La La La, Doo Doo Doo Doo

Music. It's music that sustains me. It's been this way since I was young, when starting at age 6, I would beg my parents to borrow their transistor AM radio so I could listen to Top 40 songs. Music poured into my ears. Music to drown out the yelling, the kitchen clatter of slamming cabinets. Music swam into my brain, passing through the caverns of stalagmites and stalagtites to quiet the elephant stampede that rocked from left to right.

Music rendered me helpless in the best possible way. Helpless as in lost in the sweet cacophony of melody, harmony, guitars, piano, drums and lyrics, all dancing in my head. Better than sugarplums, music was the salve for nerves frayed early on. Like a warm butternut squash soup in winter, music spooned itself into my anxious chest, soothed me and stimulated my creative dream world all at once.

Audre Lorde, I think, said that poetry saves lives, and many have testified to the truth of that statement. Besides books, music saved my life, seeing as how it was poetry set to music, rhythm and words etched into my head that provided the creative spark and the ultimate escape from what was happening outside my bedroom. Music was my freedom ride and there wasn't a day I could live without it. Without a song on the radio or, eventually, a 45 played on the olive green record player in a box with small built-in speakers from Sears.

When life got particularly painful, it turned out that stretching out on the floor, face down inside folded arms, with my right ear pressed to the left side speaker with a carpet-like covering, would take me away from the intolerable.

Too young for alcohol, I drifted into my own reverie of happiness, of a place where everything was cool, man.

ABC, easy as 1-2-3, simple as do-re-mi, ABC 1-2-3, baby you and me.
Michael, you were only four years older than me, and all I wanted to do was sing and dance with you and the Jackson 5.

Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me.
Edison Lighthouse, does anyone remember your name or your one-hit wonder from 1970?

Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name?
Jim Morrison, I didn't understand back then, but I loved you and the Doors anyway.

Papa was a rollin stone, wherever he laid his hat was his home, and when he died, all he left us was alone.
The Temptations, how you made me cry and reminded me that I wasn't the only one alone.

La la la, doo doo doo doo

Just play me a song. Please.


  1. John still remembers the great cassettes you used to make for is a wonderful thing. When I am stressed I tend to play louder, faster and then I switch down as I feel calmer. I love those old songs....take me back to summers that hold special memories. ...

    1. Thanks Ro! Wow, haven't thought about those cassettes I made for John in a loooong time......loved making those tapes for friends way back when. Music = big stress reliever and sweet memories, that's for sure. Thank you for reading this and being here, sweet friend.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Putting it Out There

The Personal is Still Political