I finally splurged on an iPad and in doing so decided to upload all, and I mean all, of my cd’s to my iTunes account. Once I began, I was committed. I needed the space. I needed to feel liberated, hip and in touch with the present century. Instead, I found myself caught up in the past. Small tight smiles and waves of nostalgia crossed my face, furrowed my brow, jogged my treasure box of memories buried away, waiting to be woken. I came across songs that reminded me of a first love, long, lazy summer days, “He who cannot be named” and “He who never knew” and songs, where I knew every word, that years later, still tugged on my heart. Music I would listen to when I fell in love; thank heavens the song changed each time. And music I would listen to in order to move on. As each album downloaded, I saw and heard parts of my life flick by like an 8 mm film. And then I came across an Etta James song (I believe the lyrics were by Irvin Berlin). I was 26 and in Paris. Life was in front of me and rich with promise. I was staying on the Left Bank and the sun was reluctantly waking up and unfurling its delicate rays through the endless, cloudless sky. I had thrown the windows open to embrace the day and in doing so heard music playing from an attic dormer window not too far away.The lyrics still haunt me:
I’ll tell you no lie.
How deep is the ocean?How high is the sky?
How many times a day do I think of you?
How many roses are sprinkled with dew?
How far would I travel
To be where you are?
How far is the journey
From here to a star?
And if I ever lost you
How much would I cry?
How deep is the ocean?
How high is the sky?
There and then I knew I wanted a love like that. Raw and honest. Committed and true. And as I see couples dance their first dance, I listen to the lyrics of their chosen song. I often wonder what songs they’ve listened to in their lives and the experiences they’ve shared that made them realize that together they could fly.