Challenge - Day 17: "Sweet"

After a successful trip to the east coast, I am back home and ready to resume my writing challenge. I'm sure some of my recent adventures will pop up in my posts over the next few days; we had a great time.

When I made my flight reservations for the trip, I booked in and out of Raleigh, NC, even though I knew we'd be driving up to Virginia and back. With the current TSA regulations and restrictions, it just made everything easier to come and go from the same location. Our obligations ended early Saturday evening, so Leah and I decided to go ahead and drive back to Raleigh that night instead of waiting to leave early Sunday. The drive would take over three hours, but we weren't too tired, the weather was good and getting back on Saturday would give Leah all day Sunday to get ready to return to work on Monday. Off we went. The first half of the drive, at least, was on smaller country highways; we didn't hit the interstate until almost into North Carolina. It was quiet, not much traffic and an easy drive. We fell into talking about all that had happened over the last few days and how good it had been to spend time together and with our mutual friend, Vicki. Our conversation was relaxed and flowing, typical of long-time friends who drift from subject to subject, back and forth. We agreed ahead of time to keep talking so whoever was driving wouldn't get sleepy, since we both have turned into chickens in our old age -- we go to sleep when it's dark and wake up with the sun. We talked of previous road trips and I told her how my niece, Carrie, and I passed the time when we were driving together by singing. We'd say, "Sound of Music," and proceed to sing all the songs from that show we could remember, laughing and making up lyrics when we didn't know the right words. Then we'd go on to "Mary Poppins," or "John Denver." When I said those last words, that did it for Leah and me and we launched into "Take Me Home Country Roads," substituting "North Carolina" for "West Virginia," even though the syllables don't match. 

I didn't realize how many John Denver songs I remembered. You know how it is when you start singing, words flow from your mouth without thinking, words I haven't sung in years and years, words that, if you asked me, I couldn't tell you. But when you sing them, another part of your brain takes over and they flow out, as if you just sang them yesterday. I told Leah that I remembered how much I loved John Denver's music when I was young. I had several albums, but my favorite was a live, double album, "An Evening With John Denver." I would lie on my bed at night, giant headphones on so I could turn the volume up high, listen to those songs and sing along. I was really great on harmonies and imagined that one day, John or someone like him would discover that and ask me to sing backup. Leah and I laughed about that.

We talked about John Denver and what a nice, sweet guy he always seemed to be. We were both fans of his television show and just loved his persona. I know he had some sort of substance abuse problems in his life, and it is sad to think that his marriage to Annie -- she who inspired "Annie's Song" ended in divorce -- but overall I remember his laughter and seemingly wide-eyed fascination with life. It still hurts to think about him tragically dying while piloting a new aircraft, one of his passions. I'll never forget this really sweet man who wasn't ashamed to be sweet.

I returned home and, almost immediately, downloaded "An Evening With John Denver" from iTunes. Each night this week I've plugged my earbuds into my iPad and listened to those songs as I fall asleep, somewhere around the fourth or fifth one. Today I'm sharing with you the song that I think best expresses the sweetness of John Denver, "The Boy From The Country," (not to be confused with "Thank God I'm A Country Boy.) I hope you enjoy it and take a minute to remember the spirit of this truly nice man. 

Thanks for stopping by. It's good to be back; I'll see you tomorrow.    

Sixteen Again

Tonight I drove home from Austin by myself after attending a birthday party for one of my friends I worked with at UT. Traffic was light and I turned on XM Radio. The station is officially called "The Bridge - Classic 60's and 70's Folk Rock," but to me it is "The Soundtrack of My Teenage Years."

In the darkness I drift away. I am fourteen years old and Bread is singing "Everything I Own." I am hopelessly in love with Lee Roberts, who just wants to be "friends" with me. "I would give everything I own, give up my life, my heart, my home...just to have you back again."

Those 70's singer/songwriter boys, with their acoustic guitars, long hair and close harmonies, how I loved them -- James Taylor; Michael Murphy; Crosby, Stills & Nash (with and without Young.) They sang about me and to me, alone in my room, wearing the big, clunky headphones we used to have so I could turn it up as loud as I wanted. The sound reverberated in my head and stirred my soul. 

Back in my car I segue from Bread to Dave Loggins. "Please come to Boston for the springtime...." I know all the words, stored in the part of the brain that remembers music. I can't tell you the words but I can sing them. It is the strangest phenomenon. I hear the opening strands of Michael Murphy's "Wildfire" and smile, but I don't know the name of the song. The introduction is long, but even so, wracking my brain, I can't get the words out. But as soon as he begins to sing, my mouth opens and the words pour out, "She comes down from Yellow Mountain, on a dark flat land she rides, on a pony she named Wildfire, with a whirlwind by her side, on a cold Nebraska night."

I am nineteen years old, lying in one of the twin beds at my boyfriend's house. He is in the other bed, we both have the flu and are sick, sick, sick. He puts a Gordon Lightfoot album on and leaves the arm open, which makes the album automatically start over when it gets to the end. All day long we listen to Gord -- "Ribbon of Darkness," "Rainy Day People," "Early Morning Rain," "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."

"Hello darkness my old friend. . . ." I am a senior in high school and have an assignment for a composition in English class. I have to write about independence and use the words from three examples of poetry, songs or short stories to illustrate my thoughts. Two of my choices are Simon and Garfunkel songs, "The Sound of Silence" and "I Am a Rock." I got an "A."

John Denver, "I had an uncle name of Matthew. He was his father's only boy. Born just south of Colby, Kansas. He was his mother's pride and joy." I loved this song so much that it became the name I would name my son. It didn't work out for me, but I gave it to my brother when his wife was expecting their second child. A boy, Matthew, now eleven years old.

I am singing harmony to "Teach Your Children Well," when I realize the traffic is picking up as I am nearing Wimberley and I need to pay attention. The soundtrack of the last hour has left me relaxed and pensive. I love this music and it touches me in a deep, essential way. It makes me realize that I need to spend more time with music, just like I used to, the days when I knew every song on the radio. I can never go back to those days, but I can log on to iTunes, load up my iPod and listen. Which is exactly what I intend to do.