Ageless all around!
High School
Passing Notes with Lenny
I started packing my daughter’s lunch again this year. Somewhere around middle school, my kids had taken over primary responsibility for packing their lunches. But now my son is away at college, it’s my daughter’s senior year and she’s returned to school after 18 months of remote learning, and I am keenly aware of the fact that we soon will be empty-nesters. So packing her lunch just feels right.
We’ve settled in to a nice morning routine. I pack her lunch, we chat about our upcoming day, and I help her get out the door to school. Taking a page from my dad’s playbook, sometimes I’ll go out and warm up her car or scrape her windows.
Yesterday morning we were listening to KEXP over cantaloupe, and an old Lenny Kravitz song came on. Our day was now off to a great start! I thanked John Richards out loud, turned it up, and told my daughter of my Lenny memories. In what must have been my sophomore year in college, Lenny had just released his first album and was doing a publicity tour. He was doing an autograph session at Tower Records on The Ave of the University District in Seattle, barely a block from our apartment. My bestie/roommate was the driving force in getting us there, as she owned the album. There was a line that snaked along the aisles, and there he sat, at the rear of the store under a poster, oozing coolness. When it was our turn, we mumbled hello, Lenny signed her cassette tape, and we went on about our day, which likely included a muffin at Muffin Break, or a slice at Pag’s. Years later, I saw Lenny Kravitz in concert at the Paramount with my sister, and he was just as fabulous as I wanted him to be. I recall that he did a Jesus pose at center stage (which you absolutely should always do if you are a rock star), and the crowd went wild. My daughter chuckled at the story, and off she went.
I recently started my annual cleanout/purge/re-organize effort. I’ve previously admitted that I am a sentimental hoarder, and I have boxes of things from my childhood and young adult life. But I’m trying to be more intentional about what I save, so it was time to go through a bin of old high school items and see what could go. I had a box of old notes from friends that made for a hilarious afternoon of reading about things I had forgotten (oh, the drama of the senior year Homecoming dance! How on earth did we ever make it through?). Most were mundane day-to-day musings about lunch plans and classroom events, prompting my daughter to ask, “wait, did you write these during class?” I said of course we did (duh), and when you saw your friend in the hallway between classes, you would pass the note to them. It was the 1980’s version of texting, before anyone could envision that something like text messages would ever exist.
With my hoarding habit exposed, I was surprised when my daughter observed that it was cool that I have these physical items as a snapshot of my life back then. Her communications with her friends exist only in the ether of electronic messages, and there will be no box for her to sit and go through someday with her daughter on a rainy afternoon. I told her that she can always change that, and write a note or letter to her friends. Maybe she will.
I texted with my friend yesterday, asking if she remembered the Lenny autograph session (she did), but I forgot to ask if she still has the tape. I hope she does. I still buy physical copies of albums, and I have all of my old vinyl, CD, and cassette tapes. After going through the box of high school things, I tossed all of the notes from old boyfriends, but I ended up keeping the ones from my friends. And OF COURSE I have a box of letters from my college days — hometown news from my parents and younger sisters — that I will never get rid of. So look out, college kids and soon-to-be college kids who are related to me…..old school letters are coming your way.
With all of this nostalgia for pen and paper rattling in my head, I wrote a note to my daughter in our old write-and-pass-back journal from years ago. In honor of the tradition of high school note writing, I penned my first new entry with “W/B”, but of course was careful to include a notation to her, explaining that this means “write back”. And she did.
W-O-R-D
30+ years later, and this song still reminds me of being at a PHS basketball game. #runningsongs #GoBulldogs #BeatKamiakin
Magicially Delicious Music
The occasion: A “Rock Star” practice for my daughter’s softball team, the Lucky Charms. Her assignment: Team DJ, tasking her with creating an iPod mix to play on a boombox at practice. The girls could dress like rock stars, dance, and play some softball while they were at it.
Her team has played together for three years, and watching them serves as a reminder of all that is good about being a young girl, and being on a team. They are sweet and funny and do lots of silly cheers, but make no mistake – they are hitters and will run you down when necessary.
