We Agree On The Music

 

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Some of the happiest moments in my life have been set to music. When I was a young girl, my mom used to insist my sisters and I go Christmas caroling, usually to the homes of people who desperately needed help feeling Christmasy. Every year, I dutifully performed with my sisters on command, often multiple part Christmas songs and descants. We argued, elbowed each other, and invariably complained to my mom. But thirty years later, I still remember all of my parts. 

When I was thirteen years old, we had a family reunion in Oceanside, California. Somehow my older sister convinced my dad to allow us to "run an errand" in his convertible sports car. That was a green light if we'd ever seen one. Loading a couple of cousins in the car, we cruised the PCH for hours, singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" on repeat until we knew the song so well, we hardly needed the cd. 

The evening that Jeremy proposed to me, he asked his cousin, Joel Gillespie, who is an accomplished musician and who at that time was part of a barbershop quartet, to sing for us. To this day, I can't even hear the song "Tonight" from West Side Story without remembering how perfectly Joel's quartet sang for me.

I remember when one of my teenage daughters finally worked up the courage to master the elusive tampon, so naturally I cranked up, "We are the Champions" full volume outside her bathroom door. While she wasn't impressed, we can agree it was still worth it and every time I think of how she started shouting at me to leave her alone and turn off the music, my day improves.  

Tonight, in an attempt at making dish duty more fun for James, I blasted Pink Floyd, "Another Brick in the Wall" loud enough to make the house shake. That got a smile out of him. It escalated from that point on. Over the next hour we created our own Rock Out play list, from Aerosmith's "Dream On" to AC/DC's "Thunderstruck." I love it that he knows so many of the lyrics. I love how a chore that normally involves tantrums or whining became something completely delightful. Suddenly the kitchen was sparkling, and we were both feeling so cheerful. Not cheerful. Joyful. 

I think it's important for me to disclose that I'm not a musician, despite what the many, many excellent displays of my karaoke prowess might have lead people to believe. Music isn't just for musicians. And I can't think of anything that will influence the mood in our home faster or more effectively than loud, happy music. 

A couple of summers ago we were in Montana at a family reunion for my side of the family. After a few action packed days together, we spent our final night relaxing in one of the cabins. We lit a fire, and as the sun sank behind the Bitterroot Mountains outside the front window, everyone spread out, content to be together. I remember that the puzzle nerds were frantically working to finish their annual jigsaw puzzle, most of the teenagers were playing on their phones, one of my sisters was reading, and most of the adults sat casually talking. At some point someone turned on music. A little David Bowie. Kansas. James Taylor. By the time Queen and David Bowie's Under Pressure started to play, everyone was either singing or humming along. That's when my sister Danielle observed, "You can tell we're related because we all know the words to the same songs." I looked around and laughed, realizing she was exactly right. Every adult and child, from age six to sixty-seven knew the words to every song. No matter that we live in different cities, work different jobs, have differing religious or political beliefs, and as a group can rarely agree on anything. We agree on the music. That evening endures as one of my most tender memories of my family, and if it weren't set to music, I probably wouldn't have remembered it at all.