Georgia and the Wabash Far Away

My mother lived in France when she was in college. She left Indiana, her steady boyfriend, and her friends, to live in Rennes as an exchange student for five months. Goodness, my mama had amazing adventures And she still speaks fluent French.

Every time she hears "Georgia On My Mind" by Ray Charles, she says, "Oh, this is what I would listen to when I was lonely in France. I would just listen to it over and over again, and cry, and think about home." And she would stand there in the kitchen for a moment, remembering just yesterday, when long-distance phone calls were a treat and jazz was a portal to home.

Now, with the rain pattering on the skylights above me and the evening fading from silver to soot black, I am in my mother's shoes. "Back home again, in Indiana, and it seems that I can see, the gleaming candle light, still burning bright, through the Sycamores for me." Rita Hayworth, children's choirs, and acapella groups all croon lovingly about my heartland. Music is a portal that takes me again and again back to my native shores and forests.

"The new-mown hay sends all its fragrance, through the fields I used to roam. When I dream about the moonlight on the Wabash, then I long for my Indiana home."

After a while, I remember Ray Charles, listen to his song, and think of Mama. Good thing long-distance calls are just a moment away these days. It keeps the homesickness just barely at bay. Phone calls, and the Wabash, far away.