Youngblood

The calendar tells me I’m 56 and any mirror I pass tells me I’m old (from the front or the back, these days), but my music tells me I still have young blood coursing through my veins.

I do believe in rock ’n’ roll and music saves my mortal soul, but time marches on.

Kind of crazy. But I’m feeling groovy.

There was a time in my life when I’d have wanted to run off with Leon Russell, given the chance. Now he’s an old guy who still has the power to move me to tears in a different way. (And check out John Mayer’s chops as he accompanies the old man. Don’t tell me JMs just a pretty boy, though he is that as well.)

I remember singing at the top of my lungs on my swing set in the backyard in the fourth grade. Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman” had just come out, and I thought there couldn’t be anything better than to have someone say that someday about a grown-up Laura.

“Do Wah Diddy” (Manfred Mann, remember?) was another swing-set bellower from the same time and also dealt with walking down the street. (Seems to have been a theme. I know I wanted to get out of there.)

That’s also the year “A Hard Day’s Night” came out and gave me an extreme reason to live. The first semester of the fourth grade was hellish – we’d moved to El Dorado temporarily and all my friends were back at North Heights in North Little Rock. Right after Christmas, we beat a retreat for home.

In the meantime, music, the Beatles and Bewitched got me through. The exploits of Samantha, Darrin and Endora officially came on after my bedtime, but I’d go to bed, then sneak back up and stand in the hall watching it over the shoulders of Mother and Daddy as they snuggled on the couch.

They had to have known I was there – during commercials, I’d jump back into my room to hide. Mother and Samantha had the same hair, which I thought was very cool. I tried for years to work magic by wiggling my nose.

Even if I could make it work, I don’t think I’d go back in time. I wouldn’t want to stop, stop, stop all the dancing through life, no matter what. Back then, I couldn’t wait to grow up to be a long cool woman in a black dress.

Never made that – stalled out at 5 ft. 4 in., but I did grow up to be a “Green-eyed Lady,” just as I used to go to bed listening to that song by Sugarloaf.

Things are pretty great these days, all in all. Music just makes life grander for me. Makes me feel like I’m driving Carl Perkin’s Cadillac. (And you thought this was just about oldies. No way, Jose.)

Do you know what I mean?

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