The tunes they are a-changing

I'm proud to say my family is musical. We dabble in playing — a guitar and piano here, a recorder and ukelele there — but it's in the listening to music that we really excel. As a whole, our hearts, minds and ears are open to myriad genres, everything from classical to Christian, country to show tunes, hard rock to soft rock and many that aren't really rock at all. We even have our family favorites in the rap genre. (I must admit, though, jazz and easy listening rarely pass notes in our homes, our cars, our iPods.)

Music plays a prodigious and powerful role in our family, which is why I'm happy to see the love of music continue with Bubby. Since he was an itsy-bitsy baby, music moved him. And like the rest of us, he's happy to sample and savor tunes from varied genres, with recent favorites ranging from "Twinkle, Twinkle" to "Baby" by Justin Bieber to "A New Hallelujah" by Michael W. Smith to "We Will Rock You" by Queen.

I'm thrilled Bubby finds such joy in music. Yet I'm saddened that many of my most-cherished memories of experiencing music — and watching my children experience music — are things he and the youngsters of today will never know, thanks to the ever-evolving face of music.

Music rituals kids of today will never experience

• The satisfaction of placing the needle in the exact desired spot on a record.

• Flipping through album, cassette, or CD bins at the music store.

• Staying up late to watch a favorite group on "The Midnight Special."

• Making and receiving the perfect mix tape.

• Waiting for hours to catch the beginning of a favorite video in order to hit "record" on the VCR in time so it can be replayed in full again and again.

• The horror of a record or CD being cracked, a cassette tape being eaten.

• The horror — and sometimes giggles — associated with scratches and subsequent skips in an album.

• Singing along with a record, perfectly including the skip without missing a beat.

• Weighing the arm of the record player with a penny to get past the skips.

• Searching for secret messages and meanings in backmasking.

• The thrill of finding a favorite song on an AM station while traveling by car, seemingly miles from civilization.

• Waiting by the radio with cassette recorder in hand to record a favorite tune when Casey Kasem announces it No. 1 for the week.

• Marveling at the artwork on an album sleeve.

• Holding the album lyrics in hand while singing along.

• Memorizing the order of an album to the point that when hearing one of the songs on its own, you automatically hum the bars to — and expect to hear — the next song on the album.

• American Bandstand.

Today's question:

What fading or long-gone musical rituals do you lament?

I'll just say no

When I was a teen, I succumbed to peer pressure far more often than I should have. I did things that weren't good for me just because "all the cool kids are doing it." Trying to fit in, trying to be like everyone else was the name of the game, just as it surely — unfortunately — is for today's youth.

When I became a mother, there was still a lot of peer pressure, but of a different sort. There was the pressure to outfit my kids in the latest fashions, keep them enrolled in and entertained by the latest and greatest activities. We rarely had the funds to pay for those fashions and fun things, so the need to do as all the cool moms were doing became less important. I couldn't afford to be like them, so I had no choice but to be myself.

As the girls reached the teen years and all the cool moms were (supposedly in some cases, literally in others) letting their kids run around without curfews, attend co-ed slumber parties or throw parties with alcohol purchased by the adults, I no longer had any desire to be like the cool moms for they didn't seem all that cool to me. I was a mean mom, or so I was told ... often. I had strict rules and high expectations for my daughters. The girls, of course, broke those rules ... often. And they fought against my expectations. It didn't change anything, though, because I purposefully made the choice to not be cool, to be myself, to do what I thought was right. For me, for mine. Regardless of pressure, be it from my peers or my kids.

Now that I'm a grandma, I'm faced with a different kind of peer pressure. Well, to be honest, it really has absolutely nothing to do with being a grandma and everything to do with being a grandma online. Yep, as someone who lives a large chunk of her life on the Internet, I'm confronted regularly by those who want me to do as they do, to follow their lead. And once again I'm doing the uncool thing: I'm just saying no.

To what am I saying no? Well, here's the list of things the cool folks, the popular folks do online that I'm resisting. Don't take offense and don't take it personally if you do these things; just take it as forewarning that I don't do these things, that I won't do these things if you ask.

Here goes. I hereby say no to:

• Passing along forwards. Whether they're cute or funny or elicit a warm fuzzy and especially if they're hate-filled or try to convince me I must send it to 10 friends in order to prosper or find true love. Forwards all get the same treatment from me: the delete button.

• Changing my Facebook profile photo to a color befitting a cause or holiday. Mostly just because I'm lazy.

• Posting or joining or following — or whatever the correct term is — a blog meme.

