Happy Mother's Day . . .
I follow the artist, Brian Andreas, on Facebook. He posted this drawing yesterday:
I don't know if he meant it as a love story, or for Mother's Day. I took it as the latter.
My mom used to hum all the time.
I always figured it was the sound that all moms make. Soft, quiet, sometimes tuneless, sometimes a snatch of a random melody. It was comforting in a way that only a mom can be.
I remember that it really bothered one of my ex-husbands, and at first I couldn't figure out what he was talking about - humming was just the sound that I thought all moms made. It was important to him that I never do it . . .
My young life was filled with music - she was always singing to me, and teaching me songs, and encouraging me to sing along. Humming seemed a natural extension of that, to me, I guess.
It was so much a part of who she was that it was often unconscious on her part. When I was little, we drove to California with a friend of hers. We stopped at a restaurant and she left the table to go to the ladies'. Shortly thereafter, I excused myself to go, too, and I found her in the public rest room because she was (unconsciously) humming.
Lord, I miss her . . .
I can't share her humming with you - but I can share a huge piece of my childhood.
Traumerei was one of her favorite pieces of music. Not one that we sang - it's on one of the steel records for the antique music box that was my father's - she would wind it up every night and play it so I could fall sleep to it, and it was nearly always this tune. I still wind it up from time to time . . .
It's very fast on this recording. It shouldn't be this fast, but the Regina was all I could find on YouTube, and I have a Lyon and Healy Empress. Traumerei starts at :48.
Here is about how fast it should actually be, and there is interesting history behind it if you're so inclined. But to me it has always been my falling asleep music. My "Mom, please wind the music box" music . . .
My mom used to hum all the time.
I always figured it was the sound that all moms make. Soft, quiet, sometimes tuneless, sometimes a snatch of a random melody. It was comforting in a way that only a mom can be.
I remember that it really bothered one of my ex-husbands, and at first I couldn't figure out what he was talking about - humming was just the sound that I thought all moms made. It was important to him that I never do it . . .
My young life was filled with music - she was always singing to me, and teaching me songs, and encouraging me to sing along. Humming seemed a natural extension of that, to me, I guess.
It was so much a part of who she was that it was often unconscious on her part. When I was little, we drove to California with a friend of hers. We stopped at a restaurant and she left the table to go to the ladies'. Shortly thereafter, I excused myself to go, too, and I found her in the public rest room because she was (unconsciously) humming.
Lord, I miss her . . .
I can't share her humming with you - but I can share a huge piece of my childhood.
Traumerei was one of her favorite pieces of music. Not one that we sang - it's on one of the steel records for the antique music box that was my father's - she would wind it up every night and play it so I could fall sleep to it, and it was nearly always this tune. I still wind it up from time to time . . .
It's very fast on this recording. It shouldn't be this fast, but the Regina was all I could find on YouTube, and I have a Lyon and Healy Empress. Traumerei starts at :48.
Here is about how fast it should actually be, and there is interesting history behind it if you're so inclined. But to me it has always been my falling asleep music. My "Mom, please wind the music box" music . . .
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