Say It Loud
My mother always sang in the church choir. She had an amazing voice, and I was often moved by her solos in Handel’s Messiah. Many times hearing her sing Silent Night at Christmas - especially a capella - would make my heart swell.
All three children in our family grew up singing in the choir. I started in the cherub choir wearing little white cossacks with a giant red bow in front. I moved on to the youth choir. Eventually, we all sang in the adult choir with Mom. Our dad, throughout this time, maintained his seat on the back row of the church, ready to share the Lifesavers in his pocket.
It was an amazing experience to sing Handel’s Messiah in the church with that choir. The altos were grouped in between the tenors and the bass sections, the sopranos up front. Hearing an older gentleman everyone knew as Doc and some of the others behind me hit the very lowest of notes singing on earth sent vibrations down our spines. It was magnificent.
Choir practice was on Wednesday nights. When I was a teenager, my older siblings were in college or out of college at that time, so it was just Mom and me.
Dad would bring Mom and me to choir practice. When he picked us up, he would have fried chicken for us to have for dinner, sometimes a piece on the way home.
I was an alto. I often sat next to Jane Lawther, whom I came to adore. She treated me with respect, interest, and I felt seen by her. I’m not sure as an adult, I’ve ever let her know just how much that meant to me.
Today, I can because I have the gift of her still being in touch through social media. She has lived a full and adventurous life, and appears to show no signs of slowing down. What a role model! Being seen as a teenager by an adult, someone who listens to you, and is interested in what you have to say - that was huge.
When Bryan and I decided to get married, we looked for wedding rings in Decatur where we lived. We first went to Alexia Gallery, a small boutique jeweler who also displayed works from other artisans in the area. I immediately saw the rings I wanted. I walked around the shop, making sure that I at least spent time looking at other rings, but I kept circling back. Corinne, the owner, saw me and came to talk with us to let me know that she had created these rings herself. Those were the rings we chose.
I met with Corrine a couple of years later in her shop. I learned that Corinne had metastatic breast cancer. I made sure she knew about some of the groups that were available to her and periodically kept in touch with her after that. She connected deeply with a community metastatic breast cancer group and stayed in touch with me for a time. When I found out that she passed away, there was a wake at her shop. After yoga on a Saturday morning, I went to the wake with a baseball cap on my head.
Her friends were sitting at the counter dripping in jewels, with their “faces on” (full makeup), and here I was, a tad underdressed. I wanted to buy a third band that Corrine created to go with my wedding rings given to me by Bryan. I tried on several different ones with these ladies weighing in, and we had a fun time together. We all agreed on one, and I have that third band in between the other two, a trinity of sorts on that finger.
Bryan’s ring came from another local jeweler who had been in the Decatur area for years. He was not your typical jeweler. He dressed in flannel shirts, blue jeans and work boots. He had a wood-burning fireplace in his shop. It was dark and wood paneled along with typical display cases. He had fingers the size of sausages and did very delicate work. We found Bryan‘s band there.
Our mother used to say that she and Dad decided after the explosion of Valentine's Day being so popular, that they would just exchange funny cards. They exchanged some pretty silly ones, some of which I came across while reading their letters to one another during certain periods of time. Bryan and I have adopted that approach.
This week, I mailed out homemade sugar cookies with red hots in them for our great nieces and great nephews, a godchild and his sister. I have created a little tradition like this for them. It’s not about getting something back. It’s about the joy of sending them a little something.
In This is Love, Phoebe Judge paints a broad stroke about what love is. It can range from her own mother’s death (whose name was Valentine) to a love of birds so strong that one’s career path must be changed.
What does love look like?
Fried chicken
Being listened to
Singing Handel’s Messiah
Visiting with strangers
Creating something with our own hands
The memory of a mother’s singing
Carrying on a sweet, little tradition
Supporting original art in our neighborhoods
Being vulnerable in conversation
Cookies
Try this:
Write about a time when love was a gift of food.
Write about a time when love was a song.
Write about a time when love was taking a chance.
Let me know how it goes. I’d love to hear from you. You can email me at fsconsulting2013@gmail.com