She came dancing out on stage looking like a woman who knows exactly who she is, in silver T-strap pumps and a neon-pink dress trimmed with a whole lot of sparkle and fringe that moved when she moved in all the right places.
I thought to myself, "I want that dress." I might not wear it to church. But I'd definitely wear it on Saturday nights to stay home and watch TV.
If you don't know Sharon Jones and her music (solid soul, backed up by the Dap-Kings), let me say this: She is a fabulous cross between the great Tina Turner and a female version of the late, great James Brown.
If you don't know Turner and Brown? I'm sorry, I can't help you. That's the best I can do. Suffice it to say, I love Jones and her music.
My husband knows this about me. He loves her, too. But he bought the tickets to see her (recently, at the Palms in Las Vegas, a few miles from our house) just for me. Or so I like to believe. I take gifts the way I take compliments, anytime, any way I can get them.
And this was such a gift.
She ripped through a series of soul songs for which I knew every word and sang along with her. I'd tell you the titles but, duh, I don't remember them.
I do recall one special song, "Get Up and Get Out!" simply for the way she introduced it.
As you may guess from the title, it's about a woman who has suffered too long a man she'd be better off without.
But in Jones' case, she said, the suffering wasn't a man. It was pancreatic cancer.
Diagnosed with the disease in 2013, she spent months undergoing surgery and chemotherapy. Afterward, in her first appearance in early 2014, she danced out on stage totally bald, choosing not to wear a wig for fear it would fly off her head. Besides, she said, when you sing soul, it's hard to hide anything.
That's also true, I've found, in writing a column. It may be one reason why I love her work.
She recalled (as the Dap-Kings harmonized behind her) about looking in a mirror one day and seeing that she had lost all her hair, eyebrows and eyelashes.
That was the turning point, she said, the moment that she began belting out to the cancer: "Get Up and Get Out!"
I wish you could've heard her.
Now, reportedly cancer-free, at the age of 59, with hair and lashes and eyebrows clearly intact, she performs with total abandon, a wild woman of soul, leaving absolutely everything that's within her on stage.
Cancer or not, she says, we never know if this night will be our last. What better way to leave than by giving it our all?
I've thought a lot about Jones' performance that night, her music and her "witness." It asks the question: How will we spend the time we have left?
How do we live in a way that makes the most of our talents and our spirits and our lives?
When my first husband was diagnosed with cancer, he chose to keep doing the things he did best: teaching, coaching, being a husband and a father. But in the end, he said, if he could live his life over, he'd have spent less time working and more time with the people he loved.
He lived a beautiful life, but it was not without regrets.
Like Jones, I, too, want to "leave it all on the stage." But not in terms of a performance or a column or a career.
I just want to leave a smile on the faces of those who know me best. I want to tell my stories and hear every story I am told. I want to ask the right questions and truly listen to every answer.
I want to be, as best I can, a wild woman of soul, leaving everything within me on the stage of my one sweet life.
And someday, when I get to heaven? If it's not too much to ask, I would really like to sing backup for Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings. That's all.
What about you?
Award-winning columnist Sharon Randall writes about the ordinary and extraordinary:
randallbay@earthlink.net
Family on 06/24/2015