Love of music begins in Cleveland

With free rein to the radio as a kid, I discovered the forms of music that made my heart soar. Never much impressed w/the typical Neil Sedaka stuff, I changed the radio station and discovered two black stations. WJMO and WABQ. I was hooked on rhythm n blues. This satisfied a soul-deep longing for great rhythm, rich, melodious voices that resonated with feeling, and a simple ability to lose yourself in the depths of harmony.

Once on a Saturday when I was my dad's summer secretary at Majestic Specialties, we went out to lunch with "the boys." I felt terribly out of place but my dad insisted I come along. I'll never forget the sound of the Flamingos coming on the jukebox with I Only Have Eyes for You. Sha-bom sha-bom.



The outer world vanished as I slipped away into the magical world of music.

Cousin Mark turned me onto classical music and guided my purchase of Beethoven albums, while Scholastic Magazine in high school recommended Mahler symphonies and Song of the Earth (go brain go!), Debussy and Ravel (Piano Concerto for the Left Hand, anyone?)

So, it was with great trepidation that I turned Aunt Selma's Audio Book Player onto the Radio Mode and sped up to the top of the dial to see if my beloved WCLV was still there.

It was! They were playing harpsichord music by Rameau - Rameau! - I'd forgotten all about Jean-Philippe. Our own WRTI classical station rarely plays anything good, sorry, thick-phlegm-voiced Jill Pasternak but I tell the truth.

Waiting at home for me were two new CDs I bought on Amazon. On the PBS Nightly News Hour, they interviewed Pulitzer-prize winning composer Jennifer Higdon. I fell hard. And I fell deep. I wrote down her name and bought her Violin Concerto she wrote for her former student, the violin prodigee Hilary Hahn, who I'd never heard of.

Finally, I got a chance to listen to the music during my sciatica recovery period. The liner notes are great.

My doctor's office just called. 6:06 pm. They want me to take the dilaudid prescribed by the ER doctor and see the doctor later this week if I'm able.

This is how a doctor's office should be. He gives me courage that I'll get better.

Interestingly, in the liner notes from the ER, the last page was a Suicide Hotline to call. What dyou think that meant?