Friday, November 15, 2013

things unspoken part 2

This series continues to talk about some of the things I don’t usually write about here. My point is to find the words...and let the rest just fall into place.

There is a running joke in the movie The Runaway Bride where Julia Roberts’ character doesn’t actually know how she likes her eggs. She just eats them the way that her significant other eats them and has absolutely no opinion of her own preference. Then, towards the end, there is a scene where she stands with plates and plates of eggs, searching for how she likes her eggs.

This is exactly how I feel about music.

It’s an odd thing. Here I am, twenty something in a culture where generations are molded by the music they listen to. I could walk into any high school, college, bar, group of people and have groups identify themselves by the music they love or hate. What music you listen to seems to define what kind of person you are and what group you belong to.

Now this may seem like a weird subject to talk about in a series that is about disclosing...
But here’s the thing.
I HATE it when someone asks me what type of music I listen to, who my favorite group is, what is on repeat on my ipod. And more than that, I don’t ever tell people that because it seems so uncool.

I grew up listening to the music my Mom listened to--a nice blend of 90s country and soft rock. I know the words to every Faith Hill and Colin Raye song. At one point I think we had every album Celine Dion put out and my sister and I can still recite the words to The Bodyguard soundtrack (the good times of Whitney Houston…)

My Dad on the other hand was a die hard rock fan. Smashing Pumpkins, U2, The Stones, Queen...when he would drive that is what was on the radio.

By the time high school rolled around I played in the world of top forty. Nothing too scandalous, but sure, I like to think I wasn’t totally out of it.

Then, my siblings started driving and I was in the car with them. I didn’t care what was on the radio so it became their preferences. Years past and top forty became slightly passe and we moved to alternative rock and local bands. While Bobby’s musical taste is expansive, Laura’s is mindblowing. Girlfriend knows her stuff and listens to true alternative and indie. They are great about making me mixes and recommending artists. Et VOILA! I have a random assortment of music on my own.

But about two years ago I sat there looking at my iTunes account realizing that it was the most random grouping of songs. I wanted it to resemble more of what I liked. And then it dawned on me, I have absolutely no idea.

A couple of days ago someone said to me, “We can put music on, but I have no idea what you like…”

The hard truth is that I’m not attached to music the way most people are. Top forty doesn’t feel like I’m selling my soul to the industry. Country music isn’t about tractors and living in the south. Rap isn’t totally offensive. The Beatles are great because they are THE BEATLES and that doesn’t mean I don’t know anything else about them. I have more Taylor Swift on my ipod than I’d like to admit, but she’s great to run to and that’s really what I use my ipod for. When I get into a car I am never the one to DJ. It’s just not my thing.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not slowing getting in touch with some favorites. And believe it or not, some of them even my sister hasn’t heard of--a feat that makes me so very proud.

What kind of music do I like?
Well…
I lean towards strong female lead singers. Adele, Lorde, Jessie Ware, Sara Bareilles. I like a little indie: The Civil Wars, Lord Huron, The Lone Bellow. I am totally in love with slow music that you want in your head all day (and that’s not whiny): Michael Kiwanuka I could listen to all day. I totally have a soft spot  songs you’ll find on the radio, there is always a time and place for Beyonce and Katy Perry, and yes, even Taylor Swift.
Yes, there are ton more on my Spotify and iTunes account. (I didn’t even touch on Maroon 5, Mumford and Sons, or Justin Timberlake…)

At 25 I’m starting to navigate the neverending black hole that is music. I’m trying to keep my cool and understand the vast deepness of the genre, and find my place within it. I want to be able to rattle off favorites and songs and blow your mind with my underground taste. And, it’s very likely that won’t happen. It’s more likely that I’ll have you laughing at the fact I know the words to that song on the radio, whatever that song is, and sing along in the grocery store. But what I want is a playlist to turn on at midnight when it’s just me in my room, when the day has been long and hard and so good, when I sit on the floor, legs outstretched, back against my bed, I can close my eyes and hum along. I want music that fits my life. That’s slow and steady and filled with lyrics that mean something. With a special place for music you just have to chair dance along to, for just when the moment calls for it.


Saturday, November 9, 2013

just keep driving

the day started with a couple of friends in two cars drinking cider in a little house with a bicycle as the only marker to where we were. then, just like the last time we ran away, we got in the car and drove up the leelanau peninsula. we decided the best thing was fresh air, the sound of crashing waves, loud music you can sing to, and only good food. 

Grand Traverse Lighthouse and Lake Michigan



Point Betsie Lighthouse and a shameless selfie :)




Like any good road trip, it ended with margaritas and friends in a small michigan town...

what will next week entail? 

