Rock-A-Bye

I don't know when the precise moment actually occurred. I'm not sure how I missed it. But, at some point in time, Sofia got too big for my lap. At one point, I could rock her in my chair, my arms around her, nose in her hair, breathing her in. Then, in a blink, we didn't both fit in the rocking chair anymore. In a heartbeat, our time was up.

 I know it probably happened around the time she stopped taking naps. I don't remember her exact age, but I remember a bit of relief when we decided to drop her naps completely, because it was always such a battle to get her to sleep. We would rock and rock for what seemed like forever. And then, when I thought she was finally out, I would lay her down, and she would immediately wake back up, ready to go. I would be so frustrated. At the time, all I could think about was all the stuff I would now not get done because she wouldn't nap. And, all the "wasted" time I spent trying to rock her to sleep, when I could have been doing much more "important" things. Like laundry or some other mundane task.

Wasted time. I cringe now as I remember it. What I wouldn't do to just get back one more time of rocking her. All the laundry that could have waited while I spent quiet moments with my beloved child. The child that looks like me, acts like me. The one I love more than the stars in the sky. Wasted time...how stupid I was.

 I think that's the reason, now, why I'm so insistent on rocking Jacob to sleep for his naps. Although, many times, he isn't wholly on board with me. He would sometimes rather just lie down on his own. But, the regret I have with Sofia comes bubbling to the surface, so I get my way, and we sit and rock. I had made myself a promise when he was born, that I would enjoy the quiet moments and not wish these times away. Because the moments are all too brief. They pass by over time all too quickly. So, for the past two and half years, when I'm able to, we sit and we rock. I wrap my arms around my baby boy, rest my chin on his head, and breathe him in. And, when he is finally out, I rock a few more minutes, soaking up the time and branding the memory into my mind. Many times it brings tears to my eyes (such as now) because it is so precious and fleeting.

 One day, all too soon, Jacob will be too big or too old or both, and he won't want to rock with his Mommy anymore. My lap and my arms will be empty. I hope it comes much later than sooner, but like everything else in time, it is inevitable. I know that. I hate it, but I know it.

 So, for now, I treasure my time with my child. I soak it in. I wrap him up with both arms as a gift to myself, because it truly is. I will hang on for as long as I can. And, when it is time to let go, I will. Perhaps, not all that willingly, but I will. But, I do have now. I have the present. And for that I am thankful. I will use our quiet time together wisely and lovingly. Because, in those moments, time with my child is never ever wasted time.

"Do You Feel Like We Do?"

On my way to work today “Do You Feel Like We Do?” came on the radio. Every time I hear that song, I’m transported back to my childhood. Well, in all honesty, there are a lot of songs that do that. In most cases, kids listen to the kind of music their parents were listening to as they were growing. Because of the area that we live in, more often than not, it’s country. And, that’s cool. But, for me, it was rock music. When I was growing up, I heard a lot of it. At a very high decibel. My dad had a room dedicated in my parents’ basement for his stereo equipment, the “Stereo Room”. A Marantz receiver was the control deck to the turntable, reel-to-reel, tape player, two 4-foot tall tower speakers (I don’t remember the wattage, but it was a huge number for the time), and two smaller speakers perched on the taller ones. I’m not joking when I say that you could feel the bass on the second floor. You could probably hear it from down the road, but I never tested the theory. It’s a wonder none of us kids are hearing impaired. Even with as much patience as my dad does not have, he was always willing to share music with us. As long as we didn’t “fart around down there”, he would spend hours spinning records and loading the reel-to-reel. I remember distinctly a couple of times when I was pretty young, I would be listening to some 80’s schlock on Y-94, and he would say, “Turn that shit off. I’ll go play you some good music.” And, he didn’t disappoint. My dad had a chair directly in front of the turntable, with his albums lined up underneath. And, he had some great ones. In this room, I first heard The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Doors, The Who, Pink Floyd, all the great classic rock. Of course, it was just plain old rock ‘n roll in those days. I loved those albums. I could look at them for hours. Way back in the stone age of the 60’s and 70’s, album covers were as much an art piece as the music they contained inside. My favorites were the Stones’ albums. Some Girls, with the cut-out faces, and Sticky Fingers, with the real zipper on the jeans, (my sister and I would giggle about the guy in his underwear on the inside). They’re collector’s items today. We should have treated them better. And he had the requisites for any music fan: Woodstock, the album, Frampton Comes Alive, the Beatles (White Album), and so many others. The smell of the vinyl as you removed the album from its sleeve, the static as the needle hits the groove, the crackle of the scratches from too many album plays, all memories that I treasure. Then, the SOUND as the first song would begin to play. Dad would crank the volume, and you were instantly surrounded by the music. Pure heaven. To this day, I like to play music as loud as I heard it when I was growing up. My husband and kids are less appreciative than I was, so I usually only play it that loud when I’m in my car, alone ( props to the Bose in my car. It takes the abuse I shell out to it every day like a champ). But, I might be doing something right too. My daughter’s favorite song is “Heartbreaker”, from Led Zeppelin. And, I love that. The tradition must carry on. Sadly, the stereo room no longer serves the purpose of wrecking ear drums anymore. It’s a storage space, now. The turntable and reel-to-reel haven’t had any tunes played on them in years. I’m not even sure where my dad’s albums are. But, I do have the memories. And, those I’ll keep with me forever. Over the years my dad has given me a lot of things, but one of his greatest gifts is a love of music. And, in the grand scheme of things, it’s the one I treasure the most. Thank you, Dad. Rock on.

