By Bob Ciminel
March 11, 2006
I bought "Eat a Peach" shortly after it debuted in 1972 and immediately taped two songs off it to play in the car on my daily 50-mile round trip commute to the power plant where I was working. Those two songs were "Melissa" and "Blue Sky." Being that my new wife - we'd been married about a year - was from South Carolina, the lyrics to "Blue Sky" were quite appropriate:
You're my blue sky, you're
my sunny day.
Good old Sunday morning, bells
are ringing everywhere.
The lyrics reminded me of those all-night drives from Pittsburgh to Rock Hill, South Carolina to visit her. The West Virginia turnpike was only three lanes back then, and the mountainous sections of I-77 were still under construction. My route was Pittsburgh to Charleston, WV, to Wytheville, VA, to Statesville, NC, to Charlotte, to Rock Hill, SC, a mere 465-mile, 7-hour drive today, it was an all-nighter back then. I'd start out around 6 p.m. and be in Rock Hill in time for lunch. No sweat; I was 25 years old and a shift worker to boot.
My wife can't stand "Blue Sky," which is why I want it played at my funeral. I have to have the last laugh. She doesn't know it yet, but my will is going to say I want "You're my blue sky, you're my sunny day. Lord, you know you make me high when you turn your live my way" inscribed on my tombstone. However, I suspect she'll give me a military funeral like my Dad's, and they won't let you put all those words on a government tombstone. And then she'll have the last laugh.
This weekend we're celebrating
our 35th wedding anniversary. I've rented a cabin in the North
Georgia Mountains. I'm bringing along my portable CD player
and one CD, "Eat a Peach." Guess what song I'll be
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He assumes informed readers will be able to tell the difference.
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