If Music be the Food of Love...
I hate ISAT testing. And daylight savings. They are terrible. They ruin your weekend and your whole week at school.
But you know what I love?
Music.
I love music. I love listening to music and making music and experiencing music. I love the way music touches your emotions--honestly, who doesn't tear up during the National Anthem? Or America the Beautiful?
I love that music connects us across generations. When we sing one of the old hymns in church, like Amazing Grace or Sweet Hour of Prayer, I can't help imagining all the people singing those songs back when the church was first built or around a campfire as they traveled West. And when I listen to Bing and Frank croon out those holiday favorites, my mind drifts and wonders what it was like to listen to that through your big wooden radio with the lit-up dial as a war raged in Europe and you wondered if Christmas next year might be a time of peace. This weekend, one of my music groups sang at the nursing home, and it brought tears to my eyes watching the residents sing along with us to Let me Call you Sweetheart. I mean, they could have danced to that song at their weddings!
I love that music connects us across the globe. While some people did not care for the Coca-Cola Super Bowl Commercial with America the Beautiful sung in different languages, I thought it was beautiful. I love listening to songs sung in French or Spanish; I love folk music from Ireland and Russia. I love that half the people I hear on the radio are British and that when I was in England, half the people on the top twenty countdown were American.
I love making music. I had forgotten how much I love playing my clarinet until I recently picked it back up. I love tinkering on my piano (because let's be honest, that's as good as I'm going to get) and I love practicing my violin. I love daydreaming about playing the ukelele or the glass armonica.
And I love to sing. I sing everywhere--in the shower, in my car, when I'm alone and making copies. I love the acoustics in our hallways at school. I sing occasionally in my classroom, although not seriously. Would I ever try out for any kind of television singing competition? Heck no, techno. But I love singing in my church choir (and boy, do we have fun!) and in the community music club. The latter is incredibly fun because I am the youngest person there by at least thirty years; it is so encouraging and inspiring to listen to those elderly ladies play their instruments and sing their hearts out. When we sang this weekend, several of the ladies' husbands came along as chauffeurs. But it really touched my heart to watch them watch their wives sing. I know they had heard the songs a hundred times over. I know they had been to events like that since their weddings, but the idea that they still listen to their wives make music almost made me cry.
That's what I want. Future Husband, I hope you're listening (or reading...unless someone is reading this aloud to you--then listening is the appropriate verb). I may not be an opera star or a Broadway sensation, but I think I'm a passable singer, and I would love it if you loved to listen to me sing. Or at least tolerated it in silence. And buy me a piano. If I hope to retain any of my piano playing skills, I'm going to need one to practice on. And just smile when I buy a ukelele on eBay. It's going to be fun--I promise.
Stay gold!
But you know what I love?
Music.
I love music. I love listening to music and making music and experiencing music. I love the way music touches your emotions--honestly, who doesn't tear up during the National Anthem? Or America the Beautiful?
I love that music connects us across generations. When we sing one of the old hymns in church, like Amazing Grace or Sweet Hour of Prayer, I can't help imagining all the people singing those songs back when the church was first built or around a campfire as they traveled West. And when I listen to Bing and Frank croon out those holiday favorites, my mind drifts and wonders what it was like to listen to that through your big wooden radio with the lit-up dial as a war raged in Europe and you wondered if Christmas next year might be a time of peace. This weekend, one of my music groups sang at the nursing home, and it brought tears to my eyes watching the residents sing along with us to Let me Call you Sweetheart. I mean, they could have danced to that song at their weddings!
I love that music connects us across the globe. While some people did not care for the Coca-Cola Super Bowl Commercial with America the Beautiful sung in different languages, I thought it was beautiful. I love listening to songs sung in French or Spanish; I love folk music from Ireland and Russia. I love that half the people I hear on the radio are British and that when I was in England, half the people on the top twenty countdown were American.
I love making music. I had forgotten how much I love playing my clarinet until I recently picked it back up. I love tinkering on my piano (because let's be honest, that's as good as I'm going to get) and I love practicing my violin. I love daydreaming about playing the ukelele or the glass armonica.
And I love to sing. I sing everywhere--in the shower, in my car, when I'm alone and making copies. I love the acoustics in our hallways at school. I sing occasionally in my classroom, although not seriously. Would I ever try out for any kind of television singing competition? Heck no, techno. But I love singing in my church choir (and boy, do we have fun!) and in the community music club. The latter is incredibly fun because I am the youngest person there by at least thirty years; it is so encouraging and inspiring to listen to those elderly ladies play their instruments and sing their hearts out. When we sang this weekend, several of the ladies' husbands came along as chauffeurs. But it really touched my heart to watch them watch their wives sing. I know they had heard the songs a hundred times over. I know they had been to events like that since their weddings, but the idea that they still listen to their wives make music almost made me cry.
That's what I want. Future Husband, I hope you're listening (or reading...unless someone is reading this aloud to you--then listening is the appropriate verb). I may not be an opera star or a Broadway sensation, but I think I'm a passable singer, and I would love it if you loved to listen to me sing. Or at least tolerated it in silence. And buy me a piano. If I hope to retain any of my piano playing skills, I'm going to need one to practice on. And just smile when I buy a ukelele on eBay. It's going to be fun--I promise.
Stay gold!
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