My Memorial Day

I usually can’t remember what I do on Memorial Day each year. I believe it typically starts the week prior to the actual day itself. I’m usually reading the stories from World War II veterans in the newspaper all week. Ones about the years they spent “over there” fighting Nazi Germany. Most stories reflect their accounts of the D-Day Invasion.  True heroism and sacrifice that I will never be worthy enough to accept.

The weekend itself is usually quiet around my house. One day typically set aside for the annual visit to some relative’s home for a cookout (or in my case a birthday party since many coincide with this time of year).  Making merry, partaking of adult beverages and eating so much food someone has to wheelbarrow me to the car for the drive home since I can’t move. Good times indeed.

The actual Memorial “Day” is normally spent quietly for me. I’ll try to sleep late (something I don’t normally do) and lounge around on what feels like Sunday.

But this year was a bit different.

My daughter, who has an obsession with all things swimming, decided bright and early she wanted to visit the Palmer Pool today.  I had thought she would have had her fill of aqua related activities yesterday in my cousin’s pool. A large inground one she had all to herself for several hours. But she was bound and determined to drag her old man to the community pool.

I’ve only been to the Palmer Pool a few times. I grew up on south side Easton which is quite a ways away. And let’s be honest here folks: growing up I believe I would definitely have been considered riff raff had I gone. But now I am a full fledged member of the Palmer community so I decided to partake of the opportunity.

When we arrived I noticed the flags were flying at half mast and I reminded my daughter as to why they are so. Mouthing the same old lines that countless other parents and teachers have spewn to young ears. Hoping that the meaning might somehow get across.

As we swam I noticed a few things that jarred my memory. The part of the patio that was reserved to the Dip and Dance crowd. The long lines to get funnel cake and french fries. And of course, the diving boards where children would line up to jump into rather chilly water.

What else did I notice? Ladies that should be in bikinis and those that most definitely should not. Men’s guts hanging over their shorts so far they probably could not see their toes. Then there were the ones who had their guts sucked in (most likely to impress the ladies who looked good in the bikinis).  I swore I even saw a guy there not wearing a shirt who looked like Magilla Gorilla. The dude’s back was covered with layers of hair. I’m talking werewolf here. Not a good look. Although I ‘m not really sure what part of the lunar cycle we’re in this week.

I had an encounter with my old high school classmates too. Well, at least I thought I did. I believe I saw Jim Prendergast there with his children waiting in line. I haven’t seen Jim in well over twenty years and wasn’t 100% sure it was him. I believe his nickname in high school was “Stickman” or something like that. I was tempted to walk up to him and call him that but I was afraid that if it wasn’t him my nickname might have been met with a fist. So that meeting never happened.

Later on, while sitting pool side, I noticed a young girl throwing a hakee sack (do they still make those things?) with her Dad. I kept going over and over in my head that I had seen them before and finally I realized that it was Michelle Eck’s husband and daughter. I know this only because of Michelle’s Facebook updates. She and I had also graduated together but she was no where to be seen. Her husband and daughter I have never met and they would have absolutely no idea who I was so I let that encounter go by as well.

But the most important thing happened as I waited outside for my daughter to go in and change to go home. Out of the locker room came a woman who was rolling a wheel chair. I watched her wheel the boy who rode upon it to a grassy area where upon he slowly got up.

I’m not sure if he had cerebal palsy or some other condition that made him so frail but I watched him struggle to move independently down towards the pool. Time seemed to stop for me as I watched the woman (who I assume to be his Mother) catch up to him and meet him at the steps. They held hands together and walked towards the water.

I kept thinking about how difficult it must be for both of them in their day to day lives. Simple things like dressing, eating and getting around must be a chore. But come hell or high water they were going swimming today. And damnit, they did. It also looked like it was something they do quite often together. Meanwhile, I spend most of my time taking so much for granted.

So this Memorial Day was a good reminder for me. I enjoyed every minute I got to spend with my daughter but for the first time in quite a long time I’m also remembering why we are all able to enjoy the things we do.

I hope yours was special too.

