I Wonder Why

    So I downloaded some songs on my playlist entitled, "Old Fogies". This is a playlist on my phone which can also play on the car, of 40's and 50's music from the original artists like Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra with an occasional guest appearance of some random singer. I put some songs recently on there from the Andrews Sisters. Not really sure why, I guess it just reminds me of the days and nights at 710, with that blue haze in the living room. Ah, but then there is just the one song that gets me every time. And although I sort of downloaded it, I sort of didn't. Because the version I wanted intertwined two songs and iTunes doesn't apparently have it in their "extensive" collection. And I'm bummed because I really, really wanted that song.
    So the upshot is that I downloaded the Picnic theme, but not with Moonglow interwove (interweaven? interwoven?) with it. And on the way to the store today, I played it on the radio/media player in the car. And the song hit me right in the gut, well, maybe the heart. I could picture those myriads of days at the old place suddenly as if I were a teenager again. Listening to the radio in the living room as mom got dinner in the kitchen. Dad rocking in the recliner doing the crosswords or cryptograms or whatever the hell those things were he did all the time. The nostalgia was overwhelming. I don't think of Dad all that often anymore (which sounds awful when I say that out loud). But when he comes to me in memories, it is always with that radio playing. Even in those last days in the front bedroom, it playing those songs. And Picnic and Moonglow were right there in the air around him. The last song we talked about. The last coherent conversation. And even though a lot of time has passed, it suddenly didn't seem so.

Cards

Black Jack on red queen
Diamonds on spades
endless hours of mixing and matching
on an endless canvas of a day

I sit at the computer
Getting a stiff neck
and isn't my sore shoulder
Telling me something?

Red 10 on black jack
move the pile to the end of the line
oooh, an ace to place at the top
Of the screen

the cars rumble in the background
the leaves turn to brown
the wind howls and
the ground begins to harden

move this pile to the left
And this red 8 to the black 9
And auto play sends the cards scurrying
into their endless ranks of finished play

What happens now?
Where do I go from here?
What matters now?
Let's not go there.

Another hand, another hour
of endless play
Black 6 on red 7
on into the night.

The First Word

    No this isn't a post about biblical references, although I guess I could wax eloquent about who knew what the first words were and what inflection and tone were used in the process. No, we received a Face Time with our daughter and her husband last night that the granddaughter spoke her first word, which to my son-in-law's delight was Dada. The Face Time was a bust though as the granddaughter was more interested in her toes and looking concerned about that weird face on Mommy's face which kept talking to her, than in actually speaking. But of course, being of the digital age, they had a video of the event. And they sent it along right after the "no proof" call. Of course, I didn't need proof. I believe that our granddaughter can speak in several languages (some of course not invented yet) and is the next Rhodes Scholar at the age of 3. But they wanted to make sure we were aware of their child's ability so we humored them by watching.
    Now, I wear hearing aids, so sometimes the sounds coming through the phone and over the various mechanical devices is not reliable. Knowing this, however, they sent the video. I can hear our daughter cooing and encouraging. I can hear the delightful giggle of the 6 month old and the Dad chuckling in the background, but it was a strain to hear the child utter the magic word. I listened and listened to it and I guess I finally heard what they wanted me to hear. But I sighed mightily in the process. I will always hear her better in person. And what happens when she begins the babbling stage and there are some real words mixed in and it won't matter since I won't be able to decipher them in any way even in person.
    But this was a monumental moment in our granddaughter's growing. So we laughed and applauded and smiled indulgently. Because that's what grandparents do when their children's children reach a milestone. And hope that the next time she speaks, I'm standing right there to fully appreciate the moment. Heavy sigh.

You’re My Best Girl

Growing up, I loved to hear those handsome crooners sing romantic songs. I mean rock-n-roll was good when you wanted to hang out with friends, but in the wee, small hours of the morning, when the whole wide world is fast asleep, only Frank or Tony or Jack would do. The Jack I refer to is Jack Jones. He himself, the son of a singer, Jack sang some of the most romantic songs I had ever heard. 

But as the years rolled on, he was sort of forgotten by me. Streisand, Manilow (oh, no! Not Barry Manilow!), and anything composed by Sondheim replaced listening to those guys. But I knew the lyrics by heart by then, and just one phrase could bring me back to hearing their voices.

