From the moment of birth, music has been intertwined in my life. We lived in a small cabin north of Vancouver, Canada. My mother, as she tells it, didn’t have much room for a baby. So, she would wrap me in a blanket, place me in a basket, and put me atop their stereo. She would play everything from symphonic to opera. I would sleep to the strains of Beethoven, Bach, and Mozart long before the Einstein series for babies.
Music was her life-saver, she would say. When I was listening to music, I wasn’t crying.
My mother was never meant to have children. She had vocal cords. She was a diva in her small community before she married my father. He played the violin and was a concert master for their small symphony. My mother with her big blonde hair and blue eyes played the leads in musicals like Oklahoma, The Sound of Music, and Music Man. When I was older, I would find her scripts. It was my first introduction to stage plays. My mother was born to be a performer.
The rest of this memoir is here.