The Saturday Post: Playing For Change edition

Just a few posts ago, I let the world know how much I hate forwards. Then I received a forward about an organization called Playing For Change, and it changed my attitude ... at least about that one specific forward. Instead of forwarding its content, though, I'm posting it here.

Playing for Change is, according to PlayingForChange.com, "a multimedia movement created to inspire, connect, and bring peace to the world through music. The idea for this project arose from a common belief that music has the power to break down boundaries and overcome distances between people. No matter whether people come from different geographic, political, economic, spiritual or ideological backgrounds, music has the universal power to transcend and unite us as one human race."

The organization's movement kicked into high gear several years ago, thanks to the video below. Since then, numerous similar videos have been produced, and musicians associated with the project often travel the world for concerts.

If you enjoyed that, there's also a beautiful one of John Lennon's Imagine (featuring a clip of Lennon and Yoko Ono) you won't want to miss. I debated which to feature here, but figured I'd go with the one that started it all.

Today's question:

What causes, organizations, movements, charities matter most to you?

The tunes they are a-changing

I'm proud to say my family is musical. We dabble in playing — a guitar and piano here, a recorder and ukelele there — but it's in the listening to music that we really excel. As a whole, our hearts, minds and ears are open to myriad genres, everything from classical to Christian, country to show tunes, hard rock to soft rock and many that aren't really rock at all. We even have our family favorites in the rap genre. (I must admit, though, jazz and easy listening rarely pass notes in our homes, our cars, our iPods.)

Music plays a prodigious and powerful role in our family, which is why I'm happy to see the love of music continue with Bubby. Since he was an itsy-bitsy baby, music moved him. And like the rest of us, he's happy to sample and savor tunes from varied genres, with recent favorites ranging from "Twinkle, Twinkle" to "Baby" by Justin Bieber to "A New Hallelujah" by Michael W. Smith to "We Will Rock You" by Queen.

I'm thrilled Bubby finds such joy in music. Yet I'm saddened that many of my most-cherished memories of experiencing music — and watching my children experience music — are things he and the youngsters of today will never know, thanks to the ever-evolving face of music.

Music rituals kids of today will never experience

• The satisfaction of placing the needle in the exact desired spot on a record.

• Flipping through album, cassette, or CD bins at the music store.

• Staying up late to watch a favorite group on "The Midnight Special."

• Making and receiving the perfect mix tape.

• Waiting for hours to catch the beginning of a favorite video in order to hit "record" on the VCR in time so it can be replayed in full again and again.

• The horror of a record or CD being cracked, a cassette tape being eaten.

• The horror — and sometimes giggles — associated with scratches and subsequent skips in an album.

• Singing along with a record, perfectly including the skip without missing a beat.

• Weighing the arm of the record player with a penny to get past the skips.

• Searching for secret messages and meanings in backmasking.

• The thrill of finding a favorite song on an AM station while traveling by car, seemingly miles from civilization.

• Waiting by the radio with cassette recorder in hand to record a favorite tune when Casey Kasem announces it No. 1 for the week.

• Marveling at the artwork on an album sleeve.

• Holding the album lyrics in hand while singing along.

• Memorizing the order of an album to the point that when hearing one of the songs on its own, you automatically hum the bars to — and expect to hear — the next song on the album.

• American Bandstand.

Today's question:

What fading or long-gone musical rituals do you lament?

The Saturday Post: Whistling edition

I whistle. A lot. So much so that I'm concerned about getting "whistler's lines" around my mouth similar to the wrinkles smokers get from pursing while puffing.

I used to sing a lot. Then, for a variety of reasons, I lost my voice a lot. So necessity being the mother of invention -- the necessity being a way of musically expressing myself while toiling away on this task or that -- I started whistling. And continue to whistle ... in the car, while doing chores, while trying to annoy the cuss out of my cat Isabel, who thinks she's obligated to sing along every time I strike up a tune but makes it very clear she resents the obligation.

Yep, I'm a whistler. But I got nothing on world whistling champion Geert Chatrou:

Wow!

One of these days I just might shoot a video of my duet session with Isabel. YouTubers eat up that kind of thing.

In the meantime, I'm considering writing Mr. Chatrou for his secret on reducing whistler's lines; he's clearly escaped the plight of the pursed-lipped. So far.

Have a happy Saturday. I hope you'll whistle while you work!

Today's question:

What's your favorite tune to whistle?

Too pooped to pop: My mom and music

As part of the From Left to Write book club, I'm currently reading "If You Knew Suzy: A Mother, A Daughter, A Reporter's Notebook" by Katherine Rosman. In it, Rosman, a reporter to her core, documents her "investigation" into the life of her mother in order to pay tribute to Mom upon her death.

