Old Biddies and a Cute Butt

So, years ago, back in the Paleolithic era, I was young, small, tiny, a much more limited, though clean, vocabulary. Things were simple and magical and mysterious and all kinds of other things that slowly slip away as you get older and discover the answers to things, stop caring or forget all together the questions to other things.
Anyhoo, at certain times, when in the proper locale, and in the proper mood, with the proper amount of curiosity, I would go to my Granny’s house and spin through her giant record collection. She had this big, spinning square contraption that doubled as a coffee table. My memory tells me it held thousands of albums, but I was small, and it was larger, so my memory may be a little distorted. I loved to spin it and listen to the ball bearings…thrum? grate? roar?… we’ll just say “labor” and call it good-- I loved to spin it and listen to the ball bearings "labor" under the weight of wood and vinyl.
I would pick through randomly and study the 12” images of people and groups that I had never heard of and would never listen to. It was good times.
The only albums that stand out in my doomed and utterly useless memory are an orange-toned Halloween sounds record that I probably listened to a few times, and the reason for this post, Granny’s Tom Jones records. If I can recall correctly, she had a few. I just remember a afro-headed white man with a lot of chest hair, a lot of gold chains, and typically covered in a lot of sweat. Sometimes he had his shirt, collar up, unbuttoned down to his balls.
Had I known what sexy was at the time… I still wouldn’t have thought him sexy.
The Carly Simon albums, however. Well, that is a different story.
So, years and years (some would call them decades)later I decided to get my own Tom Jones album. I was going through a “Vocalists” phase, to use record shop categorizing parlance, and I picked up a Tom Jones greatest hits along with a Dean Martin greatest hits cd.
I loved them of course, as they filled a musical void that sorely needed a stuffing. I was blown away by the sheer excellence of “Chills and Fever” and I was also to discover that “What’s New, Pussycat?” leapt to the top of my “Worst Songs of All Time” list.
I had to let my Granny know that I had, partly due to her distant influence, purchased my first ever Tom Jones album. What follows is the story she sent back to me. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

“I'm sure that in one of my numerous boxes of memorabilia I have a number of photos taken when attending his concerts 5 nights in a row (did that 2 or 3 times), and a couple of concerts in Tahoe. The latter was the height of middle-aged women hysteria - 5 or 6 of us old biddies rented a cabin for a week solely to see TJ. He was truly an entertainer who got his energy from audience response. The first night we went the crowd was subdued, and he was kind of 'flat.' The next night we thought we might get his juices flowing with the old ploy of throwing panties, room keys, etc. on the stage. We all searched our keyrings for keys we didn't need - my friend, Sydney, sacrificed a black lace bra (size at least 48 quadruple E cup) and we sewed the keys to it. We had a front row table for the dinner show - threw our offering onto the stage during his first song, (it made quite a clatter), and he was on fire!!! What fun! He did (and still does) have an incredible voice along with the cutest butt in maledom. Several of us went to a concert he did at Wente Winery in Livermore 5 or 6 years ago. Mistake..........some things are better left to memory.”

My Granny is awesome.