Song of Sentiments
On the night before Valentines Day, Harrison, Olivia and I enjoyed a delicious Sabbath dinner. I had cooked the brisket Thursday night so it was particularly savory, and we added a special blessing of naming everyone we love in honor of the holiday. It was a lovely way to launch into our weekend.
As much as I love candlelight dinner with the kids, strangely I love cleaning up even more. That’s the time we play the iPod loudly, dancing in synchronization around the kitchen as we clear the table, load the dishwasher, and fill containers with leftovers.
The songs are always a mishmash of memories for me… the Journey songs I downloaded remind me of college, the Norah Jones ballads bring me back to unpacking boxes in our first California house, and various country songs give us reason to croon together.
Now and then a song stops us mid-dance. That’s what happened Friday when Patsy Cline’s, “Walking After Midnight” came on. The kids hugged me and said repeatedly, “This is so sad!” They were smiling, but they definitely caught the essence of Patsy’s mourning. I was amazed at the vastly different reaction I was having.
Within the first three chords of the song, I was back in a park in Larchmont on a beautiful spring day. Baby Olivia is napping in her stroller while Harrison and I are soaring high in a swing we are sharing, butterfly style. We are belting out “Walking After Midnight” over and over. As we fly higher and higher, the wind whipping through Harrison’s fine hair, his gravelly voice grasping the words, I am mesmerized by his toothless grin and his unabashed joy.
I am transported to Olivia’s nursery, where I am rocking her to sleep in the early morning light after her 2 am feeding, singing Patsy’s verses over and over until her body relaxes and her pouty lips tell me she is sound asleep. I am in Lake Tahoe cuddling with Harrison and Olivia, singing the verses progressively quieter until they are both breathing evenly and deeply.
Yet, on this Sabbath night, with every passing lyric, the kids crooned, “Awww! She misses him so much!” I was moved at how much they felt the heartache of the woman wandering through the night, hoping to find the man she loves.
When the song ended, Harrison gave me one last hug and smiled.
“The only thing that makes me feel better,” he said, sentimentality washing over his face, “is to think if this song were happening today, she could go home and try to find him on Facebook.”
I smiled back. It was another moment to add to the Patsy Cline memories.
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