Once again so much has happened that I will never catch up on blog posts. Loyal readers will simply have to wait until my book comes out, whenever it comes out. If I’m sent to prison I’ll have plenty of time and few distractions to finish it up early.
I know, I know. I promised never to talk about my limited sleep again in a post a month ago. Well, technically this title is about an abundance of sleep so I think I can get a pass on that old promise.
I don’t know when the last time was I slept for that long at a stretch. I went to bed at 8PM (staying up that last hour was very difficult) and opened my eyes at 6AM when the Radio Alarm brought NPR’s Morning Edition into my room. I dozed off yet again but woke when a little shriek of delight nudged me back to consciousness. There’s nothing like having a little fireball of good nature dropped on your chest when you are trying to decide on whether to squeeze a few more winks out of your night.
Yesterday I left the Church Men’s group immediately after leading them in two songs. Our guest was from Habitat for Humanity so I chose a song with the lyric about not building one’s faith on “sinking sand.” Apropos I thought. But I also told the fellows I had an important meeting in the Twin Cities and that I would be seeing my Mother who I could no longer really converse with but who I spent my time singing to. I commented that I often had an audience and that they were kindly uncritical of my musical talents. I mentioned that both to excuse my early departure and because someone had joked about singing Home on the Range before our guest spoke. “Home,” get it? I led the group in a chorus of that old chestnut and then told them that I often sang the song with my Mother. I told them this story.
When I visit my Mother I almost always remind her in one of my little monologues that when she was a little girl in Kansas there was a contest put on by the State legislature to nominate a song to become the Kansas state anthem. (A little like Minnesota having blueberry muffins as our official state pastry)
My Mother was desperate for the song “I’m a sunflower”…from the sunflower state to be chosen. Instead the stuffy state legislators chose the dreary Home on the Range because, she told me, it was penned by a native Kansan. I often sing it anyway to her because she knows the melody and lyrics> After singing a duet with her I crank out what little I recall of the song she wanted to win.
As I left my Mother yesterday for the drive to Duluth I ended with the song that I usually sing when bidding her farewell. It has a little anecdote to go with it as well. Wayfaring Stranger is a mournful song about meeting your parents in heaven. Its soulful and very Appalachian. It was one of my Grandfather’s favorite songs and I think it may have been sung at his funeral.
I always tell my Mother about my solo visit to Salina, Kansas a couple years ago to revisit the family ghosts. I was there a couple days and left early in the morning. As I departed Salina in the early morning dusk I turned on Kansas Public Radio. To my amazement a beautiful rendition of Wafaring Stranger began playing as Salina got smaller in my rear view mirror.
I often leave my Mother with a lump in my throat after I’ve sung the song. She usually looks contemplative. I hope I help her reconnect some of her disabled wires.
