Blog - The Quotidian Scribe

How to Make It Groovy When It’s Not

April 29, 2025 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

Let me start by saying this is not a political post. I steer clear of those because the last thing I want is to create a platform for discord. That being said, I’m not blind to what’s happening in the world around us. There’s no denying we live in troubling times, and I think we can all agree that the schism in our country is becoming more and more expansive.

The barrage of negativity in the news can take a real toll on our mental well-being. While it’s important to stay informed, I believe we owe it to ourselves to occasionally sink our brains into something healing. Instead of constantly doom-scrolling, we need to give our tired minds a break.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, ‘60s and ‘70s rock music is my usual go-to for lifting the gloom. Even though it doesn’t solve anything globally, listening to songs from my coming-of-age years helps me find hope and joy.

Lately, I’ve really been appreciating music from the Peace & Love era. The sampling below shares some of the thought-provoking songs created during an earlier time of fear and unrest, and they continue to remind us how important it is to never stop striving for unity.

Oh…and that “As Seen on TV” CD in the photo up there? Yeah, it’s mine. Still got it. Still listen to it. Still love it.

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Carrots and Hummus???

March 30, 2025 / Virginia Boshears / 2 Comments

Photo by Alejandro Aznar

Ever since I decided to rearrange my room in the garage, I’ve been on an organizing kick. The room has a partial wall separating it into two sections – the front part was my office/exercise space, and the back part was where I did all my “crafty” stuff like sewing and card-making. The first thing as far as rearranging was to switch things up a bit. I had already gotten rid of most of my craft supplies so I moved my office to the back area. I created a proper poor man’s gym in the front part by taking the exercise equipment that was in the cabin and adding it to my workout stuff in the garage.

There’s been a ton of papers, doodads, and memorabilia to sort through, but I’m very close to having it done. Each time I culled the clutter in the past, I’d get rid of some of it, but I still held onto a lot of things that I didn’t need because…you know…what if? As in, what if I might need them someday? I’ve loosened up a lot since those previous attempts, and this round of cleaning has gone much better. I’m actually quite proud of my newly acquired ability to purge without panicking. No more holding onto every little thing. If it’s been tucked away, unused, for years on end, I doubt that the need for it will ever present itself.

As I’ve mentioned before, my reading challenge for this year consists of two books a month read alphabetically by title. The ‘D’ book I chose last month was Does this Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat? by Peter Walsh. It had been sitting unread in my bookcase for ages, and considering my current cleaning project, it seemed an appropriate choice.

Apparently, I didn’t read the book description very closely when I bought it. All along, I thought it was about attacking the clutter around us and streamlining our environment. It’s not. This book focuses more on how one’s thoughts and actions create “clutter” that keeps them from losing weight.

I realize that’s actually an important issue, but having spent the lion’s share of my adult life learning about – and trying out – countless “proven weight loss plans,” I found nothing in this book that was new to me. I was sorely tempted to ditch it about halfway through, but there wasn’t enough time to pick a different book and get it read by the end of the month.

As much as I enjoyed the author back when he was on the TV show Clean Sweep, reading his book was sheer drudgery. Near the end, however, it did offer some unexpected entertainment that elicited an audible “Are you freaking kidding me?” while my eyes rolled back in my head. It was a section in which he listed ideas for food substitutions that would help keep a dieter on track. Believe me, I totally support subbing in healthier food choices, but I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when he suggested that, instead of nachos, you should eat carrots and hummus. CARROTS AND HUMMUS!

Seriously? In what universe is that an acceptable swap? My palate would be highly offended if I tried to pull such a stunt. Fortunately for my taste buds, there’s very little chance of that ever happening.

Oh…and that book by Peter Walsh? It did eventually assist me in my organizational endeavors because I donated it to Goodwill. One more piece of clutter gone!

