The Dance

Any joy or relief I used to find in music is temporarily on vacation. I can't enjoy music because every song and every artist evokes a memory. It's my own fault; I married a music man.

Of course, I enjoyed music long before I met him. But, when you are with a music man, it goes to new heights. You get absorbed in his knowledge. You associate songs (and especially lyrics) with happier times. You marvel at his mind and his talent. Happier times involve singing around the piano or dancing on the patio. You remember every concert, every dance, every quiet moment -- and what song was playing at the time.

My iPod hasn't been on in months. I have broken two nails jabbing the radio station buttons in the car. I turn it off but then the music in my head is worse than whatever they might play next.

I love country music and I thought I was safe with that. Unfortunately, they are playing Garth Brooks' "The Dance" a lot lately. This is a song the husband learned to play on the piano for me, even though he is not a fan of country music. It is sad and haunting. It is appropriate but we didn't know it at the time.

From The Dance:

And I, I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go.
Our lives, are better left to chance.
I could've missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance.

Making Cds

If you have a computer that's less than five years old, you have a CD burner. Of course, I had to ask Big Sal to help. She is my CD-burning Queen.

My gift to the goldies was a double CD with songs that meant something to us or represented our friendship. It included:

High Hopes (The Ant Song) -- Frank Sinatra
This One's For the Girls -- Martina McBride
You've Got a Friend -- Carole King
Thank You for Being a Friend -- Golden Girls theme song
I'll Be Around -- The Spinners

There are about 36 more but I won't bore you with them. I went through photo albums and made little CD covers with photos of us at various stages of life.

I made a similar gift for my father to celebrate Father's Day. Different songs and different photos but the same concept. I want my father to play these CDs and know that this woman adores him. In case he forgets, I included a couple of songs that have the name "Sherry" in them. I also added:

I Loved Her First -- Heartland
Because You Loved Me -- Celine Dion
My Girl -- The Temptations
Like a Rock -- Bob Seger

Like the other one, there are about 35 other songs. There's something about music. Some of us are lyrics people and others get absorbed in the drum or guitar solo.

Big Sal made me a CD about aging. It's called, "You're An Old B**** Now." Just reading the titles makes me laugh. Some of the songs:

You're as Cold as Ice -- Foreigner
I Keep Forgetting -- Michael McDonald
Heartache Tonight -- Eagles
Doctor My Eyes -- Jackson Browne
I Go Crazy -- Paul Davis
I'm Still Standing -- Elton John

This is the CD in my car at the moment.

Jan was driving home the other day, listening to her goldies CD. She called me and said, "I want this played at my funeral." Then she called me this morning to tell me that she is getting strength during tough times by listening to the CD. She feels surrounded by us and our friendship.

Not that I ever doubted it but it's a strong reminder of the power of music.

Not Disappointed

Yesterday was the beginning of my goldies weekend. You now how sometimes you look forward to something with such anticipation that you feel let down because it didn't live up to your expectations? This is not the case. So far it's even better than I dared to hope.

Yes, I did cry in the airport.

We all had our questions but Jan kept calling to remind us not to start them without her. We had enough food and drinks for an army. Once the three of us were in the same room, any sane person would've had a head spin. We couldn't talk fast enough. My goddaughters came over and I noticed some eye rolling at how silly the three of us can become.

Did I mention that Jan needed to have her dogs out of her house for a couple of hours so at one point, we had my maniac dog and her three dogs running around. Gabby thought this was a big party just for her!

Other than our husbands and children, we know each other better than anyone else in the world. Yet, we still keep learning about each other. Within the first hour, we had cried and then laughed until we cried our make-up off. All of our quirks and mannerisms came out in full force. We listened to music and interrupted each other to say, "This song reminds me of the time ..." My stomach muscles actually ached from laughing.

And the weekend has just begun!

Impromptu Parties

If you're with the right group of people, a party can break out at any time. I live with an "out there" person. A lot of my friends can turn any occasion into a party. I used to think I was a victim of circumstance but now I accept that I am often the instigator.

Jan has a routine that cracks me up. She will call twice on the home phone. If I do not answer, she will call twice on my cell phone. If I do not answer, she will walk into my kitchen. When a girl needs her girlfriend, the barriers go away. Strong people just knock them out of the way. The message is, "I will find you." I am always relieved to be found.

Houseboy came in for a cold drink after spending many hours loading the fallen tree and many limbs into the chipper. (Abby calls him Poolboy, although I do not have a pool.) My next door neighbor's daughter, and my friend, came over with her puppy. We passed him around like old women do with an infant. I played referee with my maniac dog.

