The only source of entertainment for us circa 1965. If you know, you know...
On my phone are several personalized play-lists of music. One for just about any event or any mood. One for "running", one for "road-trips", "dinner for two", you get the drift. I even have one titled "funeral"; according to the number of songs on that particular play-list, I'll be having a very very long funeral. It might even need to extend over a couple of days just to accommodate the number of songs I am requesting waaaayyy ahead of time mind you, be played . Up until recently, each Sunday I'd play the songs on my "Sundays" list. Creative name for it, I know. There is just a small problem. While in the hospital lying next to my mother as she was passing from this life, I had my phone playing through several of these songs, knowing that they would bring her comfort and peace. By the feeling and Spirit felt in her room, I know that it certainly did. But now, I can't bear to listen to those songs any more.
I can't remember a time throughout my childhood that our home wasn't filled with music. Mama belonged to a "Record of the Month" club. She'd get the record catalogue and carefully mark the ones on her wish list. Most often she'd order some sort of Philharmonic Symphony, or Mormon Tabernacle Choir album, mixed in with the occasional Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival and the like.
When we were living in Dumas, Texas our family was given the opportunity to clean our small church building each Saturday. Along with loading up all the kids into the Volkswagen Bus, an album was also chosen to bring with us. Daddy would set the Church record player up on a table and often put the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" onto the turn-table. He'd get out the large buffer to polish the floors, and sometimes let me ride on it if I was done doing my chore of dusting. To this day, when I hear that patriotic hymn, in my mind I am instantly transported to that little chapel.
Unlike today, where each person in a family can simultaneously be listening to their own music via head-phones, we had only one record player. Unless you could find something on the AM radio that sat on your night-stand. Whatever was playing on the record player was what everyone was going to be listening to. And if your parents were gone and your older brother was the one playing the records, maybe even the neighbors were going to be listening too. The Beatles White Album. Black Sabbath. Led Zeppelin. Cheech and Chong. Not so much the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Being the younger of five kids, I figure I was becoming a well-rounded musically literate child. I was a tattle-tale, and told on my brother and the music he played all the time, but deep down, I'm pretty sure my parents liked most of his stuff too. It was a scary time in the world....the crazy 1970's. If only they knew what certain songs/lyrics of 2020 would be, they'd have probably been fine bringing Led Zeppelin, "Stairway to Heaven" to the church on our cleaning days.
"TEXAS" the play! We LOVE Texas! And I'd love to see this play again someday!
They made the drive to Canyon Texas, to see the Musical "Texas". I remember coming home from that play and asking Daddy to carry me into the house. "You're almost too big to carry anymore Presh..." he whispered in my ear as he hefted me up into his arms. That's the last time he carried me.
We moved to New Mexico. Santa Fe has a beautiful open-air Opera House. My mother, ever determined to expose her children to culture, purchased tickets for us to attend "Carmen". She bought the children's book of the play weeks in advance. The drawings were colorful and the story was lost on my little brother and me, but we were excited to go. She made sure we wore our "church" clothes, appropriate for attending a fancier event. Joel made it about thirty minutes before curling up asleep on the floor on my fathers folded up jacket. I made it to intermission, and dozed off on throughout the final acts. Mama would rouse me in time for the more well-known songs of that beautiful opera, and softly tell me what was happening in the plot.
The Santa Fe Opera House. A great place to watch an opera or for Joel to take a nap!
Having no T.V. the Hi-Fi became a gathering spot for our after-school entertainment. Mama purchased all the "Let's Pretend" albums, and Joel and I would curl up with our graham-crackers and milk and get lost in the stories of fair maidens, gremlins and trolls.
I mean....come on....the art-work on these albums alone is enough to entertain for hours!
The mid-70's when we moved to Arizona to be near our maternal grand-parents, we'd have fancy Sunday dinners at their home. My grand-mother "DoDo" would light candles and play opera on the stereo. She'd set the table with her finest pieces including individual salt and pepper shakers. She and my grand-father had eaten in some of the finest restaurants in the country throughout his career as a Civil Engineer. She wasn't just feeding us dinner. She was giving us an experience. She and I were very slow eaters. We'd linger over our food and visit long after everyone had left the table. One time she told me that she could never listen to the song "Goin' Home"; it was sung at her mother's funeral and she couldn't bear to hear it again. Sunday nights, I lie awake in bed until "America's Top Forty" with Casey Kasem would count down to the number one pop song and be so validated if I'd guessed which it would be.
After a few more moves, we all ended up in Utah, home of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and all of us in the same household once again. After all the Mo-Tab albums my mother had purchased throughout her life-time, I figured she ought to have a front row seat to every performance for the rest of her life. We were able to attend several of their concerts. Her hands clasped together and her audible "Oh my!" sometimes with a little too much volume I'd quietly remind her to shush just a little. What a joy to witness someone experiencing their dream of seeing her beloved choir in a live performance come true.
Mama's beloved "Mormon Tabernacle Choir" (Mo-Tab) now known as "The Choir at Temple Square" (Tab-Cats) not irreverent it's just cute!
Sunday's are struggle for me. Pre-2020 I'd start the day with my Sunday play-list. It set the day apart from all the other six days of the week. Pre-2020 we'd go to church and worship and sing with the rousing volume of the organ. Now the beautiful hymns are muted by the muffled voices of the masked. My "Sundays" play-list brings up too many raw feelings of loss for now. Today was a difficult. Not for any reason in particular. Just one of those waves that comes crashing over me once in a while. This evening, my phone that had sat dormant and music-less all day. rang. It was my daughter Elisabeth. "Mama, Remi wants to talk to you." Almost two-year-old Remi proceeded to sing the softest little rendition of "Pearly Shells" I have ever heard. Precious.
Two of the lights of my life. Elisabeth and Remi.
I know my parents are aware of me. I am most certain that my Heavenly parents are too. The timing of that call is not lost on me. "Pearly Shells" is one of Daddy's top three songs.
I'm going to start a new playlist.
It'll be called
"Stairway to Heaven"; first song on it - "Pearly Shells".
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