Daily Prompt; Musical/ The Daily Post

English: Dublin Philharmonic Orchestra in perf...

What role does music play in your life?


When I was a teenager, it was normal to listen to music. To know every tune and every word was just a fact of life. We played it or at least I did from the time I turned the alarm off up until I set the alarm for the next morning.

Memories of mom and dad dance in my head as I go back in time and can still see mom coming into my room unannounced and yelling at me to turn that music down. Why did she yell? Because she loved me. She tried so very hard to put up with the bam bam bam for the sake of love but just could not endure it any longer.

When we would be in the car as a family I would be forced to listen to their slow music and then after my young nerves were shot I would ask them to turn the dial to a station I was familiar with. Dad always piped up with a straight no. There was no thought even put in it. Almost like a military NO. Mom would agree with him by putting her words of,who can even understand that garbage. Wow, it is awesome to sometimes go back in time and see the circle of life.

When I became a parent of a teen I didn’t have the struggle that my parents did. The music of the eighties was awesome. I could understand the words, and I loved the beat. But then the music went out and the nineties rolled in like thunder. This was a different story now.

No miss nice girl. It was I am turning that station. Quick, where is that remote? I turned to country while the rest of the hip peeps were listening to the garbage, well that is what I called it. Sounds like mom doesn’t it?

When rap came to town I was like get me the hell out of dodge. I could not stand it. I stayed with my country, and I incorporated the eighties and listened to the sixties and seventies. I still do listen to one rapper, Eminem because I love the stories he tells.

Now all that is behind me. I have raised my kids. I have been divorced, and I am older. Viveka has introduced me to symphonies and orchestra music. I have been listening to The Piano Guys. I listen to the sounds of the oceans.

Music today is not so I can fit in. I don’t care what others are listening to. For me and the life I live today, my stress runs high some times so I listen to music that relaxes my soul. I even have a web page here at WordPress for music lovers. If you have never visited please feel free. The link is; http://mymusicthatcalmsme.wordpress.com

Funny how the circle of life becomes complete. I was the child, the teen and the mommy and now I search for peace and quiet.

Blood Is Thicker Than Water, Or Is It?

Does blood-line really mean anything? Blood thicker than water? In my early teen years, I discovered that I had about 20% blood line family, and the rest were by marriage.

Being a kid still, I thought I was probably special, because I had something in my family that most didn’t, but this isn’t true, and I realized it the more I matured in life.

There are many families that divorce today. Families of the same-sex marry or live together, grandparents raising kids, kids raising themselves.

When I think back to my childhood, it was fairly normal for the most parts compared to other families I have come to know. I had a real dad raising me and a step-mother, doing the best she could with two instant kids added to her marriage.

My grandpa was the best. He was my stepmother’s father. He had big floppy ears, like the character, Dumbo. He wore farmer over hauls and white t-shirts. In his young adult life he installed heating furnaces in people’s homes. This was back when a house call could be made at any time day or night. Sometimes he got so busy, that he would ask my dad to help him. This was a part-time job for him. His main job and love in life was his farm. He was not my blood line, but I didn’t know it for years, and even when I did find out, it made him more special in my eyes, because I loved him, and I knew that he loved me also.

My dad’s sister, was a person that I saw on Friday nights at supper time. We all drove to dad’s moms house and ate supper with the families. When ever I heard her speak directly to me, the conversations always ended up being about when I was very young. She was a teenager herself, and had been given the responsibility of bathing me. I was always reminded of the time she got the water too hot, and when she took me out of the bath tub, she was shocked at how red my skin had turned. Other than this conversation, I never bonded too much with her. As an adult, when I heard her speak it was always the accomplishments that her own children were doing in their lives. This person, was my blood line.

My stepmother’s mother, my step-grandma, was a home maker. She was a farmer’s wife. She loved life, was a firm believer of God and always made me feel so loved. I went to her house almost daily, and sometimes more than once a day. Each time I walked in her house, she welcomed me like she had not seen me for years. She was a wonderful baker, as most grandma’s are. She had a huge garden, and canned and froze most of their foods. She helped grandpa raise, cows, hogs, and chickens, and they always ate the meat from their own animals. None of that chemical stuff you don’t always know that is in meats today. She was not my blood line, but I loved her with all of my heart.

My dad’s mother was my blood line. I remember one summer only, that she and I bonded somewhat. I was getting married, and she lived in the same city that I did most of my wedding shopping from. I ended up staying there for two weeks at that time. I spent most of my time sitting in front of the TV with her, while she watched her soap operas. There was no talking aloud while these were on, and she watched one after another most of the afternoon. I would find myself alone, taking walks in the neighborhood, or going shopping, or napping. Grandma was about grandma. Her whole world revolved around her. If she wasn’t the topic of the conversation, then there was no speaking. When we were small kids, and we would go visit, we had to play with our toys in another room, and we had to play quietly. This was my blood line.

After reading back over what I have written, I realize, without a doubt, that in my eyes, blood line isn’t thicker than water. It isn’t who was your natural mom and dad, grandma and grandpa. It was who loved you. Who made you feel special, who did the littlest things in life for you. It was the way I felt about each one, the bonding that is the glue of the family.

It doesn’t matter to me anymore who was this or that in my life. What matters to me is who I remember, who I still have the fondest memories of, who was there when I skinned a knee, or was sick with a cold, who comforted me.

I have lost all of my family now except my brother, and I have aunts still alive, and my step-grandma has been in a nursing home now for some time. She is the ripe age of 96. She lives in another state, so I do not get to see her anymore, but I will never forget her fresh-baked cherry pies, or her big home-made sugar cookies, or the times she asked me to go with her to Dairy Queen.

Blood line means nothing to me, and I have now given up the phrase that blood is thicker than water.