Tuesday, June 29, 2010

one more time around

Sometimes life is like a turntable
Going round and round
Eat, sleep, work, day in and day out

Sometimes life is like a broken record
Skipping over the good parts
Maybe stomping the floor will help
To get things back on track

Sometimes life is like a record player
Set on the wrong speed
Either flying along at 78
Or just a mellow 33, what will today be

Sometimes life is like a warped record
With bumps along the way
It could make for a fun ride
If you have a warped attitude

Sometimes life is like a scratched record
Watch out for those little glitches
Maybe a stack of pennies
On my head will fix this one

Sometimes life is like a turntable
Going round and round
Eat, sleep, work, day in and day out

~Susan Tidwell 2008

~I was recently reading a list of obsolete things (like vinyl records) and was reminded of these thoughts from April 2008 so here it is, one more time around...

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net


Eddie said...

Good metaphors!
However, the turntable is live and well in this household. I bought a special turntable that has a USB plug socket in it and have been digitizine my old LPs - slowly but surely.

Betsy from Tennessee said...

Thanks Susan.... That is VERY well put and TRUE. The sad thing for me is to think that our grandchildren won't even know what a record player was, or a 45 or a 78 record!!!!! ha

I grew up with 45's and 78's and 33.3's..... I had huge collections. My hubby still has a big collection of 33.3's which he is turning in to CD's... But --by the time he does that, CD's will probably be outdated also. ha ha

Have a great day, you talented girl..

paula, the quilter said...

I have already turned my LPs into digital. Still have the turntable and the LPs. Just can't seem to release them.

Kermit said...

Life is like a box of chocolate--
Lot of truth to that too.

Sandra Henderson said...

Oh Susan, you are a wonderful writer! So glad you write your thoughts down and keep them... and share them with us! :)

colleen said...

You made me think of this poem I wrote about 15 years ago:
For the Record

Like a straight pin
enters a bubble
You walked into the room
I was making a tape
off the C. D. player

Now our love
has a skip
has a skip
has a skip

a manifestation
of a hurt

on a favorite love
played often