The gadget was my birthday present from Chris in 2009, but due to a series of unfortunate events, not even one song was placed on it for oh, 366 days.  Among the obstacles, my computer only recognized accounts belonging to the boys.  So it sat in a drawer full of tea towels that I’ve listed on etsy, biding its time, until the snafu was worked out.

Over the weekend my lovely purple iPod and my shiny black computer finally got their acts together, and now, I can pump music into my ears like everybody else.   It’s brilliant.  How did I not know how much fun this doohickey really is?

I’ve been listening in the kitchen, at my desk, and while sitting on the porch reading the paper.  Last night I took the iPod for a test drive at the gym.  No wonder everybody working out has white cords leading to their ears.  Music makes exercise much, much more fun.

Certain songs are rhythmically suited to striding on the treadmill, others to lifting weights. 

I  thought that Jim Croce’s “I Got a Name” was a ballad, but it actually has a driving beat that made me forget how fast it was making me go on the endless belt.  Movin me down the highway indeed. 

There were other revelations stemming from the iPod.  Irene Ryan, best known to most as Granny from the Beverly Hillbillies but a goddess to us Glee types for her role in Broadway’s Pippin, entertained me through half the weightlifting circuit with her fabulous rendition of no time at all,  a paen to growing old with panache.   Here are the insanely clever lyrics, some of which I wrote in my teenage diary for inspiration:

When you are as old as I, my dear
And I hope that you never are
You will woefully wonder why, my dear
Through your cataracts and catarrh
You could squander away or sequester
A drop of a precious year
For when your best days are yester
The rest’er twice as dear….

What good is a field on a fine summer night
When you sit all alone with the weeds?
Or a succulent pear if with each juicy bite
You spit out your teeth with the seeds?
Before it’s too late stop trying to wait
For fortune and fame you’re secure of
For there’s one thing to be sure of, mate:
There’s nothing to be sure of!

Oh, it’s time to start livin’
Time to take a little from this world we’re given
Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall
In just no time at all….

I’ve never wondered if I was afraid
When there was a challenge to take
I never thought about how much I weighed
When there was still one piece of cake
Maybe it’s meant the hours I’ve spent
Feeling broken and bent and unwell
But there’s still no cure more heaven-sent
As the chance to raise some hell

Everybody….

[ALL]
Oh, it’s time to start livin’
Time to take a little from this world we’re given
Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall
In just no time at all….

Now when the drearies do attack
And a siege of the sads begins
I just throw these noble shoulders back
And lift these noble chins
Give me a man who is handsome and strong
Someone who’s stalwart and steady
Give me a night that’s romantic and long
And give me a month to get ready
Now I could waylay some aging roue
And persuade him to play in some cranny
But it’s hard to believe I’m being led astray
By a man who calls me granny

[ALL]
Oh, it’s time to start livin’
Time to take a little from this world we’re given
Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall
In just no time at all….

Oh, it’s time to start livin’
Time to take a little from this world we’re given
Time to take time, cause spring will turn to fall
In just no time at all….

Sages tweet that age is sweet
Good deeds and good work earns you laurels
But what could make you feel more obsolete
Than being noted for your morals?

Here is a secret I never have told
Maybe you’ll understand why
I believe if I refuse to grow old
I can stay young till I die
Now, I’ve known the fears of sixty-six years
I’ve had troubles and tears by the score
But the only thing I’d trade them for
Is sixty-seven more….

Oh, it’s time to keep livin’
Time to keep takin’ from this world we’re given
You are my time, so I’ll throw off my shawl
And watching your flings be flung all over
Makes me feel young all over

[BETHE AND BOYS]
In just no time at all….

A couple of amazing things.  One:  “Sages tweet?”  These lyrics predated twitter by decades.   Two:  Irene Ryan collapsed just minutes after singing this song at a matinee performance of Pippin in March 1973, apparently of a stroke.  She died six weeks later in California where she had gone for rehab.  I didn’t know the latter fact until I googled around yesterday.  The story of her death makes the lyrics even more poignant.

Back to the gym:  who needs personal trainers?  Between Jim Croce and Irene Ryan, and everybody else I’ve added and will add to my iPod, I’m expecting to continue to be motivated and entertained like never before.   And fear not, I wasn’t just loading up on nostalgia.  My iTunes purchases included some from the vegetable aisle:  Black Eyed Peas and Red Hot Chili Peppers are also represented.

