Driving On Memory Lanes, Singing Out Loud
I was driving to my second radiation session in the middle of the day on Wednesday -- yet another clear and sunny, crisp and gorgeous April day. The leaves have suddenly unfurled on ALL of the trees and we are now under a light green canopy (the proverbial spring green in the crayon box). I ended up cruising down Old Dominion Drive because all the highways were clogged up. Above the two lane road the trees were touching each other, reaching across from each side, and sunlight was peeking through the branches. It was like being underwater. So I was already smiling when I turned on the radio to WETA, not wanting to hear any news. And lo and behold, the second movement of Beethoven's Seventh Symphony was coming out of the radio. Now, I don't know very many classical music pieces by heart (to listen to, not to play) but this one was one of the sound tracks of our childhood. Our parents had records and we played their music whenever we wanted, and Beethoven's Seventh was a favorite. So I turned up the radio really high and I sang along. When I had a chance, I had to text Lani to tell her what was happening because she would understand this feeling of bursting joy.
As always happens because I grew up here and have been on these roads for the last 60 years, I have associations with every street and corner. Old Dominion Drive used to be a railroad line (and that is why it is so straight and flat) and Mrs. Beall told me lots of stories from when she was a teenager in the 1930s. She and her girlfriends would take the train all the way out to Great Falls where there was a dance on Saturday nights. For forty years, as an independent business woman with an eighth grade education, she ran a produce stand in the middle of McLean, selling perfect tomatoes to the rich and famous. She lived the last happy adult years of her life in her own house on N. Harrison Street in Arlington, just a block away from what is now the Virginia Hospital Center. I think of her whenever I drive through her neighborhood.
Just off of Old Dominion Drive, in Chesterbrook, there was a little brick house that Billy Stalcup built after coming back from the war. He lived there with his bride Lena and their eight children. The house still stands, but after he died the family sold the house and the new owner put up a wrought iron fence around it and made the house much bigger. But there are lots of toys in the back yard, and that makes me happy. Another family is living in Billy Stalcup's house. I remember sitting with Billy on the couch, watching golf back when Tiger Woods was a young powerhouse, before Tiger had to learn some stuff about life. Billy was not a Tiger fan but I wonder what he would say now.
This is not a small town existence that we live, on the edge of Tysons Corner. But I remember so many people who used to inhabit spaces that no longer exist, and that feels like we used to live in a small town. There was Mack, the big black mechanic who worked for Fletcher, the even taller black mechanic who owned Tysons Transmission Center. We used to go there all the time to get our vehicles inspected, and to get mechanical help. Dad would sit in that frumpy office and talk to those guys for hours. That alley of small businesses is gone and now there are high rises all around and it seems a Biergarten sits right where the shop was. It is hard to tell now. Just a few blocks east up Route 7 there was a feed and hardware store owned and run by someone named Hirst. There was a smell of Purina Chow for all kinds of different animals and a whole shelf of penny candy at the height that any child could reach into. I will never forget stealing a Tootsie Roll out of one of those boxes. The guilt remains, 50-some years later.
It kind of amazes me that I spent a couple of seasons driving right to the Cancer Resource Center at that very hospital, parking outside on the curb and carrying bags of vegetables through the doors and into the conference room. Now I drive to that hospital and park in the lot, go through the doors that have lots of signs pointing me to the Cancer Resource Center, just down the hall from the Radiation Oncology department. Maybe some of those nurses who attend to me saw those blue bags on the conference table. It is definitely weird for me to be lying on a table in that building. Who would have thought?
Tonight we went to services because it was Dad's yahrzeit. There was so much singing that I really didn't think about Dad, but that was never a space that he inhabited anyway. By chance, another choir member came and sat down next to us and we just sang our little hearts out. I think we were the only two choir members in the congregation, and we just had fun. It only takes one soprano who can harmonize (her) and one alto who can hold her line (me) to make a joyful noise over in the corner.