The Experience

A few weeks ago I was perusing iTunes looking for songs to buy on a gift card I received. I chose a few Five For Fighting songs from his most recent album (I didn’t really care for the previews I heard of the whole thing) and Bon Jovi’s anthemic “It’s My Life”. I’m not even sure which record it was on. Probably several but I just wanted the song for doing cardio to so it didn’t really matter.

I read an article not too long ago from Jon Bon Jovi himself. He claimed that Steve Jobs and iTunes had single handedly ruined the music business. This coming from a guy whose band made millions of dollars from it. Including quite a bit from me over the years and possibly the college tuition fund Terry Caffrey had set aside for her children. More than enough money for him to someday become part owner of a billion dollar NFL team. A guy who himself SELLS his music on iTunes and profits off of it. Who is he trying to kid?

But the more I thought about it and looked at the receipt for my downloaded songs I realized something….he’s right. The entire “experience” of getting and listening to new music is gone.

Back in “the day” if you heard a cool song on the radio you had three choices: call the radio station 24/7 and beg them to play it, try and find the 45″ single of it at Listening Booth in the mall or just buy the album which was readily available. In my case, it was always buying the album because I LOVED the experience (and because I didn’t want to sound like a sissy calling the request line).

There was nothing like getting that new album (or CD) and taking it home for the first time. Especially if you’ve waited the habitual two years since your favorite group’s last record. A literal lifetime when you are growing up. When you first heard the new “hit” from the band on Z-95 or Q100 you knew the countdown to the new album was on. It was new again. Almost like Christmas was coming.

My ritual was this: I would get the album, lock myself in my room and put it on. First song, first side (or first track on a CD – I’m not THAT OLD). I knew the “hit” was always about the third song. I didn’t want to skip to it. I wanted the build up. As the first notes of the record started I knew ‘the boys were back’ and I’d immerse myself in the liner notes. The smell of new ink would invade my senses and the troubles of the day would soon fade away.

I’d read all about the musicians, where the album was recorded. Who were any “special guests”. The thank-you’s which always included God and family. And I’d always think “Maybe some day I’ll have to make these decisions for my album”….
But most of all, I read the lyrics. I loved reading about the pain, heartache, reckless abandon they felt when creating this record. I tried to relate what I was going through in my life with what I read and listened to. By the time the “hit” was playing I was in some other utopia. (which coincidentally, was the name of the store in downtown Easton where I got a lot of my records).

When the record was over it was almost like you had just gotten off an amusement park ride. Sure, some of the songs weren’t very good. But there were some gems on there. I liked to guess which song would be the next one released to radio. I’d also wonder how long I had to start saving money before these guys came to town so I could go see them. The whole thing was indeed an experience.

Now, I couldn’t tell you the last time I did the whole music experience though. I found myself falling into the same routine everyone else does. Getting the quick-fix by downloading the one “hit” song. I even believe most artists these days are perfectly happy with just getting the 99 cents for that one song.

But taking Jon’s advice, I decided to try the album experience again. I was watching VH1 Classic’s That Metal Show and noticed that David Coverdale from Whitesnake was going to be on. I found out that Whitesnake had just released a new CD.  Having been a big fan from their hey day, I decided to by pass the digital market and  purchased the physical copy of Forevermore. Maybe it was the metal head in me trying to get out after being cooped up for so long but it excited me to hear this new music.
I sat there, put the CD in on the first track, read the liner notes and got lost in thought. It wasn’t the greatest album I’ve ever heard but there are some really cool songs on there. Quite a bit I’d never expect to hear from the band and I was pleasantly surprised.

I know that in today’s music business it will probably never get airplay. But the experience of listening was as wonderful as I remembered it to be.

It was then that I noticed they were coming to Penns Peak next month (about a 45 minute drive from my home). I’ve never seen them live and always wanted to. What a perfect opportunity to get the entire experience of the new album again.

So Mr. Bon Jovi was right in a way. iTunes has changed the game. And sure, I’ll probably rip the Whitesnake album and throw it on my mp3 player to take with me. Will I listen to it day and night forevermore? Probably not.

But favorite songs aren’t just meant to be some digital file on an ipod. They’re meant to stay with you for a lifetime.

Maybe you should experience it for yourself again too.