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Just Can’t Fight It, Anymore

February 26, 2025 / Virginia Boshears / 4 Comments

My husband is several years older than me, but as of my birthday last week, we’re both now in our seventies. I still feel much younger than that mentally – and I think he does, too – but our physical selves have been harping at us to accept reality. We are no longer spring chickens. We are, for all intents and purposes, old people.

When I was growing up, the idea of getting old wasn’t even on my radar. During my 30s, 40s, and 50s, the notion of aging took shape, but it pretty much stayed on the sidelines, whispering that I wasn’t getting any younger. Over the past decade, though, old age stopped being a concept and gradually settled in as my new normal.

It’s not so bad, really. I’m fortunate to be in good health, my sense of humor is intact, and I still maintain the faculties I’ve had for the past thirty years or so. I suppose that last one isn’t saying much, though. My brain has always played a bit loosey-goosey with the rules when it comes to being clear-headed.

The main negative aspect of this stage of life for both me and my husband is our diminishing physical strength. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to take care of our property…a fact that really hit home this winter. Finding someone to clear the snow from our long, steep driveway has always been a challenge, and more often than not, we end up shoveling it ourselves. We take rest breaks and try not to overdo it, but it’s getting to be more than we can handle. And that has brought us to a decision I’ve been dreading: We won’t be able to live at the cabin much longer.

My dad built this place for my mom back in the ‘80s. She had fond memories of the cabin where she spent her formative years, and she always wanted to live in another one. Once the cabin was finished, it was my folks’ home for the remainder of their years. They absolutely loved it here.

When I inherited the property, I was hopeful that we would eventually make it our home. It took some coaxing to get my husband on board, but after a major renovation, we finally packed up and moved into our little cabin in the woods. For the past eight and a half years, we’ve been blessed to be surrounded by nature and tranquility. It’s like having our own peaceful retreat.

To say the thought of leaving makes me sad is a gross understatement. It’s going to be brutal saying goodbye to the home I’ve come to love as much as my parents did. At times, I feel their presence here so strongly that it’s almost as though they never left.

But I’m as practical as I am sentimental, and I know we can’t stay here forever. Our spirits may be willing, but our bodies are not. They are sore, tired, and cranky. Since we still have to rely on these bodies to keep us vertical and breathing, it’s best not to tick them off by forcing a bunch of physical labor on them.

We’re not yet sure where we’ll end up, so our move isn’t imminent, but it will likely be in the next year or so.

While I’m not looking forward to leaving, I’m committed to making the best of it. At our age, there’s no telling how long we have left on this earth, and it’s important to settle where we can live comfortably and enjoy the rest of our time together.

As bittersweet as this is, I’m finally ready to start planning our next chapter.

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Achievable Achievements

January 30, 2025 / Virginia Boshears / 1 Comment

I decided not to start this new year off with pie-in-the-sky goals encumbered with To-Do lists and planning charts. Instead, I’ve chosen to randomly tackle those tasks and projects that taunt me whenever I walk through the house.

Now, to be clear, I still maintain a daily planner. But that’s simply because I can’t remember things from one minute to the next, and if I ever hope to accomplish anything the least bit productive, I need to write it down as soon as it enters my head. Otherwise, it winds up being a lost idea I don’t recollect ever having. I’m simply not creating any formal, step-by-step outlines expecting to achieve the impossible. The only thing I’ve ever really accomplished with those is proving how easy it is to produce an epic fail. This year, I’m just going to be aware of what needs to be done and try to do at least some of it.

