyrics vary from cover to cover, but travel is almost always used, not chug, and not plug, but I like to plug in chug and plug instead of travel. The lyrics often go, “We’ll travel along, singing our song, side by side.” Of course, it was just me and my muses, and no one else beside me when I chug along, unless you count my shadow.

But “Me and My Shadow” is another song altogether.

Here is Patsy Cline with her cover of the 1927 song, “Side By Side”.

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Monday’s Theme Music

A beautiful sun warms a clear blue sky here in Ashland, southern Oregon, this morning. All is calm and serene. Into this streams a song by America, “Lonely People” (1974).

I’m fortunate to have family, but more, a writing process and endeavors which I enjoy, and a couple cats. Thanks to all this, I rarely have moments of feeling alone or isolated. But there are too many out there who are lonely people, even when they’re with friends and family, and more who are lonely, and alone, in isolation.

It’s them I think of this morning.

This is for all the lonely people
Thinking that life has passed them by
Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup
And ride that highway in the sky

This is for all the single people
Thinking that love has left them dry
Don’t give up until you drink from the silver cup
You never know until you try

h/t to AZlyrics.com

 

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