Erma Bombeck (1927-1998) was a 2-times-a-week newspaper columnist and author that was just plain part of my growing up years (the 60s and 70s). I was a newspaper lover/reader/fanatic and she was one of my go-to, gotta-read parts (along with Dear Abby and Ann Landers).
She was wry, witty, warm and insightful and I came across this newspaper clipping and I don’t recall when I might have torn it out of the newspaper, but it was in an Ann Landers column and she has been dead since 2002, so, I have had it awhile. I wanted to share it here. It made me smile…and *sniffle*, too. Because I certainly get it more than I would have when it was first written or even back when I tore it from a Denver Post Ann Landers column. Oh yes, I understand it better now…
If I had My Life to Live Over by Erma Bombeck
If I had my life to live over again, I would have waxed less and listened more.
Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy and complaining about the shadow over my feet, I’d have cherished every minute of it and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was to be my only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would have sat cross-legged on the lawn with my children and never worried about grass stains.
I would have cried and laughed less while watching television – and more while watching real life.
I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.
I would have eaten more ice cream.
I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the Earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren’t there for a day.
When my child kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, “Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.”
There would have been more I love yous, more I’m sorrys, more I’m listenings, but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute of it, look at it and really see it…try it on…live it…exhaust it…and never give that minute back until there was nothing left of it.
Baaaaa-waaaahhh, sniffle-sniffle. Omygoodness, get a grip. Thank God it is never too late to live right.
Poor Rocky. At the age of 12, made to dress like the cowboys (Roy Rogers) my mom always idolized. She would rummage and thrift “outfits” for my kids when they came to visit. Then, she’d set up a “photo studio.” This was in 1997. I totally forgot to scan Tredessa’s photo shoot, for which she may now thank me monetarily. Hahahaha. HE WAS SOOOOOO CUTE!! *kiss*kiss
This was me at one. My mom was pregnant with little Joey-to-be. She somehow thought that frizzing my hair up with tiny pin-curls would make for a festive shot. I was quite obviously trying to flee. Tami was never pin-curled like me. My whole life: bobbypins and frizz. Geez.
I can live with this picture. Timmy (who seems hungry here) was maybe 3 weeks old, meaning I was 3 1/2. You will note that already, at that young age, I was the replica of my dad with the eyebrows and lower eye lids (aka: bags). What 3 1/2 year old has those? Me! Fifty years later, is it any wonder?
So, my mom’s use of questionable outfits and props started early – on me! My Grandma Allison had given me this dress. I was 11 and the darts did not have anything to hold them in place. And then my mom made me put on my grandma’s floppy hat. Like me, you may ask yourself what my parents were thinking letting me out of the house with that stringy hair??? Holiness girls could not cut their hair, you see. Boo. Note my extremely authentic smile. Good times in Ames, Iowa at the grandparent’s house.
Once finally eschewing those tight pin-curls, my parents moved the family to Robert, LA where the humidity caused my adolescent hair to kink and wave and get frizzy. I actually had to get my hair chemically straightened there, and then use an 8000-degree curling iron to keep it “smooth”. In this picture, I am a junior in high school who is not allowed to wear make-up, with long, stringy (fuzzy?) hair, and finally, the dark brows and lashes work for me. Secret? A little dab of Vaseline applied ever-so-slightly. My terrible eyesight now may be attributed to a petroleum-based beauty regimen.
I went neutral. Or something. This is a dress my mom made for me for some occasion or another at church (the building in the shot). Yes, I had a brown silk flower in my hair (hair combs were the late-70s rage). Which I had sort of {brazenly} cut. And curled a little. What goes around, comes around.
Tim called this my “Kathryn Kuhlman” look. Brothers!
Oh, and I would like to lay claim to this little treasure:
Perry Como. Album in pristine condition. If I don’t find my own copy soon, I hereby request this as part of my inheritance.
My mom has boxes of treasures…and items suitable for blackmail. She is the greatest treasure of them all, though. :)
Late summer 1977, a girl about to enter her senior year of high school, sits in her room singing and praying this song over and over,
Lord, let me have a dream without being a dreamer
And Lord, let me have a vision without being consumed of it
And let me work with diligence always knowing that You’re the start and end of it
Oh Lord, let everything, everything I do remind me of my love for You.
Lord, teach me how to love for so many are in need of it
Oh Lord, teach me how to give for it’s in giving that we learn how to live
Let me work with diligence always knowing that You’re the start and end of it
And oh, Lord, let everything, everything I do remind me of my love for You.
Let everything-everything-everything that I do
Remind me of my love for you.
Here is what that girl didn’t know then
She will struggle her whole life to avoid workaholism in favor of whole-hearted devotion, which is pleasing to the Lord, just like Hezekiah.