• Adhering to the rules of an award that requires me to list 16 personal things about myself then pressure eight of my favorite bloggers to do the same by honoring them with the same award. Awards are thoughtful ... unless they require work.

• Changing my Facebook status in support of a cause. (I'm starting to see a minor theme to my list, related to my laziness. Maybe?)

• Entering giveaways that require me to visit and comment on the sponsor's page then — optional, but for extra entries — "like" a Facebook page, follow the blogger on Twitter, and tweet and retweet until the sun rises and sets 16 times.

There are other, less frequent actions friends (and some foes) try to pressure me to take, but those above are at the top of my just-say-no list. Like I said before, don't take offense if you do any of them. I don't have a problem with you doing it, I just have a problem with me doing it. So I won't.

The great thing about peer pressure as a grandma is that it's really no pressure at all.

Excepting, of course, the pressure I felt to let you all know in advance of my just-say-no plan. Just in case you asked. Just so when I ignore your request, you won't feel slighted ... or upset ... or like you want to kick me out of the blogosphere.

(Which means, I suppose, that I still have a few minor peer-pressure issues to work out. Even as a grandma.)

Photo: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What kind of peer pressure do you resist now that you wouldn't have resisted at a younger age?

10 things I want(ed) to be when I grow up

Last week I had dinner with one of my favorite people, a dear friend who is very much like me on many things, but oh-so different from me on one very big thing. That big thing being parenting.

It's not that my friend and I have different parenting philosophies, it's that she isn't a parent at all, never wanted to be a parent, a mom. Ever. I, on the other hand, am a mom, have always wanted to be a mom. From the time I was a child, the position of Mom has been at the very top of my list of things I wanted to be when I grew up.

Being a mom wasn't the only thing on my list of things I want to be when I grow up, though. Here are more:

10 things I want(ed) to be when I grow up

A writer. I remember as far back as middle school, dreaming about being a writer. I became a writer, made a decent living for a short period of time as a writer, continue to be a writer.

A disc jockey. In elementary school, I worked on a presentation with a group, and we chose to present our findings on Mary McCleod Bethune radio style, with intermissions featuring snippets of music. The presentation made me realize I loved playing the part of DJ. Every now and then I still get a hankering to host a radio program ... featuring music, not news or blathering bumbleheads.

A cosmetologist. I wanted to be not just a hairstylist, but a cosmetologist. I went to school for it, was on my way to earning my license. Then I got pregnant, the chemicals weren't a good idea for the baby, and "Beauty School Dropout" became my theme song for a while. (Was soon thankful this dream was never realized!)

Interior designer. Again, started classes. Again, got pregnant ... and decided continuing school was too much for a mom with two little ones and an overworked husband.

Backup singer. I'd still like to be this. I don't want to be in the forefront, the glaring spotlight. But providing backing vocals for the star -- and maybe a solo during the bridge now and then -- would sure get my toes tapping, my hands clapping, and heart soaring.

Parenting magazine editor. Ann Pleshette-Murphy, editor of Parent magazine when my girls were little, was my idol. I've accomplished this one. Not to the degree of Ann, only on a regional parenting publication level, but accomplished just the same. 'Twas one of the highlights -- and much-missed positions -- of my writing/editing career.

Librarian. This was at the top of my list for many years, just below writer. Still is some days. Too bad a library science degree is required.

Bookstore owner. Plan B for sharing books, since a degree isn't required to sell them. Cash is required, though, and I never had it. Proof that things happen -- or don't happen -- for a reason, as I'd surely be suffering the plight of today's independent booksellers.

Pie shop owner. I make pretty good pie. I wanted to share it with others. I planned to call it Pie in the Sky. Or Pie Hopes. Again, no money -- and the rise of the cupcake -- brought those hopes to a fizzle. Although, I've been reading lately that pie is the new cupcake. Hmm ...

Restaurant owner. Witnessing hundreds of college classmates of Megan and Andrea, miles from home and craving Mom's cooking, got me seriously considering starting up a Homesick Restaurant featuring daily specials from mothers across the country (credit to Anne Tyler for the name). The girls graduated before I put the plan into action -- fortunately, as the location was seven hours away in a town I never planned to visit again once they were done with college.

Looking at this list, I see that nearly everything on it, attained or not, has contributed to or enhanced my position as Mom. Cosmetology class provided the tools for cutting and styling the hair of three little girls. Interior Design courses helped me in creating the desired ambiance in my home. DJing and backup singing? Well, I love and share music with my kids; always have, always will. The words I write and share -- whether magazine articles, books or blogs -- are often related to parenting in one way or another. Food fancies require no expanation, as that's what moms do: show their love through food.

