We had a spring-like day here yesterday. Temperature got up to around 61 degrees. As expected, all of us who had been cooped up in the house wanted to get out and drive somewhere -- anywhere -- just to enjoy the day.
Now a weird thing happens to me at least once in the spring. I get in my little Honda Civic and the open road beckons. I do whatever errands while listening to the car radio. Then, some mania overtakes me. It only happens with a 70s or 80s rock and roll song with a glorious guitar solo at the beginning. It could be rock anthem like Clapton's Layla or Hendrix's version of All Along the Watchtower, Let It Bleed by the Rolling Stones or Neil Young's Cinnamon Girl. I pull up to a traffic light with all my windows up and the car vibrating on its tires. I glance over at the person in the car next to me, supposedly also out to enjoy the spring day, and get a scathing look when he or she realizes I am not a young person but rather a 50-something behind the wheel of a car that, if it had flames painted on the side of it, would probably belong to my daughter. We have cats not kids but there is no way for the other driver to know that. Once in a while, I actually get a more forgiving observer who raises two fingers in a peace sign. I get a different finger from some folks but, that's just how it goes. This ride is a one-shot deal, after today I return to being a mild-mannered reporter for the WomensBoomerHumor blog.
More than likely, however, I'm driving along and not really paying attention to what's playing. Then I hear IT. My subconscious begins to filter the sounds from the radio above traffc noise and my mental lists of things needing to be accomplished that day. Faintly at first and then a rising synthesizer. I hear a little voice saying something about "I want. . ." My brain shifts to rock and roll trivia. Is that Sting that I'm hearing?
Paying attention to the traffic, I hear a vibrato guitar over the trucks pulling on to the interstate I use to get back home. Now there are drums, vibrating all around the speakers in the car and the - -there it is - - Mark Knoffler's amazing riff at the beginning of Money For Nothing off the Dire Straits album, Brothers In Arms. If I'm lucky, I get a station that plays album cuts -- that means all 8 minutes and 26 seconds of it.
Let me go on record as saying that I HATE THE LYRICS! There's not a thing I can say as to why I don't switch off the radio, except -- well --there's that guitar riff runining throughout the song.
So, like any respectable teenager, I roll up all the windows and crank it up! I shift into 5th gear and slide into the passing lane. By now I've pulled away from most of the 18-wheelers who are heading up the long grade into the foothills of the Allegenheys. The sky is clear, I open the sunroof and feel the beginning of spring warmth on my skin. Knoffler rocks on as I bounce in my seat and keep a weather eye for the Highway Patrol. I calculate the distance to my exit and realize I should just about be able to hear the whole song in that time.
Happily, as I pull off the ramp that leads back to our place, I hear the down-home rumblings of Creedence Clearwater Revival thrumming through the speakers. Gotta open all the windows in the car for that one. I'm not running through any jungle like John Fogarty is singing, just running at about 55 miles per hour into our village. The harmonica in this song is wailing as I turn on to my road. It has been said that my generation had the soundtrack for war. Listening to this Viet Nam era thumper, sadly I have to agree as I envision newsreel footage of helicopters and running foot soldiers.
As I pull into the bottom of the lane and stop at the mailbox, the car continues to throb. This DJ has an easy shift, playing nothing but album cuts, very little commentary, just music. I smile as I gather the mail. The envelopes in my hands are from church, charities, utility companies, cooking, woodworking and photography magazines, things that make my husband and me seem like God-fearing, tax paying pillars of the community. I suppose we are but we are also those kids who, when they first heard the wail of that Mark Knoffler's guitar solo, all those years ago, danced our socks off and wondered if our beater car was going to get us home in one piece.
The media says that the recent presidential election has brought to national attention the fact that young people are sick of hearing about Viet Nam and even sicker of baby boomers. Ah, well. It is a new day and, perhaps, a new era. I accept that because many in my generation were weary of World War II stories in the same way.
Getting get back in the car, I head for the house. I’m greeted by a barking dog, cats who are not sure if they care I’m home or not and our little piece of real estate. I spy a young neighbor who waves from across the road and does a little dance to the music from my car.
So, I’ve had my dose of spring rock-and-roll-itis and even managed to avoid a speeding ticket! It's time to start dinner. Life is good.
