A Spoonful of Juice Newton

I’ve always been big on singing. I sing to my kids, I sing in the shower, and in the car. I sang to my dogs when I was a little girl. I’d stand in the backyard and belt out “God Bless the USA” like a tone-deaf Miss America. In college I constantly serenaded my sorority sisters. No one ever said so, but I believe my renditions of ‘NSync and Shakira songs were paramount through the perils of freshman 15’s and Greek life mixers. These days I have a magnet for my minivan that reads “I’ve got the music in me!” It’s flair from my sons’ music class, but the message speaks to my soul.

My favorite time to sing is when I’m baking. I bake at night after my boys go to bed. I throw on an apron; I whisk, I measure, and I bust a lung, harmonizing to Pandora Radio. While my husband Dan supports my baking endeavors, he isn’t enthusiastic about my singing career.

When it comes to music selection, I admit my favorites are an obscure (slightly embarrassing) mix. I know lots of my girlfriends indulge in rap. While I’m not opposed to rap, I’m not hip to it either.  My wheelhouse is a blend of old country music, 80’s rock, and musicals. Give me Bonnie Tyler, give me Pat Benatar, throw in a hair band ballad and let’s fire up the oven.

I’ve been enthralled by musicals, like Bye, Bye Birdie, since I could talk (Ann-Margret, bless her, is her very own essay for another day). Though I know every song and blink in the movie, I really hit my stride with “A Lot of Livin’ to Do.” I just need you to know that. I usually follow Bye, Bye Birdie with another nostalgic soundtrack: Grease 2. Stephanie Zinone, my alter-ego. She is everything I’m not, until, of course, I start baking. When Dan asks me to lower my volume a touch, he sees his wife in flour-dusted pajamas, a knot of hair atop her head, but in my mind, I’m doused in black leather, tossing my mane wildly as I sing about my badass fantasy boyfriend. My most recent “Cool Rider” performance before an audience was after my baby shower in February 2015. I was 8 months pregnant. There was a kitchen barstool substituting as a ladder, laborious breathing, a cameo by Braxton Hicks, and cankles. The following night, I was in the hospital on oxygen for two hours.

As I continue amateur hour in my kitchen, I perk up when I hear my homegirls: Bette, Dolly, and Cher. My dream team. Years ago I had to choose between seeing either Bette or Cher perform live in Las Vegas- it was my very own “Sophie’s Choice.” I ended up at Cher’s show and was in such awe, I was rendered mute and couldn’t sing along. I watched her prance across the stage in leather and fishnets, my eyes glistening with tears, wishing I could turn back time and be a singer, or at least a glorified groupie. I would’ve been great at that.

While bouncing around my favorite Pandora stations a few months back, I discovered Juice Newton radio. I was instantly transfixed. One minute I’m Dolly, singing “I Will Always Love You,” (The original and best version. Let’s not make this a thing.), then I’m belting out a jaunty duet, “Islands in the Stream,” with my dear friend Kenny Rogers, wishing my apron had sequins and perky, umm…microphones. When a song ends, I eagerly anticipate what’s coming next and then - oh yes- “Lookin for Love” from the Urban Cowboy soundtrack starts to twang. Now, not only am I singing, I’m quoting the movie (Fine, forget it!), two-stepping, and sifting. Look at me multi-tasking! Dan passes through to grab a snack and I ignore his smirk. I am a country idol slash Betty Crocker goddess. Let me live.

Then, like an answered prayer, Juice Newton’s “Angel in the Morning” is humming in my ears. I float around the kitchen, checking to see if the cake is rising as I sing “just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby…” I have so much conviction, you’d wonder what I’ve been up to when not corralling toddlers. Yes, it’s a risqué song about a one-night stand, but I’m a performer - maybe not a method performer, but I embrace my lyrics. Do you think Reba McIntyre knows what it’s like to be a hooker named Fancy? Probably not, but that gritty ginger nailed it and so do I. That’s how legends, and my Snickerdoodles, are made.

Singing is my stress reliever. It’s my way of tuning out the junk that clutters my brain. It makes me happy and keeps me productive in the kitchen. Juice Newton is the secret ingredient in all my baked goods.