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It was a typical Sunday for me: I was busy. The problem with the music business is that we are always working the hardest on weekends and holidays.

I had worked 'til 2 am the previous night, and less than 4 hours later I was up again, trying to make myself look presentable for a performance. I was shooting a pilot for a potential show with pianist Gini Wilson, so I really had to look good. I didn't need to worry about the music: Gini and I were doing a tune we had written together called "Separate Ways," and a second tune, "St. Louis Blues," a song old enough to be public domain. However, the taping was in San Rafael, so I needed to allow an hour of travel time, and I had a gig right after that in nearby Sausalito.

When I arrived to studio, most of my bleary-eyed-ness had worn off, but I was squinting in the bright hot Marin sun. There were huge white flowered trees next to the studio door, and the air was thick with their heady scent. I sneezed nervously and hoped I didn't succumb to singers' mortal enemy, allergies.

I parked my car near the door under the offending blossoms and pounded on the door. I was greeted by the cheerful face of saxophonist Ron Stallings. Ron was the other featured artist for this show, and I was excited to get a chance to play with him and just to hang with him in general. I rarely got the opportunity to play with Ron because he was usually touring with Huey Lewis and the News. He helped me unload and carry my diva duds and war-paint backstage, and I began the race.

After the recording, I had only a short time to drive to Sausalito for my gig with Mal Sharpe's Big Money in Dixieland Band. My plan was to call my mother and sing her a song, but my cell phone had no reception in the No Name Bar. Mal made an announcement and all the patrons checked their phones for a signal. No one had a signal except one man, so I called my mother on his phone and everyone in the bar yelled "Happy Mother's Day!" I sang "You Made Me Love You," and then ducked outside to tell her how much I loved her.

After the gig I went to Adam Theis' birthday party and to a late dinner at Sparky's with my BFF at the time, Alex Budman, when the phone call came in: my mother died shortly after I called her.

Whenever Mother's Day rolls around, I think of that day. I think about the nameless man that let me borrow his phone and wish I could thank him. I remember when it is Adam's birthday. And this year I think of it more than ever, because Ron died last month.

Here is a video of one of the songs that I recorded that Mother's Day, 2001. It features a short but beautiful solo by Ron Stallings. It makes me miss them both.