Music has always been a healer for me. There is something therapeutic in getting lost in a melody. In finding lyrics that just fit. Music lifts moods, relieves stress and heals heartbreak, it fixes bad days and enhances good ones. Music can’t be touched, but it certainly can be felt. It brings back old memories, and creates new ones. Music mends wounds, it empowers, it encourages. My love of music is what kept me huddled for hours around a brand new “boombox” when I was 10, and ultimately what led me to a career in (and love for) radio. There’s a thrill that comes with finding a new band, a new song, a new genre, even that I fall in love with immediately.
Awhile back, I was gifted a 1930s Majestic radio that belonged to my Great-Grandparents. It sits in the middle of our great room and is much more than a conversation piece. It is a piece of my ancestry. A link to the past and the heart of our home. I’ve always loved to daydream about the legendary music and historical news stories that must have come through those speakers. Tommy Dorsey. Glenn Miller. Elvis. The beginning and end of World War II. Those trusty speakers have since gone silent, but a bluetooth speaker inside lets that beautiful music box live again. It’s the center of barefoot dancing in the kitchen with my babies. The soundtrack to Saturday morning pancakes, a glass of wine with Jimmy on a Thursday evening, or an afternoon Reds game.
It once again brings family together and fills every corner of our home with a hand-picked playlist that matches the rhythm of our day. It is one of my very favorite pieces in our home and a daily reminder of the importance of a second chance.