I Blame Bob Reuter
Friday afternoons, I’m not myself.
For any readers not familiar with the St. Louis community radio station 88.1 KDHX, I recommend you check it out. Pretty sure you can listen on the web if you’re out of range.
From noon till two on Fridays, there’s a show called Bob’s Scratchy Records. He plays old songs. The kind of songs I heard my parents and grandparents play on LPs back when our record player was housed in an enormous wooden cabinet, larger than the dining table with the leaf in it.
I try to run errands and make deliveries during lunch on Friday, just so I can listen. If the truth be told, some days I just say I have things to do and then park under a huge tree in Tower Grove Park for an hour or more, pretending to be someone else.
My mind wanders, listening to those songs.
I imagine standing at a drive-in, leaning up against an old Chevy and wearing a pencil skirt with ballerina flats. Other times, I’m transported to a small frame church in the south, where I’m a heavy black woman in my best Sunday dress and hat just movin’ to the music. Around I spin to juke joints, to Beale Street, to a sock hop. I feel like I can see 'em all and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I’m part of the scene.
Usually, by two fifteen, I’m back at work. Dazed, exhausted and a little disoriented from my travels through time.
It’s worth it, Daddy-O. Well worth it.
For any readers not familiar with the St. Louis community radio station 88.1 KDHX, I recommend you check it out. Pretty sure you can listen on the web if you’re out of range.
From noon till two on Fridays, there’s a show called Bob’s Scratchy Records. He plays old songs. The kind of songs I heard my parents and grandparents play on LPs back when our record player was housed in an enormous wooden cabinet, larger than the dining table with the leaf in it.
I try to run errands and make deliveries during lunch on Friday, just so I can listen. If the truth be told, some days I just say I have things to do and then park under a huge tree in Tower Grove Park for an hour or more, pretending to be someone else.
My mind wanders, listening to those songs.
I imagine standing at a drive-in, leaning up against an old Chevy and wearing a pencil skirt with ballerina flats. Other times, I’m transported to a small frame church in the south, where I’m a heavy black woman in my best Sunday dress and hat just movin’ to the music. Around I spin to juke joints, to Beale Street, to a sock hop. I feel like I can see 'em all and sometimes, if I’m lucky, I’m part of the scene.
Usually, by two fifteen, I’m back at work. Dazed, exhausted and a little disoriented from my travels through time.
It’s worth it, Daddy-O. Well worth it.
posted by SJM at 6:45 PM
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