Gospel Music
Mom had a beautiful soprano voice. She sang “I’ll Fly Away” and other gospel hymns often.
When Whitney Houston got popular as a pop icon in the eighties, Mom identified and referred to her as “Cissy Houston’s girl” because Cissy Houston had been a gospel singer whose music my mom knew well.
We watched Dionne Warwick on her show every Sunday evening as long as she had it. One of her regular guests was Gladys Knight, sometimes with the Pips, and Mom taught me the song “Midnight Train to Georgia,” which she sang with true passion.
We watched Barbara Mandrell and her sisters, who also had roots in gospel music.
Mom got to see Elvis when she was ten, I remember her telling me. She only understood later in her life what a momentous occasion that was. At the time, she had fun but did not fall in love or think Elvis was anything to lose sleep or scream over.
Crystal Gayle was another favorite Mom would easily belt out, especially her version of Blue Bayou and Don’t it Make My Brown Eyes Blue, as her eyes were brown.
I’ve spent a lot of years trying to get away from my gospel and country roots. I thought it was the part of our family that was backward, unhealthy. Now as I sit on my Texas porch this evening, listening to the crickets and cicadas, feeling the warm summer breeze, I feel it is the part of us that was sweet, and simple in a good, easy and humble way. I thought in order to be worldly and sophisticated – which I also thought was where it was at – I needed to denounce this past, to literally move away from it, and to show much disdain for it. Certainly that would mean I had arrived and understood the ways of the real world.
I still love and appreciate – and remain indebted to - the creative, employment, spiritual, and educational, as well as medical and technological opportunities a city brings. I also love the great number of people one can meet from all walks of life.
But I no longer believe it is better, and I miss and even love my country roots.
I had attached too much of the hurt, given the country in us too much responsibility for what had gone wrong. I had felt so isolated there, so like no one would hear me, and there was much truth to that. Getting to places that were more populated was a relief beyond measure at that time because I found so many resources for help and healing. I found people who would listen. I also found plenty of people in the country who would not listen and who wanted to perpetuate the family problems.
To be fair, I have also found those who would help in the country, and those who would harm in the city. I guess it was pretty simplistic of me to think I wouldn’t, to think it was that pat.
For a bunch of years, I had it good and really the best of both worlds living in Austin. But now the city is booming and seems to be set on proving itself as world class. Since living in a “world class” city about a year ago, I have lost all taste for that.
I have been two stepping a bunch lately, and eating farm fresh watermelon and peaches, drinking iced tea, going fishing, and wearing my cowgirl boots. I am moving to a smaller town just outside Austin.
I have also been reading intellectually challenging books, participating in political protests, going to the symphony, and meeting folks from all walks of life.
I feel magnificently about the whole kit and caboodle that makes up Texas and me, y’all.