She will battle, having been raised with a strong work ethic and disdain for laziness, a propensity for overwork and have to be reminded that rest is a built-in (work 6, rest 1) and an invitation from Jesus Himself, “Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden and overburdened, and I will cause you to rest. [I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls.] Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest (relief and ease and refreshment and recreation and blessed quiet) for your souls. For My yoke is wholesome (useful, good—not harsh, hard, sharp, or pressing, but comfortable, gracious, and pleasant), and My burden is light and easy to be borne.” Matthew 11.28-30
She will throw herself into things (good things and causes and righting injustices and getting the job done when no one else will and even “work for the Lord”) with zeal and passion and intense diligence (body-soul-and-spirit) and will need to be reminded that the Lord is the start and the end of the things He calls her to. It doesn’t depend on her. It is His.
She will have to re-learn, time and again, that the vision, though energizing and life-giving, is not meant to consume the whole of her.
And again and again she will repent before the Lord that she is doing many things for many-many reasons (even for Him, in her mind) and that it is time to get back to it being above her love for Him, in unforced rhythms of grace.
Another trip around the proverbial block. :/
Note: Danniebelle Hall was a FAV of mine, both whn she toured with Andrae Crouch and during her solo career. And yes, the words are poignant to me, from then and for now, an anthem for a do-er. Teach me to love, teach me to give…
This playlist is a huge category. There are soooooo many songs about hearth and home or houses and hometowns. Quite overwhelming, actually. I had to leave off another 8 or 9 that I really liked (like “Lucky” Jason Mraz and Colbie Callait – to be used on a future list) just because I was determined to keep this list at 10. There is a playlist from YouTube at the end of this blog that includes each of the songs I have written about here.
I’m a home-grown, home-loving, home-girl. I don’t necessarily mean a house, either. I mean home the feeling, home the people. Home. Sweet home.
LORD, it seems You have been my home forever, from ‘once upon a time,’ to ‘happily ever after,’ (from before the mountains were formed until time is no more), You are God and You have been my God and my home. Psalm 90.1-2, my paraphrase
Check out my top ten songs and why they made the cut.
#1 Back Home Again, John Denver
Long story, told as sparingly as possible. The rest are shorter.
Why do I love this song? There is a whole family story. I cannot capture it here, but suffice it to say that my brother Joe (yes, that Joe), ran away from home. My dad had accepted a church far, far away from any home we’d ever known and there was some culture shock and he was a HS freshman and of course, we showed up mid-year, so it is hard.
It tore our family up – days of Joe just missing. But after the better part of a week, he was found and the police were putting him on a plane and my parents drove to New Orleans to get him and he wasn’t there. The airline said he hadn’t boarded. We all mourned even more. My mom was sick with sorrow. We assumed he ran again after the police delivered him to the airport. There was a heavy darkness at our house.
Then a phone call: the flight he’d been on was cancelled – he arrived late (airlines can be dumb). We all climbed in the Ford Station Wagon and went to get him. What a relief. There was much love and my dad took us to a really nice steak house and we feasted on the fatted calf, so to speak. The son had come home.
It was nearing midnight, I think, as we drove back to Robert, Louisiana, past our school-night bedtime. The excitement was quieting down and we were just so happy he was there. The family was settled in listening to the radio, still, as the car hummed along. Just as we pulled in to the driveway, John Denver’s voice filled the car
There’s a storm across the valley, clouds are rollin’ in
the afternoon is heavy on your shoulders.
There’s a truck out on the four lane, a mile or more away
the whinin’ of his wheels just makes it colder.
He’s an hour away from ridin’ on your prayers up in the sky
and ten days on the road are barely gone.
There’s a fire softly burning; supper’s on the stove
but it’s the light in your eyes that makes him warm.
My dad put the car in park, but none of us moved, not a muscle. We all sensed the holiness of the moment, the serendipity of this particular song at this distinct second in time…and we just sat there…in the driveway…in the late night – listening, knowing somehow God was blessing the boy coming home. We listened to every single word and note of that song, almost afraid to even breathe…
It’s the sweetest thing I know of, just spending time with you
it’s the little things that make a house a home.
Like a fire softly burning and supper on the stove.
And the light in your eyes that makes me warm.
Hey, it’s good to be back home again
Sometimes this old farm feels like a long lost friend
Yes, ‘n, hey it’s good to be back home again.
It was a moment barely spoken of for years, for it was too precious. And it was this monumental transcendent time-fragment we’ll never forget. Because for all of the fear and sadness and rejoicing those days had brought, that moment became the time we knew we were together, all those miles from our kin and the life we’d known before, and we were home.
And the brother I loved was safe. My little Joey.
So how could I not love this song? It’s my number one song about home.
