The Dance

Any joy or relief I used to find in music is temporarily on vacation. I can't enjoy music because every song and every artist evokes a memory. It's my own fault; I married a music man.

Of course, I enjoyed music long before I met him. But, when you are with a music man, it goes to new heights. You get absorbed in his knowledge. You associate songs (and especially lyrics) with happier times. You marvel at his mind and his talent. Happier times involve singing around the piano or dancing on the patio. You remember every concert, every dance, every quiet moment -- and what song was playing at the time.

My iPod hasn't been on in months. I have broken two nails jabbing the radio station buttons in the car. I turn it off but then the music in my head is worse than whatever they might play next.

I love country music and I thought I was safe with that. Unfortunately, they are playing Garth Brooks' "The Dance" a lot lately. This is a song the husband learned to play on the piano for me, even though he is not a fan of country music. It is sad and haunting. It is appropriate but we didn't know it at the time.

From The Dance:

And I, I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go.
Our lives, are better left to chance.
I could've missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance.

Music People

Jan gave me a few photos the other day. Everyone kids me that my love of music came from this marriage -- this band guy. Truthfully, he has enhanced it but the seeds were sown long ago.

Country music love started with my father and being trapped with his music preference. (Parents always get to pick the music -- a rule I now embrace.)

While perusing these photos, I noticed we are always surrounded by music posters and
rock & roll logos we burned into our lofts. (I also noticed that I am constantly draping myself across someone but we'll discuss that later.)

I have no idea what we were doing in this photo but I am absolutely sure there was music in the background.

Over Ice

Hot and cold. That could describe my preference with foods, my moods and several other areas of my life.

Although the maniac dog lives indoors, I put fresh water outside every day for our time on the patio. I like ice in drinks so I always put ice in her water. (For the record, the husband advises me to stop channeling my personality onto her.) The other day, Houseboy freshened her water and of course I asked, "Did you put ice in it?"

I'm also convinced she's a big country music fan.

Car Rides

My goldies get car sick. There's something about the backseat that does in people with motion sickness. They bargain with each other for shotgun. This is one of the few afflictions that doesn't affect me. I can read or bop to the music and the motion doesn't bother me. Plus, it distracts me from the husband's driving.

Lots of people have learned that a crying baby can be calmed in a car. To this day, I can count back from 60 and the baby will be sound asleep.

I feel safer with the dog in the car. When I run errands, I usually take her with me. Yesterday, I met my mother, ran a few errands and did the normal daily stuff, but I didn't have the dog. At one point, I was cleaning out the car. Maniac dog had planted herself in the passenger seat (she called Shotgun!) and was looking at me with great expectations.

We went for a long drive.

The iPod Switch-Out

We (the husband and I) spend an inordinate amount of time on our patio. This is our favorite time of year. He likes to tell me about his golf game; I like to make gagging noises. Music is always involved.

We have a new competition and it doesn't involve the crossword puzzle.

We laugh and sing along. Then, one of us will go in the house for something and come back to find a different iPod on the speaker system. His is loaded with Santana and other songs I'm bored with. Mine is loaded with country songs. He gets annoyed.

We struggle over the remote.

Many years ago, before we were married, we had a dinner party. A guest walked through our home and asked, "Is that yours or Dan's" We had already merged so I found this offensive but we laugh about it today.

The iPod speaker system is mine.

Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

As I mentioned the other day, (post: Dads) I grew up with Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson, George Jones and Patsy Cline. Tammy Wynette and Loretta Lynn sang about worlds and experiences I could not fathom. Mickey Gilley or Garth Brooks can inspire a counter dance.

Even though he dresses like GQ, I married a cowboy. He's not afraid to be a little rough around the edges. He's good at it. Occasionally, he ropes me in.

I'm not quite a cowgirl but I own the boots. They've seen some dance floors and tabletops. If you run into me in Texas or Arizona, I will be doing my best cowgirl impression.

The baby is almost grown. I watch him with an inquisitive eye and it's all I can do to keep from taking notes.

The daughter lives in Texas. Cowboys abound. Her relationship is sound but a few cowboys do help with the scenery. She lives very close to Willie Nelson. Coincidence? I think not.

