If you could choose talents, what would they be?

This question is akin to the more common one: “What would you do differently if you could live your life over.” For anyone as fortunate as me, to say anything other than “Nothing” is to be ungrateful. 

Given Dad’s opiate addiction and early death, Mom’s lifelong minor opiate abuse, and the cloud of uncertainty that pervaded my early years, might I wish for different parents? Certainly not. Dismissing that I won the DNA lottery from them, who is to say, for example, that the global anxiety I learned to live with was not a gift? I believe it was and is an important aspect of my ability to manage life. But my father and Mother were so much more than opiate abusers. Mother, especially, deserves credit for creating a loving, caring home environment despite her many other concerns. Under the circumstances, Jim and I were nurtured better than most might suspect. Mother’s sister Helen and our maid Blanche were a strong supporting cast. 

Dozens of other possibilities jump to mind. Might I wish for a different spouse? Heavens no! Marianne was the best thing that ever happened to me. The list of other alternatives is endless. Let’s just leave it be. 

So, my answer to myself about living life over again has always been: I wouldn’t change a thing. Pressed, I might add a few places I’ve not yet been, say Namibia, Madagascar, or Borneo. But that’s about it. 

The question about talent, though, is not so fraught with consequence. The answer is easy. I wish I had some musical talent, enough to play an instrument. I wish I’d been more fertile soil for the piano lessons Mother arranged when I was in elementary school. I hated them, being much more interested in girls, hunting, fishing, and football. After I quit piano she gave me a harmonica and an instruction booklet. I tried but didn’t make much progress on my own. I’ve often wondered why she didn’t find an instructor. I suspect there wasn’t one nearby.

I love music. Strange for a guy who cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Some touches me deeply. Guaranteed to bring tears are American patriotic anthems, especially when rendered in church on holiday occasions. The same can be said for a list of my favorite hymns from the Episcopal hymnal. 

I love country and western music. It connects me with the culture of my youth in rural east Texas. Especially do I like the lyrics of certain songs. For example, in Clint Black’s No Time to Kill:

There’s no time to kill between the cradle and the grave
Father Time still takes a toll on every minute that you save
Legal tender’s never gonna change the number on your days
The highest cost of livin’s dyin’, that’s one everybody pays
So have it spent before you get the bill, there’s no time to kill

Remove the music and it is revealed as poetry.

Like everyone else, some songs appeal to me because they connect to people or occasions. At the top of that list is All I Need Is A Miracle by Mike and the Mechanics. That’s Marianne, my miracle. Or Michael Martin Murphy’s Long Line of Love, the tune Anne and I danced to at her wedding.

I’m not particularly fond of classical music, but some of it resonates deeply: Aaron Copeland’s Fanfare for the Common Man, Widor’s organ Toccata, Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto, Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, Smetana’s Ma Vlast, Sibelius’ Finlandia, and a few others.