Silk Spin

John Denver? Anyone?

Love him.

As you may or may not know, my family moved a lot while I was growing up. Yes, for my dad's career, no, not a military career. Anyway. By the time I graduated high school I had been in four public school districts, and by the time I reached registration for my senior year, I was a little, well, burnt out. So after signing up for AP Calculus and AP Psychology, I sighed a little sigh and looked at that remaining slot in my schedule. I thought, "I could take AP European History...Or. You know. I could take something else."

So I signed up for Sewing my first semester, made a pillowcase, a purse/backpack hybrid thing, a skirt, and the front of a(n awesome) Kansas Jayhawk quilt for Mom. Um, that was in 2002, and we still only have the front of the quilt. That's right, not a finished project, eight years later. Bailey Kathleen, leaving things unfinished since 1985. Anyway.

Second semester I took Folk Guitar. I had never heard a John Denver song before this class. I also had never heard of Linda Rondstadt, and the scratchy recording of her singing "Desperado" that Mr. Ballard blared over the speakers changed my life. One of the first songs we learned after mastering the G, D, C, and E minor chords was "Country Roads." I quickly fell in love with this song and still declare it to be one of my anthems.

After we mastered the "Roads" themselves, we moved on to bigger and better songs, involving more complicated picking and strumming. We learned the concept of "drop D tuning," I realized that the song "Blackbird" is surprisingly easy to play, and I only got mildly (mildly) better at strumming. I never got over my fear of singing in front of the class that semester; that came later, in Africa. 'Nother story, 'nother time.

After a couple of months I started to really miss the Roads. I ached for my anthem. Luckily, one thing moving three times will do for you, if you're lucky, is it will make you embrace your awkwardness. Or at least shed your shyness and dispense of it like a soiled shirt on a busy metropolitan street, for good. Thus. Once I recognized this ache inside of me, I raised my hand. Mr. Ballard asked us to get out a particular piece of music we were working on, and stopped himself when he caught sight of my hand in the hair. An apologetic look came over his sweet, unassuming face, making it look as if he felt he had been so rude to almost start class without realizing I had a concern. This, rather than a look that could have regarded the situation as it actually was: that I was interrupting class.

Interrupting class to make a request for John Denver. Like I said, you shed that soiled garment for good. It is a life pact one makes with herself when she realizes she must make the most of circumstances outside of her control. Abandon the shame, but get ready to do some awkward things well into your twenties (I haven't gone beyond that yet, I'll keep you posted about one's thirties, forties).

My teacher didn't have to say, "Uh, yes dear?" because his whole face said it for him.

"Could we play 'Country Roads' today? I really miss it."

"Oh, of course [dear]. Everyone get out your chords for 'Country Roads.'" Completely rearranging class for my benefit. Ask and you shall receive.

All but the experienced guitarists in the class (because we were an all-inclusive, no-cut policy class) got out their sheets bearing the delicious, sometimes poignant words "Mountain Mama." The boys who played in garage bands outside of school played from memory, by ear. And we had a little reunion with Mr. Denver right then and there. If I didn't thank my teacher aloud afterward, I should have.

Sometimes today when I open the store at 5am, I play John Denver in my car driving to work. 4:45am, JD coasts me down my suburban streets. I get so lost in the song that it's almost as if his voice is driving. I can't usually sing along that early, because my voice is still crackly from too recent sleep. But I listen. It wakes me up, mentally, yes, but also to myself. I've never lived in a rural area, so it doesn't make a lot of sense that a song about rural roads and a rural life should speak to me as it does. In fact I often fear a rural life, getting trapped in a place that's too quiet, becoming too alone with only my circular thoughts, without enough eccentric personalities around to instead bounce the thoughts off of, making them more weblike than circular. Weblike and messy, broken in places and patched in others, but beautiful in the way that surpasses knowledge.

I don't try to understand my heart's lodging in a song that doesn't seem to apply directly to me. I don't try to understand spiderwebs. I don't try to understand the fact that God will drop an old friend in the grocery store when I am on a spontaneous search for chickpeas. I just drive, trying to remind myself that He is truly driving. I listen, I hum along when I am too tired to sing. I drop an octave when Celine or Mariah go too high for me. I sing in my feminine voice, trying my best to harmonize with John's masculinity. I observe, I listen, I talk too much, and I write. Because that is what I trust He designed me to do.

"I get a feelin' that I should have been home yesterday, yesterday. Take me home, Country Roads, to the place I belong."