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One of my earliest memories is of sitting in church, probably four or five years old, with my head resting on my mother’s lap. I remember hearing her sing, but not just through my ears. I could actually feel her voice resonating through her body.
It’s funny what stays with you, isn’t it?
Music was simply always there in our family. It wasn’t something we consciously decided to pursue. It was as natural as conversation, and sometimes considerably more entertaining.
My dad was a Lutheran minister, but he was also quite the showman. He played football in high school and college, performed in theater productions, and sang in the men’s glee club. Mom sang constantly, too, although she was much less interested in performing.
There were three of us kids: my older sister Sandy, my brother Tim, and me, the youngest. Tim and I were practically attached at the hip, and we all started singing about the time we started talking.
Our house was full of music. We had records of Peter and the Wolf, along with soundtracks from The Sound of Music, South Pacific, and The Music Man. On our annual summer vacations in New Hampshire, we watched many of those musicals at the drive-in theater.
Those vacations also brought us together with my mother’s sister and her family of four daughters. My uncle was a church organist and choir director, and between the two families, there was no shortage of musical talent.
My brother and one cousin were excellent guitar players. Most of us dabbled with the piano, with considerably less success. But singing? That came naturally.
We sang in church, around the house, and on long car trips. Someone would start a song, and the rest of us would fall into harmony. I always loved singing alto, even though my uncle jokingly called me a “lazy soprano.”
Apparently, I preferred finding the harmony to carrying the melody.
From Motown to the Doobie Brothers
Growing up in Ohio, the only station my little clock radio could reliably pull in was a powerful Motown station out of Detroit.
What a wonderful accident that turned out to be!
I fell in love with the music of the ’60s, particularly Motown. Those melodies, rhythms, and harmonies were irresistible. Then came the folk music and contemporary Christian music of the ’70s, which fit right into our family’s musical world.
During my teenage years, Tim and I formed a singing group with some church friends. We called ourselves Enthusiastic.
This was the 1970s, when churches were beginning to experiment with contemporary music to keep young people engaged. Not everyone thought this was a brilliant idea.
Our Lutheran congregation included some pretty traditional, old-school Germans who weren’t exactly clamoring for guitars and contemporary music on Sunday mornings.
Fortunately, most of them attended the 8:00 service.
We usually sang at 10:30. Perfect arrangement!
But I’ll never forget one Sunday in 1977 when we belted out the Doobie Brothers’ “Jesus Is Just Alright” at Grace Lutheran Church.
The jaws dropped. Even some of the younger people seemed taken aback, and the adults were visibly shaken.
I thought it was an absolute hoot.
And my dad? He just sat there with a great big smile on his face.
That smile said it all.
Most of our congregation was wonderfully supportive, and our little group eventually began traveling around Ohio, singing at other churches and youth gatherings.
In 1976, we were invited to perform at the All Lutheran Youth Gathering in New Orleans, held in the still-not-quite-finished Superdome. That same summer, several of us traveled to England with our cousins as the Roland Park Singers, spending two weeks in Kingston upon Thames, near London.
Oh, and I started working at Cedar Point that summer, too.
Apparently, sleep wasn’t a high priority in 1976!
When Music Takes a Different Role
Throughout school, I sang in church and school choirs. In high school, I spent nearly every free moment in the music room, helping our choral director prepare for classes and organize sheet music.
I loved all of it.
I sang solos and performed at weddings, but my attempts at instrumental music were considerably less impressive. I tried the flute, the cornet, and years of piano lessons.
Eventually, I accepted that I had more talent in my throat than in my fingers.
You work with what you’ve got!
By the time I went off to college, I was ready for a break from organized singing. I deliberately chose not to audition for the choir. There were new experiences to be had and other things I wanted to do.
But music didn’t disappear. It just changed its role.
College introduced me to classic rock, which became the soundtrack of the next couple of decades. I might not have been rehearsing with a group anymore, but I certainly hadn’t stopped singing.
