Music Makes Pictures And Often Tells Stories

All of it magic and all of it true
And all of the pictures and all of the stories
All of the magic, the music is you

I’m driving down the road with the radio on listening to the sweet sounds…music. I change the channel if I don’t like the song and I find a song that makes me happy. It’s Black Water by the Doobie Brothers. My friend Tina and I are in high school. We’re cruising and having a good time. I change the channel again. It’s The Dance, by Garth Brooks. I remember the death of my dear friend’s son, the disbelief that a young life is ended so soon. And I change the channel.

According to Wikipedia, the word music comes from the Greek mousikê (tekhnê) by way of the Latin musica. It is derived from mousa, the Greek word for muse. In ancient Greece, the word mousike was used to mean any of the arts or sciences governed by the Muses. Later, in Rome, ars musica embraced poetry as well as instrument-oriented music. One definition of music says: an artistic form of auditory communication incorporating instrumental or vocal tones in a structured and continuous manner. Another says: an art of sound in time that expresses ideas and emotions in significant forms through the elements of rhythm, melody, harmony, and color.
The magic of music has been woven into my life as long as I remember. I reminisce about the songs my grandmother sang when I was still a baby. We would spend time in the summer at her house. She had a piano so we ‘played’ the piano. We learned church songs and Christmas carols and sometimes little silly kid songs like Mary Had a Little Lamb. We visited my other grandmother too. She played the radio or the record player. We listened to country music songs. We’d dance around and laugh while she sang. We’d join in and sing the choruses. I still remember the words to some of those songs.

My parents were teenagers when I was born. They were young and I remember cruising in Albuquerque, my sister and I in the back seat while the Beatles played on the radio. Sometimes it was country music. We’d stop at the drive in, Frank’s or Lionel’s and dad would get a chocolate malt. If we were very good we could have the very last drink. It was such a big treat!

Music reminds me of spending time with my uncle and aunt in Amarillo. Early morning I’d be lying in bed with the curtains blowing in the breeze. I’d hear the soft sounds of country music and smell coffee or toast. I’d lay there quietly and sing the words in my head. Lazy Sunday afternoons at their house would be spent with the radio or records of Willie Nelson playing, the Sunday paper on the floor. Those are good memories.

My grandmother and granddaddy bought a piano for my sister and me. I took piano lessons for one year. I was in third grade. My teacher was named Mrs. Wilson and it was after school at her house. I only took lessons that one year. I don’t know why. My sister never did. One time my grandmother found out about free accordion lessons in Albuquerque. She had a baby accordion she brought to the house and I took lessons. The man’s name was Mr. Francini. I loved the accordion lessons. When they weren’t free they ended. We didn’t have a lot of money and I guess that wasn’t a necessary thing.


There is a group of people I work with. We have the same job but we live and work in different parts of the state. We see each other, for work purposes, a couple of times a year. One time, I don’t even know why, one of the guys brought his guitar. He picked out songs and sang ballads. He can remember words to just about every song he hears. We call him the singing cowboy. We laugh because he’ll change keys while singing, going up or down an octave, adjusting then starting again. But he’s pretty good. When one of the guys in the group moved to another job we got someone in his place who has a band. He really can play anything but he prefers to stay in the background as far as the singing goes. He’ll play and sometimes sing and the other one will always sing. It’s been a lot of fun.
Sometimes, when I’m brave, or I’ve had a shot or two of courage, I’ll sing with them. I don’t do it very loudly because I’m fairly sure I don’t sound that good. I can harmonize and I know a lot of the words too, from listening when I was little. As I get more comfortable I get a little louder. I usually feel silly later but it’s fun while we are singing. And they always ask me to sing again.

I like a lot of different kinds of music. When the kids were little they got to hear a variety. They knew the words to rock and roll and country, songs their friends didn’t know. They got to hear oldies and top twenty. They know the names of some of the old country artists and groups. They’ve heard and sang songs their friends would not think were cool. I remember how we laughed at how Pretty Woman could wake Ty up from a sound sleep, his foot tapping slowly in time with the music til he was awake. Callye would pick a song and play it over and over and over, all day, all night until we begged her to stop. Bryce would break into an opera voice and sing a song when the mood struck. We lived in a small town and they didn’t have some of the opportunities they might have but they were in the band in school and all can play at least one instrument. The boys still like to sing and will sometimes go to Karaoke night. And they sound pretty good!

I think in song lyrics. Sometimes I even converse in song lyrics. Not reciting the entire song but picking and choosing words that have meaning to me. Sometimes I’ll answer a question with a song lyric. How’s everything today? Oh, it’s just another day in paradise. Very few people get it.

Before music videos, when you listened to a song you made up your own meaning. It was kind of like reading a book. You made the characters, you interpreted their actions. Now, seeing the video can change your whole idea of what the song means. Sometimes I wonder what the video even has to do with the song! I still like the music without the video. I’ll make up my own story, paint my own pictures. I’ll sing my old favorites and I’ll learn new songs. I’ll remember the magic.


It’s getting close to two months on the knitayear. I still like it. Day 53 was a maroon ribbon. This was my great grandmother’s yarn. I don’t know what she made out of it but I have several spools. It was a day when I was feeling curious about what is going on and what the new week has in store. Day 54 was a serious day. There are lots of things to get done before leaving for Tulsa. I chose a pale blue yarn because it made me think of being steady and getting the job done. This yarn is a special yarn because my high school teacher spun it. She made the yarn and had me knit her a sweater. Day 55, May 25, was a tired day. I got a lot done but I still had so much more to do. I chose a tan and green and off-white yarn. It seemed peaceful and restful and fit my tired mood. Day 56 was the day before leaving. So many loose ends to tie up! Trying to get work stuff cleared up and packing done left me feeling overwhelmed. I chose an all colored flag yarn. It seemed to resemble the frazzled mood I was in. Day 57 was the day I left. I drove to Tulsa by myself. It’s 500 plus miles. It’s a long way and there were some really crazy people out. I was nice and was in a tolerant mood and didn’t even get upset at having to pay a toll to drive on a crappy road. I chose a black yarn with a white thread wrapped around it. It reminded me of the highway and the lines on the road. It has a few little sprinkles of blue and pink as well. I thought of stars in the dark sky and how they twinkle and make different colors. And I’m reminded of a song.



Music makes pictures and often tells stories
All of it magic and all of it true
And all of the pictures and all of the stories
And all of the magic, the music is you