Spinning tunes from the past

Saturday, December 1^st was my 39^th birthday. I don’t normally feel much difference with the changing of each year, but I think this past year has heaped an unusual type of baggage in my mind and I spent a fair chunk of the day basking in nostalgia.

My husband, Chris, assisted with my walk down memory lane on Friday evening when he gave me an early birthday present which was something I’ve desired for a while: a record player.

I bought my first vinyl album when I was about 10 years old for the bargain price of eight bucks and I still have it. I saved all my old records through the years even though I haven’t owned anything to play them with since around 1992.

When our son was still a baby, we had a garage sale and a friend of ours dropped off several albums of his to sell, but I could not bring myself to let them go so I added them to my own collection instead.

I spent the evening on Friday and most of the day Saturday spinning tunes with records that have not felt a needle in 20 years or more.

My son was amazed by two things. The first was that sound could be produced by something so primitive-looking. The second was that I kept my property in such good condition for so long.

Of course, this is the same kid that can’t seem to make anything last for one day, much less one year, so I wasn’t really surprised that he couldn’t fathom me treasuring an 8 dollar item.

Prince, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors, The Cars, The Police, and several other bands blasted through the house while my daughter spun and danced in the living room and my son critiqued each artist; for instance, his opinion that Elton John sounds a lot like a woman.

I didn’t care because I had been catapulted back in time to when I had to sit at my four foot tall, glass-encased stereo system, my blank cassette tape ready and my fingers hovering over the “record” and “play” buttons while I impatiently listened for the song to finally come on that the station had been promising for the last hour. This was how I ripped music in the eighties, the old fashioned way, right off the airwaves.

We took a break from the music marathon on Saturday to take our son to his first YMCA basketball game. He has been practicing every day after school and we were able to see all his efforts displayed on the court.

Chris and I were just about in tears to see him actually working hard and smiling while he did it. It was truly incredible. The focus he demonstrated was something we could barely believe he possessed!

As our daughter played Barbies with another little girl, I said to Chris, “If we could go back in time and show our 18-year old selves pictures of these beautiful kids, there’d be no question at all that we were supposed to be together.”

He said, “Yeah, as long as you didn’t show me a picture of myself now! I’d wonder what happened.”

I laughed because we are our own worst critics. I think he’s handsome, but when I compare myself now to then, I think of the blood pressure cuffs that keep inflating when they aren’t on someone’s arm.

My birthday was blessed, much like my life. Really, that is the greatest gift of all.