Mother sang for us: her daughters and husband, on long car trips. When I was a child, I liked the singing on the ride home. I remember being sleepy, and hearing Mom in the front seat, singing some song from the Big Band era, Broadway shows, Bobby Darin, Peggy Lee, but only a few Sinatra songs. ( She did an operatic version of ' Climb E'vry Mountain" which I and my sisters endured as children)
When my sisters and I became teenagers, we were less than thrilled with Mom's singing. We wanted to hear the latest song by the Beatles or the Monkees on the car radio, not 'Flat Flat Floogey with the Floy Floy" or "Artificial Flowers" by Bobby Darin. Each of us protested against these concerts in our own way; after all, we were a captive audience.
Mary Pat and Cathy, who were more quiet and polite, would ask " Dad, could you please turn on the radio"? Ginny and I, who were the free spirits, usually started to sing with Mom, but in out of key voices, which must have made a god awful racket. Mom had a lovely, warm contralto voice, but Ginny and I tried to sound like cats in heat. Several times, Dad pulled the car over to the side of the road and proclaimed " This car is not moving until you all shut up".
When I went to college, I tried to reason with Mom. Once, when we were driving up to a friend's house in the Adirondacks, she began singing ' The New Ashmolean" during a violent thunderstorm. At the end of the song, I began my cross examination:
Peggy: why are you singing that song?
Mom: It's your Father's favorite; it brings tears to his eyes
Peggy: perhaps it's not a good idea to sing it while he's driving.
Another time, after she warbled 'Artifical Flowers" I pointed out " your husband is a retail florist. Isn't it a bit disloyal to sing about Artificial Flowers?".
There were unseen benefits to Mom's singing. By the time I entered college, and joined the choir, I had a good ear for music. It must have been all those car trips, listening to most of the Johnny Mercer song catalog. Mom knew all of his songs, even the minor ones, such as 'It's a Treat to Beat Your Feet on the Mississippi Mud". Once, my nephew, at the age of 4, fell down the steps of his house, and had to be rushed to the doctor. David entertained the waiting room by singing " It's a Treat to Beat Your Feet on the Mississippi Mud". When my Sister told Mom, Mom said " it's a good thing you moved to Dutchess County; imagine if you still lived in New York City".
Music helped ease Mom's passage from this world to the next. We had a CD player, and played all her favorites in her room: Darin, Peggy Lee, Johnny Mercer, etc. There were times when she could nod along to the music and smile. I'm glad that I learned to appreciate her singing, and hope she gets to sing in Heaven.
When my sisters and I became teenagers, we were less than thrilled with Mom's singing. We wanted to hear the latest song by the Beatles or the Monkees on the car radio, not 'Flat Flat Floogey with the Floy Floy" or "Artificial Flowers" by Bobby Darin. Each of us protested against these concerts in our own way; after all, we were a captive audience.
Mary Pat and Cathy, who were more quiet and polite, would ask " Dad, could you please turn on the radio"? Ginny and I, who were the free spirits, usually started to sing with Mom, but in out of key voices, which must have made a god awful racket. Mom had a lovely, warm contralto voice, but Ginny and I tried to sound like cats in heat. Several times, Dad pulled the car over to the side of the road and proclaimed " This car is not moving until you all shut up".
When I went to college, I tried to reason with Mom. Once, when we were driving up to a friend's house in the Adirondacks, she began singing ' The New Ashmolean" during a violent thunderstorm. At the end of the song, I began my cross examination:
Peggy: why are you singing that song?
Mom: It's your Father's favorite; it brings tears to his eyes
Peggy: perhaps it's not a good idea to sing it while he's driving.
Another time, after she warbled 'Artifical Flowers" I pointed out " your husband is a retail florist. Isn't it a bit disloyal to sing about Artificial Flowers?".
There were unseen benefits to Mom's singing. By the time I entered college, and joined the choir, I had a good ear for music. It must have been all those car trips, listening to most of the Johnny Mercer song catalog. Mom knew all of his songs, even the minor ones, such as 'It's a Treat to Beat Your Feet on the Mississippi Mud". Once, my nephew, at the age of 4, fell down the steps of his house, and had to be rushed to the doctor. David entertained the waiting room by singing " It's a Treat to Beat Your Feet on the Mississippi Mud". When my Sister told Mom, Mom said " it's a good thing you moved to Dutchess County; imagine if you still lived in New York City".
Music helped ease Mom's passage from this world to the next. We had a CD player, and played all her favorites in her room: Darin, Peggy Lee, Johnny Mercer, etc. There were times when she could nod along to the music and smile. I'm glad that I learned to appreciate her singing, and hope she gets to sing in Heaven.
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