Sweet Home Alabama

I have spent a lot of the last 4 months in the Deep South which is why I haven't posted much. Let's just say I've been preoocupied. First, I've been focused on setting up a household that I won't actually live in. That can be tricky. And second, I have been solving problems from The Not So Deep South when my plans go off track. Luckily, off track plans are something I expect. In the best Emergency Medicine Tradition, I anticipate the unexpected and I have a Plan B. Sometimes I even have a Plan C. It's easier to have those plans, however, when you know a little something about your surroundings. Between my research and my personal experiences, I can now say I know a little something about The Land of Rocket Scientists.

Alabama feels familiar to me these days. I don't worry about becoming lost anymore. Not that being lost is ever much of a worry. Wrong turns are an opportunity for adventure. And to be honest, it’s an opportunity that I get to enjoy often! Fortunately, getting lost makes me grin. And with a cell phone in hand I can take any number of people along on that adventure with me. Which just means more grinning. I can save my worries for more important things, like getting my aunt settled into a new assisted living arrangement; an arrangement that promises to help her find her way down Memory Lane.

I stand among dozens of boxes in a sunny room. Once again I need to figure out how to fit a lifetime of possessions in an ever shrinking space. Just a few months ago I moved these things down from NY. Just like then, I have to juggle “need” with “want.” Agnes doesn’t need a china cabinet filled with glassware, but she wants it. Her treasures matter to her, so I figure out a way to fit it all into a single space that must act as living room, dining room, and bedroom. Fine china, crystal, figurines, collectibles, picture frames. Each is carefully unwrapped and placed inside the cabinet. What doesn’t fit is displayed on dresser and table tops. I move toward the entertainment center. Two small but impossibly heavy boxes sit at my feet. They are marked “records.” I cut through the tape and the musty smell of old cardboard wafts up towards me. I reach in and pull out Agnes’ albums. This is the soundtrack of her life. It spans 50+ years.

My first handful of records include Frank Sinatra, Tommy Dorsey, Herb Alpert and the Tiujuana Brass, and Elvis. I slide them onto the shelf and reach for a second handful. More jazz and R&B. Miles Davis, Diana Ross, Aretha Franklin, George Benson, Jeff Beck. So far she’s pretty hip for an 81 year old. I place the albums on her shelf and reach into the box again. The British invade. The Beatles, Paul McCartney after the Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Kinks, The Who. I am 8 years old again. We are at Squantz Pond. Agnes is wearing high heels and a lace dress to a picnic. She tells me that Paul is the best looking but that John is a genius. I don’t know who she’s talking about but I smile and nod. I rarely know what Aunt Agnes is talking about. I grab some pink lemonade and run off to throw a baseball around. Years later I know what she's talking about and I agree. Paul was adorable, John was a genius.

Jimi Hendrix. Janis Joplin, Led Zepplin, The Edgar Winter Group, Aerosmith, Patti Smith, The Grateful Dead. I am fourteen and we are playing Scrabble. Aunt Agnes reaches for her highball and tells me that she has tried pot. She doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. It doesn’t do much for her. She puts her tiles down. Triple word score. She’s killing me at this game. I slide the albums onto her shelf. Words don’t come easily to her now but music still makes her smile.

AC/DC, INXS, Joe Jackson, The Talking Heads, The Cars, Van Halen, Madonna, The Charlie Daniels Band, R.E.M. I’m home from college and I meet Agnes in NYC’s Chinatown. We eat Dim Sum and she tells me all about Europe. I tell her that I’m getting married and she beams. I promise her I will be back to shop for wedding veils with her in the garment district. She offers to alter my mother’s wedding gown for me. She has sewn dresses for me my whole life. She’s so excited about the prospect of working on the gown that I accept the offer. I slide the sound of the 80s onto the shelf and reach again into the boxes.

Pavoratti, Maria Callas, Domingo, The Three Tenors. She sweeps into the lobby of The Met in a full length white fox fur. Underneath she is wearing a pair of farmer overalls. The contrast is startling in a place filled with gray-haired people in their best dress. “Do you have your opera glasses?” she asks. I admit to not owning any. She thought that may be the case and has an extra set with her. We settle into our seats and I’m relieved to see subtitles projected above the stage. She tells me that City Opera has been stealing patrons away for years with subtitles. Finally the Met stopped being elitist and gave in to public demand. The house lights dim. I slip the opera collection onto the shelves alongside big band, jazz, Motown, and rock.

During the 90s vinyl gave way to CDs. Aunt Agnes was in her seventies by then and didn’t make the technological transition. Although she owns a CD player, she has only a few albums in that format. She still uses her turntable faithfully. And of course, there’s the radio. When I turned the radio on in her apartment in NY it was set to urban hip hop. I listened for awhile as I packed boxes and then found a classic rock station. I’m not as progressive as Agnes.

She holds my hand as we walk into her new apartment. La Traviata plays on the stereo while Agnes explores her new home. She looks in the closets and the dresser drawers. She stands in front of the china cabinet and assesses her glassware. I tell her that I've managed to keep almost everything although her winter clothes are stored off site. Her furs, however, are hanging in her closet. Her opera glasses are on the top shelf of her wardrobe. "Will this work for you?" I ask. I hold my breath. There is no Plan B if this doesn't work for her. There are no options but I hate to bring that to her attention. "Oh, it's darling." she replies. She’s happy among her things and I am relieved.