I go back....
This week, Sunday Scribblings has their 100th prompt. Happy (sorta) Blogaversary to you guys!
The idea this time is to write about the things that are like a mini-time machine for you. Music is mine. Sometimes smells and tastes, but always music. And then the music brings up the smells, tastes, touches, and the feelings in my heart.
The first time I heard this Kenny Chesney song, I knew exactly what he meant.
I never really thought about, that music is so integral to who I am. I'm not a musician, not really. I can appreciate it at the nut and bolt level. I can tell you when someone's off-key. I even direct an instrumental choir at church. But I just realized that I regularly made sound tracks for my life.
Okay, we all do that right? Make mix tapes? Or, I guess, CDs or playlists now. I've done it for years. I caught myself the other day making the list of that defined love and life with The Man. (I was only doing that because I couldn't focus on the death of my grandfather so I picked something else that made me feel warm. The Man and I aren't together anymore so our sound track is decidedly different now than it was a few months ago, but the warmth is still welcome.)
Songs can reduce me to tears, leave me uplifted. Cure every hurt, and amplify the pain.
I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother this weekend. Next week will be 4 years since she passed. Grandpa just passed this last Friday. These two songs were her two of her favorites (sung by her one of her favorite "new guys" in country music, Alan Jackson.) We sang "I'll Fly Away" at her funeral.
For other time machines, visit this week's Sunday Scribblings.
The idea this time is to write about the things that are like a mini-time machine for you. Music is mine. Sometimes smells and tastes, but always music. And then the music brings up the smells, tastes, touches, and the feelings in my heart.
The first time I heard this Kenny Chesney song, I knew exactly what he meant.
I never really thought about, that music is so integral to who I am. I'm not a musician, not really. I can appreciate it at the nut and bolt level. I can tell you when someone's off-key. I even direct an instrumental choir at church. But I just realized that I regularly made sound tracks for my life.
Okay, we all do that right? Make mix tapes? Or, I guess, CDs or playlists now. I've done it for years. I caught myself the other day making the list of that defined love and life with The Man. (I was only doing that because I couldn't focus on the death of my grandfather so I picked something else that made me feel warm. The Man and I aren't together anymore so our sound track is decidedly different now than it was a few months ago, but the warmth is still welcome.)
Songs can reduce me to tears, leave me uplifted. Cure every hurt, and amplify the pain.
I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother this weekend. Next week will be 4 years since she passed. Grandpa just passed this last Friday. These two songs were her two of her favorites (sung by her one of her favorite "new guys" in country music, Alan Jackson.) We sang "I'll Fly Away" at her funeral.
For other time machines, visit this week's Sunday Scribblings.
Mar 2, 2008, 10:28:00 AM
I like your using music to be your time machine. Good work. I miss my grandparents too.
Mar 5, 2008, 10:45:00 PM
I'm so sorry to hear about your grandfather.
This was a great post. I totally get what you are saying about music.