October 26, 2004 at 1:20 AM

I was practicing diligently, and the clock hand slowly made its way to dinner time. I became more and more alerted to this fact by my ever-persistent stomach, who has this way of governing my mood and actions and concentration much more than I would like. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I had an instant memory recollection, and a voice in my head, as clear and precise as reality, said, "Let's eat!"

Of course, I'm alone at home and nothing is cooking, and I will probably be eating cold meatballs or a bowl of cereal, but that voice, where did it come from? It echoed down the hallway of my memory--and up the stairs in my childhood home.

I was perpetually into my little hobbies upstairs in my room, as I had only one friend due to my shy and unsociable tendancies. My two brothers were fine companions from time to time, but I was happiest in my room, either drawing, making music, or getting lost into some other weird project. This would go on every day after school, as Mamma fixed dinner, and my dad came home from work. It became the tradition along the years that when it was time, Daddy would stand at the bottom of the stairs and holler in his familiar, comforting way, "Let's eat!" Then, we would scramble to untangle ourselves from our activities and tumble down the stairs in a landslide, eager to fill our bellies.

I hadn't thought about this in years, I'm certain. I have no idea why this memory came back with such vivid recall, without my summoning. It made me smile, though, and I was glad to be visited once more by the voice of my dad, who is now some 5,000 miles away.

It astounds me how memories are packed away in some kind of haphazard, yet tight-knit fashion, and recall doesn't always happen in alphabetical order. Sometimes, it's a funky smell, or a color in the air that's a little different, and suddenly a ghost from the past makes its entrance. Music is one of those triggers. I can remember things from my ancient childhood, pre-reading and pre-kindergarten, that are very specific only because of the songs I heard on the radio, or the tune my mom played on the piano at night as I went to sleep. I hear the Bee Gees and will always associate disco with that smokey bowling alley my mom took us to when she was in the league. I remember crying in my room during rest time because the radio station wouldn't play my favorite song at the time, a disco rendition of Star Wars. Every time I hear that song, I can remember the exact color of my walls, the bedspread, the little knob on the top of my yellow lampshade.

Music unlocks associations. We feel certain ways when we hear certain chords or instruments or voicings because they are ingrained in our being, filed away right next to our earliest cognitions. I'm so thankful that my dad played classical music on Saturday while we cleaned the house or played upstairs. Now, when I listen to Grieg, I can remember the things I imagined in my room as I pretended to be a unicorn or a princess. Vince Guaraldi's jazz will forever be Charlie Brown holidays. The Nutcracker will always keep me in touch with my childhood excitement over Christmas.

The sound of my violin as I practiced somehow unleashed that memory of my dad standing at the bottom of the stairs. I am so thankful for this bit of magic that music is, that it will always be connecting me back with myself and with everything in my past that makes me who I am.

This entry has been archived and is no longer accepting comments.

October 26, 2004 at 1:20 AM

Subscribe

Laurie's Books