It’s been said you can’t go home again, and as of Wednesday that phrase took literally meaning for me. With all of their children long out of the house, my parents have sold the large house they purchased in 1970 for a family of five and are moving into an apartment better suited to their lives. Granted, along the way they acquired two daughters-in-laws, one son-in-law and six grandchildren, and it was nice to have a big house for them to visit, but that was no reason to hold onto a house that had become a burden. A few weeks ago, I took one more look around the house I grew up in and walked out the door for the last time. But, in leaving I took home a couple of time machines. One is a Victrola. Yes, the machine that plays flat plastic discs that move at a speed of 78 rotations per minute. The really fragile ones that predate LPs, 45s, 8-tracks, cassettes, CDs and iPods. It stands about 4 feet tall, uses wooden needles and you have to crank it to get it going. I took home small selection of albums to play on it, including some Irving Berlin, Gershwin and Cole Porter. It’s a funny thing to look at, since it now stands in the living room next to the small speaker system we hook the iPod into when we usually want to listen to music. The cool thing is, it still works. Crank it up and you can hear the slightly scratchy sound of Kay Kayser's orchestra slipping through the cabinet doors. Meanwhile, the other time machines are in worse c ...
Anytime
