What Good Is Sitting Alone In Your Room, Come Hear The Music Play

Even before there was a Wingman, I loved music, even though it didn't manifest itself in any talent on my part. I sang in a children's choir where the director said that I had a "special voice" so I sat apart from the rest of the girls. I was in a folk group as a teen, but don’t ask about my tambourine playing.  And because it required no talent, I was the ultimate groupie for a couple of bands that played in local bars at the shore.

I met Wingman at a party after his friend joined one of those bands.  We didn't talk about music the first night-we talked about watching Casablanca and Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman.  When he asked if I would like to play tennis with him, I eagerly accepted...even though athletics are another one of my Achilles heels. It was just the first of many differences between us.  The quote "opposites attract", was us to a tee. Different upbringings, political stances, and don't even talk about styles of cooking.  The Easter Duck Debacle still resonates loudly.

But our love of music was the magnet that united us. We travelled to Philly to hear jazz funk bands like the Brecker Brothers, Stanley Clark and Chick Corea. When Billy Joel played Rutgers, we were there. We saw Steve Martin play banjo, Paul McCartney play ukulele, Simon and Garfunkel sing in Central Park and even heard Flo and Eddie at a crappy dinner theatre in Florida. Because he was a film editor who cut ZZ Top's "Legs" video, we were guests at the very first MTV Award Show and saw David Bowie, Madonna, Rod Stewart and Tina Turner perform (and got to sit with Huey Lewis as a bonus!)

Early on, I was his personal groupie when he played in a local band, complete with a horn section.  Years later, the boys became groupies when he played in a Beatles cover band that one year took second place at Beatlefest. We took them to hear a real Beatle-Ringo Starr and His All Star Band (that year with Peter Frampton), as well as their first Springsteen concert. And even though I’m pretty sure that they were bored to tears, we made them sit through a Vince Girardi concert just to hear him play all of his Charlie Brown Christmas songs.

Eventually, the need for drink overshadowed his love of music. He bought tickets for Carole King and James Taylor’s Troubadour show but wasn't fit to go, so I took friends. Yet every now and then, a glimmer of the old Wingman would come through like a crocus through the snow.  He'd hear Neil Young play "Harvest Moon" or find the video of David Bowie singing "America" at the Concert for 911, and I'd think he might find his way out of that black hole. It never happened.

The week after he died, I gave the boys carte blanche to take anything of his for their memories. I brought out his jewelry box and low and behold, there was a pair of front row mezzanine tickets he had purchased months before to a Michael McDonald concert. So, just five days after his funeral, the BFF and I went to the concert with the tickets that showed that glimmer of the old Wingman.

My love of music hasn't diminished. In the seven years since he died, I've heard bar bands, rock concerts and have seen Broadway shows-sometimes with other people and sometimes by myself. Two years ago, rather than bemoan "Year Five", a friend and I went to the Concerts East weekend at Citi Field in Flushing. Last year, the BFF and I went to Springsteen on Broadway for my birthday. And tomorrow night, we'll hear a band with the guitarist who played "In My Life"at Wingman's funeral. The only person who every year sends me a text on Wingman's birthdayand the day he died to say that he's thinking of me and the boys.

There are songs that will always make me smile for the times they represented and songs that literally make me swoon like a teenager. And thanksto volunteering during the holidays, I have an unlimited variety of Christmas songs to enjoy over and over and over...

But you won't hear me singing or playing that damn tambourine like when I was young. I'll leave that to people much more talented than I will ever be.

Why I smile every time I hear "Glory Days"

The Mr. Mustard Band taking second at Beatlefest.

Those little dancers in the front are our boys.