Whoa oh, listen to the music - part 2

I went to a Bon Jovi concert the other day (and as I have mentioned before, time gets more and more relative, more slippery, all the time, and recently can mean anything from a week to 18 years. In this case it means about 3 months.) One of his songs asks, "Who says, you can't go home again?" Who decided that? You can always go home again. You can even go to homes you have had in the past. You can go back in time. All you need is some good music.

In a previous post, I came to the shocking realization that my music, the Good music, might not exactly be "trending" anymore. Whatever... I'm okay with that now. That music is the soundtrack of my life. I know that I am not alone when I say that a song - possibly even more than a smell - can instantly take me back to a specific moment in time with the specific people who were with me there. Vivid sounds and images. Any song from Queen's Night at the Opera - bang. I am instantly transported to Chicago Illinois, where my mother and I are cleaning the house, and she is commenting on Freddy's voice. 10cc "The Things We Do for Love" - Pow. I am on the front porch of an Ohio apartment with my tiny portable record player playing my 45. "Maybe I'm Amazed" - it's a neighborhood in Kansas where six of us are riding bikes all over the place while a guy named Van plays his 12 string and harmonica at a block party in our back yard (God, those were the BEST evenings!). Billy Squire - baby, I am roller skating! Whitesnake- High school football bus rides. "Welcome to the Jungle"- College parties (I think?). "Jeremy" - Christmas shopping for the first time with my 8 month old baby. Those songs will always put me in those exact places, listening to the radio, singing along, and probably dancing too. (Where does Bon Jovi send me? Sorry Jon, but you are a bad- breakup-ran-out-of-gas-on-the -highway-on-the-way-home-perverted-truck-driver...you don't even wanna get me started..can-I-PLEASE-just-get-HOME flashback. Every time. But honey, you are still SO pretty, so you are forgiven.)

The radio was my constant companion for years. In the house, in the car - there was always sound. Then, in 1981 a miracle occurred. Somehow, the planets aligned and the Gods of Radio hooked up with the Gods of TV (at a college party, I think), and they said, "Let there be MTV and VH-1!" And they saw that it was good...no, they saw that it was AWESOME! Not only could I hear the wonderful music, I could see the beautiful people singing it. I saw the Adam Ant (so sexy). I saw Duran Duran in Rio (and so sexy!) Van Halen could Jump, the Police were standing too close, and - what the hell? how was Michael Jackson MOVING like that? (Full disclosure, I totally had a crush on the animated guy from A-ha. Is that wrong?)

So I got ready for school every morning and watched music. After a while, life and work and kids kind of crowded out the morning dance party, MTV had some weird midlife crisis and lost the "M", and music retreated back to my radio.

Until...

One morning -maybe 2005 ish - as I was stumbling around (mornings are stupid) and the 13 year old girl and 6 year old boy were getting ready for school upstairs, I heard music. And giggling. And dancing. As I struggled back up the stairs (mornings are stupid), not only do I HEAR music, I SEE the flicker if the TV. What? Could it be? Arriving in a bedroom, my beautiful children have discovered VH-1. And music videos. And apparently Shakira! And I looked upon it and saw that it was good. No, I saw that it was AWESOME! We danced and sang every morning for several years, and music became part of my memories with my children. "Hips Don't Lie" whisks me back to the mornings (still stupid) of two bowls of cereal, backpacks, and school books. "Pocketfull of Sunshine" carries me off to evenings of bed time stories and tuck-ins. And anything by Daughtry puts me right in the middle of stupid mornings I wouldn't trade for the world.

The kids are both gone now, but if I start missing them too much I can listen to my "flashback" playlist on Spotify. The songs are there, and then, miraculously, so are my 13 and 6 year olds. However, "Hips Don't Lie" takes on a whole different meaning at 53 when you start to dance ...