The good news is that there is always a way out of THE FUNK. I tend to try different things and see what sticks – and it’s never the same thing.  Yesterday I took a nice walk in the sunshine to clear my head, had an early glass of wine, and worked out a little harder than I should have – all to no avail.   

It turns out all I needed was a little 60′s style threesome.  I recommend it highly for anyone who finds themselves just a little more than slightly wound.  This Peter, Paul and Mary song always reminds me why I’m here.  It makes me want to drop everything and nuzzle my kids.  I sang it to them every night when they were little.  My Mom sang it to me.  Mmmm.  Warm and fuzzy.

So, if you don’t know about this cool website already, you can go to Grooveshark and play any song, anytime for free.  I can’t think of a better way to lose the funk than to get funky. Oh, and please know that my go-to songs are not all folk tunes from my mother’s record albums.  Sometimes I need to listen to Offspring or Green Day.  It depends on the nature of the FUNK.

So readers, what is the ONE song you like to play to cheer you up?  As a service to you, I’m making the FUNK Emergency MoB play list which I promise to publish by month’s end.  Tell me what I should include. 

It was 1972.  My friend Lisa was in love with Jim Croce, and I was in love with Cat Stevens.

Our crushes were partly based on the fact that we lived in Missouri, surrounded by Scots-Irish-Anglo blond boys – and the exotic swarthy hirsute looks of our Greek and Italian crushes were very hot.

When Jim died in a plane crash in 1973 Lisa and I cried in shock together.  I had survivor guilt.  Lisa turned to Gilbert & Sullivan, who were already dead and couldn’t desert her.

One of my first printed T-shirts was bought in LA and featured Cat’s face.  (Believe it or not, children, there was a time in America when most T-shirts were solid or striped.  I was very excited to find my idol on baby blue cotton.)

Check out Cat’s classic Morning Has Broken, and don’t miss the enormous Afro on the keyboardist.  Read some of the comments too – this song clearly strikes an emotional chord with many people.  In fact, I’m spearheading a campaign in our family to have it sung at weddings, christenings, and funerals from now on – a signature family song, along with Be Thou My Vision (old Irish hymn, great recording by Van Morrison).

Cat went through a long drop-out period involving nearly drowning in the Pacific near Malibu, promising his life to God if he lived, turning to Islam, giving his guitars to charity, and funding Islamic schools in Britain.  The current Newsweek reports that ”he’s emerging from his moon shadow.” I’m as giddy as a schoolgirl!

Read it here:  And the Cat came back

I wrote a dozen checks yesterday and at least half of them have the 20089 feature.  Luckily, turning an 8 into a 9 is not that thorny.  2007 was tough.  I threw a ton of checks away in January 2007.

And a few more non-promises for 2009:

• I will breathe in my boys more often.  The time is approaching rapidly when they will not let me near enough to smell their sweet heads or let my cheek linger against theirs. I have come to find that a deep breath inches away from their faces is life affirming.
• I will be a better wife, which will be easy as my self assessment in this area has indicated “needs improvement” in several categories.  Dave will disagree but I think I have to work on that whole “I am always right” thing that I have perfected during the last 40 years.
• I will push my body as far as it will go so that by this time next year I will be a cross between Linda Hamilton in Terminator 2 (thanks again for the poster, G) and an American Gladiator.
• I will write, write, write, write, write this year – mostly for MoB but I will also write a book in the next twelve months even if it kills me – or someone else does.  But I don’t think they it will.
• And I will listen to more music, preferably live.  Dave and I went out this weekend with friends to the Tin Angel, a small bar that has great singer songwriter shows.  We used to go a lot when we were dating but it’s been years.  Check out Susan Steen, a total unknown to me as of last week, but now the singer/writer of my 2009 theme song:

 “Start Again”

For every mistake I have made, every check I need to re-date, every blog contest in which we did not make the final cut, every New Year’s promise that I never quite brought all the way home, in 2009, I start again.

Oh, mirror in the sky what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above?

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

Today’s Trivia Question:  How many times can a grown woman and mother of two listen to “Landslide” (Dixie Chicks rendition) on her 40^th birthday without tiring?

