I love music. I’ve been singing as long as I can remember, and I’ve also played around with some songwriting, although I think I’m a better lyricist than composer. Words usually come easily for me. Poetry was always a great way for me to express my feelings of teenage angst, and growing up I wrote many short stories (mostly science-fantasy). Singing in school and church choirs was a natural expression. Playing the clarinet from the sixth through tenth grades taught me rhythm and how to read music. 

My first memories of music were when I would dance around the house singing to Blondie and ABBA with my mother. I also sang to sound like the hair dryer when she would dry my hair, not knowing then that I was learning to match pitch (although some of my friends who have heard me sing might try to dispute that). My mother has always been a die-hard fan of Elvis Presley, and only in recent years have I grown to understand her reaction when listening to his old eight-track tapes and 45s (Well, okay...they weren’t so old at the time). She would sometimes be moved to tears, and I never really knew why.

In the past few years, I have experienced the same phenomenon. As cliché as it sounds, music has been the soundtrack of my life. Playing some of the songs I grew up with, I have been able to reflect and remember my life. Some songs take me back to the good times with the people in my life while other songs remind me, sadly, of the people who are no longer around.

I am certain of one thing, and the “mix tapes” I used to record on cassettes should be proof. Just like a greeting card, every thought or emotion I have can be expressed through a song. That is where I find the miracle and magic of music, as another human being expresses so accurately and eloquently what I silently feel in my heart.