I also discovered that my musical tastes were pretty eclectic. Give me Motown, folk, classic rock, a good Broadway soundtrack, or some beautiful classical music, and I’m happy.
And don’t get me started on Pentatonix. Their a cappella harmonies are absolutely breathtaking.
Of course, my musical adventures haven’t all been quite so refined. I’ve also spent hundreds of hours in Irish pubs, where a little lime and lager provided just enough liquid courage to sing in front of complete strangers.
What can I say? I enjoy an audience.
Losing My Voice — And Finding It Again
Years later, after our son Jeff was born and my mother moved in with us, we joined a Lutheran church in Northern Virginia.
Mom and I both joined the choir, and it was wonderful to be singing with a group again. We even performed a few duets together, although she was still a little shy about singing in front of people.
Unfortunately, something else was beginning to interfere with my singing.
I developed a persistent cough that could be triggered simply by trying to sing.
During our final Sunday at that church, before moving to Huntsville, I was performing a duet with a friend when a coughing attack forced me to leave her standing there to finish the song alone.
Not exactly the grand farewell performance I’d planned.
And it got worse.
Eventually, singing became something I simply couldn’t do reliably anymore.
For someone who had spent her entire life singing, that was a difficult thing to lose. I could still listen to music and enjoy it, of course, but there’s a big difference between hearing a favorite song and being able to throw yourself into singing it.
After we moved to Florida, I finally saw an allergist and began allergy shots. It took years — about eight of them — but eventually the treatments made a tremendous difference.
I could sing again. Really sing. Loudly. Without triggering that miserable cough.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it until I could do it again.
It felt like getting back a little piece of myself.
“SING IT, NANCE!”
These days, one of my favorite things to do is put in my earbuds, head out for a walk, and tune into SiriusXM’s ’70s classic rock.
I know practically every song they play. Every word. Every harmony.
And I sing along with all of them.
Loudly, apparently.
One day, not long after I had regained the ability to sing without coughing, I was walking through the neighborhood, absolutely ripping along with Phil Collins.
Suddenly, my neighbor across the street hollered:
“SING IT, NANCE!”
That’s when I realized just how loud I was singing!
We both cracked up.
And you know what? I didn’t care one bit. After all those years when singing was difficult or impossible, being able to belt out a favorite song again was pure joy.
Those walks are one of the little things I love about living in Poquito Bayou. I’ve written before about what makes a neighborhood feel like home, and for me, it’s often those everyday connections with the people around you.
My love of harmony has also come full circle in another way. Our son Jeff has a lovely voice, and when he was working in ERA’s rental department, we had a few opportunities to sing karaoke together.
I loved blending our voices. There’s something special about making music with family, especially when it’s been part of your life for as long as you can remember.
I just wish he’d sing more often!
And I suppose not everyone feels quite the same compulsion I do.
My husband Rick sang in his church choir growing up, too, but he’s not particularly interested in performing.
Apparently, somebody in this family has to provide the audience.
The Soundtrack of a Life
I’ve come to realize that music doesn’t just entertain me. It centers me.
Although, oddly enough, it doesn’t help me concentrate.
I know plenty of people who enjoy listening to music while they’re working. I am absolutely not one of them.
If there’s a song playing with lyrics, my brain immediately abandons whatever task I’m supposed to be doing and starts singing along.
Spreadsheet? What spreadsheet? We’re doing harmony here!
Maybe all those years of singing harmony have helped me make sense of real estate finance.
At least that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
When I look back, music has been woven through nearly every chapter of my life.
It connected me to my parents and siblings, brought our extended family together, took me across the country and across the Atlantic, and introduced me to people and experiences I might never have known otherwise.
It’s been there through childhood, college, marriage, motherhood, moves, and career changes.
And when I temporarily lost the ability to sing, I discovered just how much it meant to me.
I suppose that’s what makes music my constant.
It doesn’t matter where I live, what I’m working on, how busy life gets, or how much the world changes. There’s always a song somewhere in the background, waiting for me to join in.
And now that I have my voice back, you can bet I’m going to use it.
Preferably at full volume.
