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Expanding on lessons learned.
In my original home I was the youngest and the most quiet.
Often times I would have a pad and pencil with me and I would draw pictures.
Or write stories.
Or listen to songs.
Music was my place of escape.
My room was a place of solitude even though it wasn’t my own room
it often felt like my own.
I would sit on the floor close to the speakers as the old fashioned record player with the turn table would play the 60’s and 70’s vinyl albums or 45’s.
The large stack of square record jackets showed the singers pictures.
Diana Ross and the Supremes, Janis Joplin or the original beach boys music, there was Jan and Dean, Barbara Streisand, original Michael Jackson with the Jackson five, Sonny and Cher, plus so many more.
In fact a lot of those original albums are still in a storage box.
Music was my hiding place.
My imaginary escape where I could go and pretend.
I remember holding my hair brush up as if it was a microphone and I would lip-sync the song in the mirror.
Imagining myself on stage with the lights and the sounds.
Music was a place I could go to and spend hours escaping.
I still enjoy music and as the words wash over my ‘spirit’ many times I find it healing.
To this day our room is a place of refuge.
Even when it is messy or disorganized with things not exactly put away.
It is my/our room not shared by others.