So, with the first month of 2025 coming to a close, I decided to look back to see just what, if anything, I’ve managed to do:

I dragged my little treadmill (walking pad) and exercise bike to my room in the garage to set up a dedicated home gym. My dumbbells, workout DVDs, and TV are already out there, and it will be nice to have all my workout goodies in one place. I’ve also ordered an inversion table to add to the mix because my lower back has been cranking up the pain volume, and no amount of stretching seems to help. For those of you who recall my not-so-stellar experience with an inversion table a couple of decades ago, my pain now outweighs my fear of landing on my head. Which I did back then. (But only once. Even I have enough sense not to repeat something so preventable.)
I met my monthly reading goal (two books a month going alphabetically by title). The first was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and the second was The Bell Jar. The latter wasn’t a particularly enjoyable read, so going forward, I’ll try to select subject matter that’s a bit less depressing.
I’ve been working on a short story – actually more of a novella – that I abandoned many years ago. It feels good to be back at it, and it will be included in a book of short stories I hope to publish this spring.
What has pleased me most so far has been going through my clothes and getting rid of all the stuff I don’t – or can’t – wear. I’ve generally done a purge every year, but I’ve always hung onto a few things that didn’t fit because, you know, they might fit at some point in the future. That off-in-the-distance moment never seemed to arrive, so this time, I diligently bagged up almost everything that didn’t fit. The one exception was my wedding suit. It’s unlikely to ever fit again – not to mention the fact that it’s out of style – but its sentimental value gives it carte blanche to live in the back of my closet forever.

I’m happy with all of the above, but the last one goes beyond a mere feeling of accomplishment. As I reduced the amount of clothes in my wardrobe, I noticed how much better I felt with every item I put in the donation bag. Part of it was due to that warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you’re doing something to benefit someone else. But I also felt a weight lift off my shoulders because I was letting go of all those reminders of failed diets. I’m finally beginning to accept myself as I am rather than how I wish I could be. For the past 40 years or so, my one major demon has been the constant battle with my weight. While I haven’t given up the fight, I won’t let it control me any longer. If I lose weight, I lose weight. If I don’t, I don’t.

At almost 70, I figure it’s time to be okay with who I am…at least until I stumble upon that elusive genie in a bottle.

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My 2024 Book Challenge

December 30, 2024 / Virginia Boshears / 1 Comment

Most writers read books. Lots of books. I used to be that sort of writer myself, but I wandered away from it over the years. Once retired, I did step up my reading – even had a blog post about it here – but I still felt I was falling short of some imaginary requirement. Since I’d been hearing about reading challenges, I decided to create one for myself with the goal of at least one book a month. A lot of people read way more than a dozen books a year, but I figured twelve was a reasonable expectation for a lapsed reader such as myself.

I won’t bore you with the entire laundry list of books I read throughout the year, but here’s a sampling:

March

Category: Local Author

Book: An Honest Man by Michael Koryta

This is the 5th book I’ve read by this author, and I thoroughly enjoyed the story. Koryta just happens to be the son of an acquaintance of mine, and I had the pleasure of meeting him at a book signing and shaking his hand. Not only was it cool to chat with him, but I learned he knows my very favorite author – Stephen King – so now I’ve decided we’re all best friends. You know…because of that whole “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon” thing.

May

Category: Banned Books

Book: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

For whatever reason, I felt like I was slogging through it, but it was actually a pretty good story. I watched the movie afterward and liked it better than the book. That isn’t usually the case because I generally think movies fall short of the books they’re based on. While I did enjoy the movie more, I probably would have had trouble following parts of it if I hadn’t read the book first.

July

Category: Classic Literature

Book: Moby Dick by Herman Melville

To say this book was highly descriptive would be a gross understatement. While I do expect enough detail to bring a story to life, I felt like I was drowning in it as I trudged through this tome. (You can read my full rant at the end of this essay.)

August

Category: Unknown (to me) Author

Book: The Handmaid by Freida McFadden

The story was fairly compelling, but I didn’t care much for the way it was written. I’m not sure if that was because it’s written in first-person or if I just don’t care for the author’s writing style. This doesn’t mean the book is bad; it just means it wasn’t my cup of tea.

