Mad Music

So I dvr'd American Idol because I was out doing an errand. Got home right as Allison began her verison of Bonnie Raitt--not bad. But I didn't pay attention to the time. American Idol ran long and I didn't see the final singer: Adam Lambert.

Thank goodness for the internet! Somebody already upload of tonight perfomance of Adam singing "Mad World,." Honestly, I don't remember the song--mainly Tears for Fear weren't big faves of mine. Gotta give Adam props tho.

Can work a song. Has a stage presence. Makes ya listen to him. Simon gave Adam a standing ovation. Now THAT never happens. So the kid who caused Johnny Cash to turn in his grave a few weeks ago, with "Ring of Fire'" solidified he IS the one to beat in this Season 8 of Idol.

Who should go home tomorrow? Kris Allen or Scott--maybe even Lil. Don't save any of em.

Stay tuned.

Oh, and did I tell you, tomorrow is my birthday?

Another Holiday Classic

This foggy day and kind of a look that snow might fall reminded me of my Iowa hometown. The Christmas memories spent with my Dad--especially in the twilight of his life. I'd drive all day on Interstate 35, headed North to get to our house. I'd check in during the gas stops, to reassure I (and any cats I brought with me) were just find. Sometimes the weather was just cold-other times it was brutle. Yet, I'd get there--11 hours later.

Dad sat in a chair and looked out the picture window-with his cigar. Held his breath until prettiest girl pull in the drive way. Hed laugh when I brought in my two cats at the time, Sammy and Brenner. His little Chichuahua, Peaches, would bark and my cats would high tail to somewhere in the house.

As I'd settle in after my 750 mile drive. I lie on the couch, while he made us fire. Then he settled in his chair as cigar smoke clipped his nose. We'd fuss over what TV shows to watch--Dad's blasted westerns or him saying, "What in the hell is this?" when I had on something he'd never watch and would never again, after I'd leave.

However, after all that, I'd wake up in the middle of the night. Still on the couch, but now with a blanket Dad threw over me. I'd look over to him and see he would be watching me. With that cigar in his mouth. Dad would say, "You musta slept good. You snored so damn loud." I'd laugh and snuggle more under the blanket.

I do miss that. I still have one of Dad's blankets. So it's nice to know he still throws it over me. Cue Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra--two of Dad's favorites, to bring it all the way home with a song that keeps my memories as if they were yesterday.

I am blessed.