#2 The House that Built Me, Miranda Lambert
This was the Country Music Awards song of the Year in 2011, I believe, maybe 2010. Such a great song. It is the story of adult going back to the house she grew up in and asking the owner to let her come inside to look around. She calls it “the house that built me” because of all the memories of her experiences growing up there. It immediately, when I heard it, reminded me of 1723 York Street, an address which, if you read this blog, you’ll recognize {the house of my carefree-childhood memories}. A quick search and you will see the address shows up regularly here…I wonder how many times? :)
And I have always wanted to go back there, to my house-that-built-me and see if I could go through it. And if the owners now ever stumble on this blog – I hope they won’t think I am crazy. I hope they’ll just watch the Miranda Lambert video and be able to understand that many-many-many years ago, I was a little girl there, and the memories are sweet and fine. O, the projects I planned and the dreams I dreamed and adventures I experienced there…
I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness in me might start healing…
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory from the house that built me.
#3 Home is Wherever I’m with You, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes
This song is so fun-gritty, backwoods-country-AND-modern and did-I-mention: fun. The sentiment is that “home” is where your “people” are, the ones you love the most, not so much a location and street address. And that is a true thing! Cute-cute-cute!
#4 Who Says You Can’t Go Home, Bon Jovi
Well Bon Jovi is a great rocker who wrote and performed this song, which highlighted the work of Habitat for Humanity. I like him a lot. Crank it up and roll down the windows and sing loud while you are enjoying your neighborhood. You can go home again!
#5 I’ll Be Home for Christmas, The Carpenters
Everybody and their dog has performed this classic Christmas number. This song, written about a WWII soldier coming home from war for Christmas, was first recorded by Bing Crosby in 1943. But then the likes of Amy Grant, Anne Murray and Andy Williams recorded it, too. Other covers were made by the Beach Boys, Smokey Robinson, Frank Sinatra, Barbra Streisand and Brad Paisley. Neil Diamond, Kenny Chesney and Elvis sang it, too. Hundreds of people have recorded the song and it is a lovely,melancholy tune recalling, with great affection, the beauty of “home.” It speaks of a longing, a homesickness, that resonates for all of us when we just wish we could be with the people we love, in a place we’re together.
Dave and I were talking about the renditions we heard most growing up. And though I feel like I heard the Johnny Mathis version a lot, we determined The Carpenters was the primary version we grew up with, that Karen’s haunting voice was the smooth sound that made this song relevant in the 1970s and beyond. She interpreted well and as far as songs about home, this one has to be in the mix because, Christmas or not – sometimes dreaming and remembering is the only way we actually get to be with our families, our loves.
#6 Home, Phillip Phillips
Phillip Phillips won 2012 American Idol. He was good and my pick from early on. He is very earthy and young, but also sort of timeless and seasoned and when the 2 finalists got to pick a song they’d release in case they won and I saw him perform this song, I was like, “O-my-gosh he will positively win this!” He just killed this song. In a good way.
And you know how sometimes when you first hear a song it takes a while to grow on you? This song was not like that. I loved it immediately! It speaks of some one making a place for you, a home, a safe place. LOVE it.
Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause i’m going to make this place your home
Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found
Just know you’re not alone
Cause i’m going to make this place your home
#7 Green, Green Grass of Home, Tom Jones
It was the 1960s…and this song just sucked me in. I couldn’t seem to hear it enough back then and the surprise ending got me every. single. time. Tragic.
#8 Home, Michael Buble
Just smooth and sweet, sung by the super-suave crooner of the day. He is on the road (trying to write her letters) and and he is missing his love and he just wants to get on the plane and go home.
#9 House of Love, Amy Grant and Vince Gill
They sang this in 1994 way before they married and I do not really understand the official video (the little house thing?), but I just enjoy this hope-filled song. I had a friend going through a break-up when this was on the charts and this was the song we prayed through. And it is a fun song to sing and “the lights are coming on in the house of love.” And they did for my friend!
#10 Taking You Home, Don Henley
The gravely-soulful drummer-boy of the Eagles. “Take my hand, love, I’m taking you home, Taking you home.”
Come on. Let’s go home. :)
Embedded // the WHOLE playlist, in no particular order:
“For me, home is the coming together of my past memories and experiences, of my love for my children, husband and friends;…my optimism tangibly expressed in life-enhacing ways, room by room…” –Alexandra Stoddard
My brother Joe is reading an Erwin McManus book, Chasing Daylight, and was reflecting today, on moments, those brief, seemingly insignificant fragments of time that make up the whole of life. Joe shared from the book,
“However mundane a moment may appear, the miraculous may wait to be unwrapped within it.” -McManus
And then Joe pondered how many moments he may have missed, always reaching way out ahead for the “next thing,” or the thing we want more than what is in front of us.