September

Category: Published in 1955 (My Birth Year)

Book: 79 Park Avenue by Harold Robbins

While I’d certainly heard of him, I’d never before read anything by Robbins. Not knowing what I’d think of his writing, I wasn’t inclined to lay out money for one of his books, so I chose this one since it was free on Kindle Unlimited. After reading it – actually while reading it – I silently apologized to the author for my cheapskate attitude. The story drew me in almost immediately, and it was written in a way that allowed me to easily watch it on my brain screen. And as with all other books that have captivated me, I didn’t want it to end. Before I made it to the final page, I had already looked it up online to see if there was a movie version. There was, so of course, I watched it. It wasn’t bad, but as often happens, it paled in comparison to the book.

December

Category: Winter

Book: Dead of Winter by Darcy Coats

This was an anticlimactic way to end my reading challenge. The book was written by another new-to-me author, and similar to the August selection, hers was a writing style I just didn’t care for. The bigger downside, though, was the fact that this was supposed to be a mystery, yet I figured out whodunit way before the ending. I found the author’s “twist” to be a bit of a straight line. Trust me, I do not have a mystery-solving brain, so this was definitely a disappointment.

As promised earlier – or perhaps “threatened” would be a more apt term – I’ll expound on my opinion of Moby Dick. In a nutshell, I found Herman Melville’s predilection for detail absolutely painful. The article linked below helped me realize that I wasn’t alone, and having to struggle my way through this monstrosity didn’t mean I was an illiterate imbecile:

Why “Moby-Dick” is Awful – The Junction Journal (wordpress.com)

As one commenter put it, “I think the real symbolism here is Ahab’s hatred of the white whale symbolizes the reader’s hatred of his book. I hated this book in the same way Ahab hated the whale.”

I’m not one for waxing philosophical or doing a deep dive into relentless descriptions. And sadly for me, in order to fully embrace this book, both of those traits are necessary. Someone with an immense level of curiosity might very well love all that. I am not one of those people.

Obviously, a certain amount of detail is required in order for the reader to become immersed in a story. But the amount of description and back-story I need doesn’t come anywhere close to what Melville dumped into Moby Dick. I’m fully aware I’m exposing my utter lack of literary sophistication here, but I honestly just wanted to read about a huge white whale and the men who tried to capture him. And to quote Forrest Gump, “That’s all I have to say about that.”

Even though I thought some of the books were duds, I’m glad I followed through on my self-imposed challenge. I don’t even begrudge Melville’s torture. At least I can say I read a much-loved (by others) classic.

I’m also pleased to say I exceeded my 12-book goal. When all was said and done, I read 22 books this year. I can’t claim many were deep and thought-provoking, but they sure did keep me entertained.

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Almost the Best Day

November 21, 2024 / Virginia Boshears / 1 Comment

Photo by Astrid Schaffner

I totally showed my curmudgeonly side in last month’s post, but I’m putting my best foot forward now because this is the season to give thanks. Not just for the feast on the table and the loved ones around it, but for all the little things we barely notice on any given day. Things like a torrential downpour that lets up long enough for you to make it to the car without getting drenched. Or looking in the mirror and catching a glimpse of the parent who’s no longer with you. Or having a song come on the radio that reminds you of all the great moments you’ve experienced in your life.

That last one happened to me recently when I was out driving. The song that sparked my attention was “Best Day of My Life” by American Authors. I realize that, as long I’m drawing breath, it’s possible I haven’t yet had my best day. But I’ve enjoyed lots of fabulous days, and listening to that song got me thinking about some of them.

I feel fortunate to have had a plethora of “It doesn’t get any better than this” experiences over the years, and I’d like to share just a small sampling here:

First Wedding

~ It was a beautiful day in the ’70s (not the temperature…the decade). The marriage itself may not have survived, but we happily went into it with nothing but hope and excitement for the future.

First Child

~ Even though I didn’t have a clue what I was getting into, I was in 7th Heaven the day I became Jacki’s mom.

Preemie Daughter

~ Jennifer was born three months early and spent the first two months of her life in a hospital incubator. There were no words to effectively convey the relief and gratitude I felt the day she was finally strong enough for us to bring home.

