Lynna Clark: Can you relate?

Published 12:00 am Sunday, January 13, 2019

Lynna Clark

I tend to enjoy all types of music. Well… except for that time my middle son-in-law took us to an AC/DC concert. It was not delightful. Plus they expected us to stand shoulder to shoulder while fist pumping for the entire performance. Who has that much energy at the end of a day? Certainly not this ol’ chick! Eventually I slipped off to the side where I found a small platform and sat as long as I could tolerate the “music.” I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just couldn’t relate.

But country music, now that’s a different brand of beans. If you read my stuff you already know our lives closely resemble a mournful ballad from the backwoods. Yep, that was us in the eighties who lost our jobs at the same time, got kicked out of church, had to sell our “forever” home and move thirty miles north. My little car gave up the ghost while merging onto the interstate and was beyond hope, much like my dreams. I’m just glad we didn’t have a dog for it would have surely died. So yeah, we relate well to country music.

But I also love classic rock. When Lynyrd Skynyrd sings Simple Man it grips my soul. Plus I’m old enough to remember when the Bellamy Brothers sang Redneck Girl and the Doobie Brothers expressed their faith with Jesus is Just All Right with Me. I was working at Sears in the Carolina Mall in the early seventies. The stereo department manager allowed me to pick one new album to play for our customers. Hoping to share Jesus with the weary shoppers I picked the Doobies. It was one of those double albums which opened like a centerfold when the cellophane was broken. I couldn’t wait to find out more info on my new favorite band. Turns out there was waaayyy more shared than I’d hoped for. Every single one of those crazy dudes was butt naked. Apparently one can sing about Jesus and yet hold the basic tenants of the faith rather loosely.

Since the days of my youth and the groovy sounds of Big Ways Radio I’ve been a radio girl. I don’t care a thing about television. Just keep the music coming. So for Christmas David bought me an Alexa. She likes music too. It took us a while to set the ground rules. For some reason she couldn’t understand the Southern English I speak so fluently. Plus she called me Line-UH. I don’t know why. I would try to find a song and she would reply, “I cannot locate George Strait’s Hobbabustickashivey.” I felt strangely akin to Kripke on The Big Bang Theory.

Determined not to be defeated by the electronic newcomer, David renamed me “Sweet Wife.” He helped me figure out how to create my own playlist under my new title. Currently I am listening to Aaron Neville and Linda Ronstadt. Later I will hear the only rock song my mother approved: Three Dog Night’s Mama Told Me Not to Come. And just so you don’t think I’m a complete heathen, Mary-Mary will get some heaven in the room before the list is over when they sing Shackles.

Like many folks I struggle with wintertime blues. With all the recent rain there’s a moat around my house and the yard is too squishy to work in. Cabin Fever can suck me into a funk before I know what’s happening. But not this year! This year I have been renamed Sweet Wife and all my favorite songs are keeping me company. If you find yourself in the pit of despair try playing Walker Hayes’ Dollar Store then Craig. Our life is summed up in those two crazy songs. It’s quite lovely!

I bet you can relate.

Lynna Clark lives in Salisbury.

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