The baby does not have the experience of being a cowboy. But he has a sister who lives in Texas and a father who embodies some cowboy characters. He's subjected to country music every time I am in control.

The song says, "Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys." The baby will become a lawyer or an engineer or some other professional. I will watch with pride. I will also hope he takes after his dad and has a little bit of cowboy in him.

Dads

The Captain had many reasons to be proud: WWII pilot, engineering career, an enduring marriage with a wife who adored him and more. I wish I had captured the gleam in his eyes when he spoke of his boys.

Today is Father’s Day and I am remembering the Captain/Hangdog/Unabomber. I’m thinking about last year and the absolute joy on his face when his sons or grandchildren called to acknowledge the holiday. We had a dinner, complete with three Roman generations of men. We’ll do the same today but there will be an empty chair.

My father did not get sons. He got stuck with me. Boy, have I put him through the wringer! Yet, he’s always made me feel like the smartest, the most talented daughter in the world.

We’ve all heard the stories and read the statistics. Children who grow up without a father are more likely to:

Abuse drugs and alcohol
Suffer in poverty
Drop out of school
Join a gang
Repeat the cycle

I’ve always heard that men want sons. It may be about carrying on the lineage and the family name. (You will have to kill me before I stop using the Riley name.)I watched this magician the other day. His trick was to put a bunch of people on a mat and then cover them in a bubble. I thought, “Hah! My dad has put me in a bubble for years.” One of his few quirks is when he’s mad or disappointed in me, he leaves it to my mother to tell me.

Here are a few things about my dad you may not know:

His childhood was beyond unfair. It makes me cry. He survived.

He describes his first date with my mother as, “Love at first sight.” I think they still like each other.

When my mother got bored with my ineptness, he continued to help me learn how to skip.

As an adult, I’ve never lived anywhere without my father painting, repairing, building.

His word is a bond. It’s ironclad. He’s the strongest (and I don’t mean just physical) person I know.

He doesn’t have to have the last word.

His quiet sense of humor is raw and hysterical.

His hearing may be diminished but he always hears us when we call.

He would get the certificate for “Best Eater.” He’s fun to cook for.

George Jones, George Strait, Willie Nelson and many other country singers will never know the passion of this fan. He forced me to listen to country music as a child and now I find myself comparing songs with him. Many of our father/daughter dates have been country music concerts.

Almost 45 years ago, Paul Riley met a little girl. She had colic and frog legs. She often spent time trying his patience. To this day, she takes him for granted. But, at least she knows it.

My father did not grow up with a great father. I did.

Young People and Music

When our niece was visiting, we spent some time in the car. I tend to go between our country station and the station that plays oldies. In either case, she knew the words and sang along.

My goddaughters know most of the songs from my generation. That's because they've been forced to listen to their mother and me sing loudly and often.

The daughter and the baby are both musically attuned. They come by it honestly. I love it that they can skip around different genres, know every word to the Beatles or the Rolling Stones or Garth Brooks and then introduce us to some group we've never heard of. Correction: I've never heard of it. The husband knows it all.

I was once one of those young people. My aunts exposed me to a little country and a lot of Leslie Gore. My father exposed me to a lot of country. My mother shared her love of Elvis. The oldies reminded me of my passion for hymns, big band music and jazz. I filled their CD collection and they let me share them.

Music transcends time and generations. If you don't agree with me, put a teenager in your car and play some Motown music. They'll sing along.

Turn it Up!

My current favorite country music song is "Ladies Love Country Boys" by Trace Adkins. My favorite line is:

"She's riding in the middle of the pick-up truck, singing Lynard Skynard,
yelling Turn it Up."

I'm very quirky about my stuff. Stay out of my office. Stay out of my closet. Stay out of my car. The husband and I ran an errand together the other night. This happens about once every 5 years. I offered for him to drive my car. (Stupid!) He started adjusting the seat, mirrors, etc. I got edgy. When he started to mess with the radio, I calmly informed him that he was about to lose a few fingers. He is not a fan of country music but I'm working on it.

To get me back, he rolled down all of the windows and drove through town screaming, "I'm driving the beemer and I'm listening to country music. Turn it up!"