Your memory of your Mom and her love of music has a similarity to my last memory of my Dad. He was 101 years old, and my sister had driven him to our brother's home to celebrate his birthday. I attended by video call.
A year or so before, I convinced my publisher to publish a chapbook of his poetry. He was a renaissance man; scientists, Boy Scout Commissioner, school board member, father, and quietly wrote poetry, which he had sent to me several years before this.
I called my sister and she took her phone over, letting my Dad know that I was calling. The look on his face resembled that of a lost child, not sure of his surroundings or what was happening in the room.
My sister told him I'd sent a gift, opened it and said, "Look Dad, it's a book of your poetry Emily got published." He barely reacted. Then she opened the book to a random page and started reading one of his poems. I saw his lips moving as he quietly recited it from memory. The same happened with two others she read, that he recited along with her without even looking directly at the book.
It was a reminder of how something of us can remain in our consciousness even when we appear to be "out of it" in the eyes of others. And I was grateful my publisher allowed me to create this gift, something that sits on the shelf of many of his relatives and their children.
Wow. What a gorgeous set of memories. I had a dear friend--a federal judge--and he told me of being in hospital rooms with comatose patients. (Some were personal cases, and some involved legal cases.) He said he always presumed that they could hear and so was careful to speak in their presence as if they were wide awake. He had some interesting anecdotes to back up his reasoning.
Your mother and my father shared a birthday. 9/14/1922. My father, a wonderful man, only made it to 70. He picked up smoking as a Marine during WWII, and before he managed to quit he got emphysema. He died in full possession of his faculties, if not his lungs. He still lasted longer than hos doctors predicted, by around 5 years.
After over 20 years his birthday is still a rough day for me and my siblings.
Certainly sounds like it was a good day for some of us. And I misspoke slightly. My father passed 31 years ago. I still miss him so much. He was a great example of a good father. Just like your mother sounds like a great example of a mother. (My Mom was pretty excellent, too. The worst thing she was ever accused of was sneaking into yards in our small town of 300 and planting flowers where she thought there should be flowers. She was an accomplished pianist as well, until an injury ended that. Her "Senior Recital" was her playing Gershwin'd Rhapsody in Blue with no sheet music.)
Some nice parallels with my folks. As for the sadness, try playing the soul/jazz standard "Sunny." It's a joyful song that I've played for many decades, but I never knew till last month what it's about. The songwriter, Bobby Hebb, wrote it after his brother (and musical partner) was stabbed to death outside of a nightclub. He wanted to think of his brother in a joyful way, rather than with sadness or anger, and his song was the tool.
Oh, we all remember very good times, and at family gatherings tell the stories and laugh. I have the good luck of coming from a very loving family.
My mother was noted for knowing all the wild greens (we ate a lot of them) and mushrooms and stuff. (Her father was a notes 'Sanger' -- one who found and gathered wild ginseng and other such plants.) When she died she wanted to be cremated and her ashes spread over her beloved lawn and flowers.
The year after we did that, morel mushrooms (especially loved by mushroom hunters) sprang up in the lawn where they never had before. We were asked, "You aren't going to eat those, are you?" and we (well, my baby sister) replied, "Damn right we are. It's what Mom would want." And now the mushrooms grow there every year, getting more and more abundant. 16 years now.
This is an interesting exercise. My mother was two years older than yours, Professor Graboyes, and lived to age 96. Her grandparents were all born in the 1840’s in Scotland to people born in the waning days of George III’s reign. And those people, my mother’s great-grandparents might have known some veterans of the American wars of 1775-83 and 1812-15.
Just think about Harrison Ruffin Tyler--a 95-year-old retired engineer in Southside Virginia. His grandfather was president John Tyler--born 234 years ago, in 1790. Son of an elderly father's second marriage, who was, in turn, the son of President Tyler's second marriage.
Yes, I remember seeing him (or his brother) interviewed when C-SPAN broadcast its series on the American presidents. That was the first time I learned about John Tyler’s second marriage. That C-SPAN series must have been 20 or more years ago.
Robert, your writing and your tribute to your mother are wonderful and keep me optimistic for humanity. Thank you for a clear signal amongst the noise.
My beloved father, H. Ross Faris, was also born on September 14th, 1922; The youngest of four, in Fort Worth, Texas. A Naval warrior in the pacific from Pearl Harbor to the armistice on the USS Missouri. Scoutmaster, master woodsman, Storyteller. A man of many hats.
It's lovely, what a great memory. I have a short video of my mother-in-law playing the piano in her apartment a few months before she passed, and your video immediately reminded me of it.
Great piece, professor. Sounds like you're as proud of your mom as she must have been of you, and it doesn't get better than that.
My dad would have been 100 this coming March, and my approaching-middle-age son's mind is blown that his grandfather, who was a WW2 veteran and well known to him, once knew men who were veterans of the Civil War.
Thanks! I knew a man--a high school classmate of my mother--whose father was a Confederate veteran. Not unusual. Widows of Civil War veterans were entitled to their husbands' pensions, so quite a few very young women married very old soldiers. For many, it was a route out of poverty. The last known Civil War widow died in 2021: https://veteransbreakfastclub.org/last-civil-war-widow/. She never told anyone till a few years ago and never collected the pension, as her husband's daughter threatened her if she did.
Your memory of your Mom and her love of music has a similarity to my last memory of my Dad. He was 101 years old, and my sister had driven him to our brother's home to celebrate his birthday. I attended by video call.
