Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

Sisters, Sisters

You know that song, right?  It's the iconic Irving Berlin number that was in the movie White Christmas, starring Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, and Rosemary Cluny.

I've had that song—and some others from the same delightful show—in my head for several days now, ever since my husband and I joined son #2, one of his older boys, his father-in-law, and a friend to attend the spring musical at his wife Ginger's high school alma mater. (She had planned to come, too; but the sitter she had scheduled to watch their little guys fell through, so she stayed back.)  This small Catholic school (about 400 students, grades 7-12) is absolutely swimming in talent.  Two years ago, I saw Hello, Dolly!, and I was blown away.  But White Christmas was even better!  The vocals were truly extraordinary.  The leads were terrific—but even some of the minor players who had singing parts were exceptionally good.  (My husband and I turned to each other a couple times, wide-eyed, both thinking the same thing: "Can everyone in this school sing?!") There were about 180 students involved in the production, which included lots of expertly choreographed dance scenes with dozens of moving pieces on stage at once. I wish I could aptly describe how PHENOMENAL this show was!  This was the 32nd Annual Spring Musical at this school, and it is the institution’s main fundraiser.  It is worth every penny of the ticket price, let me tell you.  

My husband and I have a list of must-see Christmas movies that we try to watch every December, but I'm embarrassed to admit that neither one of us had ever seen White Christmas until Christmas 2022, when our youngest son and his wife traveled from Nashville to spend the holiday with us.  It was our daughter-in-law's absolute favorite Christmas movie growing up, and she couldn't believe it wasn't on our list.  (It is now!)

I'm telling you, those high school kids put on a show that was every bit as entertaining as the famous Hollywood movie of the same title.  I wish I had been allowed to take a video of the two young gals who did the "Sisters, Sisters" number seen in the YouTube video above.  Their performance was amazing.  I just can't praise that high school musical enough!

Anyhoo, now for the clever segue—

Speaking of SISTERS: when we made our recent trip up north to check on our Oyster Haven rental house and watch the eclipse, we were able to get together with my mom, and my own two sisters and their husbands, for a lovely Sunday brunch.

Sisters, Sisters...

I am the second-oldest of five, with one brother born before me and one after; my sisters are the two youngest in the family.  Both of my sisters live close to my mother. The older one is about 45 minutes away.  She is a hard-working teacher's assistant and the mother of two sons.  She recently welcomed her first grandchild. My baby sister (far left in the picture), also a mom of two and a Grammy to one, lives really close to my mother: as in, in the same house with her.  

About a year after my dad died in 2016, my mom moved out of an assisted living residence and into my baby sister's home, and she’s been there ever since.  At the time, her health had deteriorated to the point that she literally couldn't get herself out of bed; she couldn't walk, even using a walker, without an aide to help her; and worst of all, she appeared to be suffering from dementia and going downhill fast.  She was practically at death's door, and my sister hired almost round-the-clock aides to help with her care.  I would post a picture of what she looked like back then, so you could compare it to the beautiful, vibrant octogenarian in the above photo—but she would be horrified, so I won't do that. Suffice it to say that you would be truly amazed by the transformation.

And it's all due the love and care she's gotten from my sister and her husband.

*For many years before my dad died, these two were my parents' close neighbors and helped them in so many different ways (with things such as yard work and home repairs--and my sister even used to stop by and load their pill boxes for the week, so they could keep track of their daily medications!).  My dad trusted my sister's husband with what was most precious to him: Dad took my brother-in-law aside at one point and asked him to be sure to take care of my mom if he should die first.  My B-I-L obviously took my father's solemn request to heart; and he in fact was the first one to propose that Mom should move in with them, when it became apparent that she was not healthy enough to stay at the assisted living home anymore.  He's got a heart of gold, that guy, and I think my dad knew this about him.  And my sister...well, there aren't enough words to tell you how amazing she is, how loving and selfless and self-sacrificing.  And she's incredibly organized, too (she jokes that she's got OCD; I say she's just Marie Kondo on steroids!).  She runs an incredibly tight ship, with humor and the most positive attitude in the world.  You have to be an organized person to take care of an elderly parent, to keep up with the aides' schedules, the doctor's appointments, the medications.  There is no one I can think of who could do a better job at all of that than my baby sister.  One also needs to be kind, of course, and she is that in spades; but she is not afraid to be firm with my mother either, if her health requires it. Because of my sister's attention to detail, because of her tireless energy and research, at 88, my mother is on very few daily meds--far fewer than she was more than a decade ago.  My sister is just a rockstar caretaker; she might the youngest in the family, but all of her siblings are in awe of her.

