The Music Room

This morning as I was driving my twins to middle school, "Good Vibrations" was playing on the oldies station.  The kids often get quizzed on their musical knowledge when riding in the vehicle with mom.  And I asked, "Do you know who this is?"

"No." (Along with eye rolls and maybe a twinge of irritation in the voice.)

"What?!" And then I decided to give them some help.  "Their initials are B.B."

Nothing.

"You don't know who this is? Come on."  (...as I am singing along.)

Still nothing.

"It's the Beach Boys. Have you heard of the Beach Boys?"

At least I got a "yes" from that last question. But I realized that on some level of parenting, I have failed.

Driving home alone afterwards, I thought about my love of the Beach Boys when I was young. We had a "music room" in our house. Eventually this became my own bedroom, but up until I was twelve it was reserved for music...and business. Dad's desk was in there.  But, you know, music and my dad have always went together. This was a good combination.

The room housed dad's desk and file cabinets...but also the piano and a massive entertainment center that covered the south wall. It had everything you could want--record and 8-track players, a radio, huge speakers, and an amazing collection of tape and vinyl.

How many hours did I spend as a child flipping through those record covers and selecting songs? How many hours did my parents spend doing the same? It seems there was always music floating through the house.

Of course, back then we couldn't just select a playlist and walk away to enjoy hours of music in the background of our day. Listening to music was intentional and time-consuming.

Select the record (I can still visualize many of those old album covers.), wait for the previous song to finish, carefully lift the needle, stop the turntable, remove the old record, put the record carefully back in its album sleeve, carefully remove the new record from its sleeve, place it on the turntable, select the appropriate speed for the record, find the track for the song you wish to hear, carefully lower the needle onto the blank groove prior to the song, and wait with anticipation through the snap and pop of vinyl background noise. While listening...start hunting for the next tune you want to hear in the vast collection of albums.

Hours and hours of pleasure! I was so certain that I would be a singer one day.

So, I had my own little collection of 45 singles and full-length albums...including the Beach Boys as well as Jan and Dean. (I was thrilled in college when I got to see Jan and Dean live at Worlds of Fun!)

The music room eventually became my bedroom while the music collection moved out to the living room area. But my room was still always full of music because my parents had instilled that love of song deep within me.

Albums gave way to cassettes. Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee, and Elvis gave way to Prince and Bruce who gave way to a multitude of hair bands.

And (too soon) I left my sweet little music room which had been such a huge and special part of my childhood.

But often in my mind I find myself back in our home at 109 Adams with the music loud and another vinyl record in my hands waiting for the song to finish.

Rock 'n' Roll Quizzes

Today I took the kids to celebrate Great Grandma Tucker's 93rd birthday at a lunch at the Carriage Crossing in Yoder.  We met her, Grandma Tyler, Aunt Della, and Aunt Johnie for a nice visit.

On the way there, the kids were particularly quiet.  We were running late (as usual).  Annie listened to her iPod, Tana texted, and Andy...well, Andy did whatever it is that he does in his quietness.

After lunch I took them to see mom's office and meet my coworkers, grabbed some paperwork, and we headed home.  However, this time we put some effort into finding a song on the radio.  And that's when it started....The Quiz.

I'm sure Heath suffered through many rounds of this little game when he was growing up as well.  If mom finds a good "classic rock" radio station, it will inevitably happen.

A song starts, the lightbulb comes on in my head, and I have to sing along.  "Do you know who this is?"  If they have to think a while, I just keep singing along.

Sometimes they need hints:  "What's the initials?"  Sometimes they ask the song name.  Is it an artist or a band?  They have actually gotten pretty good at this little game and often surprise me.

The first one today was Rock Me (one of my very favorite songs) by Great White.  They couldn't get this one.  In fact, I don't think they had ever heard the song.  However, they liked it.  Well, of course they did.

And then it happened.

All of a sudden I was a kid again.  I think my family was camping somewhere because we were all in the pea green Ram Charger.  Dad and mom were in front while us kids were piled in the back.  Lisa had to be very, very young.

