Closer to fine...

It amazes me to look at the way in which something as seemingly insignificant as background music can affect a girl. During one particularly personality-forming summer in my youth, I was introduced to the music of the Indigo Girls. This occurred in a nondescript warehouse next to nondescript train tracks in the industrial part of a nondescript Utah town. This introduction was not even intentional, I believe. It wasn't that someone sat me down and said "I think you will really appreciate the harmonies and lyrics of this duo. Their music could have a lasting impact on the way you look at the world." I think it just happened that Shawn had the tape in his car and we were tired of Neil Diamond's The Jazz Singer. Shawn could not have foreseen what far-reaching effects this particular listening choice would have on me. Had the suggestion of this particular album come from someone else, we might have shunned the idea. But Shawn was to be trusted. He was COOL. He drove The Granola Wagon. So we listened. And worked. And counted endless Kneeling Santas and classified spagmumps by size, shape, and color. We packed and unpacked boxes, drowning in Christmas cheer all summer long.

From that summer on, the Indigo Girls reminded me of the fun we had, that fact that as a "pre-teen" I felt socially accepted by adults whom I admired, and that there was more to life than showtunes. I have never forgotten the sometimes far away emotions of those days. Hearing certain songs still brings back that carefree feeling of having my whole life ahead of me. Now as I have aged (more than I like to think about), and matured (not nearly enough), my listening ear has become a bit more finely tuned. My tastes have broadened (although my sister still says that I am a musical theatre idiot savant). I have read books, studied poetry, traveled the world. And the backgound music for most of my life correlates directly with one Indigo Girls album or another. One aspect of that is that no matter what the Indigo Girls have to say, part of me accepts it as truth immediately, unquestioningly. That is something that I usually rethink pretty quickly, but it does take some deprogramming. I have learned to appreciate their poetry, love nothing better than their harmony, and feel such a sense of loyalty and camaraderie with Amy and Emily. They are old friends who have watched me through the difficult teens and twentysomethings, and into the thirties that I never imagined I'd reach. Now don't think I'm a crazed fan, or psychotically obsessed. There are songs, almost whole albums that I just never got into. I don't have any locks of hair or personal items of the Girls in my possession. I can only admit to seeing one live concert. But it was like being with old friends. I look at friendships in the light of "The Wood Song," my unending college years are made of "Loves Recovery," every road trip begins with "Get Out the Map," and I wait every day to experience "The Power of Two."

Backed by rows labeled "Nativity missing B.J." and boxes of "Real Plastic Snow," I first heard the guitars of my life soundtrack. I believe that the fates may have eventually led me down the right aisle at Media Play, they could have been a Columbia House choice, someone else might have suggested changing the tape. But I'm glad it happened when and where it did. And Shawn, I will forever be grateful that you weren't a Bangles fan.