Rocking around heaven

It is that time of year when I reminsce about Christmas past, when I was a young mother, new teacher, and Rose, my best friend and next door neighbor opened her home and Tupperware container filled with chocolate chip-nut cookies to me.

I worked at a small private school back then within walking distance, and on the last day of class before holiday break, I would carry my box of goodies down the street and stop by Rose's. I'd dump all of my gifts, ornaments, holiday towels and trinkets on her table, and we'd sort through them like two kids in a toy store. Those memories weave their way into my heart. I can visualize her kitchen with dark cabinets, orange counter top and her eclectic collection of over a hundred salt and pepper shakers. I can almost taste those cookies, and hear her voice and one-of-a-kind rat-a-tat laughter, and smell the stench of those skinny, little, brown cigarettes that she chain smoked. She died at age 52 of lung cancer, just before Christmas.

We used to dance to old time rock and roll songs. We thought we'd never get old, and said even if we did, we'd always be skipping down the street, not hobbling. We used to say that when we made it to heaven, if we were too feeble to actually dance, we'd be rocking in our rocking chairs to Bob Seger's song, Old Time Rock and Roll. Gosh, Rose, I hope you have that rocker rhthymically moving! And I hope that you are surrounded by your mom, my mom, your sisters and your brothers all singing, "Today's music ain't got the same soul...I love that old time rock and roll!"