One regret I have in life
is that my parents
didn't surround themselves with music.
Although my mother came from
a musical background-
and played an instrument herself-
the responsibility of raising a family
superseded her artistic nature.
When my mom met my dad for the first time,
he was playing a guitar.
But there was never a day
in all my life
that I ever saw him hold a guitar
or ever bring one into our home.
Now, in my older years,
I wish I could sit in the quiet
of a open room
and strum a mandolin
with the grace of an angel.
I wish I could pluck the guitar strings
in a rock-n-roll rhythm
that makes men want to dance.
I wish my fingers
could touch the piano keys
like a thousand singing feathers
and make even the wind
stop to listen.
I wish I could blow into the flute
like breathing out the perfume of my heart-
and inhaling sounds
too perfect for this world.
I wish I could pick the harp
with such inspiration and clarity
that I would not want to ever sleep,
but to forever make music.
I wish that I could sing
like voices aloft in the heavens-
strong and sharp
and deep from the heart.
With a sadness to make men cry-
but with a softness
that would make them happy.
I wish I could take these winter nights
and sit side by side with my husband...
play guitar and make up songs...
and laugh together in our
moments of sheer cleverness...
and learn from one another
the music that lies hidden.
I am guilty of not giving my children
the pleasures of music, either.
Unless you count Bob Dylan on the turn table-
Led Zeppelin on 8-track,
Disco Duck on cassette,
or Snow Patrol on a disc.
But there is something quite different
between listening and making.
I am sorry we did not pursue
music lessons.
It is a quiet that never stops ringing
in my ears.
A regret
that now
I cannot ever change.
