If I had to choose my favorite memory out of all the moments I shared with "M", I think I would have to choose listening to her hum. I have never in my entire life heard anyone relish a tune as happily, and vigorously, as "M". Sunny skies or stormy weather, and even to spite a chronic creak in her well-worn neck, "M" always had a happy tune to hum.
Well... it wasn't really humming in its truest sense of the word. It was more of a combination of humming and la-di-das, sprinkled with an occasional word or two, usually in French. More often than not, it included a lot of fa-la-la-la-la-ing, which led to a festive, holiday feeling even on the hottest of summer days. It was a joyful sound, and I never grew tired of hearing it, even if it wasn't always in tune... or in season.
"M" would often ask me what I thought of her "singing." "Do you think it sounds alright?" she would query, with genuine concern in her eyes. "It sounds beautiful to me!" I would answer, and a broad smile would return to her weathered face. In a world that is often full of dark and discouraging news, the sound of "M"s happy voice was always a welcome one to my weary ears.
"My Grandmother was the only one in my family who thought I sang well," "M" would sometimes tell me after a satisfying session of humming. "Everyone else in my family said I had a terrible voice," she added, with just a hint of unresolved childhood pain creeping into her high-pitched voice. "I think it's delightful," I would reply, genuinely meaning it. "You sound so happy when you sing, and that makes it a joy for me to hear." Again, the broad smile.
Not to be redundant, but joyful truly is the best word to describe "M"s humming (aka "singing"), I knew that everything was right in the world, as well as with "M", when I could hear her joyful hum. And after spending long periods of time getting to know her for over two years, it wasn't at all surprising to me that her humming was of such a nature. Absolutely everything about this amazing woman had a joyous quality to it!
"M"s favorite place to belt out a tune was the bathroom, which, as everyone who sings in the bathroom knows, is a wonderful place for acoustics! Not only that, but it's a judgment free zone, as no one else is in there to offer a negative comment or disapproving scowl. It is a safe and secure place to sing. As loudly as possible. And with an equal amount of passion A very healthy way to emit pent-up energy and repressed emotions!
Wait a minute... now I'm describing why I sing in the bathroom! I think that for "M" it was more a matter of convenience, since that's where she spent a lot of her time. Aging is a great equalizer, especially when it comes to the frequency of bathroom visits!
Wait a minute... now I'm describing why I sing in the bathroom! I think that for "M" it was more a matter of convenience, since that's where she spent a lot of her time. Aging is a great equalizer, especially when it comes to the frequency of bathroom visits!
A curious and wonderful pattern began to emerge after "M" and I had gotten to know each other for a while. We would hum in harmony. "M" would start off a particular tune, often a holiday song, and then she would encourage me to take the next verse. "Now you," she would prod, meaning it was my turn to take over. And even though I often didn't know the tune, I would nevertheless pipe right in, as if the melody had been a part of my memory for a lifetime. After a chorus of our synchronized singing, which could go on for a number of rounds, "M" would suddenly stop and clap her hands with glee. "We sure do have a lot of fun together!" she would exclaim. And even though she still didn't know my name or even quite how she knew me, in these special moments we were as one. "We make a pretty good team," I would tell her, and she would nod in ardent agreement.
Last August, "M" and I spent a great deal of time together at her family's property in "The Woods." What made it so perfect is that we had our very own camp. While her son and his family occupied the larger building, "M" and I were across a wooded path in a smaller, more cozy dwelling. In fact, I think we were far enough away that no one else could hear our humming, even with the doors and windows open, which was probably a good thing!
She and I developed a daily routine that not only included three square meals, including a late morning and early afternoon snack, (accompanied by a cup of tea, of course), but also a particular repertoire of tunes.
She and I developed a daily routine that not only included three square meals, including a late morning and early afternoon snack, (accompanied by a cup of tea, of course), but also a particular repertoire of tunes.
In the mornings, I would often wake up first and start preparing the coffee pot and breakfast dishes. During this time, I would refrain from humming so as not to wake "M" up. Her bedroom, the only single bedroom in the building, was directly off the small kitchen. Other mornings, "M" would awaken first, and the louder she hummed, the quicker I came downstairs, as my quarters were in the large porch-like second story of the dwelling. Soft humming was an indication that "M" was fine being alone for a little while. Louder, more passionate, humming meant that I better get to her side as fast as possible before she broke the sound barrier. I didn't mind. Seeing her sweet smile and hearing the joy in her voice was always a wonderful way to start the day.
