Have you ever stopped to consider the power of the music as you are engrossed in a movie?  Depending what is going on, the scene is enhanced or brought to life by the music that we tend to think is just in the background.  Very often we don’t even notice it. But the music is a very strategic part of the plot to draw us into the story and cause to feel all the emotions that the director wants felt and then some. That’s why entire musical scores have been written for certain movies and those movies are known by those scores. John Williams’s music for example.  He is the composer of some of the most powerful music in Hollywood history.  Star Wars, Indiana Jones, E.T., Home Alone, Jurassic Park, Step Mom, Amistad, Harry Potter, The Book Thief, Lincoln, War Horse, Saving Private Ryan, Schindlers List….just to name a few.  If you find yourself sitting the theatre crying, whether with joy or with sorrow, you can probably assume that John Williams has written the music that you aren’t paying any attention to. He uses only the good notes.  I have often heard people say ‘well of course that is poignant and touching and powerful, they’ve got this music playing in the background…we don’t have that in real life.” 

I beg to differ.  My life is filled with soundtrack. The power of music has been a trigger for emotions and feelings all my life. Music has been a comfort and a safe place. Music has been a distraction and a welcome friend.  Music can sooth the soul and heal the heart. There are so many seasons of life – events, celebrations, and milestones that I can relate to a particular song and when I hear that song (music and/or lyrics) all those memories and feelings come rushing back to me no matter how many years have gone by. I very rarely don’t have music playing.  In the car, on my iPad, when I’m soaking in the tub, when I’m driving (around town or on road trips), when I’m lying on a beach when we are sharing dinner with friends on any occasion.  Wherever I am, I need music. So I actually DO have a soundtrack to my life. If Lexie happens to come home to a quiet house and I am in the kitchen cooking or the living room reading (actually it’s the same room) she will look at me quizzically and ask “No music?” 

It’s usually the first thing I do when I descend to the main floor of the house each morning – turn on the music (wash the counter tops, sweep the floor, turn off the outdoor light, throw a load in the washer…) all done cheerfully to music. As far back as I can remember music has been an integral part of our lives, and by ‘our’, I mean my siblings and I.  On almost any Sunday afternoon we could find my dad laying on the rug on the living room just next to the cabinet stereo – a prized piece of my mother’s furniture – with his eyes closed, deeply immersed in the music.  If you were lucky, every now and then, you would hear him singing along or humming or whistling if there were no lyrics.  His music was Herb Albert and the Tijuanna Brass, Earl Grant, Arthur Fideler – that crowd.  He must have also listened to Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby, Louis Armstrong, Nat King Cole, Billi Holliday and gang as we grew up loving that music and we don’t even know why. Even now when I hear the musical stylings of Ella or Frank as I pick up my morning Starbucks, I want to linger for the rest of the morning.  This music became embedded in my head, heart and soul.   

As a teacher, my mom wanted to raise her children to appreciate music and culture so once we were old enough she began taking us to the classic musicals at the theatres.  Only musicals.  Dressed in our Sunday best we would  head out to the theatre.  A big event for us.  We started out with Mary Poppins, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Camelot, Thoroughly Modern Milly and The Sound of Music.  Following these events mom would inevitably buy us the album (vinyl) and we would play these records over and over and sing along and memorize every word.  When we went on road trips we would sing the musicals acapella until we drove my father nuts. My sisters and I (4 of us) often shared a single room back then and I would lay in bed and sing them all to sleep with Close your Eyes on Hushabye Mountain (Chitty Chitty Bang Bang) and Edelweiss (Sound of Music) and Feed the Birds (Mary Poppins) to the chants of ‘sing it again Dean’.  Good night John Boy.

 More often than not my dad would be playing Hagood Hardy on the 8 Track as we drove through the mountains on our way to our family holiday campsite. To this day when I hear Hagood Hardy (of Homecoming fame) I picture myself sitting in the backseat of our station wagon watching the majestic mountains pass by. We were the ones moving obviously, but it seemed for all the world like I was stationary and the mountains were moving.  

