Tamara’s Musical Journey 🎶

Sharing songs that bring comfort, joy, and connection.

As a child, I was surrounded by music. My parents and grandparents (on my father’s side) admired the entertainers on The Ed Sullivan Show and Lawrence Welk, and their enthusiasm rubbed off on me. Looking back, I think I was eager to be someone they could admire, too. And those people on TV looked like they were having so much fun — a lively fun that, in the early ‘60s, seemed out of the ordinary.

Music also came from my mother’s side of the family. Both she and her father, my grandpa, loved to sing in church. I always enjoyed hearing my mom’s voice when we sang hymns together, and my grandpa was known for singing out loud and strong.

For me, though, singing in church sometimes was not very rewarding. The hymns were often written in keys that put the women’s parts right in the “in-between” range of the voice — not very strong or comfortable. Like most of the other girls and women, I just sang softly and tried to blend in. Looking back, it almost felt like a message to stay quiet and not stand out. I didn’t really discover the strength of my own voice until I started taking singing lessons, when I began to realize, “Oh, I’m not fooling myself — I actually can sing!”

I sang in Sunday School, in church, and in choir throughout my school years. On family car rides, my parents were in charge of the radio dial, usually landing on old standards from the ’40s and ’50s, and I learned a lot of those songs. At home, my sister and I — often joined by a friend or two — would sometimes put on little shows. One I’ll never forget was at our cabin community on the Mississippi River, when we sang and danced across a small swinging bridge over the canal. We thought we were just playing until we heard applause from neighbors who had been watching. I was only about eleven, and though embarrassed, I discovered how much fun it was to be audacious with music. Even though I was shy and usually too self-conscious to sing alone in front of people, the love of music has always stayed with me.

Over the years, I’ve learned the value of daily practice, and as my authentic voice shines through — shaped by both dedication and spiritual growth — I feel it is moving toward the heartwarming quality I’ve always cherished in singers such as Karen Carpenter, Johnny Cash, Burl Ives, Eva Cassidy, and John Denver.

In the past year, I’ve had the joy of performing with Doctor Dave’s Jazz Mojos at the Golden Magnolia Community Center in Fairfield, Iowa, which led to another unexpected delight: singing at retirement centers. At first, I wondered how it would compare to performing in a piano bar or nightclub, but I quickly discovered how meaningful it is to share familiar songs that awaken memories and bring smiles. With my background in nursing, these moments of connection feel especially natural — music becomes not just entertainment, but a way of offering comfort, companionship, and joy.

I’m also a poet and songwriter, and I see music as both a bridge and a treasure. It’s a bridge to a future where everyone’s talents matter, where creativity is nurtured and shared, and where music helps us cross barriers of culture and language. And it’s a treasure because the act of singing with others, performing for an audience, and co-writing songs creates synergy — these are benefits that ripple outward in surprising and welcome ways, much like a pebble dropped into a pond. The pebble itself may seem ordinary or it may sparkle, but its ripples reach farther than we can see, touching lives in unpredicted and beautiful ways.

Patsy Rose’s Musician Statement: