Nostalgic Music

I'll resist the temptation to talk about my garden again (GIANT zucchini! green beans! slowly, slowly ripening tiny tomatoes!...)

Rather, let's go back to a night long, long, long, long ago when I was wearing a little red-white-and-blue tutu (I preferred the dress, but was outvoted) and standing backstage at Popejoy Hall. It was huge and dark in Popejoy Hall that night way past my bedtime; huge beyond comprehension, huger than Carnegie Hall or the Sydney Opera House could ever possibly be, a cavern-palace of forbidden heights and dusty corners. At the right moment, after waiting and waiting, I followed all the other five-year-old girls in my ballet class in their red-white-and-blue tutus out onto the stage. (I was near the end of the line, probably because the teachers recognized my complete lack of talent; I only acquired a modicum of grace at around 21 - far too late for a career in ballet!) The stage was dark and dirty and anything but grand. The audience was invisible, which was disappointing; but terrifyingly present (which was unexpected). I forgot a cue, and almost held up the line. Afterward, we went to the fanciest restaurant imaginable and had strawberry milkshakes; I was so sleepy that I couldn't really appreciate it. But first, we  - um - "danced" to "76 Trombones").

I relate this memory because last night I watched the movie "The Music Man" for the first time, and was surprised to find "76 Trombones" as its theme. It conjured no memories of that long-ago ballet recital; I had to go looking for them. The song was a common marching song of my childhood; it kindles no fire of association - only the trivia-fact that it was my ballet song. Funny how these things work.

Lately I've been thinking about nostalgic music. This is partly because some clever Marvel money-monger decided to release a tie-in album conglomeration of '70s songs to go with "Guardians of the Galaxy". Smart. The album is enjoying its second week at the top of the charts, having apparently triggered a sort of second-hand nostalgia in a new generation. I've listened to it (sorta; ITunes only let's you sample 90 seconds!), and I think I understand its appeal - for the songs are catchy and fun and edgy with that classic '70s quality that was somehow the height of rockiness.
Then, I downloaded a tall stack of CDs full of music that I've been listening to since before they were CDs: Twila Paris, Avalon, Michael Kelly Blanchard, Keith Green... Some of it is quite good. A lot of it puts me in a bad mood, as I remember why it was that I searched out different kinds of music in the first place.

So what is it about music that creates nostalgia? I came across this quote; "...researchers have uncovered evidence that suggests our brains bind us to the music we heard as teenagers more tightly than anything we’ll hear as adults—a connection that doesn’t weaken as we age. Musical nostalgia, in other words, isn’t just a cultural phenomenon: It’s a neuronic command. And no matter how sophisticated our tastes might otherwise grow to be, our brains may stay jammed on those songs we obsessed over during the high drama of adolescence." (Mark Joseph Stern. slate.com) (Aren't my references beautiful!) And further, because of all sorts of happy, feel-good brain chemicals, "Between the ages of 12 and 22, our brains undergo rapid neurological development—and the music we love during that decade seems to get wired into our lobes for good."

This is interesting as a definition of what it is that connects us to particular songs. But I find it incomplete. For one thing, I can't think of any songs or artists who formed that kind of emotional connection in me. I listened to a lot of Michael W. Smith, Avalon, Newsboys, Vangelis, classical, in my teens; but I don't always like these artists now. My musical tastes were probably formed at that time; but I am constantly discovering new genres that I like, so that my collection ranges from Metal to folk, classical to pop, experimental, electronica, jazz, big band, musical, movie and TV scores. A lot of scores! I love music, and use it too for mood-creating when I write. But I might like a new track just as much if not more than something from years ago. Why is this? Is it simply that I missed a defining first-kiss, dance-at-the-prom moment that Stern mentions? Or the cultural pressure from a set of friends that might influence my taste, which he talks about elsewhere?

And then there is this: Sometimes my dad will play a song that he remembers and loves from some undefined time in his misty past. Perhaps "We Built This City" or Electric Light Orchestra. And I get his love of it; I can understand and even share his sense of nostalgia. The same can be said for something that is completely new - "Skyfall," "Fireflies," or even Alicia Keys' "It's On Again." This is also interesting. Scientists have done studies on what it is that makes a song catchy; but perhaps there is more to it. Perhaps some music is just right. The music of "Guardians of the Galaxy" is all about that shared sense of nostalgia - about how music can create a connection not just between minds and hearts but also across time. There is something in the right kind of song that strikes a chord in the human instrument.

