Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Yes, I stole that line from the awesomely fantastic group Queen, but it really fits this post. Come on in gang, drop down and I`ll pour you a fresh cuppa!
First, before I get going on the radio story, I hope everyone in blog-land had a great holiday season! Christmas on the hillside farm was a grand one. Seems we all must have been exceptionally good this year. Me in particular, but I`m always good so that`s no surprise. *Whistles innocently* Santa brought me a new range! Now I won`t have to lie on the floor to light the pilot for the stove anymore! That floor gets lower and lower every year for some odd reason. I also cleaned up in the Grecian department, with a new calendar all about ancient Greece and the movie ‘The Eagle’ which I saw in the theater and adored. Can a woman have too much Greek in her life? I think not.
Okay, so now, let`s get to the drama of my morning. Today was another physical therapy day for my mother-in-law, so down I go around 8:30 this morning to fix her coal stove and gather her up. I hadn`t warmed up my truck since I didn`t realize how cold it was. Yeah, I had been out to do chores earlier but that don`t count. I was still warmed internally by java juice.
We head down the road, chatting away about this and that, when I realize that my beloved classic rock radio station isn`t on. GASP! Has someone dared to touch the knob?! I couldn`t imagine it, since turning the radio knob is a crime punishable by several hours of harping. Not meaning to be rude, but now beginning to get twitchy, I reached over and cranked the volume up in the middle of what my mother-in-law was saying. I smiled at her and mumbled something about music. Nothing came from the speakers but static. I began to perspire.
“Oh, this is bad.” I said and fiddled with the knob, fine-tuning desperately. “The Met is off the air!”
“Guess you`ll have to listen to hillbilly music,” my mother-in-law commented.
My eyes widened. The truck weaved just slightly as I kept fiddling. Now don`t get me wrong country music fans, I sort-of enjoy country tunes if they`re the old performers. Conway Twitty, George Jones, Johnny Cash, Freddy Fender, you know? The stuff my mother listened to while I was growing up and trying to drown out her music with KISS and YES. It`s just, to me, all these new country singers sound the same. I`m sure folks that aren`t into rock or metal say the same thing about those genres too, though.
“Uhm,” I brilliantly replied and began searching for a rock station with desperation. “There`s got to be another classic rock station somewhere.”
Well, sadly, it seems there isn`t in this neck of the woods. There are a hundred and fifty-three country stations, one classical music station, and several stations that play rap/pop/dance or whatever the Sam Hill kids call their tunes nowadays. I flew past someone who sounded like that Beiber kid as if Satan himself was the disc jockey. As the panic set in I landed on a station that was playing something that sounded like a woman singing while mixing a cake with the blender set on warp nine. I think it might have been some new club song. Either that or she had her booby caught in that warp nine blender. I began to have mild palpitations and my mouth felt dry.
“Zeppelin,” I coughed weakly. “Must………..find……..Zeppelin.”
Fortunately, through all this gasping, wheezing and general hysteria (Ah Def Leppard, where were you when I needed you the most?) my mother-in-law was, as always, pleasant and non-judgmental. She simply watched me mumbling incoherently then smiled when I cussed out the truck driver behind me who was getting antsy as I drove and searched for some rock music. Finally, by the grace of the gods of rock and roll, I stumbled into a radio station that was playing The Monkees. Granted, that group isn`t The Who but it was much better than Justin Beiber. I sighed. Then the next song came on. It was Billy Joel. I began to weep silently and turned the damned radio off.
“We`ll just talk,” I muttered, to which, my mother-in-law smiled once more and nodded.