Rachel "Sparks" Blackman (seattlesparks) wrote,
Rachel "Sparks" Blackman
seattlesparks

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Enlightenment

After a bit of hunting over lunch break, I tracked down a song which a single quote someone gave had made me remember. The Rose, by Bette Midler. And I think I know now why it is that I love melancholy/wistful music so much, and get such bittersweet comfort from it. This song, for example, my mother used to sing to me when I was little... along with many other wistful, sad songs. She also was the one who first had me listen to Gordon Bok's Peter Kagen and the Wind. I truly do believe that music is a deep key to memory; so many different musics and types of music make me think of various things.

Beethoven - in particular the Moonlight Sonata - makes me think of cuddling up in blankets on my window seat when I was little, looking out the window at the stars overhead with my telescope. Ragtime - Scott Joplin music in particular - makes me think of when I first learned to play piano, because I wanted to play like that, and can still inspire me to want to create something. Guitar music, I think is some of the most beautiful because that's what my mother plays and so what I often heard as a child.

And wistful or melancholy music makes me think back to times as a child when I was hurting, When my absolute best friend in the whole world, David, moved away to Australia with only two weeks notice when his father was transferred (I bought a camera, my first ever, just to take a picture of David so I could remember him...in the picture, he's still holding the box of both the camera and the first roll of film, which I handed to him). Dimly and barely remembered, when my grandfather died. When I was so desperately looking forward to a little brother or sister and mom miscarried and I found out I was still an only child. When my other best friend, Heather, who was born in the same hospital on the same day as me, moved away. When I was missing dad most fiercely, because for most of my childhood he was a Federal agent and was away on cases...in Alaska, in California, in all sorts of places but only home when he could bully his way into a weekend or a week home here and there. Mom would hold me on the couch, with the cats curled up with us, and would sing to me. Songs like 'The Rose', and others... I think that's why wistful and melancholy music makes me sad but also makes me feel comforted.

o/` It's the heart, afraid of breaking, that never learns to dance. It's the dream, afraid of waking, that never takes the chance. It's the one who won't be taken, who cannot seem to give. And the soul, afraid of dyin', that never learns to live... o/`

I know you don't read this journal, mom...but thank you.
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