My man has a few throwback tendencies. Okay, a lot, but there are some that are really funny. Like how he held on to his Razr phone from 2007 until it finally died for good last year a week before he left to go work far from home. And how he absolutely refuses to adapt to downloading music. He still spends hours and hours in used CD stores, combing them for things he used to have years, sometimes decades ago. When he can't find what he's looking for, and we all tell him he can easily find almost anything on iTunes, he steadfastly refuses to buy music that way. He says he prefers having a tangible disc, that he can hold and own, rather than digital copies of his jams. We have a vintage record cabinet, that came from his uncle's estate, that is absolutely full to capacity of all of our CDs from the last 23 or so years of collecting, and every time we move, we have to empty it, and pack them all away in cardboard boxes. I'm pretty sure we own at least fifty pounds of discs. They get scratched in transit, discs get misfiled or lost. Plus, while he may keep a phone for six years, he can't keep a laptop for more than about a year and a half before he smashes the crap out of it. He's constantly reloading music, but absolutely refuses to see the convenience of just authorizing his new laptop onto an account. Today, he handed me a CD of the Moody Blues live at Red Rocks amphitheater, a concert we attended in our youth, and expected me to put it on my computer. It never occurred to him I would have bought one that didn't even have a disc drive.
I was running a little late today on the way to physical therapy. I had time to jump in the car and go. I didn't pay attention to the song playing at first. I have the seventies channel programmed in my presets, and at first I assumed he had left the radio on that. But then I noticed it was a disc. It was a song I don't think I had ever heard before, but it seemed like such familiar voices. I kept thinking, this really sounds like David Cassidy, but that can't be possible. Surely this is Harry Chapin or someone. I could imagine the man listening to Harry Chapin, but there is some 1970s cheese that is even too much for him. But no, once the weird song about Albuquerque ended, and the next goofy song that sounded like the Partridge Family started, I popped out the disc, and sure enough, that's what it was. So I called him, and called him out. This was your way of saying you want not only to convert an old school bus to an RV, you want to paint it funky colors, and I should just accept it, since I was a fan of the Partridge Family when I was seven? He just laughed at me when I told him I'd figured him out.
Tonight was the last Bonfire before my man's vacation is over. It was hard to share him, even though I know all his friends wanted to see him a little more before he goes away again for months. It was not the best night to be outside around a fire. By the time we left, it was 19 degrees, according to my car. We've been home almost 45 minutes, and I'm still chilled. But the friends needed a little more time to have him in person, not just digitally through Skype or email. Of course we gave them the tangible display of affection they needed. And cold or not, we would do it again.
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