The iPod was rocking. We discussed children and dogs and storm damage. It was an impromptu party and the most fun I've had in weeks.

Walking Into a Memory

On Saturday, the husband and I went to a friend's home for dinner. He and his girlfriend prepared a fabulous meal and could not have been more gracious. It was a roller coaster of laughs, food, music ... and tears.

My friend, Patsy, was his wife. The last time I stepped in this house, I was visiting her after surgery. I knew he had remodeled/recedorated and I was anxious to see it. I was also just plain anxious. I used to be able to drive to this place in my sleep. We have had girlfriend sleepovers and SuperBowl parties there. We sat in the kitchen and solved the problems of the world.

Crossing the threshold was like walking through foam. I expected her to walk up to me, cup my face with her little hands and kiss me in greeting. (Then she would tell me what was wrong with my life.)

I didn't exactly boo-hoo; I just couldn't escape the memories. I really like the girlfriend but I'm sure she wanted to slap me: Just stop it!

Although she was Jewish, Patsy's final days were spent in a Catholic hospital. Crucifixes everywhere. My super-funny husband would walk into the room and say, "Love your decorations." She was in a coma but her machines would go crazy.

The house has changed and although it was beautiful before, it better suits her husband now. Plus, his girlfriend must appreciate the changes.

One thing he kept was a large frame filled with friends and family. She inspired me to do this myself and it's a tedious yet worthwhile project. People get enthralled with the search. Am I in there? The husband couldn't find himself. I pointed out: she didn't like you.

The truth is she did like him but she enjoyed the dance of poking and prodding, as does he. They disagreed on so many things that it made my head spin. I learned many years ago to get out of the way.

So, I went to Patsy's house. I loved it. Patsy wanted nothing more for her husband and children than to be happy and I felt nothing but love in the house. Could anyone ask for a better legacy?

Young People and Music

When our niece was visiting, we spent some time in the car. I tend to go between our country station and the station that plays oldies. In either case, she knew the words and sang along.

My goddaughters know most of the songs from my generation. That's because they've been forced to listen to their mother and me sing loudly and often.

The daughter and the baby are both musically attuned. They come by it honestly. I love it that they can skip around different genres, know every word to the Beatles or the Rolling Stones or Garth Brooks and then introduce us to some group we've never heard of. Correction: I've never heard of it. The husband knows it all.

I was once one of those young people. My aunts exposed me to a little country and a lot of Leslie Gore. My father exposed me to a lot of country. My mother shared her love of Elvis. The oldies reminded me of my passion for hymns, big band music and jazz. I filled their CD collection and they let me share them.

Music transcends time and generations. If you don't agree with me, put a teenager in your car and play some Motown music. They'll sing along.

The Love of Music

Before the oldies left for their Christmas vacation in Texas, we discussed gifts. I suggested no gifts. It didn't fly. She wanted to buy the husband a jacket that he would never wear. I spent quite a bit of time trying to talk her out of it.

As you know, they returned from Texas and she went almost immediately to the hospital, then the rehab center, then the hospice. And finally, home to Mississippi.

One of our last conversations was about music. She was about as technologically-savvy as any 84-year old you could meet. In two and one-half years, she amassed a freakishly large CD collection. She might wander in my office as I was downloading something on my iPod. The number of songs it can hold blew her away. The idea of plugging it in a speaker system and using a remote control made her pretty darn excited.

I planned to buy her an iPod for our post-Christmas exchange. I planned to download all of her CDs. Instead, I will probably put them on eBay.

Time Flies

Last night I was supposed to meet a few of the golf widows. Their husbands are on the same trip as Big Daddy. I was iffy about it because the weather was crummy and I get nervous driving on sleet and snow. Idiot Sheri came into play and said, "Go." So, I went and I'm glad I did.

While I was trying to find these friends, I ran into at least five people that I know. (Yes, one of them was probably your ex.) I ran into one of my wives-in-law. Why are all these people out on such a crazy weather night?

One person who I had not seen in years gave me a gigantic hug and then had to take a call from his daughter. I know his ex-wife. I remember when they called with the news that they were expecting twins. I have vivid memories of her baby shower and visiting when the babies were newborns. Their babies are now 12-years old. Time flies.

Do you ever hear a song on the radio and then the DJ will tell you the name of the group and the year? If I'm singing along, chances are it's an oldie. But when they announce the year, I'm usually taken aback. Time flies.

It's been a month since the Belle died. Time flies whether you're having fun or not.

Car Dates

In my childhood household, the rule was I had to be 16-years old before I could car date with a boy. My parents allowed me to fudge it a bit once or twice.

Last night I had a car date. The husband had a new CD that a friend burned for him. Lots of his favorites and songs that hold special meaning to him. Instead of bringing it in the house, he wanted to sit in his car and share it with me.

