Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Jingle All The Way

You know when you get a jingle in your head - a song or a bit from radio or TV - and you can't get it out? Like there's this one on the local radio here....a little commercial song that goes something like this... "Christy Smith, helping people on the move. Christy Smith, helping people on the move. Christy Smith, helping...*pause for dramatic effect here*...people on the move." I have no idea who she is, there clearly wasn't much thought put into the lyrics, but every time it comes on, my daughter says "Oh turn it up!" as if it were her favorite song. (Of course, this is the same daughter who insists we need a swiffer, a snuggie and that I need the dual lash spinner to get rid of clumps in my mascara. Clearly, she is easily swayed.) But, I digress. Christy Smith, when I move, I will remember that you help people in that situation.

Just this morning when I was waking up my daughter, I said "Get up, I hit snooze and now you need to bust a move!" The rest of the morning, I've been stuck with the same line in my head... "If you want it, baby you've got it....just bust a move." Now, honestly, I can't tell you the last time I actually heard that Young M.C. song. YEARS. But, there it was playing over and over in my head. ("This here's a tell for all the fellas, try to do what those ladies tell us....")

And I guess it never goes away...those lyrics and jingles get engraved in our brains and pop out at random times. It's like Whack-a-Mole...that crazy game with the psychotic mole that pops out of the holes: you never know when or where he'll pop up next before you have to thump him on the head with that crazy hammer-like instrument. (I have to admit there is something quite satisfying about thumping that annoying little weasel!)

But my point is, these song lyrics and jingles stay with us... one day at the nursing home when I was having dinner with my dad, there was an old lady at the table with us. She was in a wheelchair, curled up into herself like a puppy dog tail. Her head was bowed, her eyes were closed, her face grimaced as if she were in perpetual pain. Her food sat untouched in front of her. It was hard to tell if she was asleep or if this was her common state of lethargy, just waiting for it all to be over.

My daughter went over to the piano in the dining room at this point. It was just after Christmas and she had been rehearsing for her recital. She began to play "Jingle Bells" and the sweetest thing happened. The lady with her eyes closed, seemingly unconscious, began to move her lips ... "Jingle Bells...Jingle Bells...Jingle all the way..." She mouthed the words right along while Anna played. When Anna stopped, she stopped. When Anna picked up again, the woman picked right back up with her. She never missed a beat, never missed a word. She never opened her eyes but the music moved her.

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