I re-read yesterday’s quick post and realized it sounded like Mike never got to bed last night. He sacked out on my bed and fell asleep, and then I got him up and walked him back to his bed. When he first came home I could pick him up, but now he weighs close to 90 lbs., so he has to walk. He rarely bumps into anything and he has no memory of it the next day.
I put music on his CD player at night for him to listen to as he falls asleep. I have learned that he falls fast. Once he is horizontal and still, and we have had prayers, he is out in about 2 minutes. [Unless someone sends me an email of something screaming…] For the past week he has been listening to one of my all-time favorite artists, Mary Chapin Carpenter.
Mary Chapin Carpenter [MCC] is, in my opinion, one of the best songwriters and singers in the world. Her lyrics are always powerful. This is from her song Beautiful Racket, off the CD Between Here and Gone:
So your day begins like this
Wondering what might have been
Old regrets and chances missed
Borne away on some lambent wind
Her music is so powerful, I can listen to it all day, although that particular CD is not a favorite. She still has great lyrics but her recent songs sound like re-treads, musically. I have always loved singer/songwriters like MCC, James Taylor, and Paul Simon. I also like classic R&B. Yeah, I'm weird.
She did an early song called I Am A Town, which I saw her sing in concert some years ago, when my Dad was alive, and I later bought the CD and listened to it obsessively. The song talks in the persona of a small southern town. When my Dad was sick with cancer and I was driving back and forth to Augusta all the time I would listen to it and cry because it made me think of my dad and his life. It took about 500 listens before I was able to hear it and not cry. I had thought at one time I might sing it at his memorial service, a cappella, as a tribute, but when the day came I was barely functional, and singing anything was not an option. Mother had a service completely devoid of any music because she was afraid she would break down and sob in front of a packed church and so, no music. No sobbing either, not in public anyway. Mother has a horror of crying in public.
She has a new CD out, a compilation of Christmas music and I would love to get that for Christmas. Hint. Hint.
MCC gets labeled as country, but she's not really. I know country. We saw a lot of country music concerts when we lived in Knoxville, I guess because of the proximity to Nashville. Bruce used to take a flashlight and read a book. He always said he didn’t like country. Years later, I found a George Jones CD in his truck. You can’t deny your roots.
Then again, we are 50% mother and she was a professional singer in her youth and has a deep love of classical music.
When we are driving around downtown Atlanta and spot a pretty older church, Mother almost always says “I’ve sung in that church.”
Mother and I have talked about her death several times. She wants to be cremated. I am fine with that. I’ve told my kids, cremate me. No need to pay for a ridiculously expensive funeral. [The ridiculous cost of funerals is one of my soapbox topics, so don’t get me started…] Anyway, I’ve told Mother we WILL have music at her memorial service and I will choose it. [She won’t be there to protest. LOL] I am thinking about a nice eclectic mix, maybe something by Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, Placido Domingo, Willie Nelson, Rod Stewart, Leontyne Price, and of course the B-52’s. Wouldn’t be a party without the B’s…
I was in the car with Mother once and put on a CD I thought was pretty neutral, Aretha Franklin’s greatest hits, and as soon as Mother heard the first song she hollered “Get that crazy rock and roll music off there!!”
“But she’s the first lady of soul,” I protested weakly.
“Then just stop this car because I am getting out!” she barked.
“OK, OK, calm down…”
[I think I’ll start the memorial service with Aretha’s version of Dr. Feelgood…. ]
When I die, I don’t want the kids to pay for a funeral or a cremation. Donate my body to science. I should provide great research opportunities for the cure for cellulite. Maybe they can find a cure for fat thighs and Hobbit feet, too.
For me, no funeral. Just have a big party. Play lots of Stevie Wonder, KC and the Sunshine Band, The Temptations, The B-52’s, Marvin Gaye, and any other good party music [excluding rap of course]. Think of me and smile. Tell funny stories. Eat chocolate cake and lobster tails. Read out loud from my collected works, and marvel at how many typos I committed in my lifetime. Instead of having a “viewing” of my body [a custom I’ve always thought was barbaric] instead have a screening of one of my favorite movies, Groundhog Day, which teaches good lessons about happiness and morality and it’s also funny.
I think death can be quite funny. I love black humor anyway. When my great uncle Jake died, Dad got his few personal effects from the funeral home, and stored them briefly in the storage room of our garage. I was 8. I walked in there one day and saw Jake’s false teeth gleaming at me from the shadows and nearly wet my pants. I ran out screaming. I adored Jake but those teeth were not my favorite part of him. Now, the memory amuses me.
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We were in an awkward moment last night just before dinner, when Alesia sang a snippet of melody and asked me what the name of the song was. “You know this, Mom? What’s the name of it?” I froze like a deer in the headlights who has spotted the muzzle of a double-barrel shotgun. “Uh, I’m not sure, hum it again?” I said weakly. She hummed it. I looked at Mother, who also looked horrified. “I, uh, don’t know, sorry kiddo,” I said lamely. “Mom, you know that song!” she said. This time she hummed a different melody. She has no ear for music. She could’ve been humming the Russian national anthem for all I knew. Fortunately, food was imminent and she dropped the line of inquiry.
Alesia may not be good at music but she's a fierce little warrior woman when it comes to those she loves, and I love that about her. Michael read a story yesterday for language arts about a deaf child with an older sister, and how the sister took up for him. When Alesia got home, Michael said to her “If someone called me a freak, what would you do?” Mother said Alesia looked extremely ticked off and said “I would beat their BUTT!” or words to that effect. “Beat butt” is how she remembered it later. She is very protective of Michael and just adores him. Of course, he gets on her nerves, like any younger brother, and they argue and fuss. They are close, though. When we go on long car trips and they are stuck in the back seat together they almost never fuss.
Michael is my resident clown, sometimes inadvertently. When Michael got home from school today I was dying to hear about the program the boys saw at Fernbank. I asked him what the program was and if he liked it. He answered this way, his voice dripping with disgust: “It was boring. They just talked about armpit hair and pimples!” I could hear Mother in the background laughing. Turns out they didn’t tell Michael anything he didn’t already know. We’ve talked about puberty and how that affects boys, here at home, several times.
Michael had an eye exam today. He was very grumpy and apprehensive before going in, as usualy with any new experience. He asked me last night why he had to have the exam and I explained that Granny and I are concerned about his eyesight. To prove my point, he had just tried on my regular glasses and instead of wincing and pulling them off his face as quickly as possible, like most folks, he said “Wow, I like these. I can see out of these.” After I told him he might need glasses, though, he drew back, frowning. “You’re not gonna make me wear NERD GLASSES?!” I tried to think what he was talking about. All I could come up with was the poster for the movie Revenge of the Nerds. “No, they will have a lot of frames to choose from, and you can pick what you like,” I tried to reassure him.
The optometrist found that Michael is far sighted and has astigmatism. We ordered a pair of glasses. Michael is intrigued with the idea of wearing the glasses. I sure hope they help him to see better. Maybe some of his recent fussiness is frustration with his sight. He picked out non-nerd frames, fyi.
IN OTHER NEWS
We finished Mike's big social studies project after getting home from the eye doctor. I am dead tired.
My friend Cindy [Big Mama Hollers is her blog] is going through a terrible ordeal with two of her children who are exhibiting severe behaviors, plus other difficulties. Please say a prayer for her and her family.
We heard from Bruce that he was catching a plane for Kuwait tonight, and hoped to be home Saturday or Sunday. Yay. Mother and I are both anxious. Say another prayer for his safe and speedy travel, please.
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