Rainey Blogs on Some Days

Growing up in Southern Illinois meant you had to listen to Country Music. At least that’s what it meant for me, especially since my home spanned three generations and our summer vacations were usually spent in Nashville, Tennessee. But I didn ’t much care for Country music. I remember my first 45s that I purchased at Featherstun ’s, an appliance store that sold records. I bought Jim Croces ’ "Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown" and Billy Preston’s "Will It Go Round in Circles." A white artist and a black artist. Kind of like our town: black and white. As time went on, though, I grew to prefer Soul and Disco music over Rock or Country. As an only child, I spent hours in my room, by myself, exploring music. Kiss. Peter Frampton . Sweet. The Brothers Johnson. Village People. The Bar- Kays . Con Funk Shun. Bootsy ’s Rubber Band. Johnny "Guitar" Watson. I watched American Bandstand and Soul Train on Saturdays. My friends were leaning toward Rock music like Aerosmith , but

I realized yesterday that the only song I have ever heard with the word “porridge” in it was Bob Marley’s “ No Woman, No Cry .” Bob Marley, Rastafarian, ganja-smoking, Jamaican reggae singer Bob Marley used that word in a song. “Porridge.” P-o-r-r-i-d-g-e. I have the song on a Jonathan Butler CD from the library right now. I listen to it over and over. I like Butler’s more polished version a little better than Marley’s version. No matter who sings it, though, the lyrics have this beautiful innocence to them that I could never explain. I would play it sometimes for Marcia or one of the girls and say, “Isn’t that a beautiful song.” But they didn’t hear what I heard. I didn’t even know what I heard. I just loved it, but you can’t love something without knowing why you love it. Finally, I understood yesterday. It was the porridge. The porridge takes me back to the innocence of childhood. Back to “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” the children’s story that puts me back on my mother’s lap li