Music Memory

It's funny how there are pieces of music that provide instant flashbacks to very specific places or images. Whenever I hear Bach's Brandenburg Concertos I picture the whirling velvet skirts of Paul Taylor's work of the same name, my all-time favorite choreographic piece and one that I could watch on a loop (the dancers would die, it's so complicated and tiring!) And on a slightly less, um, classy note, "Toxic" by Britney Spears always inspires memories of twenty-four year old versions of Ashley, Carolyn and me decked out in the obligatory jeans and black "going out" tops at an Upper East Side bar.

I've been listening to Pandora at work and "More" popped up today. The Bobby Darin version of this ditty was our wedding song. But when I heard it today, I didn't think of our wedding. Instead I recalled our rehearsal. Not our ceremony rehearsal or rehearsal dinner, but our dancing rehearsal. Yes, our dancing rehearsal. 

At the time, I thought the color of the ribbon wrapping the flowers was LIFE OR DEATH so naturally, putting on the perfect little number for our wedding guests was basically DEATH OR DEATH. Meanwhile, I neglected to think about the importance of my wedding hairstyle, which actually did look like DEATH. Anyway.

I forced my poor fiance to enter my world of choreography, rehearsing the same eight counts over and over, and sweating in a tiny, airless studio. I stepped on his feet more than he stepped on mine. I yelled at him when he got it wrong and he didn't even smirk when I got it wrong. And he endured. He has always endured. I know I endure him too but I think I throw a special type of crazy mish-mosh his way. So I can chuckle a little when I hear "More," but it also reminds me that he has been, is and always will be amazing. And I still owe him one.