My mother, whose name really was Bird, had a gift for writing in verse, and some of her little poems delighted friends and family on special occasions. She often said these things just came to her, that she could not just sit down and say I think I will write a poem, but rather that it just happened in her head and she had to write it down before she lost it. People would compliment her on her poetry, but she was modest and say that what she wrote was more doggerel than poetry. Most of the time it was amusing, but during her last years, she thoughtfully tried to make her passing as easy on me as possible.

In her seventies, living in a retirement community, she belonged to and performed with a musical group called the Kazoo Knockers (and the second word is three syllables ka knock ers), who wore white pants and red polo shirts. Above is a picture of three saxy ladies of the group, my mom is the brunette in the middle.

Anyway. to the point of this writing. I am in the process of TRYING to clear clutter out of my house, going through boxes and piles of things and ruthlessly throwing things away. I ran across a typed sheet upon which is written the last “poetry” my mother wrote. She had left it in a folder for me with her funeral instructions, among which is that a recording of Rosemary Clooney singing Mambo Italiono should be played at the service, as pantomiming to that song was one of my mother’s most popular performances in the Kazoo Knocker’s repertoire. Unfortunately, I arrived at the funeral home befeft, as I had no recording of Mambo Italiano, nor was it in the Anderson McQueen archives. But a great number of elderly ladies in gentlemen, in the Kazoo Knocker red and white attire were in attendance, and a dear, sweet woman named Honey McGee came up to me with a cassette in her hand, saying “I know your mother wanted this played at her funeral, this tape is cued up to the right place.”

So my mom got her wish, and I do not believe that the surprised funeral home staff had ever heard quite that lively a musical selection.

When everyone else had had a chance to speak, and everyone had so many wonderful things to say about Bird, I got up to say my own few words … which I won’t try to replicate here. But I held this piece of paper in my hands and read my mother’s farewell words.

I share them here with you now.

Play no sad songs for me
For I am not gone
Just moved on
To the next room where I shall be
With those I love who have passed before me.

Play no sad songs for me.
My life was joy, sorrow, and fun
And now it’s done
So let it be
A happy, loving memory.

Play no sad songs for me
And let your tears be few.
Just smile and know that I shall see
And be smiling back at you.