I was thinking yesterday that I should totally be a song writer in Nashville. I mean, why not? I have all the material I could possibly need to be a country western song writer. Not really, I just like to say country western song writer as if it is a real thing. Not just a line from Sweet Home Alabama. Really though, songs are something magical. Last night, when I was driving home from Kelly's after celebrating life with Cooks Champagne (when you drink champagne, you have to pretend you are celebrating something or people judge you), I was listening to one of my favorite songs (I won't say which one it was...because, well, it is embarrassing) and it just made me so unbelievably....happy. I think happy. Well maybe nostalgic. Maybe sad. And that is exactly why music is so incredible. How can one four minute piece of music make you feel so many things that quickly? Nothing else in life can make you feel that way. Well, that is a lie. Last night I was head over heels crazy about Zach and literally about 2.3 seconds later when Lucas started crying (right as we were dozing off to sleep), we argued and I didn't care for him much at all. Like not even a little.
So really, don't take my word for anything, because I will likely soon realize I am wrong about it.
There is just something memorizing about music, right? Almost every memory I have is paired with a song. If there was not one playing, there is one that brings me back to a moment in time. What else can you really say that about...oh, right-we established that already. Marriage. Maybe smells too. Back to the point, Nickie!
When I spent summers in Iowa as a kid, Sara and I use to sing constantly, but there was one summer in particular we sang our hearts out. One song. We sang it over and over again. We walked down the street Say Anything style with the boom box on our shoulders rewinding that cassette tape time and time again. I will never, ever forget that.
Growing up, I was always surrounded by family. For some, that image will bring up a household of four. That is not even close to what I mean. What I mean is, every family gathering-which is nearly every other weekend- is around thirty people. And that is a normal weekend. It is hard to hear yourself think in that crowd. In fact, it is hard to even feel like you are there. Yet, somehow, you feel so surrounded with love. With happiness. And what is at the center of it all? Music. Music, music and more music. First it was old antique furniture brushes and remote control microphones with Bev, Terrell, mom, Jody, Paula, Bev and Jackie singing Fleetwood Mac and Trisha Yearwood. Later, it was Don on the air guitar-and then on the real guitar writing his own numbers. Then it was visits from Paula, Joe, and Billy. Billy playing just about anything we requested. If he didn't know the tune we wanted, he'd make one up. Then it was Jimmy's original number Sausage sung by the campfire in St. George. Thank heavens one of us actually has real talent-Matt on his guitar-wowing us all with his perfectly perfect voice. In the Dull's eyes, everyone is a good singer. Everyone! And it makes you feel good. It makes you sing louder. Whether you felt like you belonged when you showed up or not, when the music starts and you know the song, you become one of us. The moment you hear "trailers for sale or rent," you completely lose yourself. You were mad, not anymore. You were trying to fight a toddler to quit licking the ice from the beer cooler, not anymore. You were on the phone, you hang up.
Songs rule the crowd. Rule the situation. They pull you like a puppet to the dance floor. They make you tear up, like Strong at Uncle John's funeral. They make you sing louder than you thought possible like Buffet tunes. They lull you to sleep as a newborn-or maybe every night as an adult. They remind you of a time when things were simple, like Shes in Love with a Boy. They remind you of a Walt Disney trip like Down Came a Blackbird. They remind you of your first slow dance at Cowboys in overalls and Timberland boots (why were those popular?). They remind you of middle school and of how inappropriate Kilo Ali really was/is. They remind of good decisions and bad. Some are so powerful, you can't even listen to them at all. So really, when I say music is magical, I mean it. And I was right, nothing else can do that. Nothing.
