The Essence of Life

Originally written April 30, 2002 - by Shonda Ponder

Today, I realized what has been missing in my life for the past few years. I only feel the need to share this with others because my guess is that others have been missing it, too. It really isn't important unless you need an upbeat daily dose of attitude, or a slow dose of nostalgia accompanied by memories that you forgot you had. What is it I am talking about? What could possibly cause this overwhelming desire to share what I have found to be missing from my life?

Music.

Music is the essence of life. Whether you like Rock-n-roll, Country, or slow rock -- which is more commonly referred to by my significant other as "progressive elevator music". He likes the head-banging kind, which might explain the times when I think he's been hit on the head one too many times. Of course, that could also be due to my incessant desire to wallow in self-pity over all my failures. Which brings me back to the subject of music.

Today I turned on the radio after he went to work. After about five minutes of listening to "Redneck Girl" by the Bellamy Brothers, I found myself picturing my daddy's big green hunk of junk that I used to drive to the store when he was too tired to go buy his own pack of cigarettes. Of course, today that would be impossible with all the "spy on your neighbor" laws that require the store clerk to ask for your identity before purchasing such items. Didn't matter that I wasn't buying them for me, or that my dad sent me to the store to get them. (Not that I didn't purchase them for myself at an early age, anyway).

Then there was the modified, "Do you think Hank really did it this way?" (which I don't know who sings now, having been out of the music loop for so long. The name "Hank" has been replaced by "Waylon" -- probably because Waylon wrote the song. I remembered my daddy with his guitar, as he picked out a tune with Cousin Thurman and Uncle Adrian. I found myself turning the radio up to the tune of "You don't have to call me Darlin", trying to drown out the voices of my Daddy and Uncle Adrian in the memorized background.

I started to cry when I heard "Voices in wind" and thought of my step-momma Jeanie as she stood in the kitchen over a hot stove singing, "Oh Lord, won't you buy be a mercedes benz" and then turning on the 8-track player with "A good-hearted woman" when daddy would go out on Thursday nights to play in the local pool tournaments. Jeanie was like a sister to me. We used to share each other's clothes, and sit up until two or three in the morning watching The Nashville Network, even before they finally caught up on the bills enough to buy their first colored television. I was a senior in high school by the time that happened.

In the end, when my significant other returned home from work, I found myself turning off the radio and somehow feeling better having had the chance to enjoy something that has been missing for what seems like forever.

We sing our babies to sleep with it. We hum it while we work. Music is embedded in our hearts and minds with a fervor that follows us until the day we die. People who do not appreciate music are often seen as "non-cultured" and lacking in social talent. It can only be due to the fact that the sound of music communicates with the soul, and it should not be left out of a well-balanced life.

Music, indeed, is the essence of life.