Hey, I thought – I have pondered these same things. There was this book my friend Stephanie gave me…
So I searched my very own blog to share with him and as I re-read it, a post I had written on December 31, 2011, I realized, wow-here we are 260 days into the year and all the things I didn’t know were ahead when I wrote this, so quickly have come and gone. And more than ever I thoroughly realize I wasn’t just writing a clever end-of-year blog post for nameless, faceless readers, I was writing the mandate for my life; my creed, a declaration for my days:
“I am past the halfway mark now, but my senses and ability to feel love have increased exponentially with age, with experience. When the years rolled out ahead like there was no end in sight, I didn’t have to be as cautious in gathering memory, in recording the story, in remembering. But now that the lasts are happening, I don’t want to miss anything, not one thing.”
2012, day 260: I am an archivist, a legacy-leaver. I am telling the stories my family will need to know long after I am gone. I am preserving the small, inconsequential details of times and places and people that will be the foundation for understanding, for self-discovery, for the bright light of realization in times too fast and modern and post-modern to keep up with someday. The history, the memorabilia, the understanding of the great why will be carried close like treasure And the continuity of people and place and things past and their mark and significance on the then-present will connect transcendent dots on an invisible timeline of light and life and love battered, but triumphant. I am recording the gift of all present revelation and the secret clues to answers I may never find, but my progeny will…
“All the days planned for me were written in Your book before I was even one day old. What You have done is wonderful, I know this very well.”
Oh yes, I will carefully archive the evidence my offspring will need to solve the mysteries they face.
2012, day 260: I am an altar-builder. I call down worship in places once darkened by enemy rule and I gather stones of remembrance with sweat pouring off my brow, piling them, stacking the weight of the faithfulness of God throughout the generations towards our family, stone upon stone, line upon line, precept upon precept – to be remembered and dealt with in the light and glory of all for which Jesus’ blood accomplished on our behalves, while we were yet sinners.
I am an altar builder: Remember…don’t forget…oh, do you remember how wonderful this was?…And I will not leave them un-built, regardless of the state of brokenness or disrepair, for God is faithful. He is faithful. He is so faithful. And I am not deterred by the size of the stones, by the effort. I embrace the art it takes to stack stone with mortar, to work until balance is achieved, to build a lasting commemoration for those to come.
And when you have crossed the Jordan, set up these stones on Mount Ebal, as I command you today, and coat them with plaster. Build there an altar to the Lord your God, an altar of stones. Do not use any iron tool on them. Build the altar of the Lord your God with fieldstones and offer burnt offerings on it to the Lord your God. Sacrifice fellowship offerings there, eating them and rejoicing in the presence of the Lord your God. Deuteronomy 27.4-7
For these altars are gates, they are path guides, they are monuments symbolic of all that is completed, on earth as it is in heaven. I am building upon the foundations my parents set before, a great cloud of witnesses. My children and grandchildren and their children will build on these with greater light and revelation.
2012, day 260: I am remaining keen on the moments because the moments matter.
Swhew! That was a loooooooooong intro! Here is the blog post of which I speak…
Stephanie Morgan brought me a book by that title yesterday at Starbucks. The premise of the book, the author explained, is that in life, we record and particularly note and celebrate all sorts of firsts. There is a baby’s first tooth, first steps, first day of school – all beautiful milestones that deserve our attention! Yet, we are unaware of the things that pass, last things. She explained it by recalling a beautiful day outdoors with her kids when one of the little guys ran up, jumped into her arms, wrapped his legs around her waist and while touching noses told her, “I love you, mommy.” She noticed how big he was getting and how heavy he was, realizing he probably wouldn’t be doing that too much longer. Then she looked across the lawn and saw her oldest son who was about to enter middle school and realized that he used to run and jump into her arms the same way and that at some point it had been the last time.
And the thing about last times is, you usually just don’t know they are happening, and if you did, you might want to take closer note.
Of course, I read the book and it killed me.
O my goodness. I tried to tell Stormie about it when she came by earlier today. Cry. *Sniff, sniff. And to be silly and try not to be all melancholy, I grabbed Gavin, who was here helping us take down our Christmas decorations and cuddled him on to my lap like I have been doing since June 2003 and kissed his cheek and he is getting so big. At 8 1/2 he doesn’t quite melt into his Nonna’s lap anymore (he just told me he has an adult-sized head). He still likes the attention, but is slightly embarrassed. And I jokingly said, “Everybody remember this in case it is the last time.”
