Saturday's Storyteller: "Hey, you stole that line from a musical!"
by Belinda Roddie
"Hey, you stole that line from a musical!"
"No, I didn't!"
"You totally did! I know it! I've seen the show on Broadway!"
"You're a liar!"
"Are not!"
"Are, too!"
"See, this is what happens when we let them try to write music together," Mark said glumly as he watched our daughters squabble.
"They don't have to follow in our footsteps, you know."
They wanted to, though. Mark and I had been a dynamic musical duo for twenty years of our lives. When we had decided to have children, our careers were put on hold. Jessica and Allison, as a result, wanted to write music and basically continue the trend like it was a family tradition. They were thirteen and eleven respectively, squabbling over who got to play what instrument or who got to sing what song. Today, the argument was about lyrics.
The amount of music they had written? Pretty negotiable. Close to none, though. I didn't want them to push it. It's true that we had been on Broadway, watching shows, because we could afford it. Mark and I hadn't exactly been in the top twenty celebrities, but we were pretty recognized. Even now, or more accurately right before Jessie and Allie's latest argument, I was on the phone with Robert, turning down another concert offer.
"Saturday doesn't work. It's Jessie's piano recital."
"Sunday, then. They'll love it."
"Swim meet for Allie."
"Jennifer, where are your priorities?"
"With my family," I had snapped into the phone. "Where are yours?"
Mark decided the best way to create a truce between the girls was to order pizza. That suited me fine. We were both not in the mood for cooking. We knew what we'd be doing after pepperoni and sausage were settling in our stomachs. Mark would pull out the ukelele, I'd take my place at the piano, and we'd sing our songs for our girls. They never got tired of them. They'd ask to join in. Mark and I would end up deciding who'd play the harmonica and who'd play the tambourine.
"So what'll it be, girls?" asked Mark. "Pepperoni and sausage again?"
"No!" they chorused.
"Four cheese!" cried Jessie.
"Yeah!" yelled Allie. Wow, she was agreeing. "Four cheese!"
"Four cheese?" Mark repeated to me. I shrugged.
"Works for me."
I wasn't picky. But I suddenly felt very tired. I had foregone the school board meeting and the PTA meeting at the middle school, and I wasn't even in the mood to sing. Looking at my husband as he picked up the phone and the girls as they ran to get plates, I wondered if I'd want to perform for them again tonight.
***
Mark and I had met when we were in high school. He had played electric guitar before he picked up the uke, and I had been in concert choir. I was shy, and he was forward. He asked me to the prom through song, with greasy long hair and really bad sideburns. I said yes, provided he lost the sideburns.
He dressed up for me and even got his hair cut. We danced even when the records started to skip. We joined an a cappella group at the community college we went to. We started arranging music. Then composing. And then I got behind a piano and he bought a guitar and we started performing at open mic nights.
We didn't expect much, but we weren't interested in other jobs. Mark's dad wanted him to be a car mechanic and my mother wanted me to be a nurse. But neither of us finished college and we wound up in San Francisco, where Robert, our agent to this day, discovered us.
He said people would love us, and they did. The eighties was a weird time for music, but somehow, we pulled through. Mark and I were a team, very much in love and showing it as we performed for Jay Leno one night and got interviewed on the Today Show the next. We had some pretty solid singles, but nothing record-breaking. It was nice, though, especially when Mark and I got to sing together and weave together some pretty sick harmonies.
In the end, we wanted to get married. We wanted to have kids. Mark loved having two daughters. So did I. Robert wanted us to be a performing family, but we weren't interested. Our girls never became prodigies, and we liked that. We didn't push it. We never wanted to.
When Mark and I were about to go to bed some times, we looked over black and white snapshots that we've collected in boxes over the years and reminisce. One picture has us on a boat in front of the Statue of Liberty. Another is a picture a friend took, with us performing live next to Central Park. We always liked playing in open spaces, and we always had the weirdest taste in clothes. Nothing cheesy or complementary, but like patchwork. That's what our nickname was. The Patchwork Couple. And we went along with it. Our lives were pretty much patchwork.
***
The pizza arrived in a half hour and we all ate as if we were famished. Jessie and Allie quickly cleared the table, and Mark nodded to me as we headed into the living room. I was ready to plop down in front of the piano, my head heavy like iron especially after consuming so many carbs and dairy, but Jessie stopped me.
"No, Mom," she said. "Allie and I have something for you tonight."
She sat by the piano and Allie brought the guitar that made her look tiny by comparison. Mark looked at me skeptically as we both sat down on the couch, but I patted his shoulder and smiled. Our daughters stared at us, waiting for permission to start, and I nodded.
"This song is called 'Mommy and Daddy,'" Allie announced. "We both wrote the music and the lyrics."
"But I wrote most of the lyrics," added Jessie.
"Fine. Whatever."
Allie started plucking. Jessie started plunking. It was a little interesting, and the lyrics were a bit clunky, but I put my critic's mind aside. I squeezed Mark's hand and saw his sideburns reappear for one quick moment. I listened to my girls play and pictured a stage with an audience. The song was scattered, but it was perfect. It was a patchwork song for a patchwork family.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
"Hey, you stole that line from a musical!"