Answer:  Fourteen Fifteen and counting.

Listening incessantly to a favorite song has been a psychopathic hallmark behavior of mine ever since Davy Jones sang “Daydream Believ-a” when I was eight years old.  The invention of the Sony Walkman was the salvation of those around me who no longer had to share my delusion that these songs were actually written JUST FOR ME. 

But they were, weren’t they? 

I mean don’t you think it is a weird coincidence that here I am turning forty and wondering about where life is going to take me – and whether those places will be destinations I can handle — and how do I evolve as a person as my children grow older and it isn’t all about them anymore — and Stevie Nicks just happened to write a song that is all about THAT???  And I swear the Chicks are looking right at me when they sing their version in this video.  C’mon – you can’t just make this stuff up.

I would also like to take this moment to thank other singers who offered private concerts to me and my iPod yesterday including:  The Indigo Girls (Fly Away), Judy Collins (Both Sides Now), Nora Jones (Sunrise), Martina McBride (Anyway), Cold Play (Viva la Vida), Van Morrison (Into the Mystic), Carol King (Tapestry), Five for Fighting (The Riddle) and Ben Folds (The Luckiest).

So many people have shared with me that 40 was their “best year ever,” or that their 40′s was this terrific decade and I should look forward to it.  I appreciate the sentiment but it’s hard to embrace.  It’s not unlike telling young mothers to enjoy their children while they are still toddlers because time goes by so fast. 

I don’t know which songs will have what meaning for me in the years ahead.  But I’m pretty sure someone will write a song about it.  Just for me.

Well I’ve been afraid of changing

Cause I built my life around you.

But time makes you bolder, children get older.

I’m getting older too.

Touchingly, he said this is in a completely accepting and nonjudgmental manner, asking nicely out of curiosity. Hugh and Ian would have groaned, and Hugh would have been scathing in his feedback.

This incident was reported in an email to my childhood friend Louesa who, on the first weekend in September, attended a reunion of Camp Pin Oak at the Lake of the Ozarks. She had emailed highlights of the reunion, which I could not attend, including the fact that alcoholic beverages were served on the porch of the old lodge/dining hall. And then she added this charming memory of her own, from when her two very grown-up sons were tiny.

“I know – rocking infants in the middle of the night, when I was in a complete stupor, I’d softly sing “Gray Squirrel, gray squirrel, swish your bushy tail…” and “… A baby prune’s just like his dad, ‘cept he’s not wrinkled half so bad…Now, we have wrinkles on our face, but prunie has them every place.” Funny how moms can make almost anything sound like a lullaby at 2am! You and I sang camp songs, but there are undoubtedly other Moms our age who were singing their babies to sleep to KISS and Led Zeppelin tunes.”

Louesa is right. Trying to calm a fretful baby, I would forage through my mental filing cabinet of Camp PIn Oak songs, pull out the rounds, the sweetly happy songs, the lovely wistful Civil War-ish airs, the haunting melodies we sang on cricket-and-chigger-filled Lake of the Ozark nights. And Malcolm is also right – those campfire songs are burned into my memory.

\”Viva La Vida on YouTube\”

Our house contains one lapsed clarinetist, one lapsed violinist, and one lapsed violist. Actually two former violinists if you count me – I stopped at age 16. I’m a bit sad that none of our boys will have any orchestra experience beyond 5th grade – there’s really nothing like playing a gorgeous piece of music with many others. When the musicians are proficient, being in the audience can give you goosebumps, but trust me, not as much as playing.

It can be thrilling.

When I was in 6th grade, there were two pieces of music that I loved with a passion…and because I adored them, I played them with the utmost feeling – and more perfectly than anyone else. For those two pieces alone, I moved up to first chair, first violin. The pieces? Hatikva…and Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring. Insert Judeo-Christian jokes here.

I loved music so much that I planned to major in it at college. That dream was quickly dashed by a brutal first-semester piano professor who informed me I was doing everything wrong, and that was the end of that. I still play piano (thanks for driving it 1000 miles to my house, Daddy!) but my professor was right, I possessed neither the artistic brilliance nor the technical proficiency to make music my career.

However, how do you know unless you try? Here’s hoping Coldplay will give many little kids the chills….and when it’s time to choose an instrument, inspire them to turn down trombone, and stick with the strings.