I was young. That happy all day, too excited to sleep, when I grow up I'll spend all my money on candy kind of young. Rod Stewart was already old. (Sorry, Rod.) I don't recall the occasion. Birthday? Christmas? I do recall the boogie. The album? Tonight I'm Yours. I can still feel the thrill of the needle touching the vinyl. My vinyl. My music. MINE. I absolutely loved that album and the power it gave me. MY album. My boogie.
Mama played James Taylor and Marvin Gaye. (She's now an Elvis Costello junkie.) Daddy played Verdi and the Kingston Trio. (A study in contrasts, my parents were and are.) I had Rod Stewart and I was completely faithful to him: learned all the words, watched his progress on the Billboard charts, defended him from the rumors, and I danced. Danced to the album. Danced to my own singing. Danced at the thought of the album and my own singing.
I haven't listened to Rod in years, but I love him forever because he went into a studio and made my first album. Rod Stewart gave me my first opportunity to own and control the boogie. I thought of him today as I jumped into blogdom. My blog? Mine? Yipes! I can barely check my email.
Now I'm the one who is old. No boogie in sight.