During the early part of the day, "M" liked to hum the French tunes that were sung to her by her Nurse (aka "Nanny") when she was a little girl. Perhaps there was something about this time of day that reminded her of her youth. I took Spanish in High School, and am of the generation where "Sesame Street" on TV was the Nanny, so I didn't recognize any of "M"s songs. It didn't matter, though. They were all jubilant. Not surprisingly, this would lead to another conversation about the end of World War II. At this point, our talks would take a more philosophical twist, and we spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out the meaning of life. Ultimately, we agreed that it probably was as simple as being at peace with yourself and the world around you.
Afternoons were typically filled with show tunes. "M" loved to hum songs from famous Broadway musicals, including "My Fair Lady" ("we probably could have danced all night" in our younger days), and an oldie but always a goody, "Anything Goes" (since our friendship was "such a perfect blendship"). The amount of energy required to hum show tunes, as well as the digestion of chocolate laced cookies, would then lead to a brief rest. And when I say brief, I mean BRIEF! No sooner would "M" lay down, humming quietly to herself, than she'd be back in the bathroom testing out the acoustics!
Evenings were more of a time for celebrating the warmth of the holidays, and "M" and I would wind down our peaceful, nature-filled days by "decking the halls with boughs of holly." (We were, after all, in The Woods. What better place to find holly? And fungus?) Sometimes we'd go "walking in a winter wonderland" that was filled with speeding motorboats, chirping crickets, and those darned loons! By bedtime, we would both hum a sweet version of "Silent Night" together, and I would tuck "M" into her bed, kiss her on the forehead, and thank her for another beautiful day. Then she'd smile warmly, stretch out her arms, and embrace me. I'd leave the door open a crack so that she could find her way to the bathroom during the night, and I could still hear her joyous humming even after I went upstairs to my bed. How simple and enjoyable life could be in the company of a good friend!
For weeks after I returned from The Woods, or from any location I was lucky enough to share with "M", I would find myself humming mysterious French ditties in the morning, singing like Eliza Doolittle in the afternoons, and Christmas Caroling softly to myself at night. It was very difficult returning to the "real world" after humming so many happy tunes with "M", and I couldn't wait for the next time I could hear her sweet serenade, full of pure and absolute joy.
During the early part of the day, "M" liked to hum the French tunes that were sung to her by her Nurse (aka "Nanny") when she was a little girl. Perhaps there was something about this time of day that reminded her of her youth. I took Spanish in High School, and am of the generation where "Sesame Street" on TV was the Nanny, so I didn't recognize any of "M"s songs. It didn't matter, though. They were all jubilant. Not surprisingly, this would lead to another conversation about the end of World War II. At this point, our talks would take a more philosophical twist, and we spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out the meaning of life. Ultimately, we agreed that it probably was as simple as being at peace with yourself and the world around you.
Afternoons were typically filled with show tunes. "M" loved to hum songs from famous Broadway musicals, including "My Fair Lady" ("we probably could have danced all night" in our younger days), and an oldie but always a goody, "Anything Goes" (since our friendship was "such a perfect blendship"). The amount of energy required to hum show tunes, as well as the digestion of chocolate laced cookies, would then lead to a brief rest. And when I say brief, I mean BRIEF! No sooner would "M" lay down, humming quietly to herself, than she'd be back in the bathroom testing out the acoustics!
Evenings were more of a time for celebrating the warmth of the holidays, and "M" and I would wind down our peaceful, nature-filled days by "decking the halls with boughs of holly." (We were, after all, in The Woods. What better place to find holly? And fungus?) Sometimes we'd go "walking in a winter wonderland" that was filled with speeding motorboats, chirping crickets, and those darned loons! By bedtime, we would both hum a sweet version of "Silent Night" together, and I would tuck "M" into her bed, kiss her on the forehead, and thank her for another beautiful day. Then she'd smile warmly, stretch out her arms, and embrace me. I'd leave the door open a crack so that she could find her way to the bathroom during the night, and I could still hear her joyous humming even after I went upstairs to my bed. How simple and enjoyable life could be in the company of a good friend!
For weeks after I returned from The Woods, or from any location I was lucky enough to share with "M", I would find myself humming mysterious French ditties in the morning, singing like Eliza Doolittle in the afternoons, and Christmas Caroling softly to myself at night. It was very difficult returning to the "real world" after humming so many happy tunes with "M", and I couldn't wait for the next time I could hear her sweet serenade, full of pure and absolute joy.
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