Getting ready for the holiday

I first wrote this post when I thought that there would be an end to what I had deemed as "Music Week." What I have now realized is that music is such a large part of my life that it would be hard to contain it to one week. So expect to see a lot more music, along with the food and other stuff, around these parts. Oh, and probably has something to do with the fact that my dad's older sister is arriving in town today -- the first of the relatives flying in for Christmas.

My daddy is from Georgia. When the family gets together, there comes a point in which we sing every song we can think of that mentions the fine state of Georgia. Here's the collection of songs. And I will admit, for some reason the first song always makes me kind of misty.







The fiddle playin' in this song is incredible.


Hmmm. That just covers my dad's side of the family. I should also represent my mother. I would say her side of the family but there is not much definitive there. Well, perhaps there is but I'll leave that to another post. Instead I give you these selections.



This is one of my all-time favorite songs and I regularly listen to it in my car while commuting. In fact, I was listening to this song right before the Marvin hit the radio about a week or so ago.





Oops. I forgot that my mother is not really into Brazilian stuff like I am. Here's one of her favorite songs by one of her favorite artists.



Celia? She partied until her death. I want her spirit. Just like when I reach 60 or so, I want legs like Tina Turner and a face like Lena Horne's.



I love this song so much that I think you should know the lyrics. If I wasn't so lazy, I'd give you the English translation that's in the liner notes of the album.

I like to think that part of the reason that my mother moved to Mexico started with her love of Spanish Harlem. Although she was born and raised in Virginia, she spent every summer until she graduated from college -- yes, even after she married my dad -- in NYC. When I was growing up, she regaled me with tales of going to the Palladium and seeing greats like Celia Cruz and Tito Puentes. Bottom line is that around age eight or nine, my mom taught me the cha cha. Next was the mambo. I guess I learned merengue and samba on my own. But once you have the basic rhythm, the rest is a piece of cake. We're still working on turns.

Even when my parents are at their highest level of irritation, I can still walk away from it. I remember the wonderful world of music that they gave me. Because even if I cannot fully express myself in speaking to family, I know that I can find a song that will do it for me.