And run, if you will, to the top of the hill…

Usually when I’m pushing my cart (what we Southerners call “buggy”) through the grocery store, I’m only dimly aware of the music. Possibly that’s because it’s consistently overridden by garbled voices calling for things that sound like “krsshree macxchlt line frizhnotu.” Today, I found myself humming along to something before my brain said, “What the hell is that song? WHAT IS IT?” So I had to stop and strain to hear it over “zhrezhre fundx floral bijonit.” Finally I realized what it was and that I hadn’t heard it since the early Cretaceous Period.

It was one of my mother’s favorite songs. I figured hearing it right then was her way of telling me I spend too much on groceries. Or else she wanted me to know “lidzntk fovbw cphryq.”

September 16 is my father’s birthday. He’d have been 97. His own father died at the age of 96. It’s hard not to wish I’d have gotten that many years with my father, but I’m grateful for every one I had. I made a slideshow to remember him using the song I heard today–because he wouldn’t have had the life he enjoyed, with the children and grandchildren he adored, without his Dorothy Jean.

Just in case you don’t know, if you want to see this other than tiny, you can either click the little arrows to the left of Vimeo or click Vimeo and go to the site.


13 thoughts on “And run, if you will, to the top of the hill…”

  1. Becks, over the years you have shared so many memories of your family all of them make me smile, but the stories about your Dad, well to me they are the best ones of all. Thanks for that.

    By the way, Jean and You don’t know me … the two songs that make me cry before the words kick in.

    1. You’re welcome. Always delighted to make you cry! 😉

      When we did my mother’s memorial service, I mostly picked songs that she’d told me through the years were “hers” to play during the slide show. I missed this one. I should move that slide show to this computer and get it on Vimeo, too, for my family.

  2. Wow, that was lovely, Becky.
    I certainly heard that song in our house when I was growing up!
    (The other day I was in a waiting room and the woman beside me started singing to the song that was playing…she couldn’t hold a tune. I was in pain.)

    1. Thanks, Lisa.

      I always kind of admire people who sing out loud even though they can’t really sing. I’m not one of those people. I sing when no one else is at home, except the dogs judge me. But I’m a total car singer!

  3. how did our parents get so young, while seeming, simultaneously, to be so old? though at 35, you wouldn’t know anything about the latter?

    1. Arthur, you are keeping my Google link busy tonight.

      I think Daddy always seemed old because of WWII. I’d love to see more photos of him before he was in the Army. Tom and I were speculating about just how many photos there must be in E’s basement that we’ll never know about.

  4. What a lovely tribute. Makes me want to learn to play “Jean.” I think I’ll go check the tabs now.
    And two things:
    1. Was that Steve’s back I saw at 1:44? Reminded me of this thick, black hair, anyway. And we always wore those baseball sleeves.
    2. Your dad and our daughter share a birthdate, though quite a number of years apart. Our Jenni, the mother of our two granddaughters, turned 28 on Friday.

    From a man about 2/3’s up the hill following along, “Happy Birthday, Mr. Cochrane,” the coolest faculty member I’ve ever known; the man who refused to rat me out, but I did not know and stupidly did it myself.

    1. Thank you. It’s a bittersweet song, isn’t it?

      1. You have a good eye. He was such a special part of our family that I liked getting him in there, though I guess I always try to protect his privacy in the same way that I respect Tom’s (and his family’s). Nobody ever asked to be blog fodder, I know, and I’m grateful that my siblings, Cochrane in-laws, and nieces and nephews put up with me.

      2. Happy birthday to Jenni! I’m sure she shares many of the wonderful qualities of my Virgo father. Even if he hadn’t been my father, I’d have respected him because I saw how dedicated he was to his students, whether his young ROTC cadets (sadly headed to Vietnam, many of them) or his high schoolers. And of course, I got to see what he couldn’t show you guys–how much your antics and misdeeds tickled him. He had faith you’d grow into splendid adults, and you’re proof that he was right.

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