I’ve loved music for as long as I can remember. It’s always been a huge part of my life.
My earliest remembrances involve my dear Opa, of whom I have only the fondest of memories. He, along with my Oma and my parents, would take me to dances with them. The Joe Patek Orchestra, always a favorite. And my Opa would always save one song for me.
Oh, how I miss him.
I remember riding in the car with my Mom. Listening to 60’s rock or 70’s pop. And her tapping the steering wheel to the
beat, singing along. Now, when I ask
Alexa to play ‘70’s Rock’ and Blondie’s “The Tide is High” comes on, I
can practically hear my Mom singing along.
My parents loved to go out dancing; in fact, they met at a
dance on some random Saturday night in 1958.
Almost every Friday night, you could find them at The Crystal Chandelier
or Martinez Dance Hall, listening to the Pfeil Brothers or the Nashville
Sounds. My sister and I, always in
tow.
As my bedtime drew near, my Mom would make a pallet for me in the corner of the dance hall. Tucking me in for the night, while she and my Dad danced the night away. Until it was last call and the band played Charlie Pride’s “Crystal Chandelier”; only then was it time to go home.
70’s TV was filled with variety shows. Donny & Marie were always fun. But the best night was the one when Tony
Orlando & Dawn’s show was on. Yes,
he of “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree” fame. That guy.
His white tuxedo and yellow bow tie the stuff that my 7-year old dreams
were made of. And that’s when I
discovered boys. And found out that I really,
really liked facial hair on a man.
As I prepared to enter middle school, it was time to pick my
electives. Given my lack of vocal talent
(I always promise not to sing “Happy Birthday” to my friends – no one
needs to hear that kind of warbling!), there wasn’t much question. I was going to be in BAND!
Oh, how I longed to be a drummer! Much to my parents’ chagrin. But before I could make my final instrument selection, my sister (who no doubt was doing my parents’ bidding) spent many a minute trying to convince me to give other instruments a try. Maybe I should play clarinet, like her? Nah. Not loud enough. What about the flute? Not brassy enough.
And so I chose … the trumpet.
Now … I’m not sure that this was much better in terms of the
noise-factor, but I can attest to the fact, that the trumpet can be just as
romantic and melodic as the flute, when it’s played right.
I remember going to the music store and picking out my
beloved trumpet. Once home and inspired
by the Rocky Balboa poster which hung on my bedroom wall, I whipped out the
Rocky theme. Simply by ear.
And as I sat in the bleachers on Friday nights, watching my
sister perform at halftime, I couldn’t wait for my turn.
I’ve always loved football.
But playing underneath the lights on Fridays was really the best part of
my week. That, and Monday night
practices, where we practiced on the football field, rather than the school
parking lot. I doubt I’ll ever forget my high school band director, a little rotund man named Larry, who was so passionate about music, that he would literally jump up and down as he stood on the top row of the bleachers, yelling and screaming, his face turning so red, we truly thought he was going to pass out. And we laughed.
Call it what you will (and yes, I know many people would call me a “band
geek!”), but it really was a special time in my life. Not only did I love listening to music, but
making it was something altogether special.
After my interest in band took hold, my Oma presented my
sister and I with a picture of our great-grandfather, circa 1930’s, who played
in the local volunteer fire department band.
He’s the third one from the right, middle row.
It turns out, I had a real talent for playing the trumpet. Through the years, I sat in the “first chair” many times. And even received a couple of awards (top 8th grade band student and top Senior band student). Numerous medals won throughout those years, along with patches which displayed my accomplishments, adorned my letter jacket.
And I may have come by my trumpet-playing abilities honestly. My Grandpa played the trumpet too!
My musical interests were diverse.
I’m an 80’s kid. When
hair bands were all the rage. But so was
Urban Cowboy.
I went through my “country” phase a couple of times. Like my parents before me, I enjoyed dancing
every Friday and Saturday night, both at the Crystal Chandelier and Bluebonnet
Palace. The Nashville Sounds were still
a favorite.
As far as hair bands go, it’s no secret, I had a one-sided love
affair with Steve Perry and Journey (Just a Small Town Girl). Loverboy, Rush, REO Speedwagon, Asia, and
Billy Idol rounded out my cassette tape collection. And Billy Squier.
I didn’t even know what “The Stroke” meant back then.
I even had a favorite cover band that was an absolute
must-see whenever they were in town:
Fast Forward. They played all the
songs from the hair bands and then some.
The guitarist was especially cute and I’ll admit to having had a crush
on him. I even traveled near and far to
hear them. There’s a word for that. Groupie.
Music has always had a way of bookmarking different periods
in my life.
When I met my first husband, he could sing a bit like Steve
Perry. And so it was appropriate that
when I left him (An Ounce of Strength), that the song I remember listening to on repeat was Journey’s
“I’ll Be Alright Without You”.
