Peace through Music

Sunday afternoon, Cindy, Ingrid and I were flying down the turnpike in my 1992 Subaru station wagon on our way back to Philly from Pittsburgh, when a woman behind us started honking and pointing at my bumper. I wasn’t driving, Cindy had taken over about fifteen minutes earlier when I became super sleepy and needed a break. So I was stretched out in the back seat (highly illegal, I know) checking in with my mom via cell phone when the honking started. I bolted upright, trying to figure out what was going on while Cindy became convinced that this woman was trying to tell us that the back bumper was falling off (she isn’t used to driving such a well decorated car). This woman, in a late model Toyota with Maryland plates, pulled up beside us and started yelling, “Peace through Music” and pointing at the car. She was talking about one of the many liberal bumperstickers my car sports. It turns out that she owns the company Soundings of the Planet (out of Bellingham, WA) which produces those bumperstickers.

From the time I was 3 until I was 18 my dad owned a music production (Revere Records) and distribution company (Lifedance Distribution) that dealt in background and instrumental music (started in LA and moved to Portland, OR in 1988). Soundings of the Planet was a company that he worked with frequently and my parents knew the owners well.

Once I figured out that this woman was telling us that it was her company, I start shouting to her, “My dad is Morris from Lifedance!” She finally heard me and threw up her hands in shock and surprise (not the best idea while you are driving). We waved vigorously and smiled broadly at each other. She passed us and continued on her way.

My mom was still on the cell phone this while this transpired and as I put the phone back up to my ear, she shouts, “What was that? Were you in a car accident?” I told her what had happened and she was delighted (although she did remember that she once lent this woman a book and never got it back. My mom forgets lots of things, but somehow never forgets a book that was not returned).

Cindy, Ingrid and I laughed about it the rest of the way home.

I guess it’s really true that you never know who you’ll run into, even going 70 down the Pennsylvania Turnpike!

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