Rita Butt
Columns
June 23, 2008 10:25 PM
Rita Butt
I have a very annoying habit that drives the Old Fellow absolutely bananas.
When I wake up in the morning I usually have a song running through my head. It is an all-day inspiration and I sing it every few minutes of my waking hours. Of course I don’t sing all the lyrics.
I concentrate on the first line, trying to improve on the rendition.
Whenever there is a silence I burst out with my day’s treat. I have a few favourites.
“Can it be the trees that fill the breeze with rare and magic perfume?” or “My Desert is Waiting” or “If I had the wings of an angel, o’er the walls of this prison I’d fly.” My Old Fellow just sighs.
I know I am being annoying, but I can’t seem to stop. I go to bed still humming and singing the same line of words. Next day the program changes but goes on just as often.
I don’t even care if the radio is blasting something else or the TV is appalling us with horrors, I continue with my renditions every once in a while until the Old Fellow finally screams, “Please, my dear, that was the 98th time.”
Anyway, I know the writer of my songs would be pleased.
I do remember all the words to these songs, but I concentrate on the opening salvos.
I make certain to convey the intended message in meaningful tones. I can almost make people sob with You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille.
I am proud to say I have wondrous and abundant titles to choose and I give them all a turn periodically. Some even get a two or three presentation.
By the time the Old Fellow bellows out the words with me, I finally realize it is time for the finale, but even so I can’t seem to control myself.
After a few minutes of silence I’m off again with my sad tales of woe and unrequited love.
I guess my audience knows exactly what my daily outlook is by my choice of songs. Sometimes I even bellow out the tune of the Chorus of the Hebrew Slaves, which is one of my special renditions of sadness and woe.
The Old Fellow is close to tears and threatens to use duck tape on my mouth. “Please, My Dear, could we have conversations without musical interludes?”
He’ll be sorry when my music stops. I think he just wants to holler out his own choice of woe, tribulation and suffering and doesn’t want to share mine.
Today, my choice is “He’s Up Each Morning Bright and Early”. Maybe you all remember the woodpecker song.
I know the rest of the words, but I guess singing the whole thing would really frazzle my listener.
This habit does not appear to bother the Beagles or the Fur Person.
They all smile to hear familiar tunes.