We (Gabby-the-dog and me) shared the passenger seat. The husband went through every single song and explained why he loved it. Yes, we sat in his car, in our garage for the entire CD.

When we finally came back in the house, he bounced between my iPod (Where is it? Bring that speaker system out here!) and the piano. The dog got her squeaky ball and played along. He pretends he doesn't like her but he kept telling her she was off key. When I offered to put her to bed, he said, "Leave her alone, she is fine."

As usual, we played our little competition games. Which artist is this? Can you name the year? What is the song really about?

Certain rules were instilled in me as a child. I'm sure my parents were terrified that a boy and a girl, alone in a car, was a recipe for disaster.

Last night, there was a man, a woman and a dog alone in a car. It wasn't disastrous; it was fun.

The Dance

This week has been brutal and we've only just begun. Our next super-fun adventure is packing and schlepping Hangdog to some 'burg in Mississippi. We don't have to get on a train but there will be wheelchairs, planes and automobiles involved.

There will also be some interesting family dynamics. I'll try to keep my notebook hidden but I will make notes.

Last night, I decided to lie down for a second. I promptly fell asleep and was awakened by voices. I came out to find the husband and our physician (saint-in-training) sitting by the fire, sharing stories about the Belle. Not a dry eye in the house.

Our doc went home. The husband went to visit Hangdog. I sat by the fire and listened to music. Garth Brooks, The Dance, came on. It's really about the end of a marriage (or at least a relationship,) but these words hit me hard:

I'm glad -- glad I didn't know
The way that it would end, the way that it would go
Our lives are better left to chance.
I could've missed the pain
But, I'd have had to miss the dance.

I would not have missed this dance for anything.

Delilah

We are music junkies. But we have extremely different tastes. In the car, the husband refuses to listen to my favorite country station and I refuse to listen to hard rock. Since he's driving, I already have a headache.

If it's after 7:00PM, we have an easy compromise. We listen to Delilah. It's schmaltzy. She's over-the-top. For a ride home, it's extremely entertaining.

The other night, we had dealt with Hangdog, been informed of the mother-in-law's deteriorating condition and spent countless hours on the phone. On the way home, we listened to Delilah. Our two favorites for that night were:

Total Eclipse of the Heart
(which the husband believes is the ultimate suicide song.)
And, a special dedication from a wife to her husband:

Thank you for being there for my every need, yada, yada, yada.

Delilah asked how long they had been married. The answer was three weeks. That's when we both started screaming at the radio and thankfully, pulled into our driveway,

One More Day

Yes, I watched Oprah yesterday and yes, her show is the inspiration for this post.

If I had one more day:

I'd work out with the girlfriends.
I'd drink coffee and compete with the husband on the crossword puzzle.
I'd turn off the alarm clock and snuggle up.
I'd talk to my mother ten times and my father once or twice. (He's not as talkative.)
I'd do at least one thing to help the oldies.
I'd listen to my favorite music.
I'd put peanut butter in the maniac dog's Kong and crack up while she digs it out.
I'd call or email my girlfriends and my aunts.
I'd fall on my knees in prayers of gratitude.
I'd touch photos of the children and send them silent wishes.
I'd curl up with the husband after listening to him play the piano.

Oh wait, I do all of this almost every day.

Mitch Albrom's book, For One More Day, was the topic of the show. It's about a man who receives the gift of one more day with his deceased mother. They've made it into a television movie.

So, I started to think about this. If I had to pick one person who is no longer with us and I received the gift of one more day, who would I choose?

I'd love one more day with any and all of my grandparents.
I'd love one more day with my Uncle Ken.
I'd love one more day with all the pets I've lost.

I've got to be honest. I want one more day with my friend, Patsy.

Who would you choose?

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

I love Dr. Seuss. There was a point in my life that I could recite Green Eggs and Ham from memory. For a while, it was one of the baby's favorite bedtime books, along with The Very Bad Bunny.(This is not Dr. Seuss but it's a good one.)

Thanksgiving is next week and the Christmas ads and catalogs are already plentiful. Unless you are hibernating in a cave, you know the holiday season is upon us. Here's what I love: the husband and I negotiated years ago that I can only begin the Christmas music in the house on the day after Thanksgiving. But, he can't control what I listen to in the car or in my office. I love putting up the tree with the exception of the year I had to move it three times. I love the parties, even when I'm exhausted. Most of all, I love the cheesy Christmas movies and specials:

National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
It's a Wonderful Life
Miracle on 34th Street
A Christmas Story
A Charlie Brown Christmas
Frosty the Snowman
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
A Christmas Carol
Scrooged

My favorite is How The Grinch Stole Christmas. I've loved it since childhood but it has taken on new meaning because I live with the Grinch.