There was practically a boooo and an eye-rolling moan from everyone, but also apalpable realization that this – this moment, this totally open relationship between a little boy and his Nonna, is a relationship that will grow and change and be re-defined as he becomes who God created him to be and has to pull away to become independent before he can, with full confidence in who he is, move back in closer with appreciation for these two old people who have loved him since the day he was born. And there is realization that time is flying and kissy-cheeks from Nonna, at least in their present, freely-flowing form, are making their way into a land of remember-when-memories. And growth is good and the destination is the point, but it changes everything you love in the moments that make life worth living to begin with. Nothing stays the same.
The first time
I don’t recall, though I love baby’s feet, when the last time I kissed the bottoms of my children’s feet was? I know I kept kissing them, even when they were “too old” for it because it made them laugh and I wanted them to know I adored them all the way from the bottoms of their little feet. They weren’t babies in age, but they were my babies. I can’t remember the last time I braided my little girls’ hair (I remember combing long, silky locks – or terrible tangles…lots of them) or what year I quit weaving red ribbons intotheir braids at Christmas? In my ornament box, I found a note my mom tucked into the branches of our Christmas tree in 2001…was that my last Christmas with my mom? I don’t know when the last time we sang “Testify” together at some church or played Risk as a family or any other number of mundane things that make up life. When was the last time Tara baked Jiffy pizza-bread sticks, anyway?
Lasting impressions
I do know the book struck a chord, something deeply reverberating through my heart. I am past the halfway mark now, but my senses and ability to feel love have increased exponentially with age, with experience. When the years rolled out ahead like there was no end in sight, I didn’t have to be as cautious in gathering memory, in recording the story, in remembering. But now that the lasts are happening, I don’t want to miss anything, not one thing.
2011 ~ 2012
One year rolls into another. And the year we have just lived, all the beauty and joy and ups and downs and round-abouts and surprises and laughs, the tears, the disappointments, the things that did not go our way – all of it, with the slightest move of a second hand on a clock becomes {*tick} last year, {*tock} a new year.
The days ahead
We get this brand-spanking-new-year in just a few hours. It will be filled with so much yet-undiscovered adventure. I am hoping for 3 new grandbebes in 2012 – or at least some good work toward that! *smile. And I am excited to see what God is going to do through Heaven Fest this year and the songs I have yet to sing and the seasons changing and the garden tomatoes filling my counters and time with the love and watching the incredible lives of my children whom I cherish and the children they share…but like the author of the book, my prayer is, even as each day brings new things in a new year, “Let me hold on longer, God, to every precious last.”
{that was to have been the end of the post..but it turned out not to be the end}
This was totally unrelated
Gavin took a quick break from Christmas packing-away for a snack. I turned on the TV and an old Rockford Files episode was on. I said to the grand-boy, “See James Garner? Now that is some swagger.”
“What show is this, anyway?” he asked me.
“‘The Rockford Files’ from the 1970’s!” I told him.
He grimmaced and asked “Why do people want shows from the 70s anyway? Do they wish they had a time machine so they could go back there or something?”
Haha. Laugh. Laugh. Maybe…
But then it became related
Just now, as I was about ready to push the “publish” button on this post, Gavin was leaving to go home to have a special New Year’s Eve night with his family, games and snacks and good times. He came to say good-bye and I hugged him tight and said, “One last kiss in 2011.” He kissed my cheek. I feigned sorrow, “But now my other cheek needs one last kiss in 2011 – for you and I will never hug and kiss in 2011 ever again.” He giggled and kissed my other cheek before bolting toward the door as he quipped,
“Nuh-uh, Nonna – I will build a time machine to come back to 2011.”
{Heart m e l t i n g } And I would get into that machine, Gav, to collect all the lasts I have maybe missed.
Hello, 2012
Dear 2011 – you gave me all the days you promised you would and I will carry them in my heart forever.
Ok, Stephanie Morgan-you did this to me. Love you for the sharing. But you’re killing me! xxoo END RE-POST
It was a lovely wedding, complete with with Phillips, Craig and Dean singing as you served communion to your very special guests, thousands of tiny twinkle lights, and getting Grandma and Grandpa Moslander to dance for the first time since their first anniversary. Shrimp cocktail and that crazy-amazing aged steak from your boss (will I ever experience that goodness again?) and your flower girl and ring bearer rolling down the aisle in a white-satin and lace baby carriage – so fun! A certain song sung in Itailan…Hot pink, bright orange fabric billowing from the roofline to the celebration below, stained glass windows, starry skies, brisk air, smiles and joy. Lots and lots of joy!
And the years since have been so blessed.
Just think what this year holds in store!!! :)
Love you and am thoroughly enjoying the Hunter-time!
The sum of my transportation existence from 1963 – 1970 : rollers skates, skipping to and from school, and an aqua-colored Ford station wagon.
