Just Like the Old Days

 Los Angeles, California (Yay! Finally, it's time for pumpkins!!)

So, I'm driving around town in my car and still listening to John Mellencamp's music. I haven't put together a playlist yet. That will be a recreation of the setlist he did at the Hollywood Bowl. It is a huge playlist. Something like eighteen songs. He didn't talk a lot in between songs, so he got in a lot of his music. For now, I just random play some of his songs which are now in my iTunes library.

As I'm driving and listening, I'm remembering a time back in 1975, after seeing The Rolling Stones, driving around in my Audi with all the windows down and the local radio stations playing a whole lot of Stones as they were still in town performing. After seeing Paul Simon's Farewell Tour in 2018, I was listening to Paul Simon a lot. It was such a great concert, I just wanted to keep reliving it.

So on a recent day, as I was driving along a boulevard, coming home from running some errands, I was grooving on Small Town, Pink Houses, and Hurts So Good. And even enjoying the rather misogynistic I Need a Lover (it was another time).

For some reason, while I had the music cranked up, a strong memory came to me. It was a year or two before the time of that Stones concert. My parents were out of town and I was housesitting.  I was driving home from my part-time job to meet my boyfriend, David, at my parents' home. On the way, I stopped at Dale's market and bought steak, chicken, salad, potatoes for baking, everything needed for sandwiches, beer and both red and white wine. We were spending a weekend together mostly in my parents' pool.

I was driving my VW, which preceeded the Audi, and had the music cranked up. And, oddly, I remember listening to Alice Cooper's School's Out. It was just the start of summer. And school was out for us, having finished our first year (or maybe two) of college. After I arrived home, David arrived with albums: Allman Brothers' Eat a Peach; Loggins and Messina Sitting In; probably some Bowie and Stones.

The thing about that memory is that I remember the feeling of it so intensely. And strangely, or maybe not so, listening to Mellencamp and looking forward to going to a Dodgers' game with Joel that evening felt exactly the same. The same groove to the music and the same excitement about the coming evening with the guy. Different music. Different car. Different guy. Same feeling.

I love that I can recapture those memories and feel what that felt like. I love that I can experience the same feelings in a different decade. I love that at this time, I can look backwards and curiously realize that I had no idea that this many years later I could still feel this way. And also knowing that, in given circumstances, I will always feel this way.

At the concert, I recorded a video of Mellencamp singing Hurts So Good. It was the last song he played. And when I played it for my friends, Todd and Christopher, I noticed that I could hear myself singing. It is wild! I have videos of me dancing, but I don't do karaoke. Still, there I am, singing at the top of my voice that it Hurts So Good. And that's what I'm still doing in my car, although maybe not quite at the top of my voice. But I'm feeling the joy that I have always felt in recapturing a concert experience by listening to the artist's music, hile driving which, granted, is not quite as much fun as it used to be. Although the Tesla experience is a cool cruise while singing along. Ok, for me now, school is out for good. But, I'm happy to report that the music still plays on. It always will. And so will those same evocative feelings that come from the experience of relishing it.

We Are Family

Los Angeles, California

Sometimes the universe offers you an unexpected opportunity for connection. At the concerts I recently attended, there was such a sense of unity in the appreciation for the artists, as well as an intense enjoyment of the music. Even our gladness for the wonderfully pleasant evening weather we experience here for much of the summer (heatwaves not withstanding). It was such a unique experience that I wrote two (2 !!) posts about it here. What was going on? I postulated that with all of the profound awfulness going on in our country and beyond, the opportunity to join and share the joy of the music and the generosity of the artists performing, led to an almost frenzied elation.

It is good to feel a part of something. A relationship. A friendship. A family. As I've written before, I don't have my own family. I did not have children. There weren't many cousins, and now, none that I know. The generations before us are long gone. I have been very fortunate to have friends who have included me in their families. Lucky to have met Lynnette's siblings almost from the start of our friendship. And my frister, Connie, who reached out to me in my darkest time and subsequently included Joel and me in their family holiday celebrations. The ironic thing about not having my own family at this time in my life is that I was always someone who relished and looked forward to our family celebrations. I guess life can be funny like that.

So, family-in-a-good-way is how I describe those friendships that can often be better than family and closer than just friends. It is why I use the portmanteau frister to describe those girlfriends who are indeed, closer than friends and better than sisters. These friends mean the world to me, as I have written about, maybe ad naseum, here. I just can't express enough how much these people, some in my life for a decade or less and others for many more, mean to me.

Recently, the family thing came up in a couple of other ways. The first came up as I was lying face down on a massage table. I was with my physical therapist who was doing a treatment for my shoulder. His name is William, and he is wonderful. We talked through all of my sessions, as he did his work and I spoke, muffled through the opening in the massage table. Something that we were talking about led me to exclaim that I have no family. And he immediately responded, Yes, you do. You have us. It is a family business; brothers, a spouse, daughters. It touched my heart that he would say that.

And then, in the middle of all of this therapy, I took my shoulder bursitis to the Hollywood Bowl for the Mellencamp concert. It was a warm night but Connie convinced me that I might need a jacket. It spent its time slung over the back of the bench seating. That is, until it fell down. When I picked it up and turned to replace it, I asked the concertgoers behind us if it was ok that my jacket was hanging there into their space. Of course, they answered. We're family.

And, of course we were a kind of family that night, as we joined together to enjoy (and participate in, as there was much singing and swaying) John Mellencamp's very joyous music. Maybe not having a family makes me appreciate those familial moments when someone includes you, even if just by word and for only a moment.

I grew up with Sly and the Family Stone singing We are Fam-i-ly. I never thought about that song much and it is not included in my large iTunes library. But it has been running through my head ever since those two experiences. And how much, in such small ways, we can make people feel a part of our shared experience on this rocky planet. Maybe, after all, we can create a family even if just for a moment  during a concert or when getting to know a family that provides care, as in the case of my physical therapists. Just pondering that brings a warmth to my heart, especially welcome in this currently turbulent world.