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The Soundtrack of My Life

The Soundtrack of My Life

Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.—Berthold Auerbach, poet and author

I can chart tMusic of My Life2.JPGhe course of my life through song from the earliest days when my parents’ hi-fi played Oklahoma, The King and I, My Fair Lady and the Sound of Music. Through teen years, college, marriage, raising kids, business started and shuttered, parents departing too soon, music has been my balm and touchstone to the times mere memory obscures.

My first album was Carol King’s Tapestry. Each song seemed to express the longing of my 13-year-old heart for love and adventure. When I was an insecure girl searching for lasting friendships, You’ve Got a Friend promised a BFF wasn’t far off. Natural Woman gave me hope of future beauty and love. Tapestry spoke of a life fulfilled and no fear of the great beyond. Heady stuff for a tender age. My much loved LP, cover scratched with age now, traveled to college, New Hampshire and Syracuse. Yet the words remain timeless as I listen today on my iPad or phone.

Peace Train Concert 2014

I knew Mark was my musical soul mate through our mutual love for Harry Chapin and Cat Stevens— troubadours singing about everyday moments, family and the search for meaning in life. As newlyweds masquerading as journalists, we sat 10 feet from Cat Stevens turned Yusuf Islam in a press conference on his trip to Syracuse. In 2014 we had the transcendent experience of Cat/Yusuf’s first US concert tour in 20 years, part of the Boston peaceful boomer crowd singing along to the familiar lyrics.

Our wedding first dance was to Cat Stevens’ Foreigner Suite. Pre-wedding, Mark would sing the words to me as we practiced in our living room, “The moment you walked inside my door I knew that I need not look no more…” Father & Son is the primer for advice given to sons eager to explore the world. Adam and Alex have heard the lessons distilled from Cat’s wisdom many times over.

Amazing Grace comforted me through pregnancy, raising babies and our parents’ funerals. The simple melody and words are so consoling although I do not think myself a wretch. I sang this softly so often while carrying the boys and then as a lullaby rocking sleepy babies. Later walking behind caskets, tears choking my throat. Read the rest of this entry


The Zipper to the Fat Suit

The Zipper to the Fat Suit
The Zipper to the Fat Suit

“If diets worked, we’d all be thin already.”Sandra Aamodt, neuroscientist and science writer

Several years ago my friend Janelle and I were having another late night work conversation, long after we should have gone home but for the crushing workload. We were lamenting our weight and body conditions. This gorgeous, 5-foot, dark haired beauty who looked pretty tiny to me uttered a phrase that captured my 40 years of searching for the perfect body. “Vicky, I’ve been looking for the zipper to the fat suit all my life too.”

Wham! Just like that, one simple sentence struck my soul center like lightening. All my years of dieting, exercising, self-loathing, success on some programs, epic weight swings were summed up in one thought. If only I could find that zipper…

Little Vicky

Jack-o-Lantern smile!

As I look at old black and white photos, I see a normal size 7-year-old kid with a pixie haircut, deep dimples and sparkling eyes. It would be convenient and fashionable to blame my mom (and Dad) for my early weight issues. Dad was a man short on words of love, but knew how to share his affection through cakes, cookies and Trevalino Bakery’s jelly doughnuts. He worked the night shift at the paper mill and brought me treats to discover in his lunch box each morning. Even now Henry’s Hostess fruit pies whisper love to me though he is gone.

As I approached puberty, my Mom worried I was getting plump. I overheard her tell my dad to stop bringing me treats. She started monitoring my snacking, calling out from our living room, “Tory, what are you getting?” as I rummaged for evening munchies. She suggested I eat a piece of fruit when her delicious pies, chips and Dad’s booty sat on the counter. So I learned the art of sneak eating, stashing forbidden loot stuffed under my shirt as I made a beeline for my room, waving an apple in my hand as I hustled by Mom.

But I won’t blame my mom.

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