One of these days, I plan on downloading my favorite tunes to an Ipod to listen to them in the car. In the meantime, I'm stuck with the radio, and occasionally I comprehend why my kids say, "I hate the radio!" When I was in high school, one girlfriend in particular, while riding shotgun with me in my Ford Pinto, could never listen to one entire song. She was button-crazy, and it drove me bonkers. I never understood that nomadic, frenetic FM mentality - until lately. Passing on the more intellectual Classic 101.1, controversial talk radio, or the sublime NPR, I admit to tuning in to the pop stations. Dallas' Kiss 106.1, MIX 102.9, and i93.3 remain programmed on my dial. It's a habit I have found difficult to cure. If it's Top 40, I probably know it, nearly word-for-word. I've never claimed to be an audiophile, but I can discern wil.i.am from B.o.B.
Currently, Li'l Wayne's Bedrock rings constantly over the airwaves. Rightfully so, "Call me Mr. Flintstone/I can make your bedrock"** are clever lyrics, but these days I am nearly lightening speed to change the channel to discover something new, dissatisfied to dwell on one station. Today, I hit pay dirt on 99.5 The Wolf, one of Dallas' country stations. The DJ teased the top of the song with, "This is Miranda Lambert's new The House That Built Me." The hook pulled me in and calmed my itchy trigger finger. Co-written by Tom Douglas and Allen Shamblin, "House" provides the perfect melancholy melody for Miranda's southern-twinged vocals. The song tells of a young woman returning to her childhood home to provide herself rediscovery and much-needed mending. "Ma'am you don't know me from Adam/But these hand prints on the front steps are mine."* Without a doubt, country tunes can be sappy; it's an innate quality of the genre's charm. However, the timbre in the twenty-something, Nashville star's voice diverts from the saccharin cliche, evoking memories universal to all of us.
" Up those stairs in that little back bedroom/Is where I did my homework and learned to play my guitar/And I bet you didn't know under that live oak/My favorite dog is buried in the yard."*
Gulp. Ya, kinda gets you right there.
A couple of years ago one of my local friends called me with breathless excitement. Our sons are the same age, and we were both busy with the normal spring requirements of moms: baseball, school picnics, school carnivals, school field days --- you get the picture --- and spring cleaning, which she was waist-deep in when her doorbell rang. "Carmen, you'll never guess who came to my door! I had to call you! Of course, she would come to my door. I'm a mess from tennis. It's time to pick up the kids. I'm getting ready for a garage sale!" Belying her frustration, Diana beamed through the phone. I had a slight idea of whom it might have been, but it seemed far-fetched. "Mariska was at the door!" Bingo. I guessed correctly. You see, my friend lives in a house the stunning TV actress Mariska Hargitay once called home. In town for a memorial service, Ms. Hargitay may have been searching for "the house that built her." "If I could just come in, I swear I'll leave/Won't take nothin' but a memory."* Lines from Miranda Lambert's current hit seem fitting for the actress's sentimental, surprise spring visit.
Our family experienced a similar encounter shortly after we built our house 14 years ago. Five-year-old Winslow was playing in the front yard when I noticed a strange car pull up in front of the house. The driver summoned Winslow to the car --- every mother's nightmare. Needless to say, I flew out of the house to intervene. A woman I assumed in her seventies was in the driver's seat as a much older woman emerged from the passenger's side and slowly walked onto our yard. The lady driving the car apologized for alarming me, but explained that they had just left her mother's 100th birthday party. Mama wanted to see the tree she had planted decades earlier. "I know they say you can't go home again/I just had to come back one last time."* The tiny house where she once lived had been replaced by ours, and at that time the tree still stood. Unfortunately, a sinking hole remains in the spot the enormous elm once called home, occasionally covered by my son's lacrosse net and "bounce back wall." After standing guard for season upon season, the tree fell to disease, lightening, and probably the foundation of our home.
"Mama cut out pictures of houses for years/From "Better Homes and Garden" magazine/Plans were drawn and concrete poured/And nail by nail and board by board/Daddy gave life to mama's dream."*
I've never lived in a house as long as this one. We broke ground to begin it's construction in early 1996 to make room for our four daughters. In 1998, we welcomed a little boy to the mix. Rooms have gone from princess to circus to nautical themes. The kitchen still lives in the 20th century, and the once fresh and expensive Scalamandre wallpaper is out-dated and is slinking down the wall in parts of our bathroom. (I wanted to take it down the minute it went up.) One of our dogs passed away a few years ago, and while she's not buried in the backyard, it may be the final resting place for a couple of Beta fish and Sydney's pet parakeet.
Contrary to my childhood, this is the only home in which our son has lived. It's the one with cheerleader yard signs in front, alongside the lacrosse net. It's been the one of 14 Christmases, 3 high school graduation celebrations, and a "swearing-in" ceremony for our lawyer daughter. It's the one where the kids built a fortress in a downstairs' closet with a mattress and pillows to protect themselvesand and two storm-skittish dogs when the tornado sirens and local weatherman warned to take cover. It's the one I still envision my dad sitting in the formal living room, listening to one of our children playing the piano. It's the one that has my home office that held the boxes of his belongings after he passed away five years ago. It took me months before I could walk into that room without immediately turning around.
"You leave home, you move on/And you do the best you can."*
In less than eighteen months our fourth daughter will go off to college. It's been over 21 years since we have had one child living at home. Three of our kids are literally living on opposite ends of this continent, from small apartments to dorm rooms; a couple near the California beach, one with a view of the Empire State Building. They often miss their family pets, the day-to-day business of a large family, and the comfortable surroundings of their childhood memories. I hope finding home will never be a problem or worry for my children, and maybe a song they stumble upon while flipping through the radio stations will remind them of this place we call home.
*Lyrics from The House That Built Me: (C) Written by Tom Douglas and Allen Shamblin
**Lyrics from Bedrock: (C) Written by Bogg, Carter, Graham, Johnson, Lilly, Maraj, Mills, Polite, Stevenson (Wow! That's a ton of co-writers!)
According to www.metrolyrics.com