So she and I sat down at the computer, going through my iTunes library, with her giving a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to each song I suggested. We’ve been down this road before; both of my kids have created lots of mixes (“I’d Choose Creme Brulee”). For their own use, they have talked me into songs that would never have otherwise made their way into my iTunes — yes, Katy Perry and “Party Rockers” LMFAO, I am talking about you.
For this occasion, she had specific criteria in mind. Some of her usual favorites were rejected as being too slow or too “embarrassing” (what?), and at least one song was selected because “it’s so weird, my friends have to hear it!” Predictably, any song with “girl” in it made the cut, as did anything by Michael Jackson. I was proud of her for adding The Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby”, and while she does love that song, I’m guessing she added it as tribute to her friend of the same name.
Marrying my husband has made me appreciate bands like AC/DC, Bon Jovi, KISS, et. al. I never listened to those bands back in the day (in fact, I was scared of the KISS album covers that the older neighbor boys had), but it is the music of my husband’s youth. And when you merge your lives and your CD’s, eventually you acquire a taste for the music of your loved one. [Well, within limits – I’m still never listening to Pink Floyd. (“Heaven From Hell…..Guess Which This is”)].
“You MUST put some AC/DC on there”, my husband said. And he had a good point. Think about it – what was the song that got people on the dance floor at your prom? Or at a wedding with an otherwise lame DJ? (All the more reason to not have dancing – “The Beginning of the Soundtrack”). Or, in recent years, at your kids’ school auction? (WW’ers….you know who you are).
That’s right – AC/DC’s “Shook Me All Night Long” is always a sure thing. Obviously I’m revealing my 1980’s/40-something demographic here, but really – try it and you will see what I am talking about.
I played the iconic opening guitar riff of that song.
Her blue eyes widened……”YES!” she said.
And so it begins.
A 1987 Bono for the New Year
I found the old t-shirt at the bottom of a drawer, and I am taking it as a sign. Ordinarily it wouldn’t be, but fresh in my memory were two things: 1) a recent viewing of “It Might Get Loud” that reminded me how much I love U2 and The Edge’s trademark guitar riffs, and 2) a discussion with a friend at a New Years’ Eve party, where I lamely tried to justify why I didn’t buy tickets to the upcoming U2 show.
On the heels of these two things, the discovery of the Joshua Tree concert t-shirt (buried deep in a drawer) was therefore quickly elevated to “sign” status.
Long before there was Pearl Jam in my life, there was U2. I loved their distinct sound, and to the junior high small town girl that I was, they seemed worldly and sophisticated. I had The Unforgettable Fire on cassette and made a mix tape for myself, shuffling the songs into an order that I liked, and repeating others. (So high tech, wasn’t I…. to have a double tape deck for dubbing?)
The Joshua Tree album nursed me through the late Summer and Fall of 1987, after my older boyfriend broke my heart and ditched me for the bright lights of college and college girls. But I had Bono, the boyfriend had never liked U2 anyway, and the music on that album was perfect for an autumn of hometown teenage angst.
Years later, I’ve worn the Joshua Tree t-shirt a lot, although I feel like a fraud when I do, since I never went to a show on that tour (the closest they came to my small town was 200 miles away). I do, however, love the shirt. It belonged to a guy whom I dated later that fall. It was a brief and mostly forgettable relationship of convenience, borne out of the fact that our friends were dating. But he did have great taste in music, and I got custody of the t-shirt.
Which brings me to the New Year’s Eve conversation.
U2 was supposed to play here last summer, and the concert got re-scheduled for this coming June, due to Bono’s back surgery. My friend and I were talking about The Edge, and then discussion turned to the upcoming show, and how excited he was for it. He asked whether I had tickets, and I told him no.
