The end of my teenage wildlife

As I was going over the final edit for this post, my daughter tagged me on Facebook with this:

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My daughter and I have waist length hair. Waiting for a Queen Nation (Queen tribute band) concert to start one evening we laughed about the long hairs that somehow weave themselves into the fabric of our clothes.

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Music and laughter – delights we have always shared. The notes, rhythms, and lyrics weaving their way into the fabric of our souls. Listening again and again – part indulgence, part celebration, part trying to understand the world.

We both think Freddy Mercury had one of the most amazing voices ever. He died before my daughter was born. (She came out with my love of Chinese food and  his voice  – Queen, for a reason that escapes me now, was on my CD player quite a bit just after she was born.)

In a way I envy my girl, she can just react to the beauty of Freddy’s voice with no strong memories attached.

In January David Bowie died.

He and Rod Stewart are my Faves.

Thanks to a cute boy I like, I was introduced to “David Bowie with the Shocking Pink Hair” music in 1980. Thanks to my friend Kelly I was able to see Bowie’s Serious Moonlight concert in 1984 (I was a screaming, crying teenybopper ). Singing along to Bowie’s music made me, makes me, feel alive.

Apparently my friends equated me as a passionate (rabid?) Bowie fan because several, even my ex, reached out to ask if I was “okay”. Truly sweet, much appreciated gestures, but odd as well.

Like Buddy Holly, J P Richardson, and Richie Valens, David Jones died a man with a family who, no matter the depth of my personal feelings of loss, of change, of the end of my teenage wildlife, were dealing with feelings uncountable orders of magnitude greater.

Glenn Frey and Prince died this year.

Too soon. Too soon.

Yesterday I indulged in a marathon of music videos on You Tube. Here are a few that grabbed my attention:

Have a song that moves you? Share it and shake the blues.

 

 

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