Olympus High School Class of 2000 Alumni Website

We are soooo 20th century.

If we are not home- leave us a message. On our answering machine. Yeah- it’s not even voice mail, people! And no, I will not see your name on our Caller-ID, because we have no Caller-ID. I know, I know, “archaic” may be the word you’re looking for. I do have a cell phone that you are more than welcome to call. However, it really is for my convenience. I turn it on when I leave the house and usually switch it off when I get home. Feel free to call me- but be prepared to, what? oh yeah, leave a message.

I remember way back before you had to dial the area code when calling someone.

We get the newspaper on the weekends. That’s right. The actual newspaper delivered to our front porch. It’s wonderful.

Jason tucks in his polo shirts for work. He also matches his belt to his shoes. I haven’t checked in with Clinton Kelly lately, but is that still hip or not?

Using “Mr.” and “Mrs.” are still ingrained in me. If I am addressing someone I don’t know, I always use “Mrs.” or “ma’am”. Or “Sister Peterson” for those who are at our church. Lyvia has been taught this same thing and says frequently, “I think my Sisters at Nursery missed me this week!”

We were talking the other night with my sister (ten years my junior) and her boyfriend about people named Cameron (yeah- a whole other blog post). Jason mentioned Candace Cameron and the two college-bound students gave each other confused looks. “You know, DJ from Full House!” I prodded. “Oh yeah, that’s so old school,” they said.

My house is, what other people may classify as, “country”. I prefer “retro and homey”- but whatever floats your boat.

I say stuff like: Whatever floats your boat. And rad. And jive.

I am a Facebook slacker and Jason has no Facebook page. Apparently, the people who we want to stay in touch with are the people we chat with in real life. We also know nothing about twittering our tweets. (Come on, I blog, people! I can only keep up with so much social media!)

I just learned to text last year.

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I've said it before, and I'll say it again…

Housesitting is pretty lovely. I really don’t mind living with my parents and I definitely didn’t mind spending a month out in Napa living with my extended family, but there’s something about having a place with only two people rattling around in it that makes me rethink our plan to ever have kids…

Of course, we’re not staying in the crummiest of houses. Dad and Chris’s house isn’t huge, but it’s very comfortable and beautifully decorated. It’s also located in one of Salt Lake’s better neighborhoods, so Kyle and I are just a walk away from great bookstores and restaurants. Plus, Kyle’s commute has gone down from one hour to ten minutes, so he’s definitely not complaining. And, best of all, someone around here doesn’t know how to secure their wireless internet. Yay!

One of the big perks of housesitting for my father is his insane music collection. Although I never had to deal with a deadbeat dad, my Deadhead dad used to get lost in his music when I was little, spending hours in the basement blasting Jerry Garcia. He used to take me to all of the record stores in town, trying to get me interested in the difference between the ’69 live album and the ’74 live album. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the best pupil, even when we took a special trip to Haight Ashbury to see the house that the Grateful Dead used to live in…a trip that was perfectly time to coincide with my I-Hate-That-I’m-On-Vacation-With-My-Dad-Leave-Me-The-Hell-Alone phase.

It wasn’t all rock and roll, to be fair. My dad has a real penchant for jazz, folk, blues, and great original cast recordings of classic Broadway shows. I got to see John Prine, James Taylor, Jimmy Buffett, and countless others before I turned ten. I also had a pretty impressive record collection for someone who couldn’t tie their shoes…but I just could never see why Dad seemed to constantly need a fresh feed of music. So many CDs. So many CDs!

No matter what was going on my dad’s life, the music collection continued to thrive. As we went from house to house and my dad’s family situtation changed a couple of times, there were always the trips to the record store to replace the albums that a person simply shouldn’t live without. Kind of Blue from Miles Davis. One Fair Summer Evening from Nanci Griffith. Truckin’ Up to Buffalo from Grateful Dead. Learning to Flinch from Warren Zevon. And always John Prine Live, the album that has my parents and I on the cover. No, really, we were there and now we’re immortalized in music legend. Bit of trivia: this album also has my favorite version of my favorite song in the entire world, “Angel from Montgomery”.

We’re on the right hand side…see the Asian looking woman, the little kid in red, and the guy with the intense facial hair? That’s the Lane family.

Pic for comparison:

I always thought that his music addiction was just one more thing that I didn’t get about my dad. Until, of course, we stopped in at a used music store last spring and I stumbled on a copy of Deadicated, a Grateful Dead tribute album that’s pretty fantsatic. I was lamenting the fact that I had pawned my copy in college when Kyle mentioned that he didn’t know any of the songs. Apparently, Kyle made it all the way to 26 without listening to the Grateful Dead. I immediately bought the CD and then made him sit in the car while I tried to download everything I knew about the Dead into his underprivileged brain. “Listen to this chord change…isn’t that incredible? Mellow and powerful all at the same time. Oh, and listen to these lyrics. Do you get it? Here, wait, let me back it up again so you can really listen to it. There. Isn’t that just mind blowing?”

Apparently, the answer was no. But my husband laughed and shook his head and said, “You’re so your dad. You’re more like your dad than anyone else on the planet.”

It’s the truth and every day I see it more. I used to hate his retreats into seclusion, but now I get manic if I don’t get a couple of hours to myself every day. I thought the road trips to all of the crappy Utah historical monuments were a trial I had to endure to get into heaven, but now I really like getting in the car, picking a direction, and just driving until something interesting happens. And while I used to think that my father’s basement music sessions were just a noisy way to keep us all at arm’s length, I find that I have to take twenty minutes every now and then, lock myself in the bathroom with my headphones on, and just crank that iPod up as loud as I can get it…which is never loud enough. I’m looking forward to the day when they can permanently implant Eric Clapton music directly into my ear canal.

And so, while my father tours Argentina (with his iPod safely anchoring him in the sixties), I’m slurping all of his music into my computer and making playlists of all those songs I always thought I never got. And, oh, there might not be anything better.

Hanging with Warren in front of some of my father’s music collection.
If you don’t own Learning to Flinch, I’m sorry to tell you that your life is woefully incomplete.
Best album ever? Very possible.

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My Father’s Music

This pretty much sums up life at our house for the past 2 weeks: Cinderella.

Lyvia loves the “princess story”, as she calls it. We had a little family movie night a few weeks ago. Jason and I were tired of watching old Clifford episodes and thought Lyv was probably big enough for a Disney movie. Little did we know she’d want to watch it every single day!

The music, the magic, the mice, the “mean sisters”, the “mean kitty” and of course- the dress! Lyv has been getting her pink tutu out of the dress-up box and calling it her “Princess Dress”. She begs me to turn on music so she can dance like Cinderella. Trying on shoes has also become a favorite past time- my shoes, her shoes, even dad’s shoes are all tried on and then she decides if they are too big or “just right”. And in a great find at the thrift store, we procured a Cinderella book! It has all the highlights from the movie. Lyvia likes to climb up in her rocking chair and read that book to her animals. I can hear her telling them the story about the “Fairy Mother” and when Cinderella’s dress gets ripped. But, I think my favorite part of her loving Cinderella is that she calls the Prince, the Daddy! It’s so cute! (And I think her Daddy is flattered!)

I know this is probably a fleeting obsession, but I am enjoying how excited Lyv is about Cinderella. Ok, so sometimes it is a pain to tell her she can’t watch the movie 4 times a day or try to comfort her when she twirls herself dizzy dancing at the ball. But, I think the fun of the “magic” outweighs the minor tantrums. If this keeps up, I may be making a princess costume for Halloween!

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Maybe it's a girl thing…