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From Moana to Metallica – turn it up Maw Maw
Little Thacher holds on to the Wee Bopper and comforts him during a thunderstorm.

GAYS MILLS - Now that I work in Fennimore, I have areallylong commute. It’s 74 miles round trip to be exact. So, my radio speakers get quite a bit of exercise during my travels. 

For a long time, my ole stand by was 91.9 WDRT out of Viroqua. Great variety, great music and programs and the little bonus that occasionally I’d get to hear my Grandpa Ray yodel. 

Yet, when I began turning my travels deeper into Grant County, I found that my radio dropped WDRT’s signal right around the same time I would drop down the hill below Mt. Zion. 

Unsatisfied with my other options such as Chasca’s favorite stand by 95.7–‘The Rock,’ I flipped the dial to trusty old WPR. 

I listened to enough that I found myself saying things to my business savvy sister-in-law like “Oh, I heard all about that on ‘On Your Money’ on WPR!” Resulting in looks that were equally puzzled, as they were pleased. 

Over the past year or so, I’ve made another switch in entertainment as I’ve jumped on the podcast wagon–which is much more accurately described as a train...a run-away train!

Have you ever sat down and tried to pick a podcast on whatever listening app you may use? It’s almost unbearable due to the hundreds upon hundreds of options. 

There is something to tickle the fancy of probably every listener out there. But, it does seem that podcasts about true crime reign supreme. 

I should add that this idea of listening to these intense, gripping podcasts is all fine and dandy, when I’m in the car alone–which is actually kind of seldom. When I’m in the car with the kids, Thatcher controls the radio. My co-worker, who is the mother to a teenager, assures me that this will last until forever. 

As of late, Thatcher has had a fairly tolerable playlist. I am fortunate to report there is no Baby Shark (doo doo doo doo) played in my car. I actually, did kind of a bad thing and lied to the poor lad and told him “Baby Shark doesn't work at home or in my car, it actually only works on the daycare radio.” 

I thought I was being pretty slick, until I realized that a toddler can turn any and all songs into a form of torture. It doesn't matter if they are the latest catchy diddy for kids or not. 

Thatcher’s standard rotation (at least as of Friday, Aug. 30) is The Fox by Nickel Creek, which always needs to be played “LOUD LOUD MAW MAW!”,  There Ain’t No Bugs on Me by David Grisham and Jerry Garcia “SING THE PEEEEEAAAANUT BUTTER PART! TOOT TOOOOT MAWMAW!”

My personal favorite is ‘Hot Corn Cold Corn,’ also by David Grishman and Jerry Garcia. It gets the special mention due to Thatcher’s tendency to sing along and emphasis the “YEZZZ SURRRRR!” part. It makes me laugh every time. Not to be forgotten is the Disney soundtrack favorites from the movie ‘Moana.’ “Maui! The Boat song! MOANA! GLAM QUAB!!!”

 After all of those, I usually hope we’re close enough to school before he asks me to sing the only intolerable song–‘Lotttie Dottie Chicken.’ A majority of the song includes me singing “Bawk bawk bawk bawk bawwwwwwkkkkk!” This occasionally causes my sensitive Waylee Bopper to pucker up his face and begin to cry, likely in fear for what his mother has become. 

It’s kind of funny because, when he is with his dad. He requests none of these songs. Perhaps it is due to the fact that he knows his dad is a bit of a self-proclaimed caveman and doesn't deal with Spotify or I-Tunes. When he’s with ole Dah they tend to enjoy “Rockin’ and a Rollin’” as he would say. The sweet, tender, loving little boy seems to love few things more than riding in his dad’s big stinky truck to take the garbage to the dump, jamming to Highway to Hell by AC/DC and few things seem to put a bigger smile on Chasca’s face either that somewhere in the kid that is a whole lot like me, is the little rockin’ rollin’ buddy he’s always hoped for.  

Waylon’s tastes are yet to be determined. Although he does seem to like Metallica, he is equally pleased by the sound of a wooden spoon banging on a mason jar. So, it’s hard to say if he’ll go the way of the hillbilly or the rock and roller. He’s got a few years yet to.