In January I signed up for another jazz workshop to keep challenging myself to do things that terrify me. This year it was on the Gershwin songbook, so I’ve been going to class once a week, singing my little heart out and having the best time. Yesterday was our big performance, and I figured because of the fact I didn’t get sick and have to get a steroid shot this year I’ve made progress!
When we were choosing the three songs we would perform, I knew one of mine was going to have to be “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.” When I saw the title it opened up a drawer where one of my sweetest little memories had been patiently waiting for a couple of years for me to find it.
On the last long car ride down to the beach with Mom—after she was well past the point of being able to follow books on tape—we’d mainly listen to Sinatra CDs and sing along for hours. “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” was one of the songs I’d push repeat on, over and over. On that last ride—somewhere south of Montgomery—I made a game of us saying all the little things we’d always remember about each other. I came up with the exact color of her eyes which I called Mary Lou Blue, or the sound of those jingle bell earrings she wore at Christmas, or the way she stood with her hand on her hip when she was about to launch into some story I knew I was going to have a hard time following. I told her no one could ever take those things away from me.
At that point she looked out the window, and I could tell she was upset and about to cry. I asked her what was wrong and she said, “Well, you sure took my car away from me!” So, being the good, empathetic daughter, I totally burst out laughing … which, of course, got her more upset. I said, “Oh, my god, Mom. You can’t even remember what you just had for lunch. But the car?? I guess that memory’s not going anywhere, is it?” She looked at me, now smiling, with her tear-filled Mary Lou Blues and said, “Well, I guess not.” And then she started laughing, too—that contagious way I loved so much where she could hardly catch her breath. And that wonderful sound filled my car for the next few miles before I pushed the repeat button on the song again.
0 Comments