Last year, the Unabomber made a short appearance on Christmas Eve during our annual party. He did not get out of bed on Christmas Day, even though his granddaughter was here from Texas and the rest of the family was gathered around the tree. I got a serious attitude. The husband advised me to let it go and for that day, I took the advice but now the holidays are here so I have to remind myself again.

Before the oldies lived with us, I used that bedroom as Christmas Central. I piled presents and stocking stuffers. All of a sudden, it was the day before Christmas Eve and I was overwhelmed. My friend, Mickey, came over. We sat on the floor, popped movies and Christmas tapes in the VCR and wrapped all of the gifts. It was one of the most fun afternoons of my life.

I may live with the Grinch but he's not going to steal Christmas.

Having a History

When the husband and I were dating, he said three things that really struck a chord with me. Two were the obvious, "I love you" and later, "Will you marry me?" The one that really got me early on was, "I can't wait until we have a history together." It implied long term. It suggested a future and an appreciation for making memories.

He got his wish. We have a history together. Boy, do we ever!

We have his history, including childhood and previous relationships. We have my history, also including childhood and relationships. We have two children who were not born of this union but in many ways are a product of this union. We have friends -- some he brought to the mix, some I brought to the mix, some we have met through our years together.

We have the oldies. (I'll bet that wasn't part of his making memories plan.)

Photos and (especially) music allow us to say, "Remember this?" Even articles of clothing can remind us of a special occasion.

We have rituals. Some are holiday traditions; others are just things we do, like the crossword. We have signals. Sometimes they're subtle like a raised eyebrow or a hand on the thigh. Others get a little more to the point. And a little louder.

The ability to judge someone's mood or pick the time for a tough conversation is a dance that's perfected over time. Knowing a spouse's hot buttons and choosing not to push them is a dance I'm still learning.

Smart people know if they're jumping into a feather bed or jumping into a volcano. Some of us just jump in.

For some people, having a history means comfort and complacence. I admit that our life together involves some of that. But, we're a little too high strung. Peaks and valleys.

Even in the valleys, I will sing along at the piano. Or, I will curl up and watch TV for a while. During the valleys, we tend to watch a lot of Court TV shows where one spouse tried to get away with killing the other.

She Wants an iPod

This family is filled with music nuts. The husband plays in a band and listens to music every day. He and his mother relax by sitting at the piano and playing by ear. Both children have a fascination with music -- they're constantly introducing us to new groups or discovering musical interpretations that we've known for years. They both attend lots of concerts. Now the daughter lives in Austin, one of the music capitals of the country.

Thanks to the family, I own an iPod. Big Daddy, the daughter and the baby all have their own. I am not very skilled with programming it but I do listen to it every day. My favorite times are in the car or plopping it in my speaker system and taking it out on the patio. I have sole possession of the remote control.

Now the mother-in-law wants an iPod. She is not subtle. Every time she sees me headed to the patio with my little speaker system (remote control in hand,) she announces, "I want one of those." When she's in my car and I plug it in, she says, "I want one of those."

She did it again last night. I wanted to scream, "Then go buy one!" But I didn't. The husband said, "Maybe you should write a note to Santa." (That caused a little mini-stroke because I'm slapped with the knowledge that another holiday season is approaching and we will have passed the two year mark.)

We get a million catalogs. One of them is old music on CDs. For Christmas last year, I bought her every single one she had circled. Between what she already owned and the additions to her collection, she's built up quite a music library.

So, the husband said, "Even if you get an iPod, someone has to program it."

Suddenly, all eyes were on me.

A Band Widow

The husband has been part of a rock and roll band for more than 25 years. This is an esteemed group of people who all have prestigous jobs and families. The Meatball Band has survived marriages, divorces, parents, children, etc. Some members have come and gone but the core group and their core passion remains. They've developed a following. They've played in the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame.

I'm a band widow. By definition, that means I dance with my girlfriends or other friends' husbands. I don't have a date because my date is on the stage. (Sometimes I get really madcap and dance with strangers. I'm pretty safe; my husband is right there.)

They even have some groupies. What's up with that?

They play private parties and public venues. When they play in a public place, there is often a cover charge (which goes to the house and the band.) My standard response is, "No, thank you. I gave my pound of flesh at home." They always let me through.

It's fun to have people in your family with musical talent. I have zero. Sometimes the mother-in-law plays the piano. The husband plays the piano a lot. Sometimes we just dance on our patio.

Being a band widow is a pretty small price to pay for someone who sings and dances with you.