Amazing Grace

My mom loved music and shared that love with me, for which I will be ever grateful. Music brings me peace and happiness. I remember listening to KRAB radio back in the 1970s each weekend, where the then hippy-run nonprofit radio station served up pop and  folk music from the 20s and 30s, contemporary "experimental music" which I probably falsely remember as the banging of pots and pans, triangles and the sounds of chainsaws, car engines and anvil hitting the floor of a garage. There was also bluegrass, and lots of it. 

Her nurturing of my love for music, whether intentional or not, was profound. Each year for several years

we would go and see Peter and the Wolf at the opera. During my asthmatically bound early years, I remember three things most vividly: the sound of a now old fashioned humidifier pumping steam into the room to aid my breathing; listening to a Disney album that showcases and discusses a variety of unusual musical instruments from around the world (narrated by the guy who did Dumbo's voice and the voice of the mouse in "Ben and Me."); and Carole King's "Tapestry" on heavy rotation. The Disney album, which obviously my mom bought for us, with its unusual music, fed my love for music across the spectrum. But, there was more. I have strong memories of being rushed to the ER with asthma, time and again, with KING, KJR, and KOL playing. Music was everywhere. When we had moved out of Holly Park, after ny father died, I remember vividly sitting at my mom's drinking buddy Althea's house and watching Hee Haw, or going to LuAnna's house and pretnding we were performing a song on Sonny and Cher with Lomisa and Little Guy, Jane and Catherine, using a broomstick as a microphone.

And on and on. I ramble. This is all to say I am sitting in the predawn darkness this morning listening to folk songs and arias. Up since just before 5 a.m., thanks to the best dog in the world, appropriately listening to a 1958 performance of Nessun Dorma by Franco Corelli.

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