Bottom line is this: I may not have done all I once dreamed of, but those dreams made a difference in the one that mattered most, the one that became a reality -- being a mom. And who knows? There's still plenty of time to achieve a few of those on my list I still find appealing.

Anyone up for leading a granny band? If you've got the vocal ability and nerves for centerstage, I'd be all over supporting you with a few doowops and handclaps from behind.

Photo credit: stock.xchng

Today's question:

What did you want to be when you grew up?

Freeze frame

Today I head to the desert for a five-day visit with Bubby. To him, though, it will likely feel more like a five-day photo shoot -- Gramma takes lots of pictures! By the end of a few days together with Bubby, I usually have 500 or more photos. Enough to get me through until the next time we meet. Enough to last as blog graphics for a few months. Enough to mark our time together.

I'm big on photos. I see them as a record of one's own personal history. When memories of a time, an event, a life fade, the photos are there to remind.

As I get older, I realize my memories are fading fast, yet I hold few photos of my childhood to remind me. In fact, the following photos are the only photos I have of my life before the age of 10. (I have just as few of the years after age 10 -- until I got my own camera at 16 -- but I'll refrain from sharing those as my teeth became more crooked and the hairstyles more funky. Definitely not cute shots, not worth sharing.)

Sibling No. 1, Sibling No. 2, and me, Sibling No. 3.  Sibling No. 4 and me. Siblings Nos. 1-4 and a dog whose name I can't recall. Me, beautiful Bonnie, and Sibling No. 4.

Siblings Nos. 1, 3 (me) and 4 on Dad's parade float for his business. Siblings Nos. 5 & 6 (twins) and me (maybe me?).

The crooked teeth and funky hairstyles begin. Siblings Nos. 2 and 3 on one snowmobile, me with Dad on the other.

The gang of seven (siblings). Paternal grandparents and all seven of us.

Most of us in Florida. I'm second. (Minnesotans not used to sun!) Again, in Florida.

And that's it -- my only photographic reminders of early childhood. The lack of photos in my possession is not because they're in a trunk of my mom's or a stash at my dad's. Nope, that's it.

That won't be the case with my kids, my grandkids, maybe even my great-grandkids. Like I said, I take lots of pictures. I'm certain that one day they'll be thankful for all the flashing and clicking from Gramma.

And I can pretty much guarantee that despite the photos not being all that skillfully taken or perfectly composed, they will all be cute, they will all be worth sharing.

Even if their teeth are crooked and their haircuts funky.

Today's question:

What is your favorite photo of you as a child?

Bound to happen

Well, it's finally happened: I've gotten old. I've not come to that realization because of my wrinkles, my achy joints or my crotchety disposition of late, but because of how freakin' young those in the medical profession now seem to me.

My eyes began to open to this truth when noticing that doctors interviewed as experts on various news programs regularly caused Jim and me to comment, "Wow, that's a young one" and "Sheesh, has that kid really actually completed medical school?" Only old people say such things. Hence a conclusion began to form: I'm just old.

Then I started physical therapy to repair the damage from little cusshead Mickey pulling me into a face plant when a deer nonchalantly crossed our path during a walk a few months ago. My regular doctor referred me to a fine physical therapist. I read her impressive credentials (she's one of the physical therapists for the US Figure Skating team) then was shocked upon meeting her at my first appointment. She looks the same age as my youngest daughter! There's no way she could be just 25 since she's been practicing since the early '90s. She's performing miracles on my back and has clearly worked hard and long to get where she is in her career, so my conclusion is this: I'm just old.

The final incident relates to Megan's medical scare this past week. Because of the fortunate outcome of a worrisome circumstance, Megan gave thanks and gratitude to her ob/gyn on a recent blog post, a post that included a photo of the doctor. I have never met her doctor and I was amazed at how young this gal is -- this gal who holds the lives of my child AND my grandchild in her hands. Yet, her expertise in the field and the way she's proved herself exceptionally capable lead me to now stand firm in my conclusion: I'm just old.

When I first became a mother, doctors were older folks whom I looked upon with respect and admiration, much as I would a wise grandparent. As the years went by, doctors seemed a little more my age, like a colleague or friend or at least someone who enjoyed the same music and television shows as I did and understood the same pop culture references.

Now, all of a sudden, the doctors I come across are youngsters, many years behind me and certainly not interested in the same music or television shows that interest me. And I don't even seem to know what constitutes pop culture anymore, let alone share any references to it with today's doctors.

My only conclusion: I'm just old.

My only question: How the heck did that happen?

Photo: MS Office  

Today's question:

In what ways do you most notice you're getting older?