A year or so before, I convinced my publisher to publish a chapbook of his poetry. He was a renaissance man; scientists, Boy Scout Commissioner, school board member, father, and quietly wrote poetry, which he had sent to me several years before this.
I called my sister and she took her phone over, letting my Dad know that I was calling. The look on his face resembled that of a lost child, not sure of his surroundings or what was happening in the room.
My sister told him I'd sent a gift, opened it and said, "Look Dad, it's a book of your poetry Emily got published." He barely reacted. Then she opened the book to a random page and started reading one of his poems. I saw his lips moving as he quietly recited it from memory. The same happened with two others she read, that he recited along with her without even looking directly at the book.
It was a reminder of how something of us can remain in our consciousness even when we appear to be "out of it" in the eyes of others. And I was grateful my publisher allowed me to create this gift, something that sits on the shelf of many of his relatives and their children.
Wow. What a gorgeous set of memories. I had a dear friend--a federal judge--and he told me of being in hospital rooms with comatose patients. (Some were personal cases, and some involved legal cases.) He said he always presumed that they could hear and so was careful to speak in their presence as if they were wide awake. He had some interesting anecdotes to back up his reasoning.
What a loving tribute !
From the heart!
Glad you updated this post! A wonderful tribute to the source of your musical talent.
Thanks! I did, indeed, grow up with music all around me. Mom's friends as well as Mom.
Your mother and my father shared a birthday. 9/14/1922. My father, a wonderful man, only made it to 70. He picked up smoking as a Marine during WWII, and before he managed to quit he got emphysema. He died in full possession of his faculties, if not his lungs. He still lasted longer than hos doctors predicted, by around 5 years.
After over 20 years his birthday is still a rough day for me and my siblings.
You're one of two readers to note a parent having been born on 9/14/22. Must have been a busy day!
Certainly sounds like it was a good day for some of us. And I misspoke slightly. My father passed 31 years ago. I still miss him so much. He was a great example of a good father. Just like your mother sounds like a great example of a mother. (My Mom was pretty excellent, too. The worst thing she was ever accused of was sneaking into yards in our small town of 300 and planting flowers where she thought there should be flowers. She was an accomplished pianist as well, until an injury ended that. Her "Senior Recital" was her playing Gershwin'd Rhapsody in Blue with no sheet music.)
Some nice parallels with my folks. As for the sadness, try playing the soul/jazz standard "Sunny." It's a joyful song that I've played for many decades, but I never knew till last month what it's about. The songwriter, Bobby Hebb, wrote it after his brother (and musical partner) was stabbed to death outside of a nightclub. He wanted to think of his brother in a joyful way, rather than with sadness or anger, and his song was the tool.
Oh, we all remember very good times, and at family gatherings tell the stories and laugh. I have the good luck of coming from a very loving family.
My mother was noted for knowing all the wild greens (we ate a lot of them) and mushrooms and stuff. (Her father was a notes 'Sanger' -- one who found and gathered wild ginseng and other such plants.) When she died she wanted to be cremated and her ashes spread over her beloved lawn and flowers.
The year after we did that, morel mushrooms (especially loved by mushroom hunters) sprang up in the lawn where they never had before. We were asked, "You aren't going to eat those, are you?" and we (well, my baby sister) replied, "Damn right we are. It's what Mom would want." And now the mushrooms grow there every year, getting more and more abundant. 16 years now.
Very nice. Thank you for updating the essay and sharing it.
Thanks, as always.
This is an interesting exercise. My mother was two years older than yours, Professor Graboyes, and lived to age 96. Her grandparents were all born in the 1840’s in Scotland to people born in the waning days of George III’s reign. And those people, my mother’s great-grandparents might have known some veterans of the American wars of 1775-83 and 1812-15.
Just think about Harrison Ruffin Tyler--a 95-year-old retired engineer in Southside Virginia. His grandfather was president John Tyler--born 234 years ago, in 1790. Son of an elderly father's second marriage, who was, in turn, the son of President Tyler's second marriage.
Yes, I remember seeing him (or his brother) interviewed when C-SPAN broadcast its series on the American presidents. That was the first time I learned about John Tyler’s second marriage. That C-SPAN series must have been 20 or more years ago.
Robert, your writing and your tribute to your mother are wonderful and keep me optimistic for humanity. Thank you for a clear signal amongst the noise.
Thanks for the lovely message.
My beloved father, H. Ross Faris, was also born on September 14th, 1922; The youngest of four, in Fort Worth, Texas. A Naval warrior in the pacific from Pearl Harbor to the armistice on the USS Missouri. Scoutmaster, master woodsman, Storyteller. A man of many hats.
Quite the day, then, wasn't it?
Thank you. Love the piano snippet.
That snippet is quite a treasure, thanks.
It's lovely, what a great memory. I have a short video of my mother-in-law playing the piano in her apartment a few months before she passed, and your video immediately reminded me of it.
Oh you’re a funny man
I try!
Great piece, professor. Sounds like you're as proud of your mom as she must have been of you, and it doesn't get better than that.
My dad would have been 100 this coming March, and my approaching-middle-age son's mind is blown that his grandfather, who was a WW2 veteran and well known to him, once knew men who were veterans of the Civil War.
Thanks! I knew a man--a high school classmate of my mother--whose father was a Confederate veteran. Not unusual. Widows of Civil War veterans were entitled to their husbands' pensions, so quite a few very young women married very old soldiers. For many, it was a route out of poverty. The last known Civil War widow died in 2021: https://veteransbreakfastclub.org/last-civil-war-widow/. She never told anyone till a few years ago and never collected the pension, as her husband's daughter threatened her if she did.