When I turned 4, I got roller skates: the metal kind that you tightened (screwed) onto your shoe with a “key”
I roller-skated every day. I remember being upset about snow because it disrupted my skating (thank-goodness for sledding as a semi-reasonable alternative). I remember my first waking thoughts were being excited to grab my skates and roll down the bumpy sidewalk outside our house. I thought about it when I wasn’t doing it, I felt free when I was and my little brother Joe often walked alongside me. I still have major scars on my knees from falling down, but I got back up. And kept skating.
Skating was flying. One small effort and weeeeee…..
I was always losing that darn key, though.
I skipped to school. Then I skipped home.
Skipping was my transportation mode of choice when I couldn’t be rolling on my metal skates. Skipping is the next best thing to flying. If theye ever do come up with a contraption to help us all fly like birds, I bet the take-off will involve skipping, because it is, really, at its’ core, a short flight.
I was a fabulous skipper. I skipped the 4 blocks to school and the 4 blocks back, every single day – for 5 school years.
Almost unfathomable to imagine in this day and age is the fact that I was never once delivered to school by car, nor picked up that way. My mom walked me to Kindergarten my first day and was there to accompany me home, that first day only. I walked to school each morning that first year with my cousin, Diana (who was in the 5th grade), but I skipped home alone. And I sang the whole way – that is why you see musical notes on my path. From Wallace Elementary in Des Moines, Iowa to my house at 1723 York Street.
I skipped to and from my school, rain or shine, snow and even sleet. Kindergarten, first, second, third and fourth grades. Five years of skipping and singing. And roller skating when I got home…IF I could find that darn key!
My dad’s pride and joy. He bought us a brand new 1967 aqua-colored Ford Country Squire Station Wagon and it was a beauty.
It was aqua – how divine is that? Not blue, not teal – aqua! The back door opened out, which was an amazing development in station wagons. And there were 2 fold up seats facing each other, so wonderful for after-church girl talks with my best friend, Debbie.
That car was a ministry car, for sure! We picked up 2 other families for church in that thing. The Rogers family: Don and Irene and their 2 young children Timmy and Laurie (and sometime Irene’s teen daughters from her first marriage, Brenda and Sharon), and the whole Sable clan, Evelyn and her 5 kids (and occasionally her husband) along with my parents and their 5 kids. I’d say that car averaged about 17 people to and from the Highland Park Church of God in those days. There were no car seats but we probably could’ve rolled 20 times before any of would have been dislodged!
Above: This is not the right color, but the shape of it and the direction I often saw of it as I skipped in to the house from school – this is it.
I recall coming home one day, and there it was, in the driveway. We took her for an introduction spin in the early evening (late spring, I think) and picked up my Grandpa Baker to show him. Never before or after was I in a vehicle with him. He and my dad looked under the hood and Grandpa approved. :)
It was warm out, during this first ride in our fabulous new station wagon – the windows were down and the breeze flew through my hair as if I were in flight – and that is an experience I still love to replicate to this day.
And I just realized, the common factor in these life shaping modes of transportation, what caused their deep imprint: I want to fly.
Before Lady Gaga hit the radio airwaves with her, “Telephone,” and long before “Call Me, Maybe” was all the trendy, silly rage, I loved and sang-along on songs about telephones and phones calls and calling some one or getting a call. I know, I know – you’re thinking Jeanie never answers her phone. Ok. I am not a phone person (grrr), but I love the songs about phone calls. That counts, yes?
“When I call you up, your line’s engaged. I have had enough, so act your age!” -The Beatles. And in my head, Anne Murray.
This list of mine is in no way exhaustive. It is just most of the ones I have liked over the years. If you know more, tell me, though. Maybe I missed some that I totally LOVE. However, for instance, Reba Mcentire had one that would have worked, but I just didn’t even like it. So, some are missing because they just don’t belong on my list.
266-7121, my York Street phone number in Des Moines, Iowa in the 1960s. There are numbers I NEED to know now, but have no brain-space for – because stuff like this is rattling around.
Songs in which telephone calls are made, referenced, desired or hung up on. In no particular order – just how they came to me. Click.
***Echo Valley 26809 by The Partridge Family.
Echo Valley 26809, I used to call that number all the time
But the last time that I called you, we hung up cryin’
This is the song that kicked this post into being. I was listening to one of their old albums and just remembered how thoroughly, romantically swishy (is that a word?) I had been as a young girl in the early 70s when I’d hear this song on the radio. When it got to the part where David Cassidy actually, longingly and sweetly spoke, “Operator, can you connect me with Echo-Valley 26809?” Swoooooooooooooon.
That cruel, cold operator answered him “You have reached a disconnected number.” How could she? [just after 2:00 on the vid]
Oooooooooh poor David. Here is MY number, David Cassidy – you can call me {is what all of us little bubblegum-pop girlies were thinking, yes we were!}. Enjoy!
