Today is the penultimate eve of the new presidency. Like many, I have great fears for our future. Not only does idea of a horrible world leader terrify me, but the new reign of greed, well, that terrifies me as well.
These are scary times.
Yes, it is also a time of action.
Many are drawn to march and serve in public office, which is awesome.
There are other ways to fight against the hate.
As long as we can create, we can move forward.
We can create beauty, and as long as we have beauty, we have hope.
As long as we appreciate the beauty, we have hope.
And I hope to create beauty in truth through the characters and worlds I create.
Here’s something beautiful from one of my favorite composers. It’s worth a listen when the news is getting you down.
This is a new series in my blog inspired by the things I do to keep myself happy.
Wouldn’t it be cool to have the real world turn into musical? Just when you need it, someone would start singing and music would play and people would dance. Yes, I know those are called flash mobs, but I have yet to witness a flash mob in the real world.
I am not a gifted musician. I played the clarinet for a few years as a child. I can read uncomplicated music and plunk out a few tunes (with one hand) on the piano. My voice is flat, so I only sing when I’m alone. I do have an irritating knack for remembering lyrics—all lyrics—sometimes really dreadful lyrics from songs and commercials that everyone else has forgotten.
Yes, I can remember as far back as age six, right before my mom got rid of our television (thank you, Mom), a groovy Coke commercial with those catchy lyrics . . .
“I’d like to teach the world to sing . . . “
Yeah, that one. I’ll save you the torture.
But, it isn’t just dreadful commercials I sing, I also make up songs in my head.
After grocery shopping, I walked out to the parking lot, and made up this lovely tune (to be sung to the tune of “Dirty Old Town” by The Pogues):
I left my car by Island Market–
Dirty old Forrester, Dirty old Forrester.
I sing my creation to my children. Their typical response? “Just stop, Mom. Please!”
I stop. But it doesn’t stop the song from going through my brain, over and over and over again.
On those rare occasions when I find a missing sock and bring the pair together in my sock drawer, I sing this classic:
The green apple sitting in the bowl with all the red apples inspired this:
I’ve had this song stuck in my head for years.
I’ve changed the lyrics:
She’s a Bella dog and she’s okay,
She likes to wag her tail all day.
This is my way of creating a musical world, but you have to admit, it would be pretty awesome if music would just start playing and we could all start dancing and singing ourselves right out of any funk we create.