In high school I was on my way to the huge metropolis of Winnipeg for the weekend with a girls group from the Catholic church I belonged to.  We were in a rented greyhound bus.  We’d left after school and Winnipeg was about a 12 hour drive thus it was quite late while we were making our way to the city.  It was dark, pouring and there were beetles all over the highway, making the conditions even more slippery.  As I was in a half doze, I was jolted awake by an earth shattering,  heart pumping crash followed by a blinding light shooting down the middle aisle of the bus. The next thing I remember we were swirling around and around mixed with teetering back and forth furiously.  I am sure this is what the Drop of Doom at the fair must feel like.  I was sure we would all be killed and I began to pray my own last rights. After what seemed like an eternity our compromised bus finally came to a stop and there was total silence except for the rain and the sobbing of about fifty fifteen year old girls.  When at last we allowed to exit, we were escorted off the bus (those of us that were not injured) via the strong arms of the police and other first responders and were horrified to realize that the bus was straddling a highway ditch and there was  about a 6 feet drop to the  bottom of the ditch.  We were led to the shoulder of the highway and wrapped up with blankets.  The rain was descending on us in torrents but through the wall of water we could vaguely see what had transpired.  Our bus had hit a station wagon head on.  The station wagon was carrying a family and the two adults in the front seat clearly were lifeless.  It was a horrible site.  From the back of the station wagon we could hear the muffled wails of an infant.  We were told not to look but inspite of the horror it was hard to tear our eyes away from the horrible scene.  Finally we were loaded into emergency cars that had come from the closest city and taken to the hospital there.  Though in a stupefied daze I could hear the  song Amazing Grace playing the background.  I can hear it even now.  I hate the song Amazing Grace.  I never want to sing it and I never want to hear it  and yet, I belong to a community of faith where that song is dear and sung often.  It never fails, when I hear this song this scene is what comes to mind.  That’s how powerful music can be. 

 From that incident on I was terrified of driving.  The only person that could drive me anywhere was my dad.  He was the only driver I trusted (on the highway) and I developed an aversion to riding on buses.  I would never get on a greyhound bus again…not for years. Eventually I learned to drive and I realized the control I had over what the vehicle did and began to shed my fear of riding and driving.  I became much more confident in vehicles and actually loved to drive.  My favorite driving companions were  Karen and Richard Carpenter. I would turn them up loud and sing to my heart’s content.  I loved to sing.  I memorized every single word of every single song on at least 6 of their albums. That’s why I know if I could set all scripture to music I could memorize the entire Bible.   One of my favorites was “Top of the World”.  I’m on the top of the world, looking down on creation and the only explanation I can find is the love that I’ve found ever since you’ve been around, you almost put me on the top of the world.  Singing made the time go by so fast, kept me awake and put me in a great frame of mind.  Another favorite of the Carpenters  was ‘Sing, sing a song, make it simple to last your whole life long, no matter if it’s not good enough for anyone else to hear, just sing it out clear.”  And so I did!

 Then it was off to college..  That was the era of Barry Manilow – love at first sound for me. So often one could find me sitting in my dorm room listening to ” I write the songs that make the whole world sing,  I write the songs of love and special things,  I write the songs that make the young girls cry,  I write the songs, I write the songs.  I am music and I write the songs.”  Indeed, the music did make this young girl cry.

 As I grew up in the church, two of the hymns that have reverberated in my head and soul all these years are “How great thou Art” and “Great is thy Faithfulness”.  I can’t forget “It is well with my Soul”.  Even now, these songs are the deep foundation of my faith and I sing them with all my heart when given the opportunity.  In fact these are the songs I sing at the top of my lungs when no one is home and no one is listening except the one to whom they were written.  God himself.  Powerful words of worship and healing – a form of prayer, if you will, especially when sung.

