I never believed the hipsters and old people who told me music sounds better on vinyl until my husband convinced me to get a record player. At that point, I had no choice but to recant, becoming a true believer from the first moment the needle dropped onto the spinning plastic and turned it into art. We bought a cache of secondhand records: 50s hits, orchestral compilations, big band music, and what must be nearly the entire discography of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. We had never actually listened to him, but my sister-in-law insisted he was great, and, since most of the records came out to about $2 a pop, we figured it was a cheap enough experiment.
"Do you know Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass?" I asked my grandpa over the phone a few months later.
I should have known he would. He even still had some of their records himself. He had always played 50s music for us grandkids, a decade before Alpert's prime, which partially explained the gap in my oldies music education. "We'll have to play it for you the next time you visit," I told him.
So, two months later, when my grandma and grandpa show up to surprise us for my nephew's first birthday party, we take them back to our place and pull out the bin of records. Carefully, we prise open the cardboard sleeves and fish the records out of their crinkling yellowed liners. We lift the record player's lid and settle each record in turn onto the felt-lined turntable. It swirls around like the kiddie orbiter ride at the Allegheny county fair in home videos from our childhood visits with my grandparents, transporting us back into the past.
For me, the dipping and soaring melody evokes a past I have glimpsed only in old movies, where dancing women wore dresses fit for Edith Head while their partners led them expertly through each step. But for my grandpa, this music is the soundtrack of a youth long since passed. I look over at him. Eyes closed, he rocks back and forth to the rhythm, tapping his hands and feet in time. For him, the past is not imagined but remembered, undergirding the melody of the present with the softest harmony.
He has told us of this past––growing up in small-town Massena, New York, spending summers on the family farm, pulling pranks with his younger brother. In memory, he is back there now.
But the needle moves ever closer to the center; the evolutions will cease all too soon. His memories will pass to us in secondhand records, cracking and skipping in places. The music will play on, and I know it will take me right back here. Like the old records, these memories will, in our safeguarding, still sing.
Here's what I read, cooked, and created in the month of April.
What I Read
The Owl, the Raven, and the Dove: The Religious Meaning of the Grimms' Magic Fairy Tales, G. Ronald Murphy (★★★★★)
Becoming Elisabeth Elliot, Ellen Vaughn (★★★★★)
The Inheritance Games, Jennifer Lynn Barnes (★★★)
Teeny Little Grief Machines, Linda Oatman High (★★★)
If you want to hear the rationale behind my rating, head to my Goodreads for full reviews.
What I Cooked
One would think that the time for soups would be past, but since we have had a lengthy and grumpy winter that just refuses to go away, I have continued to make soup. I found this one quite pleasant.
This is now my third time trying a Modern Proper recipe. Conceptually, they always sound fabulous, but in practice, there is always something...off. In this case, it was the amount of salt (way too much). That being said, I liked the spicy sweet potatoes, and I am a sucker for anything that either a) is served with a sauce or b) can be made entirely on one sheet pan. This might be a once-a-year meal, but I do not think it would be a consistent rotation.
I love cabbage. I love creamy, easy soups. This should have been a slam-dunk.
Alas, it was not. It just tasted like nothing with a slight hint of vinegar. I would not make this again.
My best friend and I have decided to start getting together regularly to talk about books. For our inaugural gathering, I had planned to make something else, but then this little recipe floated through my Instagram feed. I had all the necessary ingredients, so I made it.
Oh, so good. It tasted like a happy little bite of summer. Definitely a keeper.
What I Created
Untitled original blackout poem
And, for the first time in a long time, I started working on a new story. I'm not sure how it's going to turn out or what it's going to end up being, but it's been fun to work on.
May your days be filled with beauty, and may your heart be filled with the willingness to see and give thanks for it.