A life less ordinary...lived in the everyday

Many of Vivaldi’s musical compositions capture me. The haunting simplicity of his “Adagio” or  “Autumn II—Adagio molto” speaks, and I want to write when I hear—even without a pen, paper, or computer.

During my teaching years in the classroom, and in part due to my mother-role, I made it a point to listen to alternative radio—and this may sound more complicated than it is:  in my little world, alternative radio is anything contrary to what I’d rather be listening to.

On a particularly taxing day at the office, I’d gone to retrieve a student who seemed particularly taxed as well. Rather than walk eagerly to our room, he sauntered. OK, he dilly-dallied, whistling a tune all the way—in the way only a student desperately seeking a reaction can. He seemed impressed when I could name the Katy Perry song in seven notes—and that I could even croon a few of the lyrics. After that, we walked and he talked.

That small connection changed our day. It was no big deal really, but the music and its ability to reach us both at that place in our lives was a big deal. Really.

Recently, I spent some precious family time at the farm. You know the kind of gathering I mean:  the shoes pile near the door and everyone grazes, talks at once, has more to eat, laughs ‘til they cry, and eats dessert. With coffee. Or not. And sometimes, when you least expect it, a song breaks out. This time, a spontaneous rendition of Barry Manilow’s Can’t Smile Without You filled the air. It fit the occasion; maybe some time I’ll tell you more. Maybe not. It was a big deal, though. Trust me, a really big deal.

And so, in this eclectic romp through music alternatives, where’s the everyday thing?

It’s here:  we matter to each other in ways that we can’t even know, ways we may never know.

Do you really think that Antonio—Vivaldi’s first name! Who knew he had one??—had any idea that, centuries later, his life would impact the life of some Midwest farmer’s daughter? Does Katy realize how she helped some pre-adolescent boy and his teacher with his reading on an ordinary day? Can we imagine that Barry is aware of the role he’s played in the history of a family’s love and lore?

Sometimes the music in our hearts bursts into its song and ruffles a writer’s muse, a random whistle, or laughter and tears.

Sometimes our everyday turns extraordinary, in some measure, because of a song.