I’ve got the rhythm, the moves, and God knows I can
work a hairbrush. How totally cruel
then that He would deny me the one essential element that would have made my
dreams come true – a voice.
It was the late 60’s. I was in high school and my boyfriend was
lead guitarist in a band called “The Sit-Ins.”
Sit-ins were a popular form of protest back then, especially in
neighboring Berkeley, and I’m sure they thought the name would make them seem
edgy as they performed “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles in their matching
green velour shirts. But my favorite band of the day was “Cold
Blood,” headed by 4’9 white chick, Lydia Pense, whose forte was R & B and who
could belt out Sam and Dave’s “Hold On” or James Brown’s “I Got You” with the
soul and pipes of any of the best black singers of the day – or any day, for
that matter. Lydia was also a friend of
mine (except for a brief period when I thought she was flirting with my
boyfriend) and I would still sell my soul to be able to sing like her. (Note to Satan: “Sell my soul” is a figure of speech only and
not meant to be construed that I would, in fact, actually sell my soul.)
Eventually, my boyfriend and I broke up, but I
continued to be a fan of Cold Blood all the other R & B artists of that
great era. To this day, you will find
me joyfully belting out my best "Sam & Dave" should you wander onto my mountain
top, although I have noticed a distinct reduction in the bird population since
I’ve lived here.
For your viewing pleasure, the classic, brilliant,
Sam and Dave…
This post
is from the prompt “hold on,” part of the “30 Minus 2 Days Writing Challenge” from
the gal who can talk anybody into just about anything, the fabulous Nicky at We
Work For Cheese. Click here to visit the
others she’s managed to lure into today’s particular exercise in stress, panic
and frustration.
