Making It Up As I Go Along
by Samantha Gianulis
Life set to music
If your life had a soundtrack, what songs would be on it? At 36 years old, I still think in terms of soundtracks, not play lists, and I have quite a few songs and many types of music to represent my experiences. I am not an actress or a rock star, but thinking about my life set to music is fun, and besides, everyone has a story.
During the era of high bias cassette tapes, I mastered the art form of making compilations. Out of all of the compilations I have made, I am always embarrassed to let someone else hear them. I will listen to my kids cd’s of doo-wop songs sung by grade schoolers before I give the person in my passenger seat a glimpse of my sentimental interpretations about my own life. The sentiments are amplified in the form of lyrics, and it makes me feel so…transparent.
I highly recommend this – next time you are driving down the road, standing in line at Starbucks, or trying to fall asleep, make a compilation of songs depicting your life thus far set to music – which isn’t all that different from downloading songs and burning a disc. Who hasn’t done that?
Well, here it is – I am putting it all out there, inspired by a few haunting chords and a baritone that shook me to my dramatic core and got me imagining my life, set to music. And I’m listing my songs by stages in my life, not subsequent years. I guess you could say I developed lyrically.
1970 – I am born in the San Fernando Valley. Although it has not been released yet, “Valley Girl” by Frank Zappa defines the setting and locale of my first abode.
“The Hustle” by Van McCoy and the Soul City Symphony. While I climbed the monkey bars at Goodfriends School, a progressive preschool in a San Diego suburb, the teachers played this song on the blasters. We danced, climbed, and danced some more. Freedom in childhood, like no other time in life.
1977
“We Will Rock You” by Queen. The fifth grade boys pounded the desks with their fists and hands to the beat – you know it, you hear it at just about every football game, and chanted by little leaguers. I thought pounding school desks to a drumbeat was…masculine? Or at least, the way boys were supposed to behave. I’m pleased now that I entered marriage and motherhood with that preconceived notion.
1978
“Sandy” from the Grease soundtrack. “Oh Sandy baby, someday, when high-yigh school is done…” I still know all the lyrics. The title of this song sounded a lot like “Sami”, my name. My friends and I sang along with the Grease soundtrack more Saturdays and summer days than I can remember. Had me a blast.
1980
“Sara” by Fleetwood Mac. The first song I remember singing to myself. I was outside my elementary school, standing on a curb waiting for my father to pick me up for a dentist appointment (that would never happen now). I had no idea what “Drowning in the sea of love, where everyone would love to drown” meant, but I sang it anyway, and I wanted twirly skirts like Stevie Nicks.
“Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen. If you got out while playing kickball, this song was sung to you by the opposing team. Embarrassing, but that was the game. Grow thicker skin or sit the bench.
1981
“Don’t You Want Me?” by the Human League. My parents let me take a day off school one day, just to go to the beach. They took the day off work, and I boogie boarded with my dad while my mom laid on the beach, reading books and listening to 13K, a local radio station, that played “Don’t You Want Me?” about twice an hour. I imagined I was a waitress in a cocktail bar. Playing hooky that day was one of the best days of my life. That day saved my father’s life. The boogie board irritated a mole on my father’s stomach, which facilitated a trip to Mr. Dermatologist, which expedited surgery, which kept the malignancy from spreading.
“What’s wrong with dad? Does he have cancer?” I asked my mom.
“No, who said anything about cancer?” Mom replied.
“Dad, why are you in the hospital?” I felt I wasn’t getting the whole story.
“Oh, I have cancer.”
I always admired my parent’s ability to give me completely different answers, kind of like the two sides of my personality.
Twenty-five years later, dad is doing fine, thanks to that bright yellow Morey boogie board. He and mom have different sides to the cancer story, of course. I kept the play hooky tradition with my kids. Every year they get to skip school, hubby skips work and we go back to the same beach. And apply SPF 50.
1983
“Gypsy,” Fleetwood Mac again. Making new friends in junior high was a little rough at first. Small talk with strange girls was sometimes awkward. (I still hate small talk; I find it disingenuous). At lunchtime, when I sat on the benches outside the cafeteria, I sang quietly to myself instead. “Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice, and it all comes down to you”. I love this song, and I never outgrow it. In years to come, I will play it after I breakup with boyfriends (or they break up with me), right after I listen to “Landslide.”
“Oh No” by The Commodores. The quintessential unrequited love song of my teenage years. My best friend Kari’s sister played this on her record player (I know, imagine that) that had repeat play. We put on this 45 during sleepovers and when we were woken up and forced to go to church Sunday mornings, Lionel Ritchie was still singing.
1984
“Purple Rain” by Prince. First crush, first everything. I began writing, I preferred it to crying. Writing and staring at football pictures cut out from a yearbook.
1986
The “Top Gun” soundtrack, which I play in the tape deck of my first car – a white Mustang with a spoiler and blue leather interior. I get my first job ever – retail. On my way to work, I can see the F-14’s in Miramar (Fightertown USA!), and I long for the drama of Maverick and Charlie. I was certain that my life would be perfect if I had someone to sing “Take My Breath Away” to me.
1987
I discover Jim Morrison and the Doors through a classmate. My poor parents are so grateful to hear something besides Top Gun songs in the morning as I get ready for school. Even if it’s “Riders on the Storm” over and over.
