The First of December…

Tags

James Taylor, Kenny Loggins, kids, music

I suppose it might be covered with snow this year and then again maybe not.  Perhaps it was in 1968 when James Taylor wrote ” Sweet Baby James.”  It turns out there really was a baby James Taylor born to James’ brother Alex and his wife.

I was perusing the Pandora channel this morning when I came upon James Taylor telling the story of how he came to write ” Sweet Baby James” for his nephew James.

The bottom line is that there is another James Taylor and if he was born circa 1968 he would be, let’s see, 6 plus 7 carry the one around 49 years old.  I wonder how it feels to have a song written about you.

Further on down the road, also on Pandora, ” Danny’s Song” popped up.  You know           ” Even though we ain’t got money…”  And that song is also written about a baby which I think Kenny Loggins wrote for his brother and his wife who were also about to have a son. So where’s that kid and how does it feel to also have a song written about you.

And thanks to a dear friend who introduced me to Loggins & Messina in the wilds of Connecticut once upon a time.

Maybe James Taylor, James Taylor, and the Loggins kid should get together with Kenny and write another song or at least record a medley of their hit birth announcement songs.

Clearly, I have too much time on my hands and too much space left in my brain.

 

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It’s A Clean Machine

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cars, carwash, kids, old days

There used to be a local PBS show kicking around these parts called” Things That Aren’t There Anymore.”

It was a loving lament to the good old days of Pennsylvania’s amusement parks or Mom & Pop restaurants where you could get the best burger, shake or cup of coffee and by goodness it was cheap and wonderful.

You get the point – things change, people and tastes change and things that were once important and part of your life’s fabric one day go away.  And you miss them.

Which leads me to this:

Had my car in the shop for some work and as always happens when I’m there I receive a voucher for a free ” LASER CAR WASH.”  It’s a blatant attempt to turn me from a freeloading car wash customer into a paying car wash customer.   It also forces me to drive to through the Mercedes lot to cash in on my free wash.

I get to look at all the cars I will never own.

No humans involved in the operation, mostly a giant Robbie the Robot that hoses down, scrubs, rinses and dries your car in about 4 minutes.  I did not see any lasers in action although at times the windshield was covered with soap so maybe one slipped in there while I couldn’t see.

I’m not a big fan anymore of keeping the outside or inside of my car clean.  No, it’s not a clean machine.  I work. It’s a working car. We work together. We have this understanding.

But whilst sitting inside that Wash -o -Matic Tunnel I recalled when washing cars was not a product of some mechanical or industrial revolution but an honest to goodness family adventure project on a warm and sunny Saturday afternoon.

Remember when we all got decked out in bathing suits and filled buckets with soapy water and sponges the size of a loaf of bread?  Washing the family car was fun.  This was when we all only had one car.

The cars in my family had names and personalities probably because they were the first cars my our parent’s ever owned.  Owning a Chevy was a big deal.

Cars were still a luxury item on the way to becoming a necessity for the post war new middle class. My Mom and Dad grew up during The Great Depression and The Second World War.  Life was no picnic for those kids who became our parents.

It was a big deal to watch the odometer flip over to 30 or 40,000 miles.

We’d all crowd over the front seat and watch those little plastic wheels work their mileage magic.  This was while the car was in motion.

Washing the car was a big deal.  We kids mostly got wet, did no work, got bored and left my Dad to clean up our mess.  He  was responsible for waxing the car – Simonize anyone?  That was hard work and you had to do it in the shade.

Only the well to do could afford to pay to have someone wash their cars.  Which brings me and us to last week and the car wash.

Washing the car is one of those things that’s not there anymore.

My current car has no particular name or personality except that it’s a beast in the snow which I like and my last 4 cars have all been named ” Millenium Falcon.”

Cars, they come, they go clean or otherwise.

One of these days I’ll tell you about that ’67 Karhman Ghia…Now that was a car.

 

The Children of America

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candidates, humor, kids, politics

We, the undersigned, The Children and Teenagers of America, have a bone to pick with you,  ” Adult Politicians and Adults in the News Media of America.”

We are sick and tired of you referring to the actions of certain presidential candidates as “childish” or ” acting like a 5 year old” or ” immature.”

We’re kids for heaven’s sakes and we know better.

In the future ( assuming there is one by the time we grow up) we request that you describe the boorish behavior of certain candidates as ” being like grumpy old men” or ” acting like a 90 year old” or ” senior citizen like.”  See how grandpa likes them apples.

Don’t lay this circus on us or we will cut off your Medicare and Social Security as soon as we are able.  The kids are all right to coin a phrase that’s already been coined.

Give us the vote and take it away from anyone over 18 years old. If there is a stupidity test in order to vote then clearly most adults we know have passed with flying colors.

To sum up.  Kids may act like kids but we know better.  Adults who act like kids also know better but choose not act like grown ups.

So, if these two guys are acting like jerks please call them jerks.  Leave us out of it.

 

 

 

A Case of the Nevers

Tags

kids, parents, roads, vhs tape, Yogi

A friend recently asked why I decided to visit Paris.  Was there a specific reason?  Why Paris?  Why now?  This in essence was my reply.

I said that when you get to a certain age you start to get a case of the ” Nevers.”  As in I’ll never be rich or drive a fancy car or any of the million other dreams you had when you were growing up and you had your whole life out before you.

When you cross that 50 year old yard line and you’re still working with kids and a house and a mortgage and wondering how you’ll ever put both of them through college and have enough to live comfortably when ( if ?) you eventually retire you start to think about the things that you’ll never get to do or get to be.

It’s a reassessment of what you’ve done, what’s important and what’s possible.

I have a whole list of ” I’ll nevers” as does everyone else.  I’ll never be a major league baseball. I couldn’t hit the curve and so I was never even a high school baseball player. Never play in a symphony or have a summer home in the south if France.  But I can raise smart, confident and independent kids who can watch me do things that are important to me and watch me do things that make a difference in my community.

My case of the nevers is not about me bemoaning a lack of fabulous wealth.  It’s about looking around and saying I really want to run a marathon and now I’ve accomplished that never nine times.

It’s about being satisfied with what I have done and being able to say that I’m really happy with the way it’s all played out.  And it’s about going to Paris.  Cause they’re not about to transplant the Eiffel Tower across the sea to my little burg.  It’s those things that you have to do because no one ever knocks on your front door and says, hey buddy, if you really want to go to Paris now might be just about the right time.

My case of the nevers is about taking stock of where I’ve been and where I think I still might want to go.  A city and a country where French is the local language was a good start.

Years ago we transferred my parent’s ancient 16mm home movies to VHS tape (which we thought would last forever didn’t we?) and I was able to see them as young parents but now through my eyes as a parent.

There they were with their whole lives ahead of them with little me and soon a couple of other little kids. They were on the road.

Where did it take them? It eventually led to me at this moment thinking out loud and wondering where my road still leads.

Yogi said that when you come to a fork in the road – Take it.

Maybe it’s not only about the road NOT taken but but about the roads you did and will take.