Final Wedding

~ This one mirrored the first in the sense that it was a beautiful day, and we were happy, hopeful, and excited about the future. The difference is that this marriage has stood the test of time, continues to thrive, and has been filled with many, many wonderful days.

Grandchildren and Great-Grandchildren

~ Who knew it was possible to fall in love with so many different little humans? Each birth has made for a uniquely special day.

The Cabin

~ The day we officially called the cabin “home” was a day my heart truly felt at peace.

Retirement

~ Working remotely at the time made the entry into retirement rather anticlimactic, but that first day of not having to log in to work was still pretty great.

First Book

~ I poured my heart and soul into that project, and the day it finally hit publication was a very good day indeed.

As a card-carrying member of the adulting world, it’s easy to get caught up in life’s concerns and frustrations. So much so that I tend to forget about the multitude of outstanding days that have been peppered throughout the years. But Thanksgiving is right around the corner, and it’s the perfect time to shove all the bad stuff into a dark corner and bring the joy of those monumental moments back into the light. There are so many memories that deserve my gratitude.

My gut tells me I’m not the only one who could benefit from focusing on the good times. Here’s to a lifetime of “Almost the Best” Days.

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Those Arrows Aren’t There to Look Pretty

October 30, 2024 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

Photo by Francesco Ungaro

I do my best not to let life’s little injustices get the better of me, but sometimes people do stuff that really ticks me off.

For instance, while recently getting gas at Sam’s Club, I watched someone deliberately enter from the wrong direction so the gas cap side of his car would be next to the pump. I’ve seen people do this time and again, and it annoys the crap out of me. All the Sam’s Club gas stations I’ve patronized are set up to have traffic go in one direction only. This wasn’t some arbitrary design decision. It’s meant to prevent congestion, and arrows to guide the drivers are clearly marked on the pavement.

No one will argue the fact that it’s easier to fill the tank if you can pull up to a pump that’s on the same side as your gas cap, but it’s also usually feasible to fill up from a pump that’s on the other side of your car. It may be a bit awkward, but as long as you’re not in a really large vehicle, the hose is long enough to reach around where you need it.

From what I’ve observed, gas caps are located on the driver’s side of most vehicles. Since some people prefer not to stretch the hose across their car, they’re patient enough to wait in line for a driver’s side pump…even if that line is pretty long.

Now and then, though, I’ll see some yahoo decide to flex their sense of entitlement. They see an open pump on the other side, but instead of pulling up to it the way they’re supposed to, they whip around and enter from the wrong direction so their gas cap will cozy up nice and close to the nozzle.

Of course, when they’re done, the only way they can leave is to back out because they can’t pull forward due to the waiting cars that are lined up properly. You know…the ones driven by people who understand that the rules apply to everyone. But backing out isn’t always easy because there may be folks in the way who have finished filling their own tanks and are actually following the arrows to leave.

I guess what irritates me most about these “Wrong Way Corrigans” is that they seem to think they shouldn’t have to wait in line with the rest of us commoners. I realize no one enjoys waiting, but unless they’ve got a pregnant woman in the car who’s about ready to burst, they need to chill out with everyone else.

Now, before you accuse me of being all high and mighty, let me be clear…I’ve broken more than a few rules in my time (Can we say “speed limit?”), and I’m sure I’ll break more. It’s not something to be proud of, but it is what it is. What I’m careful about, though, is not to consciously inconvenience others. That’s the part that bugs me.

So, if I don’t want to wait in a long line, and there’s a passenger-side pump open, I’ll pull up to it properly and wrestle that nozzle all the way around to the driver’s side so I can fill up. It may not be my favorite thing to do, but I’ve no intention of thumbing my nose at the rules. And I certainly don’t want to be in a position to make others wait while I try to extricate myself when I’m done.

If that makes me a goody-two-shoes, I’m cool with it. Pretty sure I got it from my mom.

