Cacks, moms, and rock ‘n’ roll

I will readily admit that I don’t have a musical bone in my body.  For a very brief moment as a child I played the violin, but gave that up to pursue dance (my mother, sensibly, told me I should pick one or two activities rather than attempt to do them all).  I can carry a tune, but would never ever, even after a dozen cocktails, sing karaoke.  Still, I love love love music.  When I was in high school, I dated several musicians.  My first “real” boyfriend was a drummer.  Like most young people, I adored music and musicians.  My definition of “cool” was largely predicated upon music that I liked or that people I admired liked.

I worked in 2 different record stores for a total of about 7 years while in college.  I loved it: first dibs on concert tickets or new releases.  I got to meet people with similar musical tastes to my own (which tended to run a bit strange sometimes).  And can anyone of my generation not get a bit nostalgic remembering the power of the mix tape?  We all made them.  It was such a safe yet eloquent way to express how you felt about someone without having any actual talent.  But hell… it took time to search out something powerful yet properly obscure.

Will and I both want Stella to love music.  I started out with headphones on my massive swollen gut while pregnant.  She seemed to chill out when Social Distortion came on.  Or maybe it stunned her into submission.  Regardless, we’ve appropriated Will’s old iPod and made the Stella Pod, which is usually plugged into our monster truck of a stroller (yes, it has an iPod docking station and speakers).  It contains everything from classical and not-so-classical piano (Michael Nyman, Philip Glass) to the Specials, the Pixies, and the Ramones.  You can also add some extra crunch with the Beastie Boys, Simon and Garfunkel, and Jane’s Addiction.

I’ve also been dancing Stella around since she was born.  This dancing has become more vigorous the older she’s gotten.  She loves it.  I also daresay that she’s gotten to the point where she tries to dance herself now.  Listening to the familiar theme song for King of the Hill, she starts bouncing while sitting up on her play mat.  Same thing with the silly songs her Fisher Price Work Bench sings.  I often find myself hoping no one is watching us through the windows, as we must look twitchier than Thom Yorke himself as we swirl around the living room together listening to Radiohead.

Maybe she will want to take piano lessons (or better yet, the cello).  I think her grandmother (Will’s mom, formerly known as Meatloaf on my blog) would donate a piano she has in her living room.  Even if she doesn’t, however, I think it’s a neat thing for a person to discover for themselves.  I say this now.  I’ll have to save this blog and pull it back out whenever she’s subjecting me to the year 2014’s New Kids on the Block.  Music, indeed.


About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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