Benjamin Franklin has been quoted as saying "Beer is proof that God Loves Us and Wants us to be happy."  Ben, in my humble opinion, was off just a tad:  Bach is proof that God Loves Us and Wants Us to be Happy.  (However, given that beer was probably much more available in the day than virtuoso violinists playing Bach, one can understand how he would make that mistake).

Today, I spent 6 hours on the road to attend a dressage clinic with a former olympic rider only to learn the following:

1. My horse doesn't like music
2. How to get a horse to stop using your cellulite, looking at the sky, and using your heels like Fred Flinstone all at the same time (it is trickier than it sounds)
3. If I truly want to help my horse, I must commit to Pilates
4. My horse is lame (not as in "gee, mom... that was so LAME".  Rather, there was something horribly wrong whenever he tried to trot and I couldn't take the time to help him work through it)
5. You can apparently break your back by spending an entire flight from Sydney, Australia to LA just laying down across four seats if you have osteoporsis

All in all, it was not the most positive equine experience I have had.  I was crying my eyes out by the end of the lesson because I felt so bad for my horse.  I also felt humiliated and embarrassed for many reasons that are beyond the scope of this blog (by now, you may actually be wondering what the scope of this blog is!).

As I was driving back -- I popped in a few of my favorite CDs to pass the miles away.  The first was Howard Hanson symphonies.  The second and third were the complete Sonatas and Partitas for Unaccompanied Violin.  By the time I got through the Howard Hanson symphonies and the opening chords of the First Violin Sonata, the sting and the disappointment were quickly disappating.  By the time the Bach Chaconne (the last movement of the last Partita) started to play, I was crying again -- only this time, tears of love and joy.

Music -- classical music in particular -- has always been a major part of my life.  In fact, you could argue that if it wasn't for classical music, I might never have been born.  My mom and dad met while playing violin in the University of Illinois Symphony.  Both my parents were very talented violinists.  My mom was accepted and attended the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, New York on a full scholarship.  Eastman is to music as the Ivy Leagues are to academics.  For my mom -- music was her chosen major.  

My father, on the other hand, grew up in Southern Illinois and didn't exactly have the best training available -- but he was quite talented in his own right.  For him, violin was his passion but he knew that he would have to major in something more pragmatic (business) in order to be able to support himself and a family.  However, he still always made time for violin.  

After meeting in the U of I symphony (my mom utlimately decided to transfer back to Illinois because being so far from home proved to be too emotionally stressful for her), they fell in love, got married and stayed married until the day my dad passed away in 1994.

Music was a constant in our lives growing up.  My first memory of music was "The Christmas Tape".  My dad, in addition to his passion for music, also had a passion for gadgets (I come by that honestly!).  Before I was born, he purchased a Wallensack Reel-to-Reel tape deck -- state of the art, back in the day.  He recorded classical Chrismas music off the radio.  To this day, my sisters and I still listen to "THE Christmas tape".  It is imperfect -- full of pops and "creative" editing (one song will just stop mid-song and another will start up -- also mid song) but part of what we love about that tape are the imperfections.  

When I was four, I wanted to learn how to play jingle bells so I sounded it out by ear on the piano.  Being left-handed, I used my left hand.  At that point, they figured they better get me real piano lessons before I started doing everything left handed.  Every week, my mom would take us into Chicago (a one-hour train ride and a 13-block walk) to the American Conservatory of Music so that we could study with some of the best teachers available.  My oldest sister, Karen -- continued to focus on piano.  The middle sister, Susan -- who had the rebel thing going -- decided to go with flute.  Me?  I did piano and violin.  We were all actually pretty good -- not child prodigy material but quite "respectible".  And we loved it.  It was our outlet.  It was our "thing" that made us special.  It was our therapy.  It was our means of "positive attention".

Growing up, there was always music playing.   Every sunday we would spend the day listening to classical music while my parents would read the Sunday newspaper form cover to cover and we kids would "hang out".  We had a summer cabin up in  Eagle River, WI and we would go to sleep listening to the great romantic violin concertos or Billy the Kid and other Copeland works.  The cabin faced west and so we would listen to music while watching gorgeous sunsets night after night after night. 

 Those nights in Eagle River were the beginning of what I think of as "the soundtrack of my life".  Sinc e there was seldom a time when music wasn't playing, my moods became synonimous with the music that was being played at the time.  When I was in grade school, I was into reading historical fiction (Gwen Bristow was my favorite author).  That was the time I discovered Shostikovitch. So when I hear Shostikovitch, I can't help but be transported back to those days of reading Celia Garth and Jubilee Trail.  When I see a sunset, my mind starts to hear the Tchaikowsky violin concerto... or when I hear the Tchaikowsky, I automatically picture the sunset -- I'm unable to separate the two.

By Junior High, my own piano playing became a window into my moods.  There were certain pieces I would play when I was angry -- a Chopin Prelude or something else where I could bang away.  When I was feeling good, I would play some light-hearted Mendelsohn Song without words.  You could tell exactly what kind of mood I was in simply by the songs I was playing.  

By college, my musical tastes started to become influenced by my crushes and my first love.  My major crush was into Bruckner so Bruckner became my passion.  The purity and the energy of the Brass sections seemed so symbolic of the purity and energy of my crush.  The crush didn't work out (they seldom do) and after a couple of years where I was best friends with a boy, our relationship blossomed to love.  The Chopin Piano concerto slow movement was the piece where unspoken feelings morphed into love.  To this day, when I listen to that concerto, I think of my first love.  Then there was the dark time in our relationship where my love's mother was dying of cancer.  There, Brahms first symphony became the expression of my anger and a Beethovan sonata was the outlet for my depression.

But there are two pieces of music that remain for me "sacred".  The Bach Chaconne and Mahlers 2nd symphony.  These two pieces are so far apart in terms of style -- the Bach is for unaccompanied violin and is one of the most technically challenging pieces that a violinst must master.  The Mahler, on the other hand, is a grand explosive symphony that requres "all hands on deck" in order to be performed -- every musician in a symphony orchestra -- and anyone else they can find -- are required to make this piece come alive.  

However, both pieces are similar in that they mimic the progression of a lovers quarrel.  They start out almost angrily and with a tension that is begging for relief.  They explore the themes in so many ways -- sometimes defiant and beligerantly, other times tentative and meekly.  Finally, like most conflicts -- there is a break through and the tone shifts to peace, reconciliation and redemption.  Both end on a hopeful and optimistic note -- like seeing a rainbow at the end of a bitter violent storm.  

Both of these works were favorites of my father.  In a way, they are a metaphor for certain aspects of his life, which is part of the reason, I think, he was drawn to them.  The tension and morose episodes that eventually give way to hope and reconciliation.  

Sometimes, it is difficult for me to figure out whether my choice of music influences my mood or if my mood infuences my choice of music.  To an extent, I believe it is a bit of both.  I will go for stretches where I don't listen to classical music.  During those times, I will listen to NPR or alternative music via XM.  However, when emotion is running particularly deep, I return to the classical works that have been with me since my earliest memory.  When I do, it is like everything that is wrong with the world starts to work itself out.  

I will always be greatful to my mom and dad for giving me their music and encouraging me to find my own.  I can only hope that I am able to give my own children a similar gift.