Lately when I write I’ve asked Alexa to play seventies music. Some days she selects pop, other days, country, and still others, folk. I can’t decide which genre I enjoy the most, but I do have some favorites: Bob Seger, Gordon Lightfoot, Linda Ronstadt, the Eagles, among others.
When Studly Doright chooses a station he always picks sixties music, and while I enjoy that decade’s offerings, there’s something about the 70’s tunes that speaks to me. Maybe it’s because I graduated high school in ‘75, and married Studly in ‘76. In the space of a year I went from childhood to adulthood with seventies music playing in the background.
The 63-year-old me often finds herself crying during certain songs. Today, John Denver’s Rocky Mountain High had me blubbering at my computer, and not long after that I completely lost it over Michael Martin Murphey’s Wildfire.
Am I mourning the loss of my youth? Surely not. That’s been gone for at least three decades. How about my close proximity to death. Naw. I’ve made my peace with the world.
Maybe it’s bigger than that. Maybe it’s the loss of our nation’s soul that’s gotten to me, and these songs remind me of a time that seemed so much simpler. Oh, I know the 70’s had their issues. They weren’t rosy by any means, but I was young enough to believe everything would turn out fine.
Now, I’m not so certain.