My dad had the radio tuned to a good station and after each song started he asked, "Do you know who this is?"  I remember listening very hard to try to figure it out, comparing the voice to all of the music that I knew as a child.  And each time I was sure I was right when I would say, "It's Elvis!"  They would laugh and I would be wrong...again.  But with the next song, I was just sure I would be right.  I wonder how many times I guessed the singer to be Elvis that night.  Surely I was eventually right.

Then the memory was gone and I was back in my own vehicle with my own kids.  But I shared this memory with them.

We heard lots of songs and they made lots of guesses over the next 50 miles.  Some of them they got right...ZZ Top, Rolling Stones, even Tom Petty!  And others they didn't....the Eagles (really?!), CCR, and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

But Tana said it best during Proud Mary when she stated, "I like the Elvis version better." Ha...most people don't even realize that Elvis ever sang this as a cover.

That's my girl.

Mostromisms Part II

Besides just having names for things, my family also has phrases that were commonly used. Heath posted one of these on his return home to San Diego after his recent visit. I'll start with that one.

___________________________

Home Again, Home Again Jiggity Jig: Any time we went somewhere, when we returned my parents would say this. I'm not sure if this was a Mostrom thing or something that came from my mother, a Phifer. Without even thinking about it, when we return home from a trip I say this to my own children. It actually comes from a little nursery rhyme that I never heard until I was grown.

____________________________

Skin the Rabbit: When we were very young and Mother would help us undress, she would have us raise our hands in the air. As she pulled our shirt or dress over our head, she would say, "Skin the Rabbit!" Again...I'm not sure if this originally came from my Mom or Dad. Of course, by the time I had my own children it had been many years since my Mother had helped me undress. But the words out of my mouth were always--Skin the Rabbit! One day the kids and I got to talking about this phrase and I realized just how GROSS this saying actually is... especially since I've witnessed a rabbit being skinned. It's not a pleasant sight!

____________________________

Do you realize that my fist is bigger than your whole face? My Dad used to hold up his fist near our face and say this when we were being belligerent as children and young ladies. Never do I remember my father raising a hand to any of us, so this was always said in jest. If we had really done something that called for correction, we all agree that Dad just had to give us "the look" that said he was disappointed. Then we crumbled...
____________________________

Pitiful: My Mother's favorite singer is definitely Elvis. All of us girls spent hours and hours listening to the King sing from the "Music Room" (that eventually became my bedroom). Whether Mom was cleaning house, exercising, or enjoying a visit from a friend, Elvis kept her company. Dad, of course, was a little jealous. Elvis was not called "The King" by my Dad, he was called, "Pitiful." For example, one might've heard my father say, "Do you want to listen to Pitiful?" or "Is your Mother listening to Pitiful again?"
____________________________

Gary and the Girls: We had a full size van that was used for family outings and vacations. Wow...we had lots of great times in that van. In fact, from the top of the World Trade Center in New York City we looked down at it and joked that it was probably getting broken into--then when we got down, it HAD been broken into! The leather tire cover was custom-made for my parents and read, "Gary and the Girls." I remember Dad complaining as we were driving down the road that young men would be straining to look in. It took us a while to realize that their idea of Gary and the Girls was not a father, mother, and young daughters!
_____________________________

Boz: My Dad's friends have always referred to him as "Boz." My sisters and I have asked before where this nickname orginated and, of course, we've heard some pretty far-fetched stories from his friends and brothers. Maybe he's just had this nickname for so long that nobody even remembers anymore where it started. When we got older, we used to ask Dad why the van didn't say something like "Boz and the Babes!"
_____________________________

Slop the Hogs: My parents often work together in the kitchen and they also did so when we were young. Usually when a meal was ready, my Dad would round us up for dinner by hollering, "It's time to slop the hogs!" or "Let's slop the hogs!" Again, this was something we heard so often we never even thought about it being so RUDE until we were older.
_____________________________

Oh goodness...at some point I will need to work on some of our own Tylerisms. One just never knows what might come out of Todd's mouth!