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Seeking Peace

September 22, 2024 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

Photo from pickpik.com

My blog entries are generally centered around lightheartedness and humor, but you’ll find none of that in this post. The subject matter is too important.

I initially penned a whole other essay about this that was peppered with what could best be described as Pollyanna platitudes. I naively thought they might help someone in crisis. And while I was sincere in what I’d written, it was gently pointed out to me that I totally missed the mark. With a topic this delicate, a litany of pretty words can sometimes cause more harm than good.

As I ponder that notion, it occurs to me that I probably have no business writing about this at all. It’s not as though I have any real answers. That being said, I still feel compelled to address what happened.

One of my grandchildren recently lost a close friend to suicide. Her name was Ari. I didn’t have the chance to get to know her well, but I found her to be a polite, pleasant, and very sweet teenager. In short…I liked her. When I learned what had happened, I was stunned.

For those of us who have never experienced true hopelessness, it’s impossible to fully grasp a despair so foul that taking our own life feels like the only way out. It’s a thought we can’t even entertain. But every day, a multitude of people are haunted by that thought, make their excruciating choice, and then follow through with it. They reach a point where no amount of counsel or intervention – regardless of how well-intended – can change their reality.

I’m not privy to all the circumstances that led to Ari’s final act, nor should I be. That story isn’t mine to tell. But from what I understand, her situation was dire, and she saw no earthly solution. Taking her own life was tragic, but it was not a knee-jerk reaction. To Ari, it was the only thing that would set her free.

I wish things could have been different, but wishing is fruitless. I’ll just pray for peace for Ari and for those who cared about her. And I’ll always be grateful that I had the opportunity to meet her.

September is Suicide Prevention Month.

If you or someone you know is struggling or in crisis, help is available. Call or text 988 or chat 988lifeline.org to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

(Source: https://www.nami.org/get-involved/awareness-events/suicide-prevention-month/)

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Binge-Worthy

August 29, 2024 / Virginia Boshears / 1 Comment

Photo by Tom Wheatley on Unsplash.com

One of the best features of retirement is the increased amount of free time. And one of my favorite fillers of that time has been to loll around in front of the TV. I’ve lost count of how many series I’ve binge-watched over the past four years.

I can’t recall the order of all of them, but the first show I buried myself in was Game of Thrones. It was every bit as bloody and bawdy as people said it was, and it hooked me from the start. Of course, having a soft spot for dragons didn’t hurt.

Another binge – one that seemed to take for-bloody-ever to get through because it boasts over 1200 episodes – was Dark Shadows. I was thrilled when I stumbled upon the entire series on Amazon. If you’re in my age bracket, you’ll likely remember that horribly over-acted soap opera from the ‘60s/‘70s that featured vampires, witches, and werewolves. I’ll never forget the crush I had on Barnabas Collins. That soap was as campy the second time around as it was the first, and I enjoyed every minute of it.

Other shows I lost myself in included Supernatural, Psych, Your Honor, Virgin River, NCIS, Schitt’s Creek, Evil, Ted Lasso, and Bridgerton (every iteration). There were more…many more…but you get the drift. When I’m not reading or writing, I love escaping into all sorts of shows. And I’m clearly drawn to entertainment over edification.

The series I just finished watching was Call the Midwife. There were twelve seasons, but I got through them fairly quickly because I found it so hard to drag myself away. I’m not exactly what you’d call a “baby person,” and every episode highlighted at least one birth (sometimes several), but the program thoroughly sucked me in. I thought the acting was superb, the storylines were compelling, and the era – even though it took place across the pond – brought back memories of life in the ‘60s. I may not have lived in the East End of London, but the fashion and music were truly blasts from the past. And I must admit…all the babies were absolutely adorable.

As I neared the finish line, I began mourning the impending loss of the characters I’d grown so fond of. They were merely actors on TV, but I knew I’d miss them, and it made me sad.

Then I saw it…a small banner across the screen declaring Season 13 would start on September 2^nd. Another season! Nearly all the series I’ve binge-watched over the years have been complete, and it didn’t even occur to me that Call the Midwife might still be in production. That little banner turned my frown upside down.

