Constant as change

The only thing that’s constant in life is change.  Or so somebody writes.  I remember it well because look how much my life has changed in a year!  This time, last year, I was sitting in a rocking chair knitting sweaters.  My life was very quiet.  I would make jewelry occasionally, go to the supermarket once a week, teach writing occasionally. 

One day, a group of friends and I were rehearsing for a seminar that did not push through.  The person before me, Oliver Roxas, a dear creative pal of mine, began his session with a song.  Come with me and you’ll be in a world of pure imagination, he had a wonderful golden voice.  How did you learn to sing so beautifully?  I asked.  I took lessons, he said.

 My mother used to take voice lessons when I was a little girl.  I remember her trying to teach me to sing when I was around five years old.  What sounds are those that waken me?  Sweet murmurs low and tender.  Hearst thou not, mother dearest, floating by?  What can those sounds engender?  ’Tis like the song, ’tis like the song good angels sing.  In melody divine to where they are they call me.  Oh mother dearest mother, the sounds I hear, I’ll follow on.  Those are the words and I still remember them at age 72.

 Obviously, the child is dying.  But apart from those words and the tune that got stuck in my head, I don’t know anymore and I don’t remember whether my mother and I sang it.  But this example illustrates my ability to remember the lyrics of a song.  Once upon a time, my brain was like YouTube.  It knew almost all of the lyrics of songs I liked and songs I didn’t like.

  In September 2003, I had a stroke that struck my right brain.  That’s the creative portion of our brains and my stroke turned off all my emotions.  For six years, I did not feel very much and since most songs are about love, I probably forgot them, too, or misplaced the desire to remember them.  Anyway, I did not sing anymore.  Did not listen to music except on the radio.  I did not miss it either.  But one day, I ran into an old friend who introduced me to a food supplement that I started to take because it gave me energy.  And one afternoon, I realized that my old personality was back, my old writing style, too, and slowly all the remnants of the stroke were erased.

Today, I am normal again.  I still take the capsules so I look younger than my 72 years and I am in fairly good shape because I go to exercise classes at the Sunshine Place.  Also I used to smoke a pack a day but gave that up two years before my stroke so then I put on 30 pounds.  Now, I have lost about 20 of those pounds with no effort at all and nobody calls me fat anymore like they used to.  In short, I have changed myself slowly but completely from a stroke victim who enjoyed staring blankly into space to a person who is very much alive, who laughs out loud when she enjoys herself, who doesn’t care about her blood pressure or her blood sugar or whatever else.  I have reached the age of 72, have lived through my mother’s Alzheimer’s Disease, have survived a stroke.  This is a new life and it’s mine.  I will do with it as I please.

I have realized that most doctors in hospitals like to make you paranoid about your blood pressure, your blood sugar, cholesterol, all sorts of things in order to prescribe all sorts of chemical drugs for you.  They forget what keeps people healthy.  To stay healthy and happy, one must have fun.  But there is no such thing as a fun pill.  You can’t bottle and label fun.  You have to invent it yourself.

You know, a group that calls itself Loy’s Harem has a Wednesday gig.  I am a member of that harem and I try to sing torch songs.  Last night (my deadline is Thursday night), I sang one of my favorite songs, The Hungry Years.  A friend of mine who came to watch loved it and said, “You have a bedroom voice.”  That compliment sent me over the moon.  I had always dreamed of having a bedroom voice, somewhat like Julie London or Diana Krall.

I turned around and talked to another.  Someone told me I have a bedroom voice, I said.  He could see I was very flattered. 

Not only that, he added, “You have a bedroom face,” then he turned around and walked away, leaving me wondering — does that mean that one day, I might find myself in a different bedroom than mine? Ha!  Well, hope springs eternal.  That’s about as constant as change.

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