Friday, November 8, 2013

things unspoken: part 1

It has occurred to me recently that there are a few things that I either haven’t talked about in a long while in this little blog of mine, or I have totally not talked about at all. I’m going to try to dig into those subjects in this mini series of “things unspoken.” Please bare with me as I try to find the words, I know myself well enough to know that while talking about these things is good, it doesn’t make it easy.


I was sitting at Olive Garden talking to dear friends and somehow my military background came out. For those of you who read this blog because you’ve known me for years, this is not a new fact. But in the past couple of years my military life has been overshadowed by college and Peace Corps and the bubble of the world I currently live in, plus my Dad has been retired for almost four years now. However, once upon a time, I was a military brat. It was 21 years and it was all I’ve known.

Back to Olive Garden.

So, I’m sitting there spitting out bare bones facts. Military jargon. Deployments. Moves. All of the schools, the hellos and goodbyes, the homecoming I got to miss school for, life on base, life as a civilian.

You want to hear some stories? Talk to a former military brat. We know a lot. We see a lot. And our perspective on the world is magical. Why? Because we grew up seeing both sides. We know the sacrifice and yet we believe. Duty, honor, loyalty. Those aren’t hollow wishes, those are the pillars we all stand on.

When my brother was in elementary school my Dad took his class on a tour of the aircraft carrier he was on (my brother was therefore the coolest) as a school field trip. When I was in fifth grade my siblings and I sat at the pier for hours waiting for the ship to come in after deployment and started playing UNO (the ONLY game the four of us can play) once the sun came up and ended up in the local paper.

My Mom used to create these paper chains and we would take a picture of my Dad in full uniform and move his picture down the chain as we got closer and closer to his homecoming.

I remember living in Seattle and he was due back just before Christmas. The three of us were still young, all in elementary school, so my Mom went all out for the holiday. I’ll never forget it, we show up in the Christmas tree lot and we aren’t there thirty seconds before my Mom looks at us and says, “What if we just got the biggest tree here?” We all looked at her in total disbelief. This isn’t how we roll. But she smiled and it was like some big secret, we were going to get the biggest tree so that it would be beautiful for when it would be the five of us again. I don’t think my Mom ever second guessed that choice. I wish I could remember the looks on all of our faces.

I remember loving dusk, when the sun would go down and living on base you could hear the trumpets of Colors, when all the flags are brought down and everyone stops and salutes. I can see it, us driving up the hill away from the base, aircraft carrier behind me, traffic light in front of me, towards home we went, the sounds fading into the background.

Being a military brat is a way of life. It’s a fraternity that few join. It’s not just a destination or a career choice, it is most definitely a lifestyle.

It’s a community. It’s waking up to your neighbor mowing the grass of the entire block because she was feeling empowered and knew that your battlegroup was out. It’s the Marine across the street explaining to inquiring minds all the tattoos while a bunch of elementary students ohhh and ahhhh. It’s Moms getting up early to make sure that everything runs as smoothly as humanly possible--dogs are walked, lunches packed, breakfast is ready, play dates are planned. It’s the dreaded spring conversation of what move will happen this summer.

I have all the stories. I have fond memories that make me smile and I have the sad ones. It was hard work, it was a lot of growing up fast, it was duty and honor and respect. It was lessons learned and humans molded. It was uniforms and balls, wives clubs and commissary Saturdays. It was military IDs and having a parent whose job you never really could explain (I will have to tell you the turkey story later).

I used to sit on the bus and look at the window of the suburban life around us and dream about staying put. I would imagine having grandparents at soccer games and friends for years. I thought about living in the “house you grew up in,” of having the same bad wallpaper and creaky stairs, of having so many people know you being a teenager would be hard because you could never do anything scandalous.

I didn’t really get that. And if you had asked me then I would have told you I got the short end of the stick. After all, I didn’t ask to be a military brat.

But here I am. Eating my selfish teenage words. Just like my Mom said I would. (Note: My mother is ALWAYS right. Except when she picks a winner in The Bachelor, for that I am always right. :)

It was hard. But really it was different. It was our kind of different.

So yes, I grew up all over. I’m not “from” anywhere. I don’t have a childhood home. My friends are on three continents in about 5 time zones.

It’s a crazy, beautiful life. And so I get to blow people’s minds with my stories, and then promptly go back to eating my Olive Garden breadstick.

And just as it turns out, I will probably never live in one house, or down the road from my parents--what can I say? Old habits die hard.

PS-- Go here for one of my favorite military family blogs.
Pictures from my road trip a couple of weeks ago