True Story: "What are we doing out here?"

Memory, like family, is a strange thing. Each have the same capacity for both good and bad. You can cherish and/or dread what comes out of the pair. The Memorial Day holiday* and my relatives hold that special property for me. Through no fault of my own, I was raised mostly by my mother's herd -- who are just this side of sane (although, they have been known to stray into the land of crazy from time to time). However, I still consider myself lucky I was stuck via blood and marriage with these people. My father's clan, as luck would have it, reminded me of a scant version of the familia that brought the bounty upon Alfredo Garcia's head. But, that's for another tale...

This post has been moved to my current blog, which can be found here.

Six for my Wife

Well, I just knew she-who-must-be-obeyed would bring this up, and my nostalgia gene was going to be the culprit. After reading my recent song post, she brought up the fact that I seem to be stuck in a decades-ago mindset. I guess I can't argue too hard on that one. The military geostrategist, Thomas P.M. Barnett, has said:

Morris Massey, an expert on conflict between generations, pioneered the argument. "what you are is where you were when ," meaning all of us reach a point in life where we discover a world larger than ourselves. At that point, we become cognizant of the morals we've developed across our early years, and those morals - or worldview - tend to persist across our adult years.

For most people, that fateful transition occurs in the teenage years, which explains our tendency to stick with the popular music of those years throughout adulthood.

Admit it - you stayed cool enough across your 20s, and maybe you faked it deep into your 30s, but then you woke up in your 40s and realized you absolutely hate your kids' music!

Don't worry. It happens to everyone.

So busted am I. I know I'm not alone in this. I'm sure there are countless number of (somber) males out there who've faced the same realization of when the female in their life proves their point (to their downfall). She even challenged me to post another six, this time for the last two years. Well, that's not going to happen because, for me, the song (whether old or new) and the moment have to percolate for at least that long for any of the engrams to form. Ooh... how's that for justification?!? So, I'll reach back a little further, dear, and grab some of the more recent music and memory commemoration--and yes, I can tie in old music with just over the hill events (I can do this because it is my blog, after all ;-P)

So, without further a do:

Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman? (1996), after the birth of my daughter in '99 I could relate with this Bryan Adams song--especially since I came to realize I was under the dual effect of two of the most important females in my later life (and under the same roof!)

The Year of the Cat (1976), this old Al Stewart hit played on the radio during a particularly beautiful stretch of California coast as I wound my way in a car to Pebble Beach in 2005 (for what was a turning-50-gift from my wonderful wife)

The Sweet Escape (2006), who haven't really heard this song till you've heard it being co-sung from the backseat backup singers that are my children (in school carpool); wooohooo yyyeeehhoooo!!!!!

Cool (2005), "Dad! You're not playing this song, again, are you?!?" - my kids; I guess my children don't really understand that I appreciate the direction and editing of this piece (and both the track and music video are on my iPod)

Just Dance (2008), okay, I lied. Musical memories don't take years to formulate--I watched this music video on Virgin America's seat entertainment system on our way to NYC (and the song kept playing in my head whenever we were in Times Square)

Tears In Heaven (1992), around the turn of the century, while looking at my sleeping children, I realized this Eric Clapton song and its lyrics would never again be just another tune

My Six

Image by 嘉莉-咖哩 via Flickr

I discovered a wonderful post today, titled "Six Songs", by Moondancer on her blog, Just.....a wee bit. It is a sublime and eloquent piece speaking to the power of music upon memory, and one's emotions. I'm in wholehearted agreement with her on this, and I very much recommend her post. Outside of the potent sense of smell, music/song has always been a memory trigger for me, as well.

If you gave it some thought, what would your six songs be.....

And since she graciously asked, at this moment, the list of six that I'd put together would be:

It's All in the Game (1958), my mother's favorite song; and when I hear it even now after all of these years later, I cannot help but think of the wonderful woman who bore me...

A Hard Day's Night (1964), I still can recollect fondly sitting in a darkened theater taking the Beatles in as a 10 yr. old. Although I'd heard songs on the radio by the Fab Four, it was this movie and song that first struck and mesmerized me. And I'm still within its impact.

It's Too Late (1971), my junior year of high school and it was this song that marked a shift in my heart's outlook (and the girl that was a H.S. senior at the time shall remain nameless, here--as my wife eventually reads all of my posts).

Dust in the Wind (1977), this song played on the radio as I left drove home from St. Francis Medical Center in March '78 after I learned my mother wouldn't be with us for much longer... Though I wanted desperately to change or turn off the radio, somehow I couldn't.

Silhouette (1988), the same year I courted my future bride, this song always seemed to pop up on the radio. The CD eventually found its way into our music collection before our engagement, and it was played at our wedding reception.

Don't Fear the Reaper (1976), this song introduced the concept of the air guitar to my first born when he was a barely a toddler some 20 years after it was released. Our living room jam sessions right before bedtime, with the volume up, had my wife giving us the weirdest of looks, too!

My thanks goes to Moondancer for giving me a chance to the flex the nostalgia gene once again (as my wife groans about this somewhere out in the ether), and for her heartfelt post.

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