Zucchini

There are, I know, some people who detest zucchini. This is probably because it grows in such stupendous bulk that it has become a cliché to have too much of it - like the extreme difficulty of soufflés, cops and donuts, or dogs chasing cats. However, living in a desert where a brown thumb is default, I welcome anything that grows and grows in bulk with open arms! Bring on the zucchini! Bushels full! (What is a bushel, anyway...?) Besides, I actually like zucchini; it is lovely grilled, sautéd, stir-fried, in quesadillas, or (of course) in zucchini bread!

A lovely zucchini squash, which should be ready in a day or two!

Some very small ones, perhaps only an inch or two. Such potential! (I wish I'd gone out to take pictures in the morning when the blossoms open!)

 

A muffin! We don't actually make zucchini bread; it always come out way too gooey. But muffins are perfect!

 

 

 

I have several zucchini plants in various stages of development, and several pending squashes, and the plants shall probably die of frostbite or fungal infections before I tire of their harvest. There are plenty of recipes we have yet to try! I wonder if zucchini soufflé is any good?

Gardens

I love gardens and forests and fresh grass and ivy-covered walls and evergreens and meadow-places thick with overgrown grasses and tangled wildflowers, and in fact anything green and growing and lush. This is no doubt partly because I have lived all my life in a desert, which is a brown-beige almost everywhere you look and almost all year around. But however it came about, my love of green and growing things amounts to such a craving that every year in (roughly) late February, I start having dreams that are overgrown with vine and leaf and branch. When this lush imagination-riot descends, I know that it is time to start planting. I have had a garden of sorts for a few years - for vegetables and flowers and usually weeds, since I always feel guilty pulling up anything at all.*

It is easier and more effective to grow things in pots with controlled (and store-bought) soil, rather than directly in the ground - for our local soil is pathetic. But I try nonetheless, and since my house has a large yard I have plots everywhere, supplemented and augmented a little bit at a time over the years. My gardening is very haphazard! County extension people, professional gardeners, and Sam Gamgees everywhere would be shocked.

And, living in a desert where drought is more the habit than a mood and water is precious, it's hard to keep everything wet enough. So, I've drafted my family into extreme water conservation: We save bath and shower water, dishes and vegetable rinsing water, and anything else possible. This means lugging gallons every day - which must be good exercise at least. I have a lovely family!

But this year, with lot's of family-help, some rain, and God's blessing, my garden is the lushest and greenest it has ever been! So far, it has not produced much in the way of edibles, but the sight of it is enough to satisfy every desert-dazzled craving:

Pots: Tomatoes and wee little green beans coming along nicely!

 

Plots: Further green beans with, alas, rather wilted acorn squash leaves in the background. But that's all right! They perk up again past the heat of the day.

Plots (of a garden variety): Basil and tomatoes, still young and tender and rather unlikely to produce much fruit unless I find a way to fertilize them. I've heard good things of Epsom salts...

Plots: By way of contrast, this is how my garden usually looks. But it's a new plot and hasn't had time to ruminate.

A flower! I don't remember what kind this is, because I put a whole lot of seeds in this plot (including some that are years old) on the theory that very few would come up. I think they all did.

Pots: Green tomatoes! Their so cute! Grow, you little beasts!

Plots: Pumpkins, I think, and tomatoes. I didn't actually plant pumpkins here; whatever they are, they came up on their own. But they're happy, so I leave them!*

And there you have it. Not a complete tour - I also have herbs and sunflowers and zucchini and onions and garlic and turnips (I think) and roses and alyssum and grapes. I am in heaven!!!
(Did you know that the word "paradise" is a loanword from Persian, and means something like "garden"? Pretty awesome. "Persia" itself is named after the same thing, and "Farsi," the Persian and now Iranian language, comes from the same root also.)





*My Theory of Weeds: Let them grow! They hold down the sand when the spring winds come; and they make good compost, if you take care of them before they form seeds.
The exception to this rule, of course, comes with all weeds that are pokey or thorny or sticker-y. I take after our father Adam in this way.
Another exception might come into play when (not if) I move someplace that isn't a desert. I hear that things actually grow in such places without much encouragement.