Not really. But that's the first line to one of my favorite songs ever. "Gypsy." Half bittersweet, half just regular old sweet. Hopeful but at the same time resigned to accept the way things tend to play out.
Reminds me of listening to Fleetwood Mac when I was little. We had a huge old wooden stereo cabinet that my dad used to play records on. He had America and Abbey Road and the soundtrack to the Wizard of Oz, among others, and eight track tapes of other, less interesting stuff. Like Johnny Mathis. (Yikes.) And Elvis. (Never interesting to me.)
My dad would throw on a record and, if the mood was right, we'd go to town, dancing, chasing each other around, singing, spinning and acting slightly less disordered than usual by virtue of keeping in time with the music. Maybe that's where it all started. That and with roadtrips, which involved nonstop music. My mom listening to "The Tide is High" and "Abracadabra" in the station wagon on the radio. Cassette tapes of Hall and Oates, Paul Simon, more Fleetwood Mac in the Buick Delta 88. (My dad: "Christine McVie is a fox!" Strange that he preferred her to Stevie Nicks.)
And no, I'm really not sure where I'm going with this. But if I could figure out how to post a song, I would post "Gypsy."
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