SAN FRANCISCO BAY AREA вЂ” Try telling Linda Ronstadt where she canвЂ™t get, what she canвЂ™t do. Just do it.
But before you try, visualize her at age 4, maybe not yet in kindergarten, riding a pony fast and totally free through the Sonoran Desert of Arizona, evading rattlesnakes and adult direction.
Picture her as an adolescent, giving her parents a couple hoursвЂ™ notice before riding down to Los Angeles to become a singer. Image her performing for arena crowds, a megastar with big brown eyes and brief shorts, the dream woman of a generation, taking on folk, stone, pop, nation, Latin music and US standards.
Photo her anything that is doing than viewing her very own induction in to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, not to mention attending the ceremony. Picture her turning up towards the White House to get the nationwide Medal of Arts from Barack Obama, then image that medal collecting dust under her sleep.
That is probably in which the Kennedy Center Honors sheвЂ™ll get this will also be stashed (she at least plans to вЂњsuffer throughвЂќ that ceremony in person), because all of that вЂ” the reverence, the recognition вЂ” isnвЂ™t important to her month. The actual only real important things to Linda Ronstadt, ever, happens to be the component you canвЂ™t visualize: the experience of singing.