Well I gotta get drunk
And I sure do dread it
‘Cause I know just what I’m gonna do
I’ll start to spend my money
Online; it won’t be funny
And wind up singing the blues
I’ll spend my whole paycheck
On snacks what the heck
(me spending a hot minute improvising lyrics Norah covered)
Unloosening the chains of technology in the name of education, the sweetest zephyr beckoned mid afternoon. Green hills, vineyards, along with the scent and sight of roses left me jonesing for the one and only Norah Jones. Remembering she had a lengthier serenade from her home, I was saving for such a time as this, I welcomed the ear tickling of her tickling the ivories while crooning.
At times, my brother and I talk over the impact being raised by an older father had on our musical tastes. The eclectic range it brings to the next generation is even more to be considered. His ways left a lasting imprint for generations.
Quarantine has us clinging to the anchor of community music summons. My dad often spoke of how they would gather around staring at the device music was coming from. Certainly, this wasn’t called mindfulness or being present, yet this practice was indeed community meditation. His childhood took place on a farm providing food. He always wanted to be grounded, prioritized exercising outside and loved gardening. Funny how the simpler times he grew up in are what we are grasping for now.
My daughters instinctively know what to do. They’ve played with nature and are now gathering blankets and food for a picnic to go along with our concert. Deep breath in with lovely exhale…