Sound Track of My Life


The past few weeks have been a delight of musical immersion. Three theatrical presentations in San Diego have focused on the compositions of well-known artists. I have shimmied to the scat singing of Ella Fitzgerald in a show entitled Ella! at the San Diego Rep, swayed to the melodies of George Gershwin in a production of Gershwin Alone at the Old Globe Theater, and hummed along to the vocals of Billy Joel tunes in the Broadway touring show of Movin’ Out.

The music was diverse and yet in each show there were one to two compositions that transported me back to moment, a time period or pivotal experience in my life.

I started to think about the music in the sound track of my life.
What would I choose to download to my i Pod play list from the thousands of songs, jingles and instrumentals that I have heard over my 47 years?

My hand could not keep up with the revue of titles that spilled out from my pen. Hearing the Muzak playing in a store, rearranging CD’s, flipping through the pages of my high school yearbook or reminiscing with my sister Margaret, tunes, chords and orchestrations swirled and mixed inside of me.

Enveloped in a magical memory movement, I decided to record my imaginary sound track in chronological order.

My childhood home was full of music. Old 78’s and later LP’s of classical instrumentals such as Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” or the imposing big percussion “Peer Gynt” by Edvard Grieg spun on the turntable. From our old fashioned in the cabinet record player, the notes hovered in the living room as my sisters and I danced around or used it as background music to dust on a Saturday afternoon.

Opera and classical orchestrations were intermingled with show tunes, the primary recordings that made up my parent’s meager collection. My Fair Lady’s: “I Could Have Danced All Night”, “O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A… Oklahoma Ok,” “ If Ever I Would Leave You” from Camelot or the tropical offerings of South Pacific: “I’m As Corny As Kansas In August, “ and “Some Enchanted Evening…” allowed us to sing soprano on the high notes of the lovely innocent heroines and belt the tenor tones as we acted the part of the gentleman lover.

One favorite show tune that traveled from the record player to our bedtime ritual was “Seventy-six Trombones” from the Music Man. With pot lids clanging, my Father would march us up the steps to bed and continue the sweet dream serenade with a combination of war songs such as “Oh, The Coffee That They Give Us.” followed by old fashioned ditties such as “Daisy, Daisy, Give Me Your Answer True’ and always ended with “Palm Trees Are Gently Swaying, My Heart Is Saying How Much I Love You.” But the one song that holds the memory of my Father in its reprise is “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.” Each daughter in turn on her wedding day danced the Daddy-Daughter dance to that old standard.

All my sibs followed the lead of my older sister Mary Grace and became thespians in our high school days. The show tune collection continued to grow as the record container space became crowded with “Company, Lots of Company”, “Send In The Clowns, There Ought To Be Clowns” from A Little Night Music and “One Singular Sensation, Every Step That She Takes,” as we would high kick and imagine ourselves dancers in that revolutionary style musical of the late 70’s, A Chorus Line. “Corner of The Sky” sung by John Rubinstein on the cast album of Pippin, became an anthem I would return to over the years whenever, I felt misunderstood or lost my way.

Since there was a range of ages in our house through my growing years, children’s songs were counterpoint to the longing for love that flowed from the Broadway musical lyrics. A beat-up little record player was in constant motion spinning 45’s with kiddie classics like, Shirley Temple’s “On The Good Ship Lollipop” and Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Greenjeans singing, “Hey there captain do you see, there’s a horse in stripped pajamas. “No, that’s not what it is at all, that’s an animal people call a zebra. “I see, but it still looks like a horse in stripped pajamas to me.” Later, Mary Poppins joined in with her “Spoon Full of Sugar”.

When the last of the Nowak clan, my brother Mark, was born, Disney songs became the tunes to tap to, “Cinderella, Cinderella, night and day, it’s Cinderella” and “Look For The Bare Necessities,” Baloo’s Jungle Book bass rumbling in our chests as we wiggled and stuck out our butts in big bear fashion.

Summers were car trip time for yearly family visits. We went from Claymont, Delaware to Buffalo, New York and then over to Kalamazoo, Michigan. To keep the sibling bickering to a minimum, my mother would sing. The most memorable car songs were, “Bingo”, “Little Peter Rabbit Had A Fly Upon His Ear”, “Rose, Rose” and the round, “Walking, Walking”, which had a verse in German. I felt so international!

1966, age 8, I begged my mother to let me buy a 45 of “ I Want To Hold Your Hand” and the B-side, “Do You Want To Know A Secret”. That began my love affair with the Beatles, a songbook of melodies that weaved in and out of events of my life. Of course my favorite Beatles song is “Michelle.” I’d curl up on the couch hugging the album cover, wistfully imagining Paul singing “Michelle, ma belle” only for me.