In one chapter, Rosman describes her mother's love for dance and music. Rosman's mother danced alone, she danced at parties, she danced in dance classes. And she enjoyed a wide range of music, from Peter, Paul and Mary to disco. The chapter reminded me of my own mother and her love for dance and music. Only my mom -- as always -- was a bit less conventional in her musical tastes and performances.

Of my most vivid memories of my mom and music, none have to do with lullabies or nursery rhymes or the music most might associate with Mom. My very earliest recollection of my mom and music has to do with a record album cover -- an altered album cover.

When I was about five or six years old, I remember thumbing through the stack of records in the living room, albums that must have been purchased to set the ambiance of one of Dad and Mom's parties with friends. The cover was typical of the 60s and early 70s, with a hazy shot in muted colors. It featured a seemingly naked man and woman, face to face in an embrace. The specifics of their bodies aren't clear, literally ... because my mom had used a green color crayon to draw leaves on the semi-nude cover models. Surely thinking the photo was far too risque for public consumption, Mom artfully censored it to seem more like Adam and Eve.

I have no real idea what the record was of -- for some reason, "Hitchin' a Ride" sticks in my mind -- but it had to have been a pretty darn good one for Mom to go so far as to purchase it despite those nearly naked folks on the cover. In retrospect, those carefully colored leaves so perfectly epitomize my mom: She wanted to be hip, cool and part of the in-crowd, but her prude sensibilities prevented her from going all the way.

Another memory that stands out when I think of my mom singing and dancing is the song-and-dance routine she performed when making popcorn. It was back in the day when popcorn was made in a big pot on the stove. As she heated the oil then dropped in a test kernel, Mom would start up with the popcorn song, a song that sticks in my head to this day, a song I think of when I make popcorn. Every. Single. Time. It goes like this (and you gotta do the groovy swaying of the hips and clapping of the hands to get the full effect):

Too pooped to pop, and I ain't lying.

Too pooped to pop, just sitting here frying.

I wanna get to the top,

but I'm ... too pooped to pop!

As most popcorn nowadays is made in the microwave, that song is likely lost on the younger crowd. But even when hitting the "Popcorn" button on the microwave, "Too Pooped To Pop" pops into my head and plays until the ding declaring the popcorn done.

Most of all, though, when it comes to Mom and music, I think of Tevya. Specifically, Topol's portrayal of the poor Jewish peasant in "Fiddler on the Roof." Mom had the most magical way of absolutely and perfectly mimicking Topol's charming -- yet somehow quite sad -- exclamation of how life would be different if only he had money. I have no words to describe it, so here's a short clip of Topol's dance. Ignore the subtitles, insert a petite, red-headed Irish woman and you'll get the picture:

SORRY! THIS VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN!

That is what I think of most of all when I think of my mom and music. Fortunately my daughters have witnessed Grandma in full Topol mode, too. It's one of their favorite memories of Grandma. One they'll remember long after Grandma becomes too pooped to pop!

UPDATE: After reading this, Megan told me she thought "Too Pooped To Pop" was a made up song. Oh, no, no. It's for real, and here it is:

Today's question:

What do you remember about your mom and music?

The Saturday Post

My good friend Debbie had her retirement party last night. Shew ... 25 years at the same job! She's part of a dying breed, I believe, as people just don't do that anymore. Huge, huge kudos to Debbie for sticking it out!

This song is for her. Although her daughter did a bang-up karaoke job of it last night, I want to dedicate this version to her.

So here's to you, Debbie. (And don't you dare touch that to-do list yet! Take a break -- you more than earned it ... and probably need it after all those chocolate cake shots last night!)

(SORRY... THIS VIDEO LOST IN BLOG MAKEOVER)

Today's question:

What's the longest you've ever worked at one job?

I worked at the newspaper for a little over eight years. Before that, it was four years at the job where I met Debbie. I'm obviously not much of a long-term career person.

The Saturday Post

I'm in the desert with Bubby today and you can bet I'm singing the following song to him.

The first time I met newborn Bubby, I brought with me a CD on which I'd burned this song (from iTunes -- no copyright infringement!). Bubby's real name -- which I never reveal on this blog, per my promise to Megan when I started Grandma's Briefs -- fits perfectly in the "Sweet Baby James" part of the song, and I wanted it to be played often as Grandma's lullaby for my first grandchild.

Have a listen ... and think of me rockin' and singing with my own "Sweet Baby James."

(SORRY... THIS VIDEO LOST IN BLOG MAKEOVER)

Today's question from the "Loaded Questions" board game:

What television show have you surprisingly never seen?

I've never seen "Lost," not even a single snippet of a single episode. And I'm pretty sure I'd like it, so I don't know why I've not yet Netflixed it.