Spinning the dial and finding my life

I know I usually write about food. So I will say this, if I don’t hear some good music, I am going to eat a Twinkie. Now about the music……

I am losing memories. Memories, not my memory. I have “Music Memory Attachment Syndrome”. So many memories are tied to music from my youth. In a blink of an eye, we go from “Will Johnny play with me at recess?” to “Where are my keys and where am I going again?” I don’t always remember if I am wearing socks, but as soon as those songs from the 60’s and 70’s play on the radio, I sing along, by rote, feeling the beat and living the lyrics. I flashback to my red, turned pink from the sun, Hitachi portable radio. That radio allowed me to experience different kinds of music, and fall in love. I was positive songs were written for me. How did he/she know what I was feeling at that moment, as I escaped into my happy place? I was especially good at my own version of “Name that Tune”. One or two chords into a song, I knew the title, artist and the length of said song. I was that good. I also knew the record companies. I had a lot of free time.


Stations played my music. Soul music to folk music. I spun that dial constantly. Are there dials anymore? Some radio stations came up at sunrise and signed off at sunset. Those were simpler times all around. Stores closed before 9pm and never opened on Sunday. I spent lazy summers at the town pool and the school fields, making gimp chains and tile ashtrays. Chalked hopscotch squares on hot pavement. I wandered to the town library in search of mystery novels and tranquility. Life was slow and easy. Kool-Aid needed sugar added. It was okay to unknowingly sing the wrong words to songs. I didn’t understand most of them anyway….”one toe over the line” was really “one toke over the line.” WHAT?


I learned a few things from music. I didn’t want to be left with a band of gold. I wanted the same R-E-S-P-E-C-T given Aretha. I was never going to wear an itsy bitsy teeny-weeny yellow polkadot bikini. Another Saturday night and having no money, was a bad thing. And war, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again. But not near the backstabbers. They will smile in your face. There was no mountain high enough. The spirit in the sky was the place I was going to when I died. Julie did not know if she loved Bobby. I needed someone to give just a little more time. I saw fire and rain. I learned that united you stand, divided you fall and NEVER let your back against a wall. My life was a tapestry of rich and royal hues. It was a hot time in the summertime. And sadly, I eventually figured out I would never be on Soul Train. American Bandstand was never going to happen for me, either.


I still search the radio for my memories. I have found stations that soothe my soul only to change formats overnight. It is pure bliss when one of these “oldie” stations plays my life story. I think back to “cruising” summer songs and laughing with friends. Gas was 50 cents a gallon. We rolled down the car windows and shared our happiness. (Yes rolling down a car window. With a handle. Get over it.) You know you got to go through hell before you get to heaven. So, I’m heading out in my red Ford Galaxie convertible because I got to keep on keepin’ on. I don’t want to be late for the sky so I am moving farther on before the deluge……


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