"No, I didn't!"
"You totally did! I know it! I've seen the show on Broadway!"
"You're a liar!"
"Are not!"
"Are, too!"
"See, this is what happens when we let them try to write music together," Mark said glumly as he watched our daughters squabble.
"They don't have to follow in our footsteps, you know."
They wanted to, though. Mark and I had been a dynamic musical duo for twenty years of our lives. When we had decided to have children, our careers were put on hold. Jessica and Allison, as a result, wanted to write music and basically continue the trend like it was a family tradition. They were thirteen and eleven respectively, squabbling over who got to play what instrument or who got to sing what song. Today, the argument was about lyrics.
The amount of music they had written? Pretty negotiable. Close to none, though. I didn't want them to push it. It's true that we had been on Broadway, watching shows, because we could afford it. Mark and I hadn't exactly been in the top twenty celebrities, but we were pretty recognized. Even now, or more accurately right before Jessie and Allie's latest argument, I was on the phone with Robert, turning down another concert offer.
"Saturday doesn't work. It's Jessie's piano recital."
"Sunday, then. They'll love it."
"Swim meet for Allie."
"Jennifer, where are your priorities?"
"With my family," I had snapped into the phone. "Where are yours?"
Mark decided the best way to create a truce between the girls was to order pizza. That suited me fine. We were both not in the mood for cooking. We knew what we'd be doing after pepperoni and sausage were settling in our stomachs. Mark would pull out the ukelele, I'd take my place at the piano, and we'd sing our songs for our girls. They never got tired of them. They'd ask to join in. Mark and I would end up deciding who'd play the harmonica and who'd play the tambourine.
"So what'll it be, girls?" asked Mark. "Pepperoni and sausage again?"
"No!" they chorused.
"Four cheese!" cried Jessie.
"Yeah!" yelled Allie. Wow, she was agreeing. "Four cheese!"
"Four cheese?" Mark repeated to me. I shrugged.
"Works for me."
I wasn't picky. But I suddenly felt very tired. I had foregone the school board meeting and the PTA meeting at the middle school, and I wasn't even in the mood to sing. Looking at my husband as he picked up the phone and the girls as they ran to get plates, I wondered if I'd want to perform for them again tonight.
***
Mark and I had met when we were in high school. He had played electric guitar before he picked up the uke, and I had been in concert choir. I was shy, and he was forward. He asked me to the prom through song, with greasy long hair and really bad sideburns. I said yes, provided he lost the sideburns.
He dressed up for me and even got his hair cut. We danced even when the records started to skip. We joined an a cappella group at the community college we went to. We started arranging music. Then composing. And then I got behind a piano and he bought a guitar and we started performing at open mic nights.
We didn't expect much, but we weren't interested in other jobs. Mark's dad wanted him to be a car mechanic and my mother wanted me to be a nurse. But neither of us finished college and we wound up in San Francisco, where Robert, our agent to this day, discovered us.
He said people would love us, and they did. The eighties was a weird time for music, but somehow, we pulled through. Mark and I were a team, very much in love and showing it as we performed for Jay Leno one night and got interviewed on the Today Show the next. We had some pretty solid singles, but nothing record-breaking. It was nice, though, especially when Mark and I got to sing together and weave together some pretty sick harmonies.
In the end, we wanted to get married. We wanted to have kids. Mark loved having two daughters. So did I. Robert wanted us to be a performing family, but we weren't interested. Our girls never became prodigies, and we liked that. We didn't push it. We never wanted to.
When Mark and I were about to go to bed some times, we looked over black and white snapshots that we've collected in boxes over the years and reminisce. One picture has us on a boat in front of the Statue of Liberty. Another is a picture a friend took, with us performing live next to Central Park. We always liked playing in open spaces, and we always had the weirdest taste in clothes. Nothing cheesy or complementary, but like patchwork. That's what our nickname was. The Patchwork Couple. And we went along with it. Our lives were pretty much patchwork.
***
The pizza arrived in a half hour and we all ate as if we were famished. Jessie and Allie quickly cleared the table, and Mark nodded to me as we headed into the living room. I was ready to plop down in front of the piano, my head heavy like iron especially after consuming so many carbs and dairy, but Jessie stopped me.
"No, Mom," she said. "Allie and I have something for you tonight."
She sat by the piano and Allie brought the guitar that made her look tiny by comparison. Mark looked at me skeptically as we both sat down on the couch, but I patted his shoulder and smiled. Our daughters stared at us, waiting for permission to start, and I nodded.
"This song is called 'Mommy and Daddy,'" Allie announced. "We both wrote the music and the lyrics."
"But I wrote most of the lyrics," added Jessie.
"Fine. Whatever."
Allie started plucking. Jessie started plunking. It was a little interesting, and the lyrics were a bit clunky, but I put my critic's mind aside. I squeezed Mark's hand and saw his sideburns reappear for one quick moment. I listened to my girls play and pictured a stage with an audience. The song was scattered, but it was perfect. It was a patchwork song for a patchwork family.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
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