I never ask for gifts. I crave quality time over some ‘thing’ that requires gift wrap. I’m happy to shower children, but adult gift exchanges always seem wasteful to me. Lets enjoy a good meal together or plan a weekend away instead of buying something that may or may not fit; live past next week; or end up in a pile in the basement. My practical stance on presents, explains my husbands stunned silence when I boldly exclaimed I wanted a record player for Mother’s Day.
It’s not one particular memory but an amalgamation of moments all related to the same central focus; my father’s record player. I can remember the younger version of me sitting in his lap with his headphones on. I remember the way it felt to lift the stylus and place it on the specific song I was longing for. The greatness of the trust he had given me when I was finally able to do this on my own. I can remember dancing alone in the living room with nothing but his record collection littered at my feet. I remember loving music that most 4 year olds, 9 year olds, 15 year olds didn’t know existed. I remember knowing every word of the Footloose album before I was old enough to watch the film. I remember falling in love with the entire Tapestry vinyl and feeling like Carole King understood who I was gonna be a decade before my birth.
This has to be the origin story of why my love for music is so deep-rooted. I can feel music in my bones. It flows through me as fiercely as the blood to my organs. Music has accompanied me through every single step of my life. My oldest and dearest friends come close, but even they don’t know me the way my music collection does. Every emotion I have ever felt has found an accompanied song or lyric.
I’ve long wanted to resurrect the boxes of records collecting dust in my parents’ attic. I want to recapture the feeling of getting lost in an entire album, indulging in the story the artist was telling, track by track. I want my girls to have the visual and tangible gift of song. And I want my home to have a nook where good conversation is backed by a stellar soundtrack.
What started as a sentimental wish for an updated piece of equipment to play my childhood memories on, turned into the re-purposing of our neglected dining room. A room that once spent the majority of the year in darkness, has now been illuminated with ideas and filled with the stories of favorite albums and the memories that are tied to them. Hours have already been spent standing in this room with our parents and siblings talking about the music that shaped us.
The revamping is in full swing and pieces falling into place perfectly for my gift request. There is a palpable excitement from everyone to not only, finally have the couch arrive, but to pull out all the tucked away vinyls and listen once again. The music hasn’t even played yet but the mere anticipation of this projects’ completion has elicited such sweet sounds in the form of warm conversations we’ve shared, and already paid for itself in the smiling eyes of our family who can’t wait to hear the forgotten crackle of their favorite songs.
So, if you’re looking for me as the Sunday Mom celebrations commence, you’ll find me elbow deep in vinyls, trailing down memory lane, dancing with my daughters and indulging in the emotions only music can draw to the surface.
Happy Mother’s Day!