Buffalo Gal

My father was a Depression baby who insisted in keeping the basement shelves stocked high with canned goods.
My book cases, end tables and bathrooms are overflowing with books. Early in our marriage, my husband and I agreed to keep only reference books, signed books by friends and books of particular emotional attachment, but those stacks are high anmd the still the to-be-read piles take over. My instant response to tragedy or travel is to buy more books.
The constant filling without ever filling up process has been going on since childhood. I lived for the Arrow Book Club and library.
The records I loved were not the Bay City Rollers or Parttridge Family, but Harry Chapin, Jim Croce, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell... word music. Needless to say, I missed the whole disco thing.
As I got older I found the gut sensuality of Blues music and the word play of Texas troubadors -- Townes Van Zandt, Lyle Lovett, Robert Earl Keen, Guy Clark and my music collection continued to grow.
I'm not a vinyl purist. If my CD collection was still on album I'd have to surrender the better part of a room. You can have a lot of CDs without it looking absurd.
I listen to XM Satellite Radio (The Loft) when I write. Whether it's newsroom training or a constant need for overstimulation, I can not write in quiet.
I love independent presses and labels and finding underappreciated treasures. Trading titles with friends is my currency of caring. Hearing my "Saffire - The Uppity Blues Women" in a friend's car is the highest compliment.
My youngest daughter used to drive me insane with her slavish devotion to the Top 40, but my little girl is growing up.
In the last week she's called downstairs twice to ask about CD's I was listening to and ask me to burn her copies. I'm copying an old Jackson Browne and a new Dar Williams as I type.
I'm throwing in the last John Gorka as a bonus. If she likes those , she'll probably love at least one of the CDs coming in the next Amazon box.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (2) Share on Facebook		2004-04-09 7:39 AM Burying myself with words My father was a Depression baby who insisted in keeping the basement shelves stocked high with canned goods. My book cases, end tables and bathrooms are overflowing with books. Early in our marriage, my husband and I agreed to keep only reference books, signed books by friends and books of particular emotional attachment, but those stacks are high anmd the still the to-be-read piles take over. My instant response to tragedy or travel is to buy more books. The constant filling without ever filling up process has been going on since childhood. I lived for the Arrow Book Club and library. The records I loved were not the Bay City Rollers or Parttridge Family, but Harry Chapin, Jim Croce, Neil Young, Joni Mitchell... word music. Needless to say, I missed the whole disco thing. As I got older I found the gut sensuality of Blues music and the word play of Texas troubadors -- Townes Van Zandt, Lyle Lovett, Robert Earl Keen, Guy Clark and my music collection continued to grow. I'm not a vinyl purist. If my CD collection was still on album I'd have to surrender the better part of a room. You can have a lot of CDs without it looking absurd. I listen to XM Satellite Radio (The Loft) when I write. Whether it's newsroom training or a constant need for overstimulation, I can not write in quiet. I love independent presses and labels and finding underappreciated treasures. Trading titles with friends is my currency of caring. Hearing my "Saffire - The Uppity Blues Women" in a friend's car is the highest compliment. My youngest daughter used to drive me insane with her slavish devotion to the Top 40, but my little girl is growing up. In the last week she's called downstairs twice to ask about CD's I was listening to and ask me to burn her copies. I'm copying an old Jackson Browne and a new Dar Williams as I type. I'm throwing in the last John Gorka as a bonus. If she likes those , she'll probably love at least one of the CDs coming in the next Amazon box. Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (2) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top