I remember Mom singing that song, successfully nailing a few lines before forgetting the lyrics and making up her own. That was her trademark. She'd hum, bop, or sing to almost every song whether she knew it or not, and her pitch was always just a touch higher than the song, and just a touch lower than conventional dog whistles. For even her favorite songs, she'd somehow forget the words and slur syllables together in an attempt to mimic what the artist was singing to better 'participate' in the moment. There were no sideline Mary's growing up; Mom was always full force and unmistakable.
But, Rose Garden was one she'd nail time and again. It was playing at a restaurant the other night and I immediately thought of her and the way she'd chugga-choo-choo her arms as she'd dance. She'd do the same chugga-choo-choo routine when she'd walk the indoor track at her gym, determined to stay active in the face of cancer. Her initial laps were slow and steady, but confident and she'd give a "salute" with a choo-choo move, which said "I'm here, I'm fighting, I'm doing OK". She'd still choo-choo her arms when we'd make eye contact, showing her tenacity and grit despite those laps growing slower and slower and fewer in frequency. I miss her choo-choo. Yet, when I catch myself choo-chooing like she used to, instead of it being a pointless move that passes the time, I'm reminded of her. ~E
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