Sylvia’s Mother by Dr Hook
This song was actually playing around the same time as Echo Valley 26809 and was much more raw and agonizing. “And the operator says 40-cents more for the next 3 minutes...” Man, that Sylvia’s mother was a tough cookie!
I did not know until I went looking for a Youtube on this song that the lyrics were by Shel Silverstein and that there really was a “Sylvia’s mother.” Haha. Those guys look 1972-stoned!
***Hello, It’s Me by Todd Rundgren
Like x 1000, LOVE this song! This song was the bus-ride home from Harding Junior High, school year 73-74. It was Todd’s only big hit. Technically, no one ever says it is a telephone conversation, but I always imagined it was.
Hello, it’s me
I’ve thought about us for a long, long time
Maybe I think too much but something’s wrong
There’s something here that doesn’t last too long
Maybe I shouldn’t think of you as mine
***Nobody by Sylvia
Speaking of Sylvia – We lived in Kokomo (youth pastors at Central C of G 1981-85) when this local-Kokomo-girl-gone-Nashville hit it big with this song. What a clever play on words. Reminds me of early marriage, a red Honda Prelude with a sun roof, and a sweet bunch of kids we got to hang out with.
Well your nobody called today – she hung up when I asked her name
Well I wonder does she think she’s being clever.
You say nobody’s after you – the fact is what you say is true
But I can love you like nobody can, even better
***Ain’t No Mountain by Diana Ross
It was a beloved old song by then and had been recorded by many people, but when she sang this in Central Park in the early 80s, with her big white fur cuffs and just belted this out for what seemed like an eternity, when she made this strong promise of undying love and help that she would give nomatter what – well, I knew I wanted to be Diana Ross. This song deeply inspired and characterizes my deep belief that your love for your people should be able to overcome any possible obstacle you are facing – just call me. If it is within my power to do so – I will move mountains. This is an anthem, my creed.
Listen, baby, ain’t no mountain high
Ain’t no valley low, ain’t no river wide enough, baby
If you need me, call me, no matter where you are
No matter how far, don’t worry, baby
Just call my name, I’ll be there in a hurry
You don’t have to worry…
Ain’t no mountain high enough to keep me from getting to you!
You Don’t Have to Tell Me (The Partridge Family)
Why a Partridge Family song {again}? Really? Do you need to ask me that?
You don’t have to tell me who’s been knockin’ down your door
It’s not the first time, no, we’ve been there before
I only called you to let you know I haven’t seen you and I miss you so
***Hello Again by Neil Diamond
Hello again, hello
Just called to say ‘hello’
I couldn’t sleep at all tonight
And I know it’s late
But I couldn’t wait
Hello, my friend, hello
Just called to let you know
I think about you every night
When I’m here alone
And you’re there at home
Hello
Please just tell me you revere his voice and lifetime of work as much as me or get the heck off my blog. I LOVE him.
He has written and sang some of the best songs ever. This one? Maybe Neil’s best, although, it is hard to make a decision when I visit his website and go through his songs. It’s tough to make a definitive choice {click here to see what I mean}. If this blog post was not about to be so long, I would put the whole song here.
***The One You Love by Glen Frey
Tragic. In this scenario, the phone call is causing pain to Glen Frey. Glen Frey, people! This was during his solo career before hell actually froze over and the Eagles reunited and then kept reuniting when they found out that icy or hot, they could make truckloads of money as The Eagles, which is a good thing. But during their hot “separation,” Glen was my fav. For the lovers….
I heard you on the phone
You took his number
Said you weren’t alone, but you’d call him soon
Isn’t he the guy
The guy who left you crying
Isn’t he the one who made you blue
***I’d Really Love to see You Tonight, England Dan and John Ford Coley
This is a windows down on a mild summer night , teen-age girl kind of riding around singing song.
Hello, yeah, it’s been a while.
Not much, how ’bout you?
I’m not sure why I called,
I guess I really just wanted to talk to you.
And I was thinking maybe later on,
We could get together for a while.
It’s been such a long time,
And I really do miss your smile…
I’d really love to see you tonight.
Yes, I left out the part that he wasn’t interested in a real relationship. Because teen-age girls {stupidly} do that. 1976. This song takes me back.
Telephone Line ELO
This great song comes with all the dial-tones and the anticipation and sound of a person on the other end of a land-line, people! History!
Hello? How are you? have you been alright?
All those lonely-lonely-lonely-lonely nights?
What can I say? I’d tell you everything
If you’d pick up that telephone
Ring Ring by Abba
I was sitting by the phone I was waiting all alone
Baby by myself I sit and wait and wonder about you…
Ooooh, ring-ring. Why don’t you give me a call?
It was just the Abba era. Otherwise I probably would never have liked this. But Abba music had its’ time!