Needless to say, I’m counting the hours until the new season starts. What a happy little stay of execution!

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Music Isn’t Just for Dancing

July 30, 2024 / Virginia Boshears / 1 Comment

Photo by Oleg Moroz

I recently had cataract surgery, and as the healing process brings the world into crisper focus, I can’t stop thinking of Jimmy Cliff singing I Can See Clearly Now. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s just one more in a countless number of songs that make up the soundtrack of my life. And since my brain has a tendency to slip down rabbit holes, it got me thinking about the multitude of songs that have attached themselves to certain experiences or situations over the years.

I recall an incident back in the ’90s where I was driving to a work meeting, and my mind was twisted in knots over something completely out of my control. The more I thought about it, the more anxious I became. I wasn’t consciously listening to the radio, but the beginning lyrics of a song that came on quickly penetrated my angst, and I felt myself start to calm. The song was River of Deceit by Mad Season, and the words that settled me were, “My pain is self-chosen.” It was a perfectly timed reminder that, while I may not have control over the situation, I did have control over how I let it affect me. An alternative rock song unexpectedly provided exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it.

Music creates connections to feelings as well as life events. Certain songs, or types of songs, tend to remind me of loved ones who are no longer here. For years after Mom died, I couldn’t bear to listen to her favorite church hymns because they amplified the pain of losing her. I finally worked through that, and I’m relieved I did because hearing those hymns now brings back warm, happy memories of my wonderful mom. After Dad passed away, listening to his favorite music – Chet Atkins in particular – never made me sad; it made me feel closer to him. It still does. And there’s a James Taylor song that always reminds me of my late brother. I remember one day when I was a teen, I walked by the closed bathroom door and heard Aaron singing Fire and Rain. He had the exhaust fan going and probably thought it drowned out the sound, but I’m glad it didn’t. That was the only time I ever heard him sing, and he had a beautiful voice.

When it comes to music, I’ve nearly always been able to count on it to get me through tough times. There was one instance, though, when it fell woefully short. Several years after Mom passed away, Dad decided to remarry. Even though I was extremely fond of his betrothed and very happy for them both, I still missed my mom and knew the wedding might be a bit difficult for me. So, to protect my tender heart, I came up with a plan to distract myself if I started to get emotional. I would sing Christmas carols in my head. Unfortunately, I was blindsided by the very first song they played during the ceremony. It was The Rose…an innocent, yet horrifically ill-conceived, choice. My mom’s name was Rosabel, and that song hit me like a royal kick in the gut. While I struggled to maintain my composure, I couldn’t for the life of me come up with a single Christmas carol to cling to. The only song I could conjure up was Dead Skunk. You know…that early ‘70s ode to the odoriferous. I ran the lyrics through my head as best I could, but the damage was already done. The proverbial dam broke, and there was nothing left for me to do but sit there and silently sob while my husband patted my shoulder. Fortunately, anyone who later saw my splotchy face merely assumed I was the sort who cried at weddings. Also fortunate is the fact that that pitiful experience didn’t taint Dead Skunk for me. It’s still one of my very favorite songs.

Regardless of the few times when music couldn’t soothe my soul, it remains my tether to treasured memories and current joys. I often choose songs that are fun and energetic, and I don’t always pay attention to the – sometimes questionable – lyrics (Warren Zevon’s Excitable Boy comes to mind). But the songs that really hit home are those that elicit a sense of love and compassion. A recent favorite that falls into that category is A Little Bit of Love by Weezer.

And because I wish everyone a little bit of love, my gift to you is the link below. As you listen, I hope you feel the love I’m sending out.

The Quotidian Scribe

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My 2024 Book Challenge

Almost the Best Day

Those Arrows Aren’t There to Look Pretty

Seeking Peace

Binge-Worthy

Music Isn’t Just for Dancing

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