A few years ago, my sister went through old medical records of Mom's and stumbled upon some doctor's notes: apparently, my mother had a condition for which there was a fix, but it had not been addressed.  In the last years of my father’s life, she’d been suffering with Normal Pressure Hydrocephalus, and it was causing her to have both physical and neurological problems.  She'd started falling quite often, leading to a broken hip and hip replacement surgery.  The doctor would drain some of the fluid that kept building up in or around her brain, and she would improve for a time; but he had told my parents that if she kept falling, they should consider having a permanent drainage shunt implanted (and this had been noted in her records).  Somehow, however, this had never been done.  We think perhaps that my dad, who was going deaf but refused to wear a hearing aide, hadn't really heard what the doctor was saying. And Mom was too out of it to take care of herself during that time.  But as soon as she got that shunt, her physical and mental health drastically improved.  It was as if overnight, she seemed 20 years younger.  She's 88 years young these days, with a very full life packed with friends and activities.  She has 31 great-grandchildren now, and she likes to read the local newspaper obituaries and compare that number to the ones she sees mentioned there.  (So far, among her peers in the area she's winning the great-grandchildren contest!)

Thanks to my baby sister, my mother got her life back. She and her husband are saints, they truly are.  A few years ago, his mom started failing, too, and they took her in (I believe she's 90).  Both moms live with them now, each with her own bedroom and a shared bathroom between them.  Isn't that amazing?  What a blessing my sister and her hubby are to those lucky ladies.

Saints do live among us!


It's great that every time I want to visit my mom,
I get to visit this sister, too!


To know this sister is to love her.  

Sisters are such a blessing.

Especially mine.


*On April 23, I added this paragraph.  I really hadn't adequately described how wonderful my sister and her husband are.  Maybe you'll have a better idea now!

Thursday, October 17, 2019

Last Dance

I'm finally getting around to blogging about the recent wedding of our youngest son.  (I've gotten two posts up so far, here and here.)  I still need to write a post about the amazing reception they had, which was totally orchestrated by the bride's hard-working and talented mother (who should probably start a wedding planning business, because she's got a real knack for it!).  But before I do, I wanted to talk about a traditional event during the festivities that has always held a special place in my heart: the mother-son dance.

On Sept. 7, I had my last dance as the mother of the groom, a part I first played in 2009 when my oldest son got married.  I got to do it again in 2013, and then TWICE in 2014.  (We had three boys get married in an 11-month span, between Dec. of 2013 and Nov. of 2014!  Can you say "whirlwind"?)

Sometimes I feel a little guilty that I have been able to enjoy this ineffably sweet wedding tradition five times, while my husband has never had the similar experience of dancing with a beloved daughter as father of the bride.  We are the parents of all boys, however, so that just wasn't in the cards for him.

For his mother-son dance, our firstborn picked a sweet country tune by Garth Brooks called "Your Song."  Some of the lines in it are incredibly poignant, and so perfect for the occasion.  Here are a few of the best ones:

And if ever there was somebody
Who made me believe in me
It was you, it was you...

It was your song that made me sing
It was your voice that gave me wings...

And anytime I doubt myself I think of you...

When the next three boys got married, they all chose the same Back Street Boys song that they knew their mom just loved, "The Perfect Fan."  (They could remember me sitting in the living room listening to my favorite CD and putting that song on repeat--over, and over, and OVER...)  If you aren't familiar with the lyrics of this winner, here is a sampling:

You showed me
When I was young just how to grow
You showed me
Everything that I should know
You showed me
Just how to walk without your hand
'Cause mom you always were 
The perfect fan

God has been so good
Blessing me with a family
Who did all they could...

I want to thank you for all you've done
In hopes I can give back to you
Be the perfect son

[Sniff!]

Well, not to be outdone by his older brothers, our baby surprised me with a beautiful song I'd never heard before.  Like our oldest son (his best man), he chose one by country superstar Garth Brooks, and he didn't share it with me beforehand.  To be honest, I was so emotional during our dance that I didn't fully hear and appreciate the words of the song.








