| | This morning I justified my cell phone's existence...and my compulsive carrying it around even when I have no pockets. Working in the garden on a morning which is finally the right combination of cool, sunny but damp-earthed, I am determined to conquer the weeds at last. My cell phone rings. Am I busy? can I accompany this lovely group of singing ladies at a stylish nursing home? Why not? (It's a paying gig, of course I'll come!) I'll dig up, weed out, clean off, brush up, make up, dress up, head out. And I do.
By 2:30 I've gone over the music with the director. I've seen it before at a couple of rehearsals where I was the pinch-hitting pianist. We start in, lots of golden oldies for this silver-haired crowd. "O, You Beautiful Doll" and "Moon River." "Shenandoah" and "Hey, Look Me Over."
And that's when it hits me. Tickles me, really. When I am old and gray...well, older, grayer...No, better still, when both my boys are men with walkers or wheelchairs...they will sit where the attendant places them, among their floor mates, all nodding mildly, tapping a finger on their knee, and smiling gently. Some will drool, some will nod off or sing along slightly off key. They'll enjoy the presentation, though, saying, "Yes, yes...that's a good one. Play another by Saliva or Smashing Pumpkins." And a group of arthritic rock stars who've come to play for them, in the overly-warm common room, will count off that classic from the last century, "F--- You (An Ode to No One)"...just for nostalgia's sake.
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| | Posted 5/29/2009 10:15 PM - 30 Views - 4 eProps - 3 comments
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