1988
“Appetite for Destruction,” more specifically, “Welcome To the Jungle” by Guns N’ Roses. Do you think they mean “jungle” as a metaphor for “drugs”? My graduating year in high school and I begin to frequent concerts – Aerosmith, Metallica, Queensryche, Dokken. I adapt the alter ego of a “rebel” and I think I’m cool. My boyfriend plays guitar and pitches for the varsity baseball team. Soon I will learn that I can get by in junior college with little effort. Eyeliner, boots and Guess jeans pair well with boyfriend’s letterman jacket.
1989
“Landslide” again. Boyfriend problems. Got a mean streak, this new guy, so I’m out of here. It’s a bummer because he lived right by the beach. One of those long, drawn out good-byes, as I get my first lesson in co-dependency.
1991
“Just What I Needed” by The Cars, the most pivotal song of my life. How is this for destiny: girlfriend and I on our way to beach on a Monday in late April. I forget twenty bucks in my Levis jacket at home from the night before. Drive back home to get it. On the way to the freeway, I pull up next to a black GTI blaring the same song as I have on by, ironically, The Cars. Natural reaction is to look over to the car next to me, as our vehicles play music in stereo. And there he is, the boy I’m gonna marry. Beautiful smile, dark hair and eyes, and impressive bicep under the white t-shirt. We exchange numbers while driving (fate was intervening and I was compelled to cooperate). Five years from that very day, we become husband and wife.
1992
We embrace grunge. They’ve got something to say, bands like Pearl Jam. I’m on my way to the University of California and rock with social cause is timely and appropriate. I can get A’s, even in math, who knew?
1994
Pachelbel’s Canon. Played at the funeral for a friend who crashed his Cessna into the ground in a heavy fog. I’m still pissed at him for that.
1996
“Leather and Lace” by Stevie Nicks with Don Henley. To me and my new husband, a simple metaphor but a beautiful song for our first dance as husband and wife. We still wonder if we shouldn’t have chosen “Slave to Love” because Bryan Ferry is just so timelessly romantic.
1999
“With Arms Wide Open” by Creed timed almost perfectly to the birth of our first child, a little guy named Alex. “Now everything has changed.” Like I never expected, like I couldn’t imagine. My parents were right.
2000
“Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World” from the Meet Joe Black soundtrack, also known as the song from the e-Toys commercial. For the first time a song creates a strange watery reaction from my eyes. What is that all about? Is this what motherhood does to you? Turns you into a sappy mass of emotion and vulnerability?
2001
“House at Pooh Corner,” which I rediscover as child number two arrives. I can get used to two, nothing to it. “You’d be surprised, there’s so much to be done.” You can’t possibly keep up with a child’s mind in the process of discovery, like the constant humming of bees making honey.
2003
“If You Ever Did Believe” by Stevie Nicks on the Practical magic soundtrack. Hubby and I separate. Perhaps I always imagined my life set to music, I have such an apparent fondness for soundtracks. Dramatic girl, me. “You were so strong, I fell to my knees…And I don’t think I can handle this at all”. I pretend to keep it together, for my kids. The radio is always playing “Landslide,” covered by the Dixie Chicks.
2005
“You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt, which hubby and I sing to the creation of our reconciliation – the strongest sign yet – baby number three, Melia. This song has a calming effect on our baby girl, when we play it, she stops crying. It’s like magic.
“Hollaback Girl” (edited version, of course). Four year old Zoё dances with attitude, a little Gwen Stefani. Trepidation, that’s what this is called.
“Centerfield” by John Fogerty. My son Alex comes into his own in our family’s favorite sport, baseball. He is introduced to the strike zone, “The Sandlot,” “Field of Dreams” and actually will sit long enough to watch a major league game or Sportscenter, which makes hubby happy.
2006
“Miracle Drug” by U2. “There is no failure here my dear, just when you quit” – this line, these lyrics, bring my husband and I full circle, when we realize our fighting natures kept us in this marriage. Almost too late we learned to fight for our family instead of with each other.
Maybe the self-journey gets completed while we hold hands with another human being, maybe it has to run it’s course before we join with another, there are as many formulas for happiness as there are people in this world. But listening to these songs I learn marriage and family are contingent upon hard work and sacrifices, and worth it.
We watch the kids when they sleep, kiss their foreheads and sniff their little heads.
“Freedom has a scent, like the top of a newborn baby’s head”, also from “Miracle Drug.” A Johnson’s Baby Shampoo head, a chlorine head, a sweaty baseball hat head…it doesn’t swallow me but it has its teeth in me, this mommy/wife journey.
Sixteen out of twenty-five songs on my soundtrack are about it, love – which I find easy to say in the middle of a sentence but even harder to write about. But it’s the truth, it’s safe to show it, it’s preferable to sing about or along with it, and at least, I do.
I add more songs to my soundtrack as I go along. I’m leaving my options open. I can listen anywhere, and find new music anytime, it’s all around me.
The last song on my soundtrack I am putting a request in for now, though. Maybe something in D.
Samantha Gianulis, Editor and Regular Columnist, writes from
Southern California where she lives with her husband and their three
children. Her first book, Little Grapes on the Vine.Mommy's Musings on Food & Family released March 2007. She has written for several print and online
publications, including Hybrid Mom Magazine, San Diego Family Magazine,
recipestoday.com, and alongstoryshort.net. She is also a columnist for
Family Food Network (http://www.familyfoodnetwork.com). Her Web site address
is http://www.samanthagianulis.com. Check out her blog at
http://samanthagianulis.blog.com.
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