One of the greatest gifts my Momma Nancy left me was the appreciation of music – all genres of it. For her, it blurred boundaries – the same way she lived her short life, seeing beyond color, class, or creed. It was precious to her – I remember how she and I would spend Saturday mornings, watching American Bandstand and Soul Train. It became our shared ritual – mother and daughter, doing the “bump”. Her smile as I did my best to solve the Soul Train Scramble Board before the dancers did.

I had plans to post this ramble this past Saturday but missed the opportunity. January 3rd marked the 48^th anniversary of Momma’s passing. She was 35 years old. I was eleven. Some anniversaries hit harder than others, but this year felt different. Lighter. More hopeful.

After making my usual morning cup of coffee, I glanced over at the stereo and felt compelled to slide open the door of the console that housed my vinyl collection. The console is at least sixty years old and belonged to my grandparents. It was one of the only things I was adamant about inheriting when the house was being emptied out for sale.

Momma had an incredible collection of albums – soundtracks, rock and roll, soul, rhythm and blues, country, and classical. She also had an equally impressive collection of 45s – most of which I still have.

I’d put a stack of them on the stereo, and my friend, Terrie, and I would pretend we were playing all the instruments on the songs. I believe the remake of “Last Kiss” by Wednesday was our favorite – we must’ve played it a million times, and I still have it. Wanna hear it? Have a listen.

I grew up dancing wildly to Tom Jones and Tina Turner. I would beg Momma to Play Otis Redding’s “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” from the In Person at the Whisky A Go Go album. Standing in front of the stereo, shaking my head back and forth as the tempo grew faster. By the end of the song, my little three-year-old body was deliriously dizzy and wanting to hear it again. My favorite album cover was Isaac Hayes’ Live at the Sahara Tahoe – the doors were cut out so you could open them and see him, resplendent in his gold chains, sweat, and sunglasses. It was where I experienced “The Theme from Shaft” for the first time. Barry White’s luxurious hair and breathy, deep voice confounded me – his music gave me a strange feeling every time I listened – and it would be more than two decades later to fully understand why.

Then came the afternoons when she wasn’t feeling well and would rest on the sofa while James Taylor’s One Man Dog album played quietly. I would lie on the floor beside her, reading the lyrics on the dust cover, every now and then checking to see if she had fallen asleep.

Come on, baby, while the moon is high. Kick up your heels and dance. Don’t be nervous, don’t be shy, and give yourself a chance…

There was an afternoon in late 1977 when she sat at the kitchen table, flipping through the Sunday Parade magazine supplement to find the Columbia House order form. I had to help her fill it out because the scarring from the scleroderma had made it too difficult for her to hold a pen.

Twelve albums for a PENNY. I was completely mystified as to what a great deal this was. Columbia House had reeled me in, hook, line, and sinker. We selected Linda Ronstadt, Doobie Brothers, Monty Python’s Live at the Hollywood Bowl (I loved their TV show, so Momma acquiesced on that one), a few others I don’t recall… and Stevie Wonder’s Songs in the Key of Life. My first song of his I ever heard was “Fingertips” – she had it on 45 (and it’s still in my collection).

According to the fine print, it would take anywhere from six to eight weeks for them to arrive, and quite frankly, I forgot about them soon after we mailed it. Momma’s health took a rapid turn for the worse, and on January 3, 1978, she passed away after a five-day stay in the hospital.

About a month later, a package was received at my dad’s picture frame shop. It was from Columbia House – the songs she and I had selected. As I slowly opened the box and looked through the albums, I had no idea the significance of this gift. Momma knew that the one way she could connect with me after she left this earth was through music. The mother and daughter ritual would continue… just in a little different way.

So, on a Saturday morning in January of 2026, I walk over to my turntable and gently pull Album One of Songs in the Key of Life from its cover. Track six.

I wish those days would come back once more.
Why did those days ever have to go, ‘cause I love them so.

And I look up, shake my head wildly, and smile.