I started my high school years fearful and lonely. I graduated from an intimate group of 13 in a Catholic elementary school to a freshman public high school class of over 400. I don’t recall where I heard my first Jim Croce song, but I was instantly touched by his deep, mournful voice. I bought every album he had. His handlebar mustache and thick cigar poking out of the corner of his big smiled face, was my first serious crush on a musician. “Time In A Bottle”, “Photographs and Memories”, and It Doesn’t Have To Be That Way,” those lyrics of lost love spoke to the melancholy heart of a 14 year older. In retrospect, I imagine I was drawn to the sadness of his life, the fact he died young leaving a wife and child behind. Was that a secret connection with my future life of losing two husbands, one at the young age of 31? One of my first thoughts when moving to San Diego was that I now lived in the same town as Jim Croce’s widow, Ingrid. Ingrid Croce had established herself as a well-known restaurateur, with her San Diego downtown eatery, Croce’s.

James Taylor’s Gorilla album with “How Sweet It Is” and “You Make It Easy”, his time with Carly Simon, duet singing “Mockingbird” or his honest, unencumbered rendition of Carole King’s “You Got A Friend,” filled the score of an adolescent daydreaming afternoon. Carly, Elton John, Linda Ronstadt: “When Will I Be Loved” and “That’ll Be The Day’, played along side John Denver’s “Sunshine On My Shoulders” and “Rocky Mountain High.”

College opened me to Simon and Garfunkel, “Hello Darkness My Old Friend” and “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, John Melloncamp’s “Hurt So Good”, Bruce Springsteen’s “Born In The USA.” Being a Jersey girl, Bruce and his E Street Band, belting out the pathos of the working class, made me proud. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young’s “Our House” was the vision I wanted for my future home.

When I met my husband John in my freshman year of college, he opened me up to the riffs of a jazz guitar and the improv of a saxophone jam session. Miles Davis, Houston Person, Thelonious Monk, Coleman Hawkins, and Branford Marsalis LP’s now lined the shelves of our living room bookcases. He taught me how to properly remove a record from its inner lining to avoid too much contact between the vinyl and the oil from my fingers. When John died I had a Jazz band play at his memorial, we ended with a New Orleans style “When The Saints Go Marching In.”

The song for the first dance at our wedding was Cole Porter’s “Night and Day.” Coles “From This Moment On”, Irving Berlin’s “Let’s Face The Music and Dance” and “ Always,” were the song’s we waltzed and dipped to around our first apartment in our best Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire style.

Carole King’s album Tapestry provided accompaniment to grief crying sessions after John died. “A Natural Woman”, “Where You Lead”, “I Feel The Earth Move” brought the tears rolling, over love I thought I’d never find again. “Way Over Yonder” offered a sweet spiritual style song, my dear friend Brendan sang touchingly at John’s memorial.

But I did find love again in the unlikely twinkle of a much older Jack’s eyes. Our song, Frank Sinatra’s rendition of Cole Porter’s “I’ve Got You Under My Skin,” matched perfectly to the tug and pull of our May-December love. Our dancing sessions were less waltz and more free form bogie with songs like, “ Chain of Fools”, “In the Midnight Hour” and “Treat Her Right”, from the soundtrack album The Commitments. The gutsy belting of female singers such as Bonnie Raitt, Bette Midler or Aretha’s “R-E-S-P-E-C-T”, brought us evenings of off key singing and body twisting shimmies.


The ache of Jack’s passing reconnected me with the comforting words of “Amazing Grace” and the mournful rich tones of an oboe, which with the piano, saxophone and violin are my favorite instruments. The a cappella lament called “Osinilshatin” from the movie The Business of Fancydancing, allowed me to bring my grief for all those I’ve lost out in a howl and chant of pain and remembering.

Jane Siberry’s “Calling All Angel’s” has been a wink from the beyond.

As I read back over this list, I realize how many styles of music I’ve yet to record on the soundtrack of my life that have influenced who I am today. The allegro of a gypsy guitar, the dolce of a Hindu chant of meditation, the delicato of new age instrumentals I listen to when giving a massage, and the crescendo of an Italian tenor. But now I’m eager to actually listen to all these songs again, instead of writing about them.

I imagine an afternoon with the furniture pushed back to the living room walls, the CD player turned up loud, the front door open to let the sunlight and breeze fill my make shift song and dance hall. And I, with each note, prancing, spinning, crying, laughing and singing in lung expanding loudness as I relive my wild ride of an existence to the soundtrack of my life.