On Our Way To Crazy

Ahhh… Memorial Day Weekend. I LOVE Memorial Day Weekend.

When I was growing up, this weekend meant loading up the jeep and caravanning up to Lake Texoma to camp with my parents’ friends and their kids. The little swimming hole where we always went had this little cove that was covered in sticky brown clayish mud. If you ran up to it and hit it just right, it made a perfect water slide. The first of my many, many failed attempts to water ski took place on those weekends. We would swim and boat and play all day, but the real fun began at night. Nighttime was when THE BOOKS came out.

I grew up surrounded by music. I remember my parents having parties that included putting plywood down in the living room to create a dance floor. My dad and his friends were the band, and I thought they were the greatest band I had ever heard. I don’t have a clear memory of what my dad played… we had a drum set in the game room, but for some reason I think he played bass. He has the ultimate bass face. They would don cowboy hats and muscle shirts and cover the hell out of all their favorite songs. The songs of my childhood didn’t come from Sesame Street and Sunday school – they came from Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and The Doobie Brothers. When my dad bought me a little marimba as a gift, he had an ulterior motive – he needed someone for the solo on Margaritaville.

They say necessity is the mother of invention, and THE BOOKS were born because my dad and his friends weren’t very good singers. They needed backup. THE BOOKS are binders filled with the lyrics to every classic rock song known to man. After dinner on our camping trips, the guitars would come out and THE BOOKS would be passed around. You could request anything, as long as it was in the book. We would sing and sing and sing until they made the kids go to bed. But the party continued long after we were in our tents.

The other day, Aaron and I were discussing what we would choose if we were only allowed one era of music. After much deliberation, I chose THE BOOKS. If the song is in the book, I want it. That’s the music that means the most to me – the music I grew up with, the music my parents love. The soundtrack of my childhood. And this year, while I’m painting and working on the house, a million miles away from Lake Texoma, I’ll bust out the good stuff. It wouldn’t be Memorial Day weekend without it.