I’ve had bluegrass on a loop for several days, starting with the new Darius Rucker rendition of the Old Crow Medicine Show song, Wagon Wheel (which was originally sketched by Bob Dylan, and Old Crow Medicine Show finished it). I am not sure why this has been my song of choice. Sometimes a song feels like the rhythm of my life, or perhaps the rhythm I want for my life. Or perhaps I was just too tired to change the song — I’ve been sleeping a lot.
It could be any number of things, I suppose, but in this instance, I think it had a lot to do with rhythm. Slow down. Enjoy the ride. Breathe. Even if you might think you’re going out of your mind. I don’t really think I am going out of my mind, but if I thought I was, this would be a good song to calm me down.
Wagon Wheel led to Steve Martin and the Old Crow Medicine Show bluegrass which led to Emmylou Harris Red Dirt Girl which ultimately led to the Guy Clark tribute album. And then … it led BACK to this Old Crow Medicine Show AND Darius Rucker video singing Wagon Wheel at the Grand Ole’ Opry (see above).
Why have I been to Moscow and NOT the Grand Ole’ Opry? I have no idea, but it is something I should look into.
What would I do without music? I have no idea. I think you could throw my television in the ocean, but music … there is a reason people made music using washboards and tin cans. We always have an internal beat. Music helps us find it.
Saturday afternoon we sat on the couch watching the John Wayne classic, Red River. I love John Wayne. I am a sucker for westerns. I love Davy Crockett. I love the Lone Ranger. I even love Bonanza, The Virginian, Gunsmoke and The Big Valley. They were all in reruns when I was a kid. The only thing I ever watched during the summers in Arkansas were westerns or basketball. If I wanted to watch anything else, I was always told we didn’t get that channel. Mawmaw had an additional 500 acres when I was a kid; she called it — The Ponderosa — hence, my love for Bonanza stemmed from hers.
One of my favorite parts of Red River is when John Wayne shoots someone and then says, “Bury him and I’ll read over him in the morning.” I guess you might call it respect for the dead. He never left a dead man on the field, even one he’d killed. There was something sort of morbidly dignified about it.
Wouldn’t it be funny if we showed our kid(s) only black and white movies until they were five? (I was, of course, joking — after all, how would they learn about The Brady Bunch?)
Don’t think for a minute they’ll think it’s one day past 1958, Jonathan replied.
We are not eating Wonder Bread, I said. Or Twinkies.
He actually wasn’t kidding when he said that. One of the first songs my husband ever learned to sing from start to finish was Knock on Wood from Casablanca. Our kids will be quoting Humphrey Bogart, John Wayne and know every episode of The Twilight Zone by heart by the time they are five if he has anything to say about it. I suppose there are worse things. They could know who Honey Boo Boo is.
As I sit typing this, I feel nothing but fatigue. I have tried desperately to stay off Google and just pray harder. All in all I feel good. The title of this blog post represents the fact that today is 3 days past a 5 day embryo transfer. That is what today is. I wish there was some definitive sign, but having been down this road many times now, I know there isn’t.
Just wait. Wait until February 11th.
This silly conversation Jonathan and I had got me thinking about influences. I love Eddy Arnold. Why do I love Eddy Arnold? Because my mother loves Eddy Arnold. I love Glenn Miller. Why do I love Glenn Miller? Because Gran Gran loved Glenn Miller. I think all of our loves get passed on in one way or another, but then you wake up one day and your kid has started school. New influences. New likes.
Suddenly they’ve fallen in love with Donny Osmond and Andy Gibb. As my mother purchased the Donny and Marie Osmond stage, the dolls and every Osmond Brothers and Andy Gibb record we could afford — she probably wondered briefly where she went wrong? Who had stolen her Eddy Arnold – Willie Nelson – Three Dog Night loving child?
Gran Gran tried to give me jeans from his store when I was about ten, but I cried, Gran Gran, why don’t you sell Luv-It jeans? Looking back now, I must have hurt his feelings. I mean what a freaking brat I was! He had no idea what a Luv-It jean was, but he marched me across the way at Forum Mall to the Little Angel Shoppe and bought me a pair of Luv-It jeans. They had “Howdy Partner” inscribed on the pocket with a cowboy hat. Suddenly Wranglers and Levis were no longer acceptable to his ten year old granddaughter.
I guess that jarring transition as your child leaves your generation and steps into their own is all part of it.
Hopefully you can give them enough pieces of your puzzle, so one day they’ll have this eclectic mix of family and personal loves from across generations to create their own unique puzzle. I hope. If I have to pick one musical influence, I’m going for love of Willie Nelson. And George Strait. And Huey Lewis. (What!?! — Jonathan and I went to a Huey Lewis concert as part of our honeymoon trip. Heart of Rock Roll is still beating … now and forever right here in the Wilcox house.)
I am sitting here pregnant until proven otherwise (PUPO), but not confident enough to start planning much beyond next Monday. However, Jonathan and I have been having conversations like this one for years now. Or sometimes, we’re out and with friends and someone starts talking about applications for pre-school and I want to scream. I tell him we have to get out of here, otherwise I’m going to home school our children until they’re 40. He then says, Look at me, I turned out great! And I say, Yes, you went to a fine prep school that now costs $35,000 per year.
I determine there has to be some sort of happy medium between pre-school applications, college tuition worthy prep schools and a homeschooling prairie in the middle of nowhere.
Perhaps one in the middle of somewhere?
I know I am ahead of myself. First, we must get them here safely. I’m not leaving my doctors in Los Angeles. We’ve come this far; I must finish the journey with them.
When I want something as much as I want this, I am always one step ahead of the moment even as I try to stay in it. It’s much harder without yoga to keep me occupied and grounded. I have been getting on my mat for restorative, but it’s not the same as a class.
For now I am trying to slow down … just enjoy the ride … and BREATHE!
So rock me mama like a wagon wheel
Rock me mama anyway you feel
Hey mama rock me
Rock me mama like the wind and the rain
Rock me mama like a south-bound train
Hey mama rock me
I know they don’t have any ears yet, but I’m secretly trying to get some bluegrass genes in these kids before they spend too much time with Frank Sinatra and Ska music. Nothing wrong with Frank (or Ska for that matter), but I want them to know a banjo and a guitar.
This evening as we drove home from Whole Foods in awful traffic surrounded on all sides by bad Prius drivers, Jonathan said, Maybe Texas isn’t far enough?
I just laughed and thought, oh, yes it is.