Similarly, when marriage #2 bit the dust (Leaps & Bounds), I found a song by a little-known
Indie Group called Antigone Rising; their song “Don’t Look Back”, my
anthem.
But it just as easily could’ve been Queen’s “Another One
Bites the Dust”. Just sayin’.
When my son was just a toddler, he found his own love of
music through one Garth Brooks. Evan
loved his custom-shaped cowboy hats (like a proper Texan, he had a straw one
for summer and a felt one for winter) and his cowboy boots. He loved his boots so much that he would
smuggle them in his backpack when he went to school and change out of his
tennis shoes upon arrival.
Many of the shirts in his little closet, reminiscent of the
ones Garth wore. Imagine his excitement
when we managed to land tickets to see Garth in concert. He was 4.
When I’m driving, I have to have music on. As a teenager, Evan and his friends would
laugh at me as I drove. My way of “jammin’”,
to tap my fingers on the steering wheel, just as I had watched my mom do so many
years ago.
If my day started with a frown, it would be upside down by
the time I reached my destination, thanks to the radio. Or my 8-track tapes. Or my cassette tapes. Or my CDs.
Or my iPod.
And so it was a shocker to me when I started dating Keith
and recognized the man doesn’t listen to music much at all. I mean … and I say this with all the love in
my heart, but … weirdo. Imagine the
first time he took me to meet his family.
A 13-hour road trip.
Without. Music.
I’m lucky I have any hair left on my head.
To be honest, it wasn’t entirely without music. He put in the sole CD which he keeps in his
truck and we listened to Britney Spears for a short while. I was so desperate to hear music that I didn’t
even mind.
Some three years into our marriage, we were blessed with our
first grandchild. In trying to get her
to sleep, and after trying every nursery song I could remember, I finally
discovered the one song that would put her right to sleep. “The Eyes of Texas” soothed her to
sleep ever so quickly. I think we have a
Longhorn in the making. I’m so proud.
When our man-cub was born, I tried the same technique. Singing every nursery song under the sun, to
no avail. Finally, remembering that any
song with a cadence or pattern will work, I began to sing “99 Bottles of
Beer on the Wall”. By the time there
were 76 bottles left, he was sound asleep!
Our pumpkin-girl even began to sing it whenever he would begin to fuss. Grams of the Year right here.
And our Little Bean.
I was lucky enough to see her every day after she came home from the
hospital. While giving my step-daughter
a chance to nap or eat, I changed many a diaper and put The Bean down for an equal
number of naps. If history is any
lesson, I knew that nursery songs weren’t necessarily going to work. And so I tried the song that I walked down
the aisle to when Keith and I were married.
The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun”. Oh, I’ve tried other Beatles’ songs,
yes. But this is the only one that puts
her to sleep. Every. Time.
Without. Fail.
If you know me, you know I’m a HUGE fan of the Disney Parks
(It Was All Started by a Mouse). They do details like no
other. Take for example, on my most
recent trip (of which there have been many), I discovered the music played in
the restrooms is themed to the part of the park you’re in at the time. Perhaps the use of hoe down music in
Frontierland is meant to make the process quicker. I don’t know.
But it’s the music played at the park entrances and during
the firework shows that bring me the most joy.
My tummy gets all the warm fuzzies and I know. I’m Home.
When the Tower of Terror attraction at Disneyland was
re-themed to “Guardians of the Galaxy”, I was curious to see the changes. What I didn’t expect was the utter joy I felt
when the elevator doors shut, and The Jackson’s “I Want You Back” came blaring
through the speakers. The entire
elevator burst into cheers. And laughter.
Arms were in the air. And
everyone. I mean, literally everyone
(Keith included!) was singing.
Were it not for the seat belts, I dare say, an impromptu
dance party would’ve broken out.
We have our own impromptu dance parties here at home. Our pumpkin-girl kindly requests “Alexa – play
Children’s Music by Amazon Music”. (Yes,
that’s ver batim.) If you’ve ever found “Baby
Shark” and “What Does the Fox Say” annoying, well … you’re
right. But you can’t help but smile when
there are giggles and laughter out of the mouths of small children. Even our Little Bean, who isn’t quite so sure
on her feet yet, bounces and babbles as the beat goes on.
It puts a smile on my face when I get in his car and the radio is on. Proof that my love of music just might be rubbing off on him.
Like many people I’m sure, music has created a soundtrack
for my life. And when my time here is
done, I want my service to be filled with music. Music that inspires hope and that reminds
others to live their best life. Music that will help my loved ones to remember
me. And maybe, just maybe, those in attendance will raise their Horns in my honor. All the live long day.
Until then, I’ll just keep dancing.