"My life flows on in endless song above earth's lamentation. I hear the real though far off hymn that hails the new creation. Through all the tumult and the strife, I hear the music ringing. It sounds an echo in my soul, how can I keep from singing?" This song that Pete Seeger always sang just about sums it up.
As always happens because I grew up here and have been on these roads for the last 60 years, I have associations with every street and corner. Old Dominion Drive used to be a railroad line (and that is why it is so straight and flat) and Mrs. Beall told me lots of stories from when she was a teenager in the 1930s. She and her girlfriends would take the train all the way out to Great Falls where there was a dance on Saturday nights. For forty years, as an independent business woman with an eighth grade education, she ran a produce stand in the middle of McLean, selling perfect tomatoes to the rich and famous. She lived the last happy adult years of her life in her own house on N. Harrison Street in Arlington, just a block away from what is now the Virginia Hospital Center. I think of her whenever I drive through her neighborhood.
Just off of Old Dominion Drive, in Chesterbrook, there was a little brick house that Billy Stalcup built after coming back from the war. He lived there with his bride Lena and their eight children. The house still stands, but after he died the family sold the house and the new owner put up a wrought iron fence around it and made the house much bigger. But there are lots of toys in the back yard, and that makes me happy. Another family is living in Billy Stalcup's house. I remember sitting with Billy on the couch, watching golf back when Tiger Woods was a young powerhouse, before Tiger had to learn some stuff about life. Billy was not a Tiger fan but I wonder what he would say now.
This is not a small town existence that we live, on the edge of Tysons Corner. But I remember so many people who used to inhabit spaces that no longer exist, and that feels like we used to live in a small town. There was Mack, the big black mechanic who worked for Fletcher, the even taller black mechanic who owned Tysons Transmission Center. We used to go there all the time to get our vehicles inspected, and to get mechanical help. Dad would sit in that frumpy office and talk to those guys for hours. That alley of small businesses is gone and now there are high rises all around and it seems a Biergarten sits right where the shop was. It is hard to tell now. Just a few blocks east up Route 7 there was a feed and hardware store owned and run by someone named Hirst. There was a smell of Purina Chow for all kinds of different animals and a whole shelf of penny candy at the height that any child could reach into. I will never forget stealing a Tootsie Roll out of one of those boxes. The guilt remains, 50-some years later.
It kind of amazes me that I spent a couple of seasons driving right to the Cancer Resource Center at that very hospital, parking outside on the curb and carrying bags of vegetables through the doors and into the conference room. Now I drive to that hospital and park in the lot, go through the doors that have lots of signs pointing me to the Cancer Resource Center, just down the hall from the Radiation Oncology department. Maybe some of those nurses who attend to me saw those blue bags on the conference table. It is definitely weird for me to be lying on a table in that building. Who would have thought?
Tonight we went to services because it was Dad's yahrzeit. There was so much singing that I really didn't think about Dad, but that was never a space that he inhabited anyway. By chance, another choir member came and sat down next to us and we just sang our little hearts out. I think we were the only two choir members in the congregation, and we just had fun. It only takes one soprano who can harmonize (her) and one alto who can hold her line (me) to make a joyful noise over in the corner.
"My life flows on in endless song above earth's lamentation. I hear the real though far off hymn that hails the new creation. Through all the tumult and the strife, I hear the music ringing. It sounds an echo in my soul, how can I keep from singing?" This song that Pete Seeger always sang just about sums it up.
This is is the first time I am reading your blog, Hana, and weirdly enough Beethoven's 7th (2nd movement) was stuck in my head today, and I haven't listened to classical movement since I left the states. Was a little surprised to see you mention it in this post (although it is an old one). Just thought I'd say hi! :) and send one BIG HUG! (Nina was supposed to pass that on to you but I don't think she did) - Vida C.
ReplyDeletePS. I didn't know it was Beethoven's 7th until I youtubed a ton of classical music and asked my mom. It's also a family (mom's) favorite, especially early Saturday mornings.
:) :)