Climb Ev'ry Mountain

There will always be a handful of movies that automatically makes me think of my grandmother: Annie, The Wizard of Oz and The Sound of Music. These movies, all musicals coincidentally, form the soundtrack of my childhood. Days spent making applesauce, tending to my terrarium, untangling necklaces that had knotted together in my jewelry box—all this activity under the patient guidance of my Grams, accompanied by the music and lyrics of Martin Charnin, Charles Strouse, Harold Arlen, Yip Harburg, and of course, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein.

And so when my Grams died, it was to my great chagrin that there was no music played at her memorial service other than Taps. How could this woman who loved music, who sang to me, who taught me how to do the Lindy have left this earth without a musical accompaniment? It didn't seem right.

Soon after my Grams died, my daughter restarted her campaign for my permission for her to get her first tattoo. She didn't technically need it, being an "adult" and all. By the way, 18-year-olds should never be considered adults; I've barely gotten a handle on this adulting thing and I'm more than twice that age. But, I digress.

The kiddo wanted a tattoo. It's not that I'm anti-tattoo. Years ago, I wrote a lovely piece in my college's gender studies journal, Speakeasy, titled "Getting Under My Skin," in defense of women who had chosen to get tattoos, after the school paper actually published some op/ed tripe about tattoos "vandalizing" the temple that is your [female] body.

So again, not anti-tattoo. In fact, when my daughter was much younger, she participated in Irish dance, and most of the older girls had shamrock tattoos on their feet. I assumed I'd be shelling out money for her to get one of those someday. I just never wanted one myself.

But she stopped dancing in seventh grade, and the idea of my baby getting a tattoo faded—until my Grams died.

"Mom, I think I want to get a tattoo in memory of Mama," she said out of the blue. This was a different tack than her previous, vague attempts that I assumed would involve a Disney character or a pithy, motivational quote. How could I possibly object to a tattoo memorializing my beloved grandmother?

I couldn't, and the little stinker knew it.

And so, within a few months, she had selected a tattoo artist and come up with a design: a mountain range on her shoulder with the words "climb ev'ry mountain" underneath. That's right. All that music from my childhood? It became her soundtrack too. My Grams didn't just help raise me, she helped me raise my own child, taking her to the zoo, shuttling her to Irish dance practice, being a speaker at her elementary school on Career Day. And along with all that raising came music and movies.

I've lost track of the number of times my daughter watched The Sound of Music with my grandmother. Grams had a cubby in her entertainment center, filled with VHS tapes that my daughter could watch. And even though she had all the Barbie, My Little Pony and Disney films you could possibly imagine, if she was at my grandmother's house, she was watching The Sound of Music—and my grandmother was joining her.

So when we lost our matriarch, it made sense that my daughter chose to honor her with a tattoo referencing The Sound of Music. My mother said my Grams wouldn't have liked it, but Grams was always a lively and feisty old broad, and I bet she would have gotten a kick out it. I certainly hope so, because my daughter isn't the only one who has chosen to honor my grandmother that way.

I'm getting a tattoo as well, my first.

Along the same lines as my daughter's, my tattoo will also be inspired by Grams—and The Sound of Music. Mine will have a cluster of small white flowers, edelweiss, with the words "bloom and grow" encircling the bouquet. It will also be on my shoulder.

I'd like to think our tattoos are like my Grams putting her hands on her girls' shoulders, pushing us out into the world, with the reminders to explore and flourish as we live our lives. That's certainly how she encouraged and inspired us when she was alive, and I'd like to think she's still doing so now, just in a different way.

Climb ev'ry mountain. Bloom and grow. Always Grams. Always.