This post has nothing to do with anything, just a particularly sweet memory that surfaced today.
And since I got nothin’ else you want to hear about — unless you want to hear about the setbacks and side effects of cancer (and I assure you, it’s always something gross or annoying, if not possibly life threatening) — I figured this was the better choice.
It’s from a post I wrote about Phil Everly’s (Everly Brothers) death last year. If you can’t relate to the memory, just enjoy the song. If you have babies or grandbabies, scoop ‘em up and kiss ’em until they push you away. Dance. Dance by yourself. Dance with a partner. Or your dog. Just dance. Sway. Twirl.
Phil Everly died yesterday. (January 2014)
When my grandson was a baby, he was often fussy at bedtime. Sweet and soft in his pajamas after his bath, I’d take him in my arms and dance to this song. Warm and smelling like baby soap. Back and forth, back and forth, 1-2-3, turn.
I don’t know if it was the music or the movement or the vibration of my chest as Don and I sang the low part and Phil handled the tenor, but it worked to ease his fussiness (okay, most of the time).
Toward the end of the song he’d close his eyes and give in, him to baby dreams, me to the moment. Me, not knowing how precious those moments would be later on.
Things change. The baby is a young boy and I have cancer.
And you’re gone. So, thanks, Phil, for the gift of the beautiful harmony you and your brother gave the world. But also for the music for some of the sweetest, most cherished minutes I’ll ever have.
Minutes now memories, now magic filling my soul, whatever happens.
Be here now.