Now Hear This!

My life has a great soundtrack. I love music and I love to sing. When I think of the happiest times of my life, they are usually accompanied in my memory by song. The kids have this funny question for me: "Mom, what song was I born to?" They ask me this not because I played music while I was in labor (Seriously, who would want to miss out on hearing me swear in three different languages at Mike?) but because I often tell them about what song was on when they came home from the hospital, or while we were lounging around the house.

Some of my earliest memories are of shuffling through my parents' stacks of albums. We had The Who, The Beatles, Bob Dylan and The Beach Boys. We had a bunch of Disney albums, too, and "Free To Be, You and Me." We listened to music often. Our record player was wired to work in our basement, and I used to roller skate in circles around Dad's pool table for HOURS to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack. I remember some years later, while Dad was watching television in the basement, my friend Marcie and I played the "B" side of a Michael Jackson 45 repeatedly. Without an adult upstairs, we blasted the music and made up a detailed dance. After some time, my dad thumped up the stairs, opened the stereo cabinet, and flipped the switch to the basement speakers "off."

"Do you girls hafta keep playing that disco music over and over again?"

As he disappeared back into the cave of the basement, we fell to pieces upon the revelation that he had been listening to our embarrassing music with us for over an hour.

Two special places where I listen to music are in the car, alone, and on the treadmill. I like to crank it up and rock it out. It's the only place where I can let go! We do upon occasion have dance parties here at the house with the kids. They LOVE it.

Our nomadic lifestyle has introduced us to so many kinds of music. I never would have guessed that I would be a country fan, but during our time in South Texas, that was all anyone listened to. Also, Navy pilots, most of them, are in touch with their inner cowboy. I didn't get it at first, but I do now. Yeah, we listen to country. Likewise, we appreciate Van Halen...another Navy requirement.

Living in New Orleans taught us to appreciate the sound of a horn. A horn can be played by one, alone in the street - in a trio at brunch - with a small ensemble at Snug Harbor - or when you are swilling at Maple Leaf with your girls while wearing Mardi-Gras-beaded-bras and jamming to Rebirth. JAZZ! My favorite Jazz anthems are, of course, When The Saints Come Marching In, and A Closer Walk With Thee. It makes me happy to hear a horn, and to think of how much I love and miss New Orleans and my friends there.

A lot of kids from my school liked The Grateful Dead. My brothers did. I'm happy to listen - but I always think of a teacher from school who called them "Hicks On Drugs." I really love hanging out in my parents' yard, with my brothers and their families, while listening to the Dead. My brother Matt also has this really funny theme from Widespread Panic where he starts running wild and doing crazy things on the diving board. I can hear it in my head, and it makes me cackle.

Dave Matthews reminds me of Heather, my sister-in-law, and of my year teaching in Virginia in 1995, when Dave was a local boy exploding. Luther VanDross = Jen Pesut. Beastie Boys = Cassie. Angela is like me - she'll listen to all of it.

Certain bands are required at BC - can you guess what they are? I'd call U2 the official band of Boston College. I don't know how I became so entangled with all of these Irish Catholics in my life, but I'm glad to be here. Boston and Aerosmith were required listening at tailgates. If you were under 21, apparently a case...a SUITCASE of warm Pabst Blue Ribbon was required too. Yuck.

The sound of a bag pipe reminds me of my dad and my family heritage - and of the time that I walked down a grassy hill and graduated from McDonogh School. I would really dig it if my boy learned the bagpipes...and the horn.

My mom is a California girl. California seems like outer-space to me. It's hard for me to believe sometimes that my mom lived much of her life there. But you know, when I think of California in the late 50's and early 60's, I think of surfer girls, and Woody station-wagons, blonde hair-dos, and sunshine. My mom IS sunshine. I hear a peppy Beach Boys tune, and I can't help but to crank it up, roll those windows down, and shake it like my mom in the kitchen. Of course this loses some of it's appeal in January when rounding the corners of the gray and white-caped bay.

Mike and I like the alternative vibe. We like our music loud with a bit of an edge, and some bitterness. I prefer to add Motown and Disco into that mix to even it out. Mike can't handle too much of that. On Pandora, we like "The Killers" radio. Even the kids like it. There's a song by Muse that the kids demand. They call it "Dad's Favorite Song." It's loud and rocking, and while I love it, I am kind of done with it by the end. But I like that our kids can feel the emotion in good music, and that they want to enjoy and celebrate those feelings.

I have a ton of "cool" kids CDs - some of them were produced by VH1 back in the day - alternative kids music - and we still sing those songs. I remember the more modern "Lullaby" songs that I listened to during those years that I rocked my newborn babies. I hear one of those songs now and it stops me. I think of what I had, what is gone, what I have, and what is coming. It's not a happy feeling...not a miserable one. I'd say it's a feeling of reverence for that time in my life. It takes my breath away and when I hear one of those songs. I am reminded of moments I enjoyed deeply, that I will never be able to experience again.

We like the gift of music, too. Mike and I were "mix tape" experts during our years apart. Now, some friends have made legendary collections of music. My friend Jayne Giese made "the baby CD" when she had a baby. All of her friends without babies demanded copies. Angela made "Girlfriends" and apparently she made "Girlfriends 2" but we never got it. Sage Murnane made "Burkes to New Orleans"...and Mike made "Holly" on the year anniversary of her passing. I wish she could have had a copy! The famous moving CD that Jill Shiflet made for me, featured one of my favorite songs, "Forever My Friend" by Ray LaMontaigne. It started with the "Call to the Post" for the Kentucky Derby, and the kids and I listened to that CD for two days across the Apalacian Mountains. Music ties us together. Music enhances the memory of the things that happen to us. Music adds to the joy of the present, and can inspire our actions.

