My childhood bedroom was unbelievably small. My mum and I make jokes that I am the only person on the planet that goes to university and ends up with a bigger room. True story. What my boudoir lacked in size, it made up for in coziness. It had steep angled ceilings, a window that allowed me to climb onto the roof, and some still treasured nooks and crannies.
At night, I really felt like my room was the best in the whole house because it was located directly above our little library. This similarly small room contained my parents' hefty book collection, organ, a piano, and a guitar. On nights that I didn't fall asleep to my father's soothing voice as he read to me, I listened to that same voice singing through my floorboards as he played music. For years, this was a nightly ritual for him. I began to recognize most of the songs and looked forward to some of my favorites. To this day I cannot tell you the lyrics to any of them. The lyrics didn't matter.
One of the things that really helped me fall in love with Mr. F was his love of music. I always knew he could play a mean guitar but I was never really satisfied until he started playing some of the songs Nonny would play on his own guitar or on the piano. I will never forget a night drive we took together when he turned on a cd that was laced in my childhood being. I knew then and there that it would be okay if we got married since we had some similar musical preferences.
Well, Mr. F has been dusting off his guitar lately as he comes home from work. Last weekend he sat in our "living room" and played for hours while I painted and worked on a few projects. My favorite though is when he plays while I go to sleep. He'll strum away and it's like I can hear the music wafting up through the floorboards again. So grateful for the men in my life and their love of music.
And how they help me fall asleep.