 How well I remember the Christmas of 1995 when the whole Nelson clan, as they existed at that time, converged on Calgary for a special Christmas in the mountains.  We packed ourselves up early Christmas morning like the Who’s down in WhoVille and headed for the CP Banff Springs Hotel.  We were registered to partake of the annual Christmas brunch in this old elegant hotel.  We had the foresight to rent a hospitality suite for the day in anticipation of toddlers needing naps as well as the elderly-ish.   We had assembled our own Christmas care package complete with hot drinks (borrowed kettles from the hotel), snacks and Christmas baking as well as extra clothes and blankets.  We brought skates for the outdoor rink made by the hotel.  In Stephen Hall there was a gloriously decorated majestic tree where Santa and his elves resided. So we spent some time there.  Also in this hall was the intricate and magnificent Gingerbread house made by the hotel bakery.  It was stunning – we had to keep the littles from walking away with fists full of candy.  At one point there was procession of medieval characters hoisting a rotisseried pig on a tray on their shoulders.  I remember bagpipes playing and jesters handing out candy.  The Christmas smorgasbord was a feast not only for the palate but for the eyes and came complete with a harpist, a pianist and carolers.  Our eyes bulged at the display of  food for every taste and every culture.  In our hospitality suite we also brought along our own boom box (that was the era) and interestingly enough every family either gave or received the Natalie Cole Christmas album that year, The Holly and The Ivy.  I believe we were into cassette tapes at this point.  We listened to Natalie Cole on repeat all afternoon and her voice filled every nook and cranny of our vehicles on the way back to Calgary as everyone but the drivers dozed with visions of sugar plums dancing through their heads.  To this day when I hear Natalie Cole singing  “The First Noel” I can be walking the halls of the Banff springs all over again and I welcome those memories. Her voice and music are a way to keep those memories alive. She was one of us that Christmas.

When Lexie was a baby I was given a nostalgic tape of lullabies and it came to be that if I wanted to get Lexie to sleep I just turned on the lullabies and she drifted into dream land with Winken, Blinken and Nod every-single-time. I learned every word of every song and when that tape wore out I sang these lullabies to her every night for many years to come.   When she was older she used to beg me to sing tthem to her and then she would cry. These songs were the soundtrack for Lexie’s babyhood.

I’ve never been a fan of country music.  I’ve always thought it was an oxymoron actually.  We suffered a few rough years in our marriage leading up to our 25th wedding anniversary and when I was putting music together for our celebration, Shania Twains “you’re still the one” touched something in my soul and I knew that this was the way I still felt about Mike.  So that was on the top of the play list and I continued to play it and send him u tube videos of it weekly. I even found one of those singing cards that played it.  You’re still the one.  That is our song.

Lexie and I travelled to Europe right after her grade 12 graduation.  We’d been dreaming about it for years.  The original plan was to back pack through Europe for the summer.  When it came right down to it, I realized that I was much too old or too something…to be backpacking and living in hostels.  So we stayed in hotels and took trains and planes and ships as we made our way through London, Paris, Venice, a cruise (Florence, Rome and the French Riviera) and Barcelona.  It was at this time that ColdPlay had newly released their hit song Viva La Vida and we had dubbed it Lexie’s grad song as we played it on repeat while sewing her dress and doing her hair and having her friends over to prep for the ceremony and banquet. There was just something about that tune that found its way deep into our hearts.  As we made our way through Europe, Viva La Vida was there.  Every store, every restaurant, every mode of transportation and whenever we heard the notes we slowed our pace and waited until it was over while singing along.  Im still not sure of its meaning but I think I made it the ringtone on my phone for awhile.  Our Europe trip now had its own soundtrack.

Much of the charm and enchantment of the Palace of Versaille was the music that the fountains danced to.  So we bought a CD to play when we got home so we could relive the chills down our spine.  We returned to Westminster Abbey twice just to hear the angelic voices of the choir boys in thier robes.  We bought a CD to play when we got home so we could imagine we were in heaven again.  In Florence we purposed to just relax and stroll and found ourselves enraptured by a solo guitarist playing on a street corner.  We bought one of his CD’s to play when we got home so we could be strolling through the intense heat and just taking in Florence again.  At lot of folks eat their way through Europe but we were more interested in the music and we can relive that summer each time we listen to our souvenier CDs.

