Читать книгу Words B Word, Right? - Cathy Lorraine Bagley MD - Страница 15

Shoo-Be-Doo-Be

Many shoo-be-doo-be tunes have

implanted themselves in my head.

They also take forgetful Momma

back to happier days having fed

her memory’s lifelong blossoming fields

still growing though more slowly expanding.

Those tunes capture sentiments holding on

with lures both enticing and demanding…

Momma remembers many fond years spent frolicking;

teasing leather-jacketed boys, sipping soda pops;

dancing to coin jukebox selections at

wildly popular events like sock hops.

Regrettably, Alzheimer came as an univited guest years ago.

But just a song or a jig from her adolescent days

makes dull, forgetful eyes enliven with images of old!

It’s as if her stimulated mind sheds its cloak of haze…

hearing she-booms,she-bops andbe-doo-be’s invite my fragile beloved to break out in dance.

Rhythms spellbind her as if enchanted by a

Summer’s sweet, newly sprouted romance.

Notes catapult her back in the day reminiscing

about fast cars, oily hair; other be-doo-be things. Shoo-be-doo-bee’s tug across generational barriers

tempting seniors, plucking junior heart strings.

Momma says it’s funny how old tunes purposefully

lodge themselves inside children’s far away heads.

Parents have deja vu moments catching us sing them into

brush mics as we mock performancers on disheveled beds.

To me, those songs convey happier

old-fashioned, creatively adaptive times

in their lyrically quirky, story-telling,

memorable shoo-be-doo-be rhymes.

Memories now are patchy but Momma emphasizes

the past wasn’t always as rosy as she’d mention.

There was turbulence marked by ignorance, fear.

Hatred’s flag led marches in times of racial tension.

Street eruptions spread by a seemingly omnipresent media:

propaganda, half truths… in many ways, were worse than now.

But then those simply complex people overcame adversities by

perseverance, covert methods like Shoo-bee-doo-ing somehow… Momma smiles hearing Shoo-be-doo-be

despite the fact that she still remembers

lop-sided, too-small shoes worn with holes

and never ending destitute, cold Decembers

When even Santa was too strapped to visit!

Regardless, be-doo-be radios transmitted holiday cheer. With little food in fridges or lining pantry shelves, they dished up big hope, fed spirits by soundwaves originating from somewhere magical! Good times came encased in wood with innards of bulbs, and circuitry. Amazing! Record-players spun webs captivating audiences with their vinyl artistry. Grinding, clapping, twisting body parts always

brought light despite an often unlit Christmas tree.

I’m so glad for past gifts of fellowship, working radios, phonographs and currently,

I’m thankful dementia hasn’t stolen all memories from her or my Momma from me!

That’s why shoo-be-doo-be songs will live forever archived deep inside this soul. Imparting them to my children as they were

to me has become a paramount goal.

I’ll enjoy watching them sway, hop about

acting as care-free, giddy as I once did

when Momma with animated eyes, sang to me.

Those tunes still unleash my inner kid.

Progress steadily pushes me forward. Be-doo-be’s counter. Abracadabra- poof…

I’m back in that imagined place with Momma in her right mind with our shoo-be-doo-be friend!

I often wonder whether her era was more entrancing, charismatic than mine today

as I glide against time on its magical sound waves watching Momma’s memories fade in, out again.