There are some things that I never knew that I would miss about my mom, but I stumble over them everyday. Today I was sitting on the floor of the thrift store sorting through records, and only one of the hundreds fell into the “good music” category. I came home tired and dirty and decide to do something that I didn’t even know I was avoiding until I did it. I opened her record cabinet. I pulled out every record that she owned and I flipped through them one by one. Marshal Tucker, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Grateful Dead, Charlie Daniels. LP after LP stacked up as evidence that my mother only bought perfect albums. And I didn’t know, I wasn’t aware that you could miss not just a person but a quality in a person that makes you ache because it so reflects your own soul.
My sister and her friends were getting ready in the bath room tonight while listening to Top 2o on the satellite. They left and I muted Eminem to put on Bob Dylan: Blood on the Tracks
“I was in another lifetime one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form
“Come in” she said
“I’ll give you shelter from the storm”.”
Normally I look up a song I want to hear on Youtube and play it through my Macbook speakers. It felt so good to hear something authentic the way it was meant to be heard, it even skipped once.
My mom taught me to appreciate the good stuff, and to stay fully engaged in life and the world around me. I blame her for leaving me completely powerless when I find a copy of Paul Simon’s Graceland, I buy every one. I credit her with my sense of what makes great music: powerful lyrics, visible souls, the kind anyone can dance to. I regret that she isn’t here to listen to Bob or Paul with me.
“And she says losing love
Is like a window in your heart,
Everybody sees you’re blown apart,
Everybody feels the wind blow”
I miss her too. Quality is hard to come by.