When Andrew decided he was going to University  in 2008 we packed up a van and the whole family drove him to Langley, BC to get him settled and share in the experience.  That was the summer of the movie hit Mama Mia.  The movie released the weekend we returned from Europe so of course we had to go.  We had enjoyed the musical on the live stage immensely.  The sounds of ABBA takes me back to my high school days.  So, of course, we bought the CD.  We turned Mama Mia on the moment we left Calgary and we sang along with it all the way to Langley.  12 solid hours.  When we got tired of singing we just listened.  To this day I cannot believe that Mike allowed us this indulgence.  Another memory, another soundtrack.  

Thanksgiving of 2014 we bought the newly released album of Gaga and Bennett.  We listened to it nonstop over the thanksgiving weekend.  As providence would have it, we went to New York December 1 to watch the lighting of the Christmas tree at the Rockefeller Centre and guess who was on the program? Gaga and Bennett.  We were unable to even get close to the stage for the concert that night so we watched the vocal warm ups on TV in our hotel room and we listened to Bennett and Gaga.  You guessed it.  Bennett and Gaga are now the soundtrack for our New York Christmas.  That’s just the way it goes in our house.  

The following Christmas I unwrapped the soundtrack for Home Alone One….our favorite Christmas music. Found it in my sock.   We popped it in and that is all we listened to for the next week…OK…two years.  One particular song `Somewhere in my memory  resonated my feelings regarding family and Christmas perfectly.  `Candles in the window, shadows painting the ceiling, gazing at the fireglow, feeling that gingerbread feeling.  Precious moments, special people, happy faces, I can see.  Somewhere in my memory, Christmas joys all around me, living in my memory, all of the music, all of the magic, all of family home here with me.`  Even as I write this, it brings a tear to my eye.

All of this music makes up the soundtrack to my life. Its has the power to transport me right back to the moments and the memories every single time.  The most poignant words and melody are these from ABBA: Thank you for music, the songs Im singing, Thanks for all the joy they`re bringing.  Who can live without it, I ask in all honesty, What would life be Without a song or a dance what are we,   So I say thank you for the music, for giving it to me. 

As I reflect on this past week my heart is full to overflowing with gratitude and amazement. The week started with Family Day on which we joined some longtime friends for a leisurely but crisp walk down by the scenic river in our city. All of our adult children, that lived in the city, were able to join us along with our friends first grandchild.  Our kids have been friends almost since birth and it was so gratifying to listen to them talk and laugh and feel completely comfortable with each other.  As we walked we frequently switched talking partners giving everyone a chance to catch up with each other. I just marvel at how all of these boisterous, needy, amazing toddlers grew up to be these charming adults full of character and soul. A good portion of my day was spent alongside one of my kindred spirit girlfriends as we shared our heart issues, our concerns for our families, pointed out homes where we could only dream to live (old character homes with a view of the city skyline and the river) shielded each other as we adjusted undergarments that were shifting with the vigorous walking and breathed the same fresh air –  reminding me where the axiom ‘a breath of fresh air’ comes from.  Just to be alive and moving and taking in God’s richest blessings via our high functioning senses was a healing for the soul.  We culminated with some much anticipated comfort food at a wonderful bakery and café located close to the river.   We inhaled the scent of hot chocolate smothered in whip crème and the most delicious pizza crust. The kind that’s crispy and soft at the same time with huge bubbles – just the right flavor – an excellent vehicle to get the toppings into your lusting mouth.  Many other years we didn’t really make the effort to celebrate family day but this year I feel we honored it well.

Wednesday evening of this week was to be our very first monthly Potluck dinner for our home group (A group of couples that are all in the same season of life that meet together to support and encourage each other in the faith and study the Word so we will always be spiritually awake while at the same time, able to apply practical spiritual principles to our everyday lives). We agreed to experiment with the increased connection we would enjoy by gathering around the table and breaking bread together.  It was a feast not only for the body, but for the heart and soul as well as each shared their struggles and victories in between bites.  We also shared the most intimate experience followers of Christ can while we prayed for each other. There was laughter and there were tears.  There were humorous tales as well as raw emotional accounts.  There was encouragement and validation.  As a group we are becoming more and more a family.