Afterward, on our way back home, I texted my boy to ask the name of the song we'd dance to and I found it on You Tube.  I'll tell you, the tears flowed in that car as I listened to the lyrics.  If ever there was an award for best mother-son dance song, this one called "Mom" would be right up there in the running.  If you'd like to listen to it, here it is.




Do you need to get a tissue?  I'll wait...


To be totally honest (and much to my shame), when I first saw these professional pictures of this latest--and last--mother-son dance, all I could do was pick apart my appearance.  "When did I get so old-looking?" "I hate my profile!" "Why didn't I get contacts, do something fancier with my scraggly hair?"  "Yikes, now I know where the phrase 'ugly cry' comes from!" (Why do we women do this?)

But then I stopped obsessing about my own appearance and focused on my boy's face, and in all of the pictures, his love is absolutely shining.  He really is that devoted and sweet; and in his eyes, flawed though I am, I can do no wrong. In his eyes, I am that "loving angel, tender, tough, and strong" that God chose to be his mom. What a wonderful son he has always been, and my heart bursts looking at his expressions in all of these photos.

"God has been so good," as my Backstreet Boys so eloquently put it, "blessing me with a family who did all they could."  And then some.  I do not deserve it; but I'll take it.

And the memory of that last dance will stay with me forever.

Monday, June 10, 2019

A Green Door for Oyster Haven

My husband and I are currently in Upstate NY, cleaning and doing odd jobs at our VRBO lakeside rental, which we named Oyster Haven after we bought it in the fall of 2015.  (We opened it for business in the summer of 2016.)

A while back, I blogged about the name of the house and where it came from, and how eerily apropos it was--considering how Irish our family is, especially on my husband's side.  (Here's the link to that old post that explains everything, in case you're interested.)

If you don't want to bother reading the post, I'll just tell you that we named our house before we knew that there was actually a place in County Cork called Oyster Haven Bay--and when I realized we had inadvertently given it an Irish name I was beyond tickled, let me tell you.
This 5x7" photo (taken at the Oyster Haven in Ireland) hangs in the kitchen of our lake house,
a nod to its Irish cousin across the ocean.

Anyhoo, our Oyster Haven is a lovely old farm house, the main part of which dates back to about 1830.  (An addition was added in the 1940's, and about 10 years ago the kitchen and bathrooms got some major upgrades.)  Right now, the poor old girl is peeling on the outside and badly in need of a paint job, but we recently had a new roof put on.  (Having a leak that causes the ceiling in one of the upstairs bedrooms to almost fall down will make a new roof happen lickety-split, dontcha know.)  We are hoping to have a fresh coat of white paint applied by this fall; but in the meantime, I thought the least we could do would be to give the front door a facelift.

From the road, it doesn't look too bad.  But the paint on the door (which has been that same blue hue since we bought the house) had faded quite a bit, and when my husband put a new combination lock on it recently and touched it up, the paint he found in a rusted can in the basement no longer matched what was on the door.

I decided that maybe as long as we had to repaint it anyway, we should go with something a little more bold and daring (and a little more Irish).

I was inspired by a scene from the John Wayne movie The Quiet Man.  His character, Sean Thornton, goes back to Ireland to reclaim his family's ancestral home, White 'o Morn, and he decides to paint the front door green.  I love the line from Mrs. Playfair, who pays a visit and says to Sean, "Only an American would have thought of emerald green."

Hey, Sean Thornton had a new roof put on, too, just like us!  (Only ours is not thatched...)

Yes, I decided, our front door just had to be green.  Emerald green, or Kelly green, or whatever you want to call it.  There wasn't another color that would do!  I painted it today--and oh, do I love the way it looks!

The blue was fine, it was...

...but the green--in my opinion--is so much better!

What do you think?!

That's it for me, today, folks.  But this green door, and all this talk about The Quiet Man, has got me in the mood for some Irish music.  So I'll leave you with this offering from a band called Flogging Molly.


And how about this one, from the Face Vocal Band, while we're at it.

Until next time...

