Precious Memories, How They Linger...

Dolly Parton

I'm a huge music fan. All kinds of music. But I'm choosy in each genre. Particularly country. Don't ever, ever give me "Reeber." Bleh. And while Brad Paisley is cute and nice, his songs are cheesy. But goodness me, bring on the Zac Brown Band any time! Or Kenny Chesney. Or Dolly Parton.

Dolly is a famous person I'd love to meet. And there aren't many celebrities I'd walk across the street to waylay in hopes of a chat. Paradoxically, under all that makeup and glitter, behind the boobs and the botox, I do believe I'd find a purely genuine spirit.  This week I finally got the chance to attend her concert, to see her in person, at the Durham Performing Arts Center in Durham, NC. (And if you haven't been there, you're missing one of the best venues in this country!)

[Here's a great concert review: http://www.hitfix.com/blogs/the-beat-goes-on/posts/concert-review-dolly-parton-sings-raps-and-dances-her-way-through-stellar-show ]

Dolly held that audience in the palm of her diminuitive hand for over two hours (granted, some of the men she held spellbound somewhere else!). Her sweet, high, trilling voice is as strong as ever. And not only can she sing in every style there is (country, country rock, bluegrass, rock, ballads, hymns, you name it!), she played the guitar, the banjo, the saxophone, the harmonica, the autoharp, the fiddle with ease. Gosh!

While the ballad "Little Sparrow" was my favorite, the song that spoke the most to me was "Precious Memories." The concert had been quite lively, the band a little too loud, when suddenly Dolly sat on a stool and began to sing a cappella:

Precious memories, how they linger,

How they ever flood my soul.

In the stillness of the midnight,

Precious, sacred scenes unfold.

Surprisingly, tears began to stream down my cheeks. Thankful the theatre was fairly dark, I attempted to wipe them away while pretending to brush back my hair, scratch my eye. But there were so many, I finally decided what the hey and let them pour.

Clear as day, I could see my grandmother, Ethel Jane Matthews, standing at her kitchen sink, belting out that very song over suds and piles of dirty dishes. I remember one day when I was quite young, I noticed a couple tears trickle down her face as she sang. And I asked what was wrong. "Sometimes I just miss my mama," she said. At nine years old, I couldn't wrap my head around such a thing. My old grandmother missing her mother who'd long been dead and would have been ancient if she were still alive. People are missed that long?

Now I know they are. Ethel Jane's been dead for 37 years. I still miss her. Terribly. Dolly completed a circle for me this week. I didn't sing "Precious Memories," but the words and the melody filled my soul. And the tears poured. For the grandmama I just miss.