On Saturday my husband and I decided a drive out to the mountains would be the order of the day. Some dear friends, that formerly were members of our home group, have moved back to Canmore to live amongst the evergreens, bears and majestic rockies so we made plans to spend the day enjoying their company. We arrived just in time to enjoy a scrumptious home cooked brunch in our friend’s home nestled in the valley of two mountains.  No need for artwork or draperies in this home as the breathtaking views they enjoy daily, through their picture windows, are more than enough.  Next, we sauntered up and down the streets of downtown Canmore window-shopping and visiting.  A stop for coffee and sugary treats completed our tour.  We raced back to the homestead for a luxurious and leisurely soak in their patio hot tub.  There is nothing I succumb to more than being immersed in hot water with massaging jets relaxing my muscles.  Surrounded by nature and winter temperatures we surrendered ourselves to the mist and heat.  We endeavored to solve all the problems of the world druing our time in the tub and although we came up short in the problem solving arena the physical relaxation was perfectly satisfying.  When we returned to the house the aroma wafting from the kitchen was intoxicating as we inhaled dinner roasting in the crockpot.  Our friends spoiled us with mashed potatoes, roast beef, steamed carrots and ceasar salad.  Just to squeeze in the at last drop of friendship and hospitality we played a round of Sequence where the men finished up victorious.  This is really the best way to end board games.    We didn’t let them win but it all ended well as we women can take defeat on the chin better than the male gender (in my experience anyway).  Alas, it was time for the drive back home.

Sundays are Mom days. If we are unable to connect any other time during the week we at least have a commitment of Sundays.  My mother lives in the same city as I and so I have the privilege of spending much more time with her than the rest of the 6 siblings.  Because of our close proximity, mom has become more like another one of my dear friends than a parent.  After church, I pick mom up at her apartment and then it’s usually off to Chapters and Starbucks.  We never tire of this outing. There is always something new to peruse.  We thrive in the atmosphere of books and coffee beans.   After we tear ourselves away from our default place we usually end up at my place for a homemade supper.  Very often I am experimenting with new recipes and cooking our food for the following week.  We do this with the fire crackling in the fireplace and Louis Armstrong singing in the background (or Ella, or Frank, or Michael or Nat), mom reading through my foody magazines,  a cup of JOY tea and finish off the evening packing up a doggy bag for mom to enjoy the next day or so.   This has become ritualistic but it something we can count on.  It’s something that’s grounding.  It’s something that’s healing and nurturing.

These opportunities for community, hospitality, sharing, friendship, breaking bread together and encouragement make life rich. These blessings make life bearable when things are dark and enhance it when things are well.

I am so blessed and grateful for all these people that are the lifeblood of my existence. They are God with skin on.  They are gifts.  They are opportunities.  They are welcome commitment.  They are my home team.* When I am with them I am home – therefore, they are family.

(I read about the concept of the home team in Shauna Niequists writings).

I pulled out of the garage at exactly 5:00am on the dot. An all-time record for me. Do you have any idea how long I have been trying to accomplish that feat? Well, at least a year. Anyway, on this particular morning in February I backed into the most amazing winter wonderland. There was a single car track in the freshly fallen powdery snow on my street.  It reminded me of Trishia Romance’s famous painting, Silent Night. I was compelled to try to follow those tracks so as not to ruin the scene for the next person. If the next person is my husband, he doesn’t really care.  He has been after me to switch out the Christmas CD’s in my car.  I assured him I would have the task completed by the end of February but I was elated that I hadn’t changed them this morning because the music and lyrics exactly matched the atmosphere outside.   As early as it was there were very few commuters to ruin my scenario.  I could pretend it was early December again and I shuddered with glee at my good fortune.  There were a few vestiges of Christmas lights still on. Thank you whoever you are. And the odd Christmas wreath on the door.  Everything was still and quiet. All the trees were laden with snow and which caused me to wonder what it would be like if there were cars in Narnia.  The Victorian row houses laid out in half crescents with parks of evergreen trees at their centre were the perfect setting for the fresh and falling snow. Once out of my area the snow was not as plentiful or beautiful and I knew that in a couple of hours the magic would be gone. As I pulled into the office parking lot mine were the single tire tracks in the white fluff that glittered like a Swarovski bracelet.  From my perch on the spin bike in the gym I could gaze out the window into the peaceful dark – just me and the street lamps with their hazy luminescence.  This is the gift to the early riser.

