Go tell Aunt Nancy, go tell Aunt Nancy
Go tell Aunt Nancy the old gray goose is dead
It's the one she's been saving, the one she's been saving
The one she's been saving to make a feather bed
Now yes, I am well aware this is a very morbid song. But for some odd reason this is the lullaby that my grandfather used to sing to me.
As many of you know, I have always loved the stage. Especially musicals. And now every night Gia’s room morphs into my performing arena. Really more of an acoustic showing from about 9-9:30. An exclusive Unplugged performance for Miss G. I sing anything and everything from Christmas carols, the made up songs my mother used to sing to me, old southern folk tunes, Broadway musical scores and of course….Go Tell Aunt Nancy.
Last night was no different than any other. Gia was drifting to dream land and I was the fortunate party to be holding her tight. I began to sing Go Tell Aunt Nancy and suddenly my mind wandered to laying on the front room of my grandparents house and my grandpa singing me to sleep.
So many of you never met this wonderful man; including my daughter or husband. But some of you were lucky enough to have a moment at Grandparent’s day or while they were visiting Houston. My grandpa would sing just about anything and for any occasion. I really think that is where my love of song comes from. He sang so much that my dad spoke about it in depth during his eulogy. It is one of the things I remember so fondly on.
In Gia’s room last night my mind took me back. Like a black and white movie of days gone by. So vivid, so real that I really thought I was there. Back to the days when I was a blonde little girl with missing teeth. A little girl that didn’t have a care in the world and wanted nothing more than cowboy toast and a milkshake made by my grandpa. Eating watermelon on the levy. Going through Aunt Daisy and Gretch’s junk at the house on the Avenue. Eating fried chicken that I never liked. All from one song.
So as much as my husband or other moms mock my awful singing I won’t stop. One day after I am gone Gia will be brought back to that place. Me singing to her with all of my might and all of my heart. She won’t remember that it was off key or realize how horrendous the lyrics were until much later in life. And at that point it won’t matter. She will know that it was all done out of love and devotion for her. In the words of Stephen C. “I’m making memories here. I’m making memories.”