The Fastest Transport on Earth

I’ll bet that title grabbed you, huh? Especially since you know I’ve been to The Evergreen Aviation and Space Museum recently. But I’m going to throw you for a loop here. The fastest method of transport ever devised is not the SR71 Blackbird– although that machine is Really fast. But faster still is . . . wait for it . . . Music.

This morning as the news show went to commercial the station played, "All I Have To Do Is Dream" by the Everly Brothers to get them there. Bam! I was instantly twelve again. That’s going back a lot of years at Mach V (whatever that is). I was in my parents home listening again to the brother’s excellent harmony, gazing in the bathroom mirror wondering if my current crush would like the way I wore my hair. So simple was my life then.

In the years before crooked teeth, pimples and first bras there were other songs. The ones Mom and Dad taught us.

From Dad – Little Sir Echo, Billy Boy, Playmate I Cannot Play With You, Red Red Robin, April Showers. There was one song Dad was fond of singing, early in the morning. It was “Oh what a Beautiful Morning” from the musical Oklahoma. We all came to hate that one.  He used it as an alarm clock to rouse us out of bed on Saturday mornings when he thought we’d slept way too long. If it was going for eight o’clock the bedroom doors got slammed open and we were in for a serenade. Dad wasn’t greeted with love and good cheer.  

From Mom – Brahms’s Lullaby, Whispering Hope, Red River Valley, Spring Once Said to the Nightingale.  Mom sang in the church choir for years but I never remember her having a particularly strong voice. She was also a dedicated smoker of Winston cigarettes – that might have impacted her singing voice. But she did have heart and sang to us from there. Sometimes I get teary-eyed when I sing these old tunes.

Moving on from the Everly Brothers to the high angst of the mid teens and the Beatles came to town. I didn’t like them that much. Shocked! I know. You thought I’d love them, right? Eh. I far preferred Simon and Garfunkle. I still swoon over many of their songs and listen with rapt attention to my Concert in the Park CD whenever I feel all nostalgic. Makes me pine for my long lost flat tummy and good legs.

I like a lot of today’s music, too. Shocked! I know. A few weeks ago our nine-year-old granddaughter, Anna, got a new CD. One of the songs is titled, “Dear Future Husband” by Meghan Trainor.  I. Love. It. Anna and I choreographed a few dance moves to it. What a fun afternoon that was. I'm such a hip grandma I can hardly stand myself. Wink.

Good music is good music in whatever era it’s produced, don’t you think? It ties up a lot of our emotions. It zips us back in time faster than a frog slurps a fly . . . ewww, maybe I should come up with a better metaphor, but I think I hear strains of “The Boxer” on the radio behind me. I’m about to be transported, but do give me your thoughts on this.

Image: Free Digital Photos