Life can be a roller coaster and this week was no exception. It was full of ups and downs, twists and turns. But sometimes—especially when you are in the middle of the experience you just don’t have a clue how good you’ve got it… I didn’t win the $430M lottery. However, I did win the $15 second prize at Bunco. I laughed—no, I shrieked, so much during Bunco, I ended up with a sore throat. A co-worker got married…abused…and murdered…within a 3-month period. My mobility was slightly impaired on the days my chronic aches and pains were a little more intense. A friend and his wife were on a European cruise when he exhibited stroke-like symptoms, and now they face a possibly life-altering 9-hour brain surgery next week for two brain tumors. Every morning I passed at least twenty people waiting for The HOP or walking to work. My SUV is five years old, and it may have a few dings and scratches—but it’s paid in full, blows instant ice-cold air even in the Dog Days of Summer, and I have money for gas and insurance. I whined the three nights I didn’t get my full 8-hours of beauty rest because Bandit wanted to go outside and track the possum, or the all-night jackhammers and sandblasters worked the graveyard shift in order to improve the roads I keep hot. Then I remembered the years I sacrificed my sleep time in order to work as many as three jobs at once, so I could pay for school, and I realized I’m one of the lucky ones—many people still work multiple jobs just to be able to provide the basics. Because we are understaffed, I had to cover my Ward AND the ICU (the horror!)—and I let everyone know how displeased I was about the situation—even though it’s a job I really like. A friend who has been diligently seeking a job for years finally obtained one…and was promptly let go. When I see the struggles of others, I realize I have NOTHING legitimate to complain about. My life is not perfect—but guess what? It was never meant to be—at least not since The Garden of Eden. Life is going to have ups and downs, twists and turns—and “set” routines will sometimes become more “fluid.” One of my favorite routines is “Chinese Friday.” Every Friday my Ward orders lunch from a Chinese restaurant. This is one of the few times I don’t try something new. I LOVE the dish I always get: Pork and green beans, substitute lo mien noodles instead of rice, hot and sour soup. And a good fortune cookie. I look forward to reading my fortune cookie. Today it said “Soon a visitor shall delight you.” As I contemplated what devastatingly handsome visitor was going to delight me, I realized I was reading yesterday’s fortune. My visitor delighted me the day before…. Staff reported one of my Veterans needed something, so I went to ask a few clarifying questions. I entered the room and the Veterans Wife and Son were present just like they had been earlier in this hospitalization. After I found out what they needed, we were shooting the breeze and the Son said, “Daddy has a gig this weekend.” Turning to the Veteran I asked him where and he indicated an Alzheimer’s Support Group at a certain church. I mentioned I knew a Minister of Music of that particular denomination, who also directed a Sweet Adeline Chorus, and asked if it was the same church and Minister. It wasn’t, but he jumped on my admission that I sing a little and the Veteran asked me to sing for them. I declined. I’m an Alto and a former Bari. We do harmony—and although I’ve sung solos in small country churches in my very distant past, I no longer know any melodies—only harmony. Besides, I prefer the blend of larger groups (they hide nervous pitchiness). In the meantime, as I’m saying all the self-deprecating things we southerners are famous for, the Veterans Son whipped a guitar out of its case. I, being the professional who has been extensively trained in the art of observation, had not noticed the large black guitar case sitting in the middle of the floor—even though I easily could have tripped on it and landed on my fanny. So much for my skills of observation. AS I was saying my final “no,” the Veterans Son asked, “Do you know___” and named a southern gospel sounding title that was unfamiliar. I started to inform him I did not. However, he was not one who takes “no” for an answer, and he began to play before I could utter the ‘na’ sound. The melody sounded vaguely familiar. But then, all southern gospel sounds familiar to me. When he began to sing, I realized it was actually a song I knew—I just knew it by a different name. In the blink of an eye, without being conscious of the decision, I heard myself JOIN him in song. I shocked me as much—if not more—than I shocked the family. He played and sang well and our voices blended very nicely. The acoustics in the small private room were pretty good—so good in fact, my voice sounded richer, fuller, and much smoother and mellower than it really is. The Wife and Veteran murmured their approval, before joining in as well. I warmed up to my SRO (standing room only) audience and fellow singers—well, all except the Veteran—who was lying in the bed…so I guess you could say he was “captivated.” And we sang our little hearts out. Everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves, and all too soon the song ended—except it didn’t end. The Son transitioned into another southern gospel song…and another…and another. By the time it was over and the “Fat Lady Sang,” we completed a 5 song medley—of which I knew—and sang—every verse of every song. It’s probably a good thing we weren’t singing songs from Broadway Musicals—my hammy side might have dictated I follow up with choreography—and sadly, there is a reason I have never been asked to dance a solo—talk about your ups and downs, twists and turns. I’ll just say I make “Seinfeld’s” Elaine look good and leave it to your imagination.
Posted on: Sat, 10 Aug 2013 00:42:42 +0000
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