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

It's one of my all-time favorite Beatles songs. I can't put into words the emotional effect the song has on me, but I'll leave it at this: it moves me.

About a year ago, I was reading Rolling Stone, and there was an article numbering the best moments of the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies. One the top ones was when Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne, Dhani Harrison and others covered "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" for the induction of George Harrison. What put this one to the top of the list was the guitar solo Prince performs during it.

I had to check this out since I've never really thought of Prince as a "guitarist". I was blown away, and all I could think was, "Holy Shit, the man can really play!".

So, since I just heard the original version of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" on the radio, I thought I'd post this video.

You Can't Buy My Love

Since I've been listening to this cd too, I thought I'd post one of the songs from it. Actually, I've decided to post two videos, one being the official video and another being a live video.

Oh, Robert Plant. He's been described so many times and in so many ways, although "Golden God" seems to crop up the most. Although Jimmy Page is my favorite Led Zep alum (and my favorite musician overall, but that's neither here nor there right now), I do love Robert Plant's solo music. And, I really am enjoying his Band of Joy album. Anyone expecting Led Zeppelin might be in for a disappointment (much the same as his and Alison Krauss' Raising Sand from a couple of years ago). However, I love the muted beauty of the songs on the album. Some of them are kind of David Lynch-ie, and if you've seen his movies, you'll know what I mean. However, the whole album stands up as far as I'm concerned.

I saw him and Jimmy Page (swoon) in Fargo in the late 90's, but our seats were not great, and although I remember being at the concert and enjoying it, it doesn't stand out in my memory (I wasn't as into Zeppelin at the time as I am now; they were my boyfriend's band). Do I kick myself now for not paying more attention? You bet I do.

Anyhow in January, tickets went on sale for Robert Plant's show in the Cities in April. I hemmed and hawed about it for a couple of weeks trying to decide if I should go. After convincing myself I really needed to see him, and then convincing my husband of the same (he could care less), I decided to see what I could find for tickets, which turned out to be none. Sold out. Well almost, we could each still go but we wouldn't get to sit together. Not exactly ideal. Cue kicking myself again.

So, that's where I stand. I asked Lee if he would be willing to get tickets for the show at the Greek Theater in L.A., which would actually kill two birds with one stone, since I would love to see a show at the Greek. He declined however...unless we win the lottery in the very near future. I'm not going to hold my breath. So, for now I'll have to assuage myself with videos and pretend I'm there. A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do.

Bereft of Inspiration

Winter leaves me so uninspired. Being trapped inside all of the time saps all my energy, creative and otherwise. And, living in a small town provides little in the way of entertainment, unless you like high school basketball (which I do) or going to the local bar (which really isn't feasible usually and not usually the best idea anyhow). So, I spend a lot of time at home when I'm not at work, watching t.v., reading, browsing the web. But, I'm beyond ready for winter to come to an end. I don't necessarily have cabin fever, just an itch for awakened plants, warm sunshine and fresh air. We got a small taste of it last week before Mother Nature came back from vacation and sourly ripped it away. Winter has returned, and it makes me none to happy. So I wait, impatiently, for above freezing temps to return and the blessing that is Spring.

To keep in touch with this blog more, I think what I may "try" to do is post a video of a song, that I've been listening to, every day (or more realistically, every few days). If you like it, great. If not, well, it's my blog. :) Of course, finding the video may prove to be more difficult than I anticipate. Oh well, I've got time on my hands.

Today's song: "Loving Cup" by the Rolling Stones from Exile on Main Street.

Why?

I really didn't know a lot about Saturday's tragedy in Arizona until today. I had heard different news reports about it, but I tend to tune out bad news until I feel I can handle reading or hearing about it. So, today, the consuming news on the Today show (my morning staple as I get ready for work) was dealing with the shootings this weekend.

A sidenote: It makes me incredibly sad that it seems all too much nowadays that these stories are becoming so common.

Anyhow, the main story, of course, was the current condition of Representative Giffords. For now the doctors remain cautiously optimistic, which is the best news they can give at this time.

But, the story that keeps sticking with me and brings me to tears concerns the little 9-year old girl that lost her life: Christina Green. She was born on September 11, 2001, so her all-too-short life has been bookended by tragedy. She was there because of her growing interest in politics, and she wanted to meet the U.S. Representative from her district. One of those cases of being in wrong place at the wrong time.

Whenever I hear tragic news stories involving children, I think about a parent's worst nightmare of having to lose a child. And, I immediately put myself in that place. When I think about losing Sofia, it scares me to the point of immobilizing terror. I can literally feel my heart catch, and the wind is completely knocked out of me. I don't know how you go on after something like that.

And, what was the point of all of this? Was it actually politically motivated? Is the suspect just crazy? From what I've read, there were numerous signs pointing to his instability. In the end, and for whatever reason, he did what he did. But, once again, you're left to ask why? And, there will never be a good enough answer.

Because there is no reason big enough in the world to take someone else's life. Not a one. Destroying someone's life, and then in turn the lives of their families and friends is heartless and unforgivable.

Forgive this rambling piece. My thoughts are everywhere concerning this, trying to make sense out of something that has no sense. The puzzle pieces never come together concerning tragedies like this.

Rest in peace to those who lost their lives. Hope and prayers to those who are still fighting for theirs. And, prayers to the families who lost loved ones. I wish there was more that could be given.

Winter Wonderland?

Ah, winter. As I watch the snow falling outside my window ever so nicely, I have visions such as these in my imagination:



Unfortunately I know the schizophrenia of North Dakota weather, so I know it will quickly turn to this:



and this:



Oodles of fun, no? Eh, no.