I Will Always Love Yooooouuuu

When we were growing up, my best friend Steffani loved Anne Murray songs. I know this because she sang them a lot and always knew the words. I had never heard of Anne Murray before meeting Steffani, but after hearing a few of her songs, I decided I liked her, too.

The only thing that is curious about this story is that Anne Murray's heyday was about 15-20 years before our time. Steffani loved Anne Murray because her Mom loves Anne Murray. She grew up listening to "Can I have this Dance for the Rest of my life" and "You Needed Me" and the like. Come to think of it, lots of Steff's favorites could play like a "Best of the 60s and 70s CD." Wait, just when is the decade that Johnny Mathis was crooning his love songs?

It was when I was living with Steffani and her family that I realized the powerful impact of music on a family environment. Steff's mom, it seemed, was constantly humming something as she cooked in the kitchen or worked on the computer. From her I learned to love and trust people who hum and sing a lot. You just can't hum a happy tune and be in a bad mood. And along with a deepened appreciation for Anne Murray, I realized there that singing the songs your parents love remind you of the best memories of your growing up.

Flash forward a decade or two. On a winter day in early January, I stopped by my then-boyfriend Trent's house. He lived at home with his mom and dad (should I write a post about the value of dating boys over 30 who live in their parents basement? Should I??!). As I rang the doorbell I could hear the beat of lively music pulsing from inside the house. Trent's mom answered the door a little out of breath.

"Oh Liz!" she said enthusiastically. "Come on in! I'll go get Trent!"

As she ushered me inside I could, of course, hear the music even louder. I could tell she was in the process of taking down all of the Christmas decorations. There were a myriad of boxes and bins all over the entry way and bits and pieces of Christmas decor were in various states of being prepared for their year long hibernation.

"Sorry this stuff is everywhere," she said as the music pulsed around us. "It's been my goal to get it all put away before the afternoon passes, but I get too distracted dancing to Tina Turner."

That, my friends, is when you know that your future mother in law is awesome.

Because of his mother's delightful muscial influence, Trent loves Tina. Even more than Tina, Trent loves Carole King. He loves the Carpenters. He loves the Osmond Brothers. The boy who cannot tell you who the heck Duran Duran is, cannot name one singer in "We Are the World," and cannot name a Culture Club song (He really missed the 80s. Except Lionel Richie. Weird) can sing every line of the music of his parents generation.

And now we come to the present day, in the Liz and Trent household. As you may have heard, Whitney Houston is in the midst of something of a comeback. I watched her comeback story on Oprah. Both days of it. I cried. I called Trent telling him that the girl I loved, the singer of "The Greatest Love of All" had come back to us, and she was lookin' good.

I have never considered myself much of a pop music groupie girl. But let me just confess this now, once and for all, truly and unequivocally, I love Whitney. I loooooove her. I can name you all of her songs and the jr. high crushes that I still think of when I hear those songs. I love Whitney's face, her voice, and her awesome sparkly outfits.

With the passing of time and several moves in and out of various apartments, all my Whitney records and tapes got lost. But after the Oprah special, it dawned on me that I could hear all of Whitney's songs again, via the wonders of You Tube and ITunes. I downloaded as fast as I could think of titles: "Didn't We Almost Have it All" and "One Moment in Time" and "How Will I Know" and "You're Still My Man" and more.

And as I played them at full blast, singing along to every line, Lillian watched with great interest. I could tell that she was feeling a little Whitney love herself. I invited her to join me. For 30 minutes or more we danced and rocked out to Whitney songs.

Tonight as I prepared dinner and Lillian played with her books and toys, Whitney's latest CD serenaded us. Lillian danced and bopped her head in the beat to the music. A Whitney Lover in the making.

I figure, someday 20 years from now when Lillian is driving in the car with the sunroof down, rocking out to "How Will I Know?" her friends might look at her like she's crazy until she tells them, "My mother listens to Whitney Houston. She loves her and so do I."

And that, my friends, is the Greatest Love of All.