Monday, July 21, 2014

The Wedding Singer

If you're one of those folks who suffers from the Monday morning blues, have I got the Rx for you!  Here's a YouTube video of my younger brother singing (and playing) that great country song, "Chicken Fried," at the wedding reception of our older brother's daughter not too long ago.  This was the first song he performed, and the crowd loved it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8AAXslTb3o&feature=share

My niece had an awesome live band for the event, but my brother got a chance to play a few numbers when they went on break and gave him the stage.  They didn't know that he routinely has gigs of his own, and they were probably thinking, "Here we go--another member of a bride's family who thinks he's a rock star!"  But what was really cool was that after seeing how good he was and how well he was working the crowd, the lead singer of the band sat down at the drums and joined in, and before long, the keyboard player was accompanying my brother on bass. This uber-talented* sibling of mine ended up performing four songs to a really receptive crowd, with some versatile band members giving up their break time to jam with him.  It was so much fun to witness!   He followed "Chicken Fried" up with "Here Comes the Sun" and "I Am, I Said."  Then at the request of the father of the bride, he ended his set with everybody's favorite party sing-along song, "American Pie."  (And my older brother's whole family was on the stage with him by that point, which made it even better.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IhqWvZww4T0&feature=share

Not too long ago, I told you about how much I love my two brothers.  I didn't mind being sandwiched between them--and I think the fact that I was might have helped me with the role I was to play when I grew up: mother to five boys.  Seeing how their bond has endured throughout their lives makes me happy that my husband and I were able to give each of our boys four brothers.  I can imagine them celebrating together at the weddings of their children, and the scary thing is...that futuristic, far-off time will be here before they know it.  But it warms my heart to know that even when my husband and I are gone, those boys will have each other.  They are a band of brothers (and yes, I am plagiarizing here, using the title of that HBO series; but it fits so well!).

So raise your glass coffee mug and let's toast: To brothers!  God bless 'em.

*(And just so you know: he's totally self-taught, plays by ear!)


Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Diary of a (Very) Young Girl

Lately, I've been playing hooky now and again here at the blog, but I have a very good reason.  I spent the past week or so contemplating the possibility of taking on a writing assignment that I never thought I'd be offered; and thinking about that--trying to discern if there's adequate time for such an undertaking in my oh-so-busy life as a stay-at-home, empty-nesting Grammy slash world-traveler (or these here United States-traveler, at least)--left very little room in my brain for anything else.  Since deciding that yes, I can make the time, I've been busy getting to work on said project.

I've always loved to write.  But have I always been a good writer?  Let's see, shall we?  I did share some of my childhood scribblings with you here before.  Remember spunky little Caroline Graves?  (Oy vey!)

But as you will see, my efforts before Caroline's story were even more pathetic less skilled.  And much less interesting.

When I was in third grade, I got my first diary for Christmas.  (I only ever had one other, in junior high, which I stopped keeping and destroyed after I realized that putting down your adolescent thoughts in a place where anyone could read them is not such a great plan: let's just say that I once wrote that my best friend was annoying me because she was flirting with my "boyfriend"--term used loosely--that day at school, and while on a sleepover, that very friend peeked into my "private" world and read all about it!)
This little red diary was stored in a cardboard box of girlhood mementos in the attic of our old house, then stored elsewhere when my parents sold it after I'd gotten married and moved away from home. I had forgotten half the stuff in it existed until the box was found and returned to me three decades later.  And thank goodness, this sweet little diary was one item that had survived intact; because let me tell you, there are deep and thought-provoking literary gems abounding on each and every page.

For instance, here's a scintillating look into the life of your average 8-year-old schoolgirl:
"Today is Wednesday...Tomorrow will be Thursday."  "...Tomorrow is Friday."  I hope back when I was keeping this diary, the lock was working and I kept the little golden key hidden in a super-secret place, because I was revealing a lot of my soul here!

Actually, I did let my diary in on the boy who was one of my very first loves.
If you're old enough to remember who this guy was (the cutest member of a squeaky-clean 60's pop sensation, a family called the Cowsills, that's who! And I had their album!)...well, then you're old enough.
I believe John is the one to his mom's right with the gigantic tie.
But seriously, please pray for me as I begin my new writing project.  God bless you!

Now before I sign off,  I'm going to leave you with this video of the Cowsills performing one of their hit songs from their album "The Rain, the Park, and Other Things."  (It was one of my favorites--and I think it'll make you smile!)