cancer, escape, friends, Laughter, Life, Uncategorized, Writing

Rock and Roll, Baby!

Last night something was confirmed about me that may surprise many of you. I am not a rocker. I know you are shocked and surprised. I’m not even a poser. (I had to look that term up, fyi) It was evident by my lack of knowledge about the music or words to the signature songs of the band. I spent more time entertained by the people in attendance than the actual concert. My husband and I were given tickets by sweet friends to a concert by The Black Jacket Symphony: A Night at the Opera and The Best of Queen. My big guy was very excited about hearing favorite songs of his younger years. I confess that I wondered what kind of opera the symphony would play. I honestly expected an orchestra. I was wrong! I am not completely in the dark, I do know who Queen is, but I didn’t realize it would be a real deal rock and roll night! You may not believe this, but I’ve never been to a rock concert. It’s true! I know I’ve surprised you again.

Parking was the first step to getting to our night of rocking and rolling….obviously not an easy task in downtown Mobile when a rock concert is about to happen! We finally parked in a church parking lot with a sign that said “Private Parking for…(and I’ll leave the church name out here just in case someone wants to report two rebellious fifty somethings!): Violators will be ticketed or towed at owners expense. I was a little anxious as we got out of the car and proudly walked toward the theatre, impressed by our night of living on the wild side. I secretly asked God to forgive us and please allow the car to still be there when the night was over!

As we entered the door of the Saenger I was asked to open my purse for security. I looked at my big guy and asked, “Are these people famous?” The security guy asked him if he had any weapons. He confessed to a pocket knife and suddenly the guys hands went up and said “You can’t enter with a weapon, sir.” I looked around at the other security people standing ready to pounce, beginning to wonder if the real Queen was in the house. My sweet husband informed me later that the lead singer died in 1985. He handed over his knife, it was obvious to me that it was worth the sacrifice to hear the band! We then walked to another security checkpoint and were scanned with a wand for any other concealed weapons. This didn’t make me feel comfortable about the obvious possibilities of events that could happen if there was this much concern for what people would carry into the concert hall! We finally got to our seats and waited. We were in the balcony, third row, dead center. Perfect view of the stage. I noted the massive speakers hanging from the ceiling, both sides angled right at us. This wasn’t going to be good. There was an atmosphere of excitement all around me. As I watched people, which I love to do, I realized the average age in the room was somewhere in the mid fifties. But the energy was more like a crowd of twenty somethings! I noted the lights, the instruments and party like atmosphere. Suddenly the lights went down and the band ran out. The crowd went crazy. The lead singer belted out lyrics and people were screaming. I looked hard at the singer trying to recognize him. I did not. But then a familiar tune came, Bohemian Rhapsody. I looked at my big guy and said “I know this!”, but my words were lost somewhere in the midst of the screaming crowd and the blasting music. He leaned down and I got as close to his ear as possible and I repeated my words. He smiled and nodded. I still don’t think heard me….but I saw the smile on his face as he took in the loud music and I knew he was having a good time. I found myself watching people more than the concert as they got lost in the music, reliving the moments of the 70’s and 80’s when they first heard the songs. People were standing and dancing, hands in the air and singing at the top of their lungs. These people knew every word. Then I heard a familiar beat….the crowd began to stomp, stomp, clap, stomp, stomp, clap. I looked at my man with shock, it was my high school senior class song! I found myself following along and singing “We will, we will, rock you”. I was no longer a fish out of water. A square peg in a round hole. I was a rocker! They sang Crazy Little Thing Called Love and Another One Bites the Dust. I suddenly felt cool because I knew these songs. I didn’t know all the words, but I knew the songs. At the end of the night, my ears were numb and I honestly was glad to be headed home. I observed something as I left. It was 10:15pm and the crowd that had just been jamming out for two hours were leaving in an orderly manner, laughing and chatting as we exited the nearly 100 year old Saenger Theatre. Forty years ago, these same people would have been jumping up and down demanding an encore still full of youthful energy, demanding to be blown away by the rock band, Queen. We made it back to the church parking lot (along with many other concert attendees) and our car was still there and no ticket on the windshield. Prayer works! We drove home and I listened to my sweet man talk about the band and how good they were and how fun it was to hear some of his favorite songs. I listened and thought how thankful I was for the gift of tickets for us to enjoy a non -typical night out for this “square” chick, and to sit next to my man who has had such a difficult year. All I can say is…..rock on!

