The year was 1974, and we were living in a split-level house on Long Island, in the state of New York. We'd moved there a year earlier, the fifth long-distance relocation my family had made in the first five years of my marriage to my second (and last and best) husband. I was happy there that year.
I liked our house. The public school there was the best my daughters had ever attended. And, because we expected to stay there for a while, I'd gone back to work in a job I enjoyed. Life was good, and because it was so good, I was anxious. My husband was a rambling man, and I knew it was just a matter of time until he'd crave a change of scenery.
I'd never complained about the frequent moves because I trusted my husband to do the best he could for our family. But I am now, and was back then, a nester at heart. I wanted us to stay put but felt that asking for that might come across as a criticism of the way my husband chose to provide for us. And he provided well.
Then, one day in 1974, a song played on the radio that I loved instantly. I bought the 45 rpm record and played it over and over, hoping that somehow he would identify with the lyrics as much as I did. In the end, I guess he did.
Six years later, after two more moves, each of us was still clinging to the "he said" or "she said" point of view expressed in the song, clinging until he went to California alone and I stayed home.
That song is this Saturday's song selection: "Please Come to Boston" by Dave Loggins.*
*Thanks to guitar2heroes for posting this video on YouTube.