Fast forward to the most recent event in my life. That of becoming a grandparent to a small but adorable little girl. And she is adorable with the possible exception of twice. Once while my own adorable grown up girl was having major contractions to birth her and the other was when she would not settle down to sleep. We tried rubbing her back. We rocked her. We walked her. We patted her little behind gently (don’t know why that calmed her down sometimes?). But one morning about 2:30 when the new mom and dad were cross-eyed from lack of sleep; I waved them off to their beds and figured I would just keep rocking her until she settled down. When my own children were very small I remember singing softly to them, so I figured, why not? Now my voice is not soothing, as anyone who stands next to me in church will attest, but nothing ventured, nothing gained I thought. But what to sing? Something from Sondheim? Streisand? And then it just popped into my head. There was Jack Jones singing “You’re My Best Girl.” I only knew one verse (and the second one refers to a guy anyway) and so I began to sing:

You’re my best girl

And nothing you do is wrong.

I’m glad you belong to me.

And if the day is rough for me,

Having you there’s enough for me.

And if some day, another girl comes along,

It won’t take her long to see,

That I’ll still be proud,

Just hanging around

My best girl.

My best girl.

And it did the trick. She’s sleeping now. Thanks Jack!

The Moon and the Stars

On November 14, according to the weather people, whom I don't always believe, and the astronomists around the world, whom I do, there will be a Supermoon. It is the closest the moon will have ventured to the planet earth since January 1948. It will not be seen like this again until 2034.

I like looking at the night sky. I'm not too adept at finding the constellations, but as long as there is something up there twinkling, I just like looking up. Once, when I was in the island of Maui, and the ambient light wa almost nonexistent, the sky looked like a piece of velvet with diamonds sprinkled across it. It was breath-taking.

And as I gaze upwards, I can't help thinking about the Creator. Who thought this stuff up? How could such wondrous and fantastic things like, planets, suns, nebulas and galaxies come into being? It makes me feel, not insignificant as I've heard others describe it, but yearning. Longing to meet such a God that has such powers of beauty and awe at his fingertips! What a fabulous thing to have created! And I get to see it! And so do you, if you care to, that is. So look up that night and think of the Supreme Being in all his mighty heavens, and marvel at those things. I'll be right there looking, too.

In a Little While

In a little while,
When I am well rested
And refreshed from a nap
And well fed.

In a little while
When the sunset is golden
And the leaves have all fallen
And before the snow.

In a little while
There will be pies to bake
And turkey to be stuffed
And days to count down.

In a little while
The house will be full
The hearth will be warm
And I will be content

In a little while.

Sons in the West

I've been thinking of my sister these past few days. That isn't so unusual, I think of her frequently during the course of any given week. But especially this week.  She and I haven't always seen eye to eye about things in the past. She is a "doer" whilst I am fine doing nothing. But this particular week, we have more in common than we ever have.

We both love our children fiercely. They, all of them, are unique individuals. And at one time or another they have plucked our heart strings to the point of near breaking. They haven't done it on purpose, mind you. None of our children are cruel. But in their winding, wandering way of getting to adulthood, they have turned down paths which we both wished they hadn't. And with twisting fingers and bleeding cuticles, we have allowed them their journeys believing that they must navigate themselves. We couldn't (and can't) do it for them. This is the hardest part of parenting if you ask me. Allowing them that space to make mistakes and learn from them.

Eight years or so ago, our son went West. He and a good friend drove cross country and landed in California. It was a dream of his and he worked hard for it. He is still working hard, employed and creating in ways he hoped to do. I'm proud and pleased for and of him. But he's out there. And I'm back here. He isn't here for most birthdays, anniversaries or even the Fourth of July. He's been here for Christmas every year so far--which pleases me no end. But he isn't here for those little side comments and small jokes of everyday life. He comes home and rushes to see all those people here who love and miss him, and he never has enough time to fit everyone in. He wa sick, like hospital sick, while out there. And I saw a picture of him sent by his lovely and caring girlfriend of him in the ER. If you think I wasn't working on getting a ticket out there within minutes, you don't know me. But I didn't go because he handled it and he didn't need me out there hovering.

And my sister's second son, the one who she has finally connected with; who has taken to coming over just for a quick swim, or to help with a sick pet, or to borrow yet another tool; that son is leaving for sunny CA. And his significant other is going as well. Well, she got a job out there, so it's really that he's along for the ride, but you get the idea. She has become a daughter to my sister. Sharing thoughts and recipes and laughter. The asides, the little jokes, the quick drop overs will not be--at least for three years. And Sis is having a hard time. And I totally get it. I wish so badly that I could either take away the feeling of loss, or go visit her. I unfortunately cannot take time off this week. But she's in my head and my heart. And I remember that sense of watching a piece of your self go off in the car, believing that this is the right thing to do, but hating it all the same.

So I'm writing this down for her and for me. As we sniff into our tissues in separate places watching our sons go West.