Clanging Change

The Merry Go Round
The same old car, and the same old girl,
The same old life with the same old whirl,
The same old road with the same old turns,
The same old gas that the old car burns.
The same old springs with the same old squeak,
The same old sights that you saw last week,
The same old toot of the same old horn,
The same old traffic cop, since you're born.
The same old desk in the same old place,
The same old boss with the same old face,
The same old job, and the same old pay,
No, there's nothing new in the news today.
And so the music goes round and round
In the same old way, with the same old sound.
By Burton Coon - October 18, 1937 Suggested by the daily trips of Miss Helen.
Helen is my husband's aunt that just passed away last year at the age of 96.  Burton was a neighbor and when he was old, he used to ride with Helen to work in town.  Burton was a farmer, not because he wanted to be but because when his father died, he had to take care of his mother.  He was studying to be a preacher and gave it up for his mother.  He wrote for the local paper and he admitted that he always resented it.

I have always wondered how some people can live their entire in the same town, and in the same house.  I like change.  I have lived many places.  Probably the most interesting place that I lived was in a bar that a friend owned.  The bar was on the border of the NJ and New York.  There was an upstairs bar that was licensed in NJ and a downstairs bar that was licensed in NY.  My boyfriend and I slept on the pool table after the place closed for the night.  So he slept in NY and I slept in NJ because the pool table straddled the state line.  We stayed there for a few months until my friend had to close the business. 

I have never forgotten that when she closed the bar, I helped her take the bar stock up to her mother's house.  We drove my boyfriend's 1960 Ford Ranchero about 100 miles away from the bar.  I will never forget that every time we hit a bump, the bottles clanged.