My father believes in having a soundtrack to his life. When he cooks, one can hear, along with clanking pots and pans, sizzling onions, and the occasional frustrated exclamation, classic rock playlists that have been carefully arranged for cooking spaghetti or frying taco shells. No car trip, whether it be to the grocery store or a six hour road trip, is complete without his mix CDs made especially for the occasion. On my wedding day, as he drove me through grape vines to walk down the aisle, he had, of course, picked the perfect song to play. As a testament to his devotion to music and everlasting love of the Grateful Dead, I was named after the song “Cassidy.” He’s told me that, as he walks down the stairs to make coffee in the morning, he hears the lyrics to Johnny Cash’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down.”Before I was born, he played the song “Ready or Not” by Jackson Browne for my mother. Twenty-five years later, he played the song for me and my unborn daughter:
Someone’s going to have to explain it to me
I’m not sure what it means
My baby’s feeling funny in the morning
She’s having trouble getting into her jeans
Her waist-line seems to be expanding
Although she never feels like eating a thing
I guess we’ll reach some understanding
When we see what the future will bring
This past week, Tim and I moved into our new home. One thing that we both agreed on when we were looking at somewhere to live is that it must either come with a washer or dryer, or have full connections to install one. The house we found didn’t have a washer and dryer, so that meant we got to go shopping for one. Which meant that, being the weirdo that I am, I was elated; I was going to get my first washer and dryer. It also meant that I was humming a different part of that same Jackson Browne song all week long:
I told her I had always lived alone
And I probably always would
And all I wanted was my freedom
And she told me that she understood
But I let her do some of my laundry
And she slipped a few meals in between
And the next thing I remember, she was all moved in
And I was buying her a washing machine
See, in the song, he makes it sound like buying a washing machine is so freaking easy. He should have talked about having to go from Home Depot to Lowes to Costco to Sears, and everywhere in between. In the end we settled with Sears, and I am in love with our new washer and dryer. I think I have already done twenty loads, and we haven’t even had it a week. Something that I never knew about washers: if you buy a front load washer, it will provide hours of entertainment for the whole family. The day it was delivered, we all sat in front of it, watching the first load spin around. Now, if Rose is a little cranky, I can throw a load in, and she’ll watch the colors spin ’round and ’round, while I write lyrics and steal a new melody for a washing machine soundtrack:
The clothes in the wash go ’round and ’round. ’round and ’round, ’round and ’round, all day longggg.
The water in the washer goes whish whish whish, whish whish, whish, whish whish whish all through the wash.
There’s more to that soundtrack, but I’ll spare you. I blame my father, and his need to have lyrics that fit every occasion.