Almost as soon as I learned to talk, I learned to harmonize. Like crossing the street or telling time, harmony was, in my family, essential, foundational knowledge. Singing was a big deal. In the living room, in the car, waiting for a flight to board, lying around on my parents’ big bed on an indolent summer afternoon, we sang. My dad would always chime in with his semi-ironic, half-operatic croon, but my mother was a serious student of music and she was not kidding around. She was determined that her daughters would know how to harmonize.
I was bad at it. I could begin a third higher than whoever was carrying the tune — my mother or one of my sisters — but soon my confident interval would waver...