Anthems

This morning, I was sitting on the couch, avoiding work, when I heard the faint notes of a saxophone -- my son, in his room, rehearsing some pieces for an audition next month.  He was playing "Is You Is or Is You Ain't," which might be part of the audition. Or it could just be a piece that he was messing around with from a book of jazz standards he likes to mess around from. He was probably avoiding work, like I was doing.

I'm sitting here now thinking about the strange history I have with "Is You Is." I first heard it when I was a kid, when Tom Cat sang it to woo someone in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. Then I heard it again, a few years later, when I was in Italy, when a friend made a mix tape with dedications to a bunch of us. I don't even remember what song she dedicated to me, but the song I kept playing on the tape was Joe Jackson's version of "Is You Is," dedicated instead to my friend John, The Guy Who Always Wore Motorcycle Boots and a Mechanic's Shirt with Someone Else's Name Stitched On It. And then, after Isabel and I were married, another friend sent us a Louis Jordan tape -- with "Nobody Here But Us Chickens," "Five Guys Named Moe," and "Is You Is," among others.

I love that there's a song that keeps coming back to me, from so many different parts of my life. There are others, of course. But this one is nice because it's kind of random; it's not like I was a big Louis Jordan fan when I was a kid or anything.

Moments like this remind me that Isabel and I always said we wanted a house full of music. When the kids were small and the weather got colder, we used to play music for them after dinner. Their introduction to the Beatles, Bob Marley, James Taylor, Buckwheat Zydeco, some occasional Bruce Cockburn or Smiths.

I think a lot about the role music has played in my life; it's hard not to do when you have kids that are musicians. And ironic, since I'm such a crappy musician myself. But I love to listen, and I've been known to belt one out on occasion. Thinking about all this made me think about a column from Mary Elizabeth Williams from a few weeks ago. It didn't take too long for me to find it.  She writes about something similar -- how music has been an influence in her own life, especially after she was diagnosed with cancer, and how the experience changed the meanings of the songs she has loved.

Williams says, "We apply our most magical thinking to our favorite songs, playing them in endless loops and singing along as if in prayer." I agree wholeheartedly. (She's such a good writer....) I've mentioned before that music has been almost a part of my emotional therapy through all of this. I can latch on to a song and play it over and over again, part of that magical thinking, almost a prayer. Sometimes, it's to find some message, to make sense of what's going on with me. I wrote on my 4 year cancerversary about how some songs helped me sort through some of my mental struggles, trying to answer the question, If cancer changes me, who am I supposed to be? I'm not sure I've ever answered that question fully, but the music certainly made the process more pleasant.

Williams says we all need an anthem -- an inspirational song, maybe a whole list of them, to help us through struggles. I've had plenty of those, too, and I've worn out my iPod listening to them. Dropkick Murphys, "Shipping Up to Boston." The Hours, "Ali in the Jungle." Jack's Mannequin, "Swim." All good running songs, too.

My anthems help me visualize bad things turning into good things. The story that I tell myself changes occasionally, but in the end, I always feel better. Bad into good.

"Is You Is or Is You Ain't" doesn't really fit this "anthem" category, though in some ways it's the perfect anthem for the watching-and-waiting, cancer-that-can't-decide-what-it's-doing, always-kind-of-in-the-middle Follicular Lymphoma patient.

It's quiet upstairs now. He's stopped playing sax, and already been on Facebook to complain about his geometry homework, and I've listened to my cancer anthems, since I had to find the links to their videos. We went apple picking earlier on this beautiful fall New England day. It's a good day. A happy day. Not just because there's music, and Macoun apples, and fall in the air and a dog at my feet. There's relatively good health, too.

And there's a daughter asking what's for dinner, and begging to watch the movie version of the play that the kids will be putting on at school this spring.


The movie? The Sound of Music.

(As my friend Sarah says: Truth.)