I Just Called to Say I Love You by Stevie Wonder
Happy. “I just called to say ‘I love you’.” How can you go wrong with a phone call like that?
Call Me by Debra Harry/Blondie
There are other Blondie songs I like way more. But “call me any-anytime, call me” is fun to sing.
***+***Wichita Lineman by Glen Campbell
A song about a telephone line installer // Is there actually a more beautiful song and sentiment than this? This song contains one of those rarelyric-matches-melody-and-you-know-it-came-by-divine-inspirationmoments. I just think there are some songs that have within them sacred, breathtaking phrases and tunes that marry, indelible {indelible!} seconds of consummated musical magic. This has one of those phrases:
And I need you more than want you
And I want you for all time
And the Wichita Lineman is still on the line
Ricki Don’t Lose My Number by Steely Dan
Harding Junior High. Again. I almost left this off, but when I re-listened to the percussion and all the instruments – just very classic.
Happy Together by The Turtles
Well-known 1960s song, the lyric of which is quite dated by that “investing a dime” on a call reference. Those were the days.
Hey remember when you could actually use a payphone without fear of contracting a life-threatening disease?
If I should call you up, invest a dime
And you say you belong to me and ease my mind
Imagine how the world could be, so very fine
So happy together
I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you for all my life
Call Me by Petulia Clark
I think I really started liking this 60s easy-listening tune when Billy Crystal was trying to reach Meg Ryan in the 1980’s blockbuster, When Harry Met Sally. She wouldn’t answer him so he left cute messages on her machine, “Call me, don’t be afraid to just ‘phone moi,'” he personalized the lyrics. :)
***You Won’t See Me by Anne Murray
The queen of my vocal range remade this Beatles tune.
Pennsylvania 6-5000 by Glenn Miller
Fun song from the WWII era. I love how the image on the vid is a phone. :) I can remember, even looking at this now, the feeling of my fingertip dialing a rotary….
Jim Croce’s Operator (That’s not the Way it Feels)
He is just calling to tell his old girl who is with his ex-best-friend that he is ok with it. But, that is not the way it feels.
Operator, well could you help me place this call?
Well, I can’t read the number that you just gave me.
There’s something in my eyes, you know it happens every time
I think about a love that I thought would save me.
***I’ll have to say I Iove you in a song by Jim Croce
Well, I know it’s kind of late
I hope I didn’t wake you
But what I got to say can’t wait
I know you’d understand
Every time I tried to tell you
The words just came out wrong
So I’ll have to say I love you in a song
Well, if you are going to call me so late, please do sing me a song. Jim Croce just effortlessly, masculinely, yet tenderly delivered his urgent message of love that could not be contained until morning.
I Need You Now by Lady Antebellum
It’s a quarter after one, I’m all alone and I need you now
Said I wouldn’t call but I lost all control and I need you now
And I don’t know how I can do without
I just need you now
Dave made a video of pictures of us for me using this song a couple of years ago. He told me to watch it every night while I was on an extended trip and I thought it was so sweet. Then Tredessa told me it was a “booty call” song. Has changed it for me ever since. But I still think of it sweetly. ;).
Party for Two by Shania Twain and Billy Currington
This one is probably the most annoying of them all and all I can say is even though I don’t want to sing it and it technically doesn’t mention a phone call, I made the unfortunate mistake of watching the video when it first came out and it was just so pretty (chalk drawings, swinging chandeliers, a garden lit up at night) I could not resist. And, in the vid, they are talking on the phone. That is how the invite came;
It doesn’t matter what you wear
‘Cause it’s only gonna be
you and me there (Whoa!)
So, even when Shania does that ridiculous “Whoooooooooooooa” sliding thing she does, I am all in. I am actually wishing the whole time that Billy really will stand strong against her bold advances, but we all know it’s Shania. Resistance will be futile…
Call Me by Aretha Franklin
When this came out, I was just a little girl, way too naive to get the intense passion for her “baby-baby-baby-baby-baby,” but Aretha? Wonderful.
O and…ONE LAST SONG: Weird, but true. I obviously put this post together over the weekend. My plan was just to hit the publish button this morning. I woke up with “I’ve Just Got to Get a Message to You” by the Bee Gees on my mind, which is weird because I love the Bee Gees, but that really isn’t a song of theirs I have ever liked that much. So just for fun (and because I was singing it and realized I knew very few of the words and that vexes me), I googled the lyric and guess what???
The preacher talked to me and he smiled,
Said, come and walk with me, come and walk one more mile.
Now for once in your life you’re alone,
But you ain’t got a dime, there’s no time for the phone.
Ive just got to get a message to you, hold on, hold on.
One more hour and my life will be through, hold on, hold on.
It shows your brain knows stuff you are wholly unaware of . Show off.