You know the woman. The one that is impeccably put together EVERY SINGLE DAY.  There is not a crease or wrinkle in her clothes let alone any tatters or loose strings.  Everything is perfectly coordinated right down to her sox and bobby pins.  She actually doesn’t wear bobby pins because they are for loose ends and she doesn’t have any.  There are no safety pins holding her together either. No staples or duct tape or paperclips.  She is usually dressed head to toe in black or camel with accents of white.  Her white blouse looks like copy paper it so clean and crisp.  She has gold buttons on her clothing and gold jewelry to match.  Exactly the right proportion of jewelry that is glistening gold as opposed to tarnished costume jewelry.  She stacks her watch and her nails are freshly manicured (no nail biting here). Her hair moves like the waves of the ocean not like half a dozen thumbleweeds landed on her head.  Just enough makeup to accent her features making her look like a she woke up out of an Estee Lauder ad. She is an expert walking in stillettos.  But possibly she is wearing riding boots which look equally as elegant. Her designer purse is made of Italian leather and there are no receipts, Starbucks bags, MacDonald’s napkins or over ripe bananas oozing out of it.  When she pays for something she withdraws a streamlined matching wallet out of her bag, each card with its designated slot so she can locate what she needs in an instant.  Millions of folded tangled papers are not exploding out as she finds what she needs.  She doesn’t look like she is in any discomfort whatsoever.  By discomfort, I’m talking about Spanx or control tops suffocating the life out of her, twisted nylons, holes in the toes, underwires poking her ribcage, band aids covering her fingers, stretched out elastic on her skivvies causing them to bunch up and fall down.  No knots in her chains or blue rings around her wrist and fingers where her jewelry rests.  No smudges on her designer shades.  She doesn’t run because she is not in a rush.  Her lipsticks sticks and never smudges.  As she passes the scent of delicate flowers or spices lingers in the air.  She is the Proverbs 31 woman of fashion and elegance.

More realistic, on any given day, I’ve noticed there is a stain on my blouse and a button missing. I have hang nails and my nail polish is far too grown out.  There is a knot in my necklace chain that I cannot remove because I’m always in too much of a rush.  I fill in the worn area on my boots with a black felt pen so no one can see the white substance underneath showing through.  My purse has a scratch on it and it’s full to brim with paper and receipts and letters and church bulletins and Gap family day coupons and a cloudy bag of trail mix buried at the bottom. The lenses in my glasses look like they’ve been sitting on the bottom of the ocean for years.  There is, in fact, an underwire sticking into my ribs and flesh at this very moment, not to mention the several straps that keep falling off my shoulders every time I move. Something in my boots keeps making holes in my sox (maybe it’s my toes).  I dress in layers to hide imperfections so, no you cannot hang up my extra sweater even though its 90 degrees in here.  What color is my hair you ask?  Is it the color that is showing at the roots, or it is the next 6 inches or is it the color that is peeking out from underneath.  Although I blew dry my curly hair straight, I seem to have missed a spot in the back where it’s rippling like a potatoe chip.  My bleeding lipstick belies my age.  And the cracks in my faux leather pants?  Well heck, real leather is hot, expensive, unforgiving, not stretchy and did I mention expensive and not stretchy?

So that is my sorry little fashion story. I try to imitate the Proverbs 31 fashion woman but I fall sadly short.  So I will focus my attention on an arena where I can win.  (To be continued).