I explained how I had seen U2 in 1992 at the Tacoma Dome, and had been underwhelmed. I had been so excited for that show, to see one of my long-time favorite bands. But the band was in a weird phase then; they had decided not to play any pre-Unforgettable Fire songs. The venue was terrible, more suited for monster trucks than concerts. I heard nearly all of Joshua Tree, which was great, but mostly Achtung Baby. No “Sunday Bloody Sunday”, no “New Year’s Day”, none of the early stuff. I didn’t get my Concert Moment (“Oh, You Like the Banjo, Eh?”), and I’ve never felt the need to go and see them again.
I explained this to my friend, earnestly. Was I trying to make myself believe it? His look said it all: You call yourself a longtime fan, a teenager of the 80’s, and you don’t want to go to this concert?
But therein lies the problem: I want to see 1987 U2, not the U2 from 2011. I want Bono and The Edge with long hair, before they were UN ambassadors and had back problems. I want “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and “New Year’s Day” and all of Unforgettable Fire and Joshua Tree, not any new stuff that has already been featured in an iPod commercial by the time you see it.
I understand that when bands have been around for awhile, they can’t make everyone happy. Really, I do. And I get the fact that the music needs to stay interesting for them, too. Still, as a concert-goer, I am selfish. I want what I want. And what I want is U2 from 1987.
However, the fact that it’s not 1987’s U2 was probably my friend’s most persuasive point. He said “you know, with the back problems and all….they aren’t going to be around forever”. A reminder of our mortality, and on the heels of my Big Birthday, too. Point taken…. now I am looking for tickets.
The Unfairness of The Fair
I would not really call myself a country music enthusiast, but I’ve experimented. I’ve tried it. One might say I’ve dabbled. I do appreciate country music; in particular, the way that most country songs can make me cry at the drop of a (cowboy) hat.
I pulled out a bunch of old country CD’s the other day and uploaded them to iTunes, intending to give some tired playlists a shot in the arm. Now I’m thinking that maybe certain songs should have a weepy mix all their own. (Seriously, email me and I will send you a playlist that is guaranteed to make you cry.)
I did cry a bit at these old tunes, but what I also found is that I smiled when, unexpectedly, my thoughts turned to my Grandma.
As kids, my sisters and I spent a lot of time at my grandparents’ house. My grandma has endured as one of the biggest influences on my life, and a true icon of unconditional love. Of course my grandparents’ house had the requisite 70’s enormous console TV……broadcasting shows like The Brady Bunch, The Lawrence Welk Show and Hee Haw. I seem to recall that my grandpa didn’t like Lawrence Welk, but Hee Haw was fair game.
Some of my favorite childhood memories are of going to the county fair with my grandparents. We’d see the exhibits and ride a few rides, then we’d see the music show. I wish now that I had paid attention to who we saw. It was always country music, but the only one I can really recall is Buck Owens. Or maybe it was Roy. At any rate, it was one of the Hee Haw guys.
Later, after Grandpa was gone, my sisters and I would go to the fair with Grandma and, in usual teenage fashion, be embarrassed to be be seen at the very ‘square’ country music show. My mom assured me that cooler acts were coming to the fair soon. In fact, she was right. Rick Springfield just played my hometown fair this summer. Apparently by “soon”, Mom meant “in 25 years”.
It breaks my heart that my grandma didn’t live long enough to meet my kids. I talk about her a lot, and tell them funny little stories about her. I’ve got to remember to tell them these tidbits:
1. When I first started dating my husband, Grandma thought he looked like Randy Travis. He doesn’t, but maybe that’s one reason she loved him right away.
2. In the midst of the 80’s, she decided that she liked Billy Idol. I think that my older cousin bought her a Billy Idol tee shirt, but in all fairness, I could be confusing it with her “Fonz” shirt. (Either way, how cool of a grandma is that?)
3. She saw Hank Williams Jr. in concert and hated it. She said that he was too dirty, and he was drunk, and he was a disgrace to his father. Harsh words, but Gram had opinions.
4. The song “Proud to be an American” always made her cry. Now it makes me cry, because it reminds me of her. Good tears though; I feel lucky to have had her in my life for as long as I did. And maybe, for my Grandma, it’s time for me to give country music another try.
Corduroy Notes 