Yesterday brought another round of digging in the recesses of the storage closet and reminding myself of the trash and treasures to be found there.
I reacquainted myself with the stash of inherited quilts made by my grandmother Lucy Hodge that are carefully wrapped in cotton pillowcases. I hope someday to rotate them on display in the guest room I plan to create at some point in the future when I finish this household purge and remodel.
I found some odd pieces of small furniture that haven't seen the light of day for many years.
I found the boxes of vinyl LPs. Oh. What. Fun.
I spent yesterday afternoon listening to the music of my youth. Marty Robbins. Patti Page. Billy Vaughn. (Ok, those were more the music of my parents' youth, but I heard them plenty back when and they are old, dear friends.) Captain and Tennille. Kenny Rogers. Linda Ronstadt. Neil Sedaka. Larry Gatlin before his brothers joined him.
How times have changed. I had to return every 15 to 20 minutes to change to a new record. The music was punctuated with pops and hisses and the occasional lurch across a dust mite.
I loved every minute of it. I hardly ever listen to music anymore, preferring audio books now. When I do take a stack of CDs with me, I listen to just the tracks I like and skip over the ones I don't want or have the time to invest in to establish a relationship with them. Back in the good old days of vinyl, you listened to the whole thing over and over and learned to love some obscure songs that never got air play. Some of the songs I had not heard in probably 30 plus years and I can still sing every word. It was a really pleasant afternoon wandering down memory lane.
This morning I am enjoying my collection of Smothers Brothers albums. Beats the heck out of cable tv. I'm beginning to remember what quality entertainment means.
It's groovy, man.