The Music That Transports Me

Several posts ago, I mentioned that I'd been compiling a list of songs that "send" me to a particular moment in time. It's like how a certain smell can trigger a memory. I smell bread baking and I'm immediately anticipating my Mom's homemade potato soup and just baked bread. (Yum!)

Certain sounds can do the same thing, and certain songs in particular evoke immediate and specific memories for me. I hear a particular song and I am transported at once back to a place in time that encapsulates a significant moment in my life. Mostly, they are special, tender, beautiful moments; but not always.

"We're All Alone," by Boz Scaggs. (play song) A very special memory. I attended a weeklong summer camp (Anytown) the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. The camp was attended by high school kids from all over Arizona - 3 from my high school, 3 from the other high school where I live - and many others from all over. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this here before, but I was a GEEK in high school. Seriously, if you looked it up in the dictionary, my picture was there. I fit in okay, though. I didn't "hook up" with anyone ;) like a lot of other kids did, but I had developed a bit of a secret crush on a particular boy from the other high school in my town. (I even still remember his name. Jeesh!) On the last night of camp we had a dance. I don't remember for sure if I'd danced at all before, (probably not) but the very last dance (you know, the really special one), my secret crush asked me to dance. He was so sweet, and I don't think my feet ever touched the floor. I was floating. Sigh . . .

"Never Surrender" by Corey Hart. This song gave me strength; this song made me determined. I was in a bad situation and I needed to get out. But I knew it wasn't going to be easy. And it wasn't, but I did. Enough said.

"Let's Stay Together" by Al Green. Or anything by Al Green, for that matter, was a bad sign. When that album came on, my heart raced and my stomach clenched and I was scared. That music was usually played at night after "he" had spent an afternoon drinking (and/or other things) and was usually my clue to brace myself. That was over 20 years ago, but I still can't stand those songs.

"Waterfalls" by TLC. Another summer camp memory. Only this one many years later and much, much different. I took a week off work several years ago to be a counselor at a camp for kids who are burn survivors. This song played on the radio a few times while I was driving the five hours or so to the camp. I was so excited to be going! Turned out to be one of the toughest AND most rewarding weeks of my life.

"These Days" by Rascal Flatts. Most (all?) couples go through rough spots, and my hubby and I are no different. A few years ago we were "apart" for, as it turned out, just a week. We went out on a "date" late in the week, and this song played on the radio. My hubby asked me if I'd heard it before (I hadn't at the time). He said he'd listened to it a lot and asked me to listen to the words because it was a lot of what he'd been feeling.

"Nessun Dorma" from Puccini's Turandot, sung by Pavarotti. An incredibly beautiful song. In September 2007, I attended a yoga retreat in California. As part of our closing "ceremonies," we were doing an exercise in connecting (with the earth and with each other). They played this song and I thought my heart was going to explode. Pavarotti had died two days before.


I leave you with "Nessun Dorma."

Messages from my Father

For the last couple of weeks, I have been compiling a short list of songs that evoke immediate and specific memories for me. It's something that happens to everyone - you hear a particular song and you are transported at once back to a place in time that encapsulates a significant moment in your life. Mostly, they are special, tender, beautiful moments; but not always.

I will still do that post one of these days, but tonight I read this post by Spudballoo. She was also transported by a song today, and while I know it was painful (you can feel it in her writing), it's also special. I doubt that she would like to never hear the song again. It's a special song to her; it's just painfully special.

Both of my parents have passed - my Mom in 1997 and my Dad in June of 2002. When my Dad died, my brother and I (I have one brother and two sisters) were co-executors of his trust. Suffice it to say that things got complicated, and - I'll even just come out and say it - damned ugly. I wound up taking care of almost every aspect of the trust, partly because my brother just couldn't or wouldn't, and partly because he (although he was not alone) decided that my father's wishes were wrong and things should be done differently. I couldn't let that happen. For the next couple of months I methodically carried out the instructions of my father's trust and will. We all fought (it was pretty much two against two) and I wanted to just quit and cut myself out of it completely in order to just be done with the whole thing. But I carried on, in large part because I couldn't deal with the guilt of feeling that I was letting my father down, and also because I felt I had to be sure things were done the way Dad wanted them done.

I got to a point where I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I had headaches all the time, and I lost weight. It was September and there was one last thing to take care of, something that my brother should have taken care of anyway. I got home from work that day and gathered the remaining documents together. I had my daughter drive me to my brother's house and I knocked on his door. I handed him the paperwork and said, "I quit."

I cried all the way home I'm sure, partly from guilt, maybe partly from relief. I apologized to my father over and over again and prayed that he understood. When I finally crawled into bed that night, I was flipping through channels on the TV. I ran across one of the country music video channels and stopped there. I had never before, and have never since, seen a video clip of Patsy Cline singing "Crazy" on a music video channel. It was one of my Dad's favorite songs, and I can still here him singing it. :) (He thought he was quite a crooner.) I knew right away that it was a message from him. He was telling me, "Hey, kid. It's okay! Don't feel bad! You did good, and I'm proud of you and I love you." Oh yeah - it was my Dad's birthday that day.

My Dad has sent me messages like that a few times. I remember one morning several years ago leaving the house in the morning. I don't remember what was going on at the time - maybe there was nothing other than the fact that I might have needed a hug that day. My daughter was in the car with me; I was dropping her off at school and then going to work. She turned the radio on and tuned it to the country music station. There was a song just starting - "Kiss an Angel Good Morning" by Charlie Pride. Another of my Dad's favorites, and another one of those songs that you just don't hear everyday. I just smiled and said to myself, "Good morning Dad!" The song concluded and, instead of the disc jockey coming on, another song immediately started - "Old Dogs, Children, and Watermelon Wine" by Tom T. Hall. I had to pull the car over to the side of the road. It was Dad for sure.

My son and my Dad - about 1984

Of course those moments make me cry. There isn't even a second to try to suck it up and hold back the tears to save for later. It's automatic. And it's kind of sad, but it's very reassuring at the same time. I know that I have angels watching over me, and I know that I am never alone. And I really wouldn't trade those moments for anything.