We were sitting on the patio, a jazz trio playing under a star-lit sky, when I asked my friend if at any point in the program, she was going to sing.

 There had been occasions when someone in the audience had been invited to sing, and since her husband was the drummer in the trio, it seemed likely she might be one of them.

 No, she wasn't a singer, she said. "Can't care a tune in a bucket," were her exact words.

 I wondered how she knew that, and she said that as a child, she had been in the back seat of the car, singing along with her mother, when her mother remarked that she had never realized before that her daughter couldn't sing.

 Her mother had a beautiful singing voice, she said, and I guess because of it she took her mother's word for it that she couldn't sing.

 I told her that she shouldn't take her mother's word for it.

 Janis Joplin's mother probably told her the same thing. And you know Joe Cocker's parent's had to be amazed that anybody ever paid to hear him sing, much less earn a pretty good living at it. They probably thought he'd earn more money being paid not to sing — like he did when he was at home.

 In any case, I told her she shouldn't give up singing.

 So then the subject switched to my singing ability. Was I a good singer?

 My mother thought so, but that was when I was four years old. Actually, that's not true. My mother remains convinced to this day that my sisters and I could have been bigger than the Lennon Sisters if only we had tried. She says "we" but she's actually just talking about me and Marla. We didn't want to sing in front of people.

 I broke out in a sweat just reading out loud. My throat closed up 7 minutes shy of an speech class assignment to give a 15-minute talk on "How to Choose a Pet."

 I wasn't about to sing anywhere near my mother, lest it encourage her in that Lennon sisters notion.

 So I told my friend that I wasn't really sure whether I could sing well or not. I suspect I'm average, but as my singing engagements are limited almost exclusively to the interior of my car, I don't get a lot of feedback from an audience, so it's hard to tell.

 Although ... the one time I did have an audience, I said, I got a pretty good response. And a pretty good review. However, since my two friends made up a third of the audience, and they were the ones who gave me the review, it was probably a little skewed in my favor.

 The revelation that I had dared to sing in front of people inspired expressions of wonder, awe and a little skepticism from the table.

 "You actually got up and sang in front of people?" was the open-mouthed response.

 Yes, I had, I said, and furthermore, my one-time only performance had been broadcast live from Mount Enterprise, via my friend's cellphone. She was afraid nobody would believe her when she told the story later, so her idea was to add to the witness list.

 After I had admitted that I had once gotten up in front of people to sing, the question was would I do it again, like right then, with the jazz trio?

 I had to admit that while I can sing somewhat, my repertoire is pretty limited. In fact, it consists of one Linda Ronstadt song.

 So unless the trio could play "You're No Good," with a jazz beat, chances were pretty slim that I'd be performing that night. Besides, I didn't know all the lyrics, so with the exception of the refrain, I'd mostly just be humming along anyway, so it was probably just as well.

 The trio did play one song that I did probably did know all they lyrics to, but at the time, I didn't feel that it was the right selection for a debut performance.

 I'm thinking now that I was wrong. Singing "Mammy's little baby" might have been the perfect choice.

Shortnin' Bread

4 cups flour

1 cup light brown sugar

1 pound butter

 Mix flour and sugar. Add butter. Place on floured surface and pat to one half inch thickness. Cut into squares with a knife or use cookie-cutters. Bake in at 350 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes.

———

Karla DeLuca is editor and publisher of The Daily Sentinel. Her e-mail address is kdeluca@coxnews.com.