And in case you were wondering who MY musical alter ego is? Well, many of you already know this. It's Lenny Kravitz! Download "Stop Dragging Around" and jam with me!

G'Night!

Plenty To Go Around

Wait'll you hear this one.

Our girls have started dancing with a new Irish dance company this year. The company produces champion dancers, and is taught by A MAN. Most of his classes are in DC - but he does travel to Annapolis to teach our group of girls. This Saturday, we went into Washington to participate in the annual recital, with all of the champion dancers, and the "Big Girls" from Washington.

Now, if you've seen Irish dance, you know that having curly hair is part of the costume. My girls all have MY hair, poker straight (but I'll bet you didn't know that Mike has wavy hair, like his mother...he just keeps it so short that you can't tell). SO, I have to do their hair for dance. The problem here is that I don't do hair. I have so much of it, and it's so straight, that I have never bothered to do it. I don't know how to do it, and it makes me impatient.

Luckily, my dear sister-in-law Heather is one of four BEAUTIFUL, girly girls...and they DO do hair. So Heather did my girls hair before the show. It took her a long time, and it looked beautiful. Her daughter, my niece Annabelle, dances with Maggie and Caroline...so they all got ready together. We did decide to NOT put their costumes on, as they would probably get dirty in the car, or at dinner beforehand with my aunt.

When Heather was done with hair bonanza, we all rushed about, late, piling into cars. Mike had actually just returned to Annapolis from DC, where he had been doing his Navy job. Rush, rush, rush, we pile into two minivans and tear towards DC. New York Ave is a nightmare. The traffic is so bad that I feel like I can not breathe. I wonder how folks LIVE and WORK in DC. Traffic CRAWLS along even on a Saturday afternoon. It's crazy. We drive and drive. We were to meet Kiki at 3:30, and it is now 4:00. We call Kiki (my aunt) and she assures us not to worry. She is holding a table, it will be alright.

FINALLY, we find spots in a cramped underground parking garage. In the creepy and cramped catacombs of the garage we lose my brother and his family. We know we will just meet them at the restaurant. The kids unload from Ruby, and I go around to the trunk to get the bags that I have packed of snacks and activities and games for the long time that the girls will have to wait backstage. I reach for the case that contains video and digital cameras. I search for the bag containing their costumes. Their costumes. My heart sinks. Scratch that. My heart PLUNGES and a picture flashes in my mind of the bag with the costumes. It is under the hall entry table in my brother's house. I put it there when we decided not to get the girls dressed. I did not bring it with us when we left.

"Mom, where is the costume bag?"

"I left it at Uncle Matt's house."

"WHAT?!"

"I left it at Uncle Matt's house. I forgot it. I know right where it is. It escaped my mind in all the rush. I forgot it. I am so sorry girls."

Mike rounds the corner from the driver's side. "What's going on?"

"Mike, I forgot their costumes at Matt and Heather's."

He rubs his forehead. He rubs his hair. He rubs his eyes. He inhales. He sighs.

"Where is it in their house?"

"Under the front hall table."

"I got it. Kids, go with your mother. Jennie, I got it. I'll call you."

And with that, he escorts us to the elevator to get us above ground, then he turns back to the car.

I go to meet my family for dinner. Everyone feels terribly for me. They tell me not to blame myself...that my life is very busy...that it's impossible to do everything by one's self...that we can find extra costumes. My daughters are completely forgiving. Their demeanor is of disappointment for themselves. I know what they are feeling...that while the other girls are cavorting backstage in their costumes and with their makeup, they will be in their jeans, wondering if they will even get to dance. They do not attack me...but none of us smile through what was meant to be a festive dinner with our family.

After dinner, we walk through the Georgetown streets to the Holy Trinity Church. We pass a man shaking a cup for change, and I tell my girls that he doesn't have a place to sleep tonight. They hold my hands.

We check them in backstage. They ask me, "Mom, will Dad get here with our costumes?" I remember the stifling traffic. I think of the hour and 45 minutes that it took us to travel the normally 40 minute drive into town. I think of Mike, on his second "in-and-out" from the city. I say, "Girls. I do not know if your costumes will be here. But I believe your father is a super-hero, so if there's any chance that they can get here, he will get them here."

And you know that he came back with that bag. He made it back in time for the beginning of the show. His dinner: a cup of cheddar cheese cubes that I took from the "refreshment" bar and a Sam Adams. Our girls danced, arm in arm with their cousin about half an hour after that.

I forgot the costumes. I busted my ass all day for that event, and I thought I forgot the most important part...but I realize now that I did not forget. The most important part of any journey is understanding. I took the blame, all on my own, for forgetting those dresses. No one blamed me, no one yelled at me, no one wanted to hurt me. Mike as usual, picked up my bits and pieces and glued the china back together.

On the way home, we talked about what a good lesson it was for our kids. We talked about how no one gets anywhere by yelling, or throwing tantrums, or blaming others. We talked about how happy life can be when we help and support one another.

At our wedding, the priest talked to Mike and me about blame. He said, "When you're looking for blame, there's always plenty to go around." We have relied on this lesson many times during our near 15 year marriage. Mike admitted that there were many ways that other family members (the girls, or him) could have helped take responsibility for getting all of our gear into DC. We also talked about how we probably would have been "harder" on the girls had they been the ones that had forgotten their costumes. It was like we were reminded to be forgiving. We were reminded to blame ourselves, and to forgive ourselves and others.

Sitting next to Mike, surrounded by our children, and Matt and Heather, and my aunt...watching our girls dance...listening to the music...my world was overflowing with love. I took comfort in the knowledge that there is so much of that to go around.