I grew up in a household of diverse musical taste. Dad had a record collection of what I dubbed ‘um-pa-pa’ music. The lyrics were in Ukrainian and German—languages he didn’t even understand. Mom sang hymns as she cooked. Hymns were fine in church. I had three siblings—all much older, all male. My oldest brother belted out, “Oh, Lord, it’s hard to be humble.” Country? Really? Please, no. I thought I heard my middle brother humming along to Cheeseburger In Paradise. But I hoped I was wrong. Thankfully my youngest brother got it right. When he was fourteen and I was seven, he turned the radio to a rock station and told me to listen. Hoping to become as cool as him, I did. The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Guess Who and Neil Young were my teachers.
Work in Progress
Have you heard excuses? I had a touch of flu this week. My left wrist hurt. I wanted to polish and submit some short stories. And... and... and... Um, yeah, well...
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