Old Songs

Music was a huge part of my upbringing, and continues to be a huge part of my life. It's rare that I don't have some sort of "soundtrack" going on.

Given that music seems to be embedded in my genes, and my siblings', it's no surprise that the girls love music, too. And here at Grandma and Boppa's, we've been singing old Sunday School songs at night (supposedly to settle them down, but if you've ever heard them belt out the "Appleseed" song, you'd have your doubts on that score). And during the day. And when the girls are supposed to be napping. Current favorites are "This Little Light of Mine," "The Rainbow is a Promise," "The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Rock," and "We are Happy People." (If you don't know any of them, the girls will happily sing them for you.)

In a totally different vein, I've got a rather wide range of musical likes. Pretty much everything from, say, 60s doo-wop to STOMP. (I do tend to avoid country, hip-hop, and gangsta rap, though.) To the great dismay of my oldest nephew, I have this deep and abiding love of 80s music. I have had to remind him (love you, K) that he wouldn't have the musical styles of today without the 80s music he loathes. It didn't work; I think he still thinks less of me for liking it. I can't help it. This is the music I grew up with.

I'm telling you all this so that I can tell you this story.

Mom and I wanted to take advantage of Saturday's early-bird special at Kohl's, which ended at 1p. Mom had wanted to talk to my sister when she called on Skype sometime between 10a-12p, so we hung out at the house until it was nearly noon and boogied over to Kohl's. I needed new jeans to replace the nearly-new ones I lost in the accident. I had no desire to wear shorts to church on Sunday, either. And perhaps a new shirt. Could always use a new shirt.

We left, leaving poor Dad to finish the Velveeta shells & cheese and supervise lunch. I found my jeans, Mom found jeans for Dad and a couple fall shirts for Charity, and we hustled into line just before 1p so we could get our extra 15% off. As we left Kohl's, Mom suggested Penney's to see if they had any shirts I might like, since they were having a sale and Kohl's had been a wash as far as that was concerned.

Now, I'm walking around well enough with the cane, but I still have one speed and one speed only: SLOW. So I get out first at Penney's while Mom finds a parking spot, since all of the gimp-accessible spots were full. I mosey into the store, and I grab Mom's attention as she all but barrels past me down the center aisle. She leads the way to the women's department, and I get stopped in an archway because my phone chirps. Incoming text message.

I handle the cane just fine, but I am not talented enough to walk with the cane, pull out my phone from my right jeans pocket with my braced wrist, and check the message.

It's from Dad. "Clementine till Jesus comes..." he'd written.

And I hear the music in my head, chuckle, and text back, asking which of the twins--since it had to be one of them--had spouted off with this little line.

Medium Fry, Dad's next text tells me. And it was totally spontaneous.

I show Mom the text, because I'm still chuckling when I catch up to her, and we find a couple shirts that I really like. Mom goes to look for some stuff for the girls while I try on the shirts and head for the checkout lines. Fifteen minutes later, I'm checked out and Mom is in line when my phone chirps again.

Dad again. "Mme. Tussaud."

And that's it.

It takes me a minute.

Allrighty then. "One of the kids is having a meltdown," I tell Mom. (Turns out, there were not enough clementines to get us to the Second Coming for Medium Fry, who snuck one of Large Fry's wedges when Dad's back was turned, and she got disciplined for it.)

And I've been stuck in old songs ever since!

I love it!