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Sweet Sam Moment

This morning I had a sweet moment. I snuggled with my grandson as I rubbed his little back and hummed the same tune I had sung to his mama as a baby. My grandson. Those two words still fall awkwardly from my lips. When I say them, I still feel as if I’m practicing words that are not yet real to me. He’s been here for over ten months and I’ve kept him three days a week since August and still I’m surprised that I am a grandmother. I often think of my Mamaw Bessie when I am holding him close. She had such a kind and gentle spirit. I remember the softness of her skin and the safeness I felt when she hugged me or I just sat next to her resting my face against her shoulder. As I held him and took in the sweetness of his eyelashes resting on his cheek, I continued to softly rub his back and pat his bottom. Without opening his eyes he slid his free arm up my arm and rubbed it slowly back and forth, then rested it there and slowly patted my arm. What a treasured moment of love. He is my grandson, my first precious grand baby and I love him so much.

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A Hug From Mom….(re-posted in honor of my sweet Mom for Mother’s Day)

I leaned my arms against the side of the shower, pressed my forehead on my arms and stood there weeping while the steaming hot water beat down on me.  Why was I crying?  Why, now, a year and a half since Mom had died?  The tears flowed freely in the shower, no worries of my daughters becoming distressed by my sobbing.  It was a week before Thanksgiving, Mom’s favorite holiday.  Maybe that was it?  It was late and I was extremely tired.  Maybe that was it?  I was stressed trying to plan our first Thanksgiving meal with family members, and feared I would not do her justice.  Maybe that was it.  I knew one thing was sure, I missed my Mom everyday!  I was going through each day, doing my best to mother my three daughters, but one thought ran through my mind constantly, “I wish Mom was here for me to talk to….”

I felt the water from the shower beginning to cool.  I turned my face toward the flow of water and allowed it to rinse the tears away, hoping it would also rinse away my thoughts so I could go to bed and rest peacefully.

I dressed for bed and towel dried my hair, taking note that I really could use a haircut.  I would love to be able to sit in my Mom’s chair at the beauty shop and have her snip away, chatting and watchng her laugh as she joked with those around the shop.  For a moment I was lost in the scene that had played out so many times in my life as the daughter of a hairdresser.  My Mom was a people person and she had a unique way of making each person feel special, whether they were getting a haircut or were one of the many young woman that she taught to sew or smock.   I was not as gifted as she was at connecting with people and I needed her here to mother me for awhile longer.

The house was very quiet.  My husband was out of town on business and my three daughters slept peacefully in their beds.  I put on my favorite praise and worship music and slipped between the covers, hoping to quickly fall asleep.  My mind kept reviewing memory after memory.  I faught the urge to resume my tyriad of tears again.  So I prayed.  “Lord, why am I so melancholy?  I’m a grown up!  I know she is gone, but its been 18 months and it feels like yesterday!  Lord, right now I could use one of Mom’s hugs.  I could use her way of encouraging me.  I could use her shoulder to cry on.  I need her, Lord.  I don’t understand why she had to go home to you now?  I need her so much, I need to still feel like the daughter. ”  I wiped the tears away and tried to fall asleep.

After awhile, out of frustration I got up and walked around the house picking up toys and clothes and putting things away.    I smiled thinking of my Mom’s wise words about leaving the house clean before you go to bed, so you can wake up in a good mood and to an uncluttered home.  It was 12:30am and I dragged a blanket to the couch, hoping a new venue would allow me to fall asleep.  Weariness overtook me and I drifted off to sleep on the comfy couch.

I slowly became conscious of myself facing the back of the couch and tears once again flowed down my face.  I was whispering over and over “I miss you so much Mom, I miss you so much.”  As I lay there, I felt the pressure of arms wrapped around my waist and I realized that my own arms were lifted and clasped together as if around someones neck.  I didn’t move.  I could feel the familiar cool softness of my mother’s skin against my cheek, I could smell the comforting aroma of her favorite lotion.  My eyes were closed tightly, but I was awake, the visions of my dreamworld mixing with consciousness, I was being hugged.  My face was pressed against Mom’s neck and she was holding me tightly, rubbing my back with her gentle hands.  I am not sure how long I lay there relishing in the moment.  But I know that during that surreal embrace, my troubled spirit ceased to struggle.  Peace surrounded me.  I was comforted.  I had been given a precious gift from the Lord, a hug from Mom.