My Own Dear Friends,
Let's talk about singing. You know, in the shower kind of singing where we all assume, a mistake, that no one else in the house can hear us over the roar of running water. We sing loudly. We sing softly. We sing show tunes. We sing hymns. We sing rap or rock and roll. Whatever. It matters not, for in those minutes where we linger enjoying the warmth of the steaming rivulet and forgetting the water we're wasting, we are all alone on stage, the shower sprayer our microphone, our inhibitions non-existant, and our voice, perfect pitch, to our minds...
And so I carried this innocent ignorance past the bathroom door and with me into the future. There I was visiting my father in Erie, Pennsylvania. My sister and business partner, Nancy, was there. Let me add how much I respect my sister's opinion, generally. The simple reason is because Nancy is the smartest woman I know. So there we were, as often happens, singing college fight songs. We grew up singing college fight songs. Like some families play touch-football, we sing fight sings. Well, Daddy and I were doing the singing. Nancy was sitting on the couch beside us observing. She has always said she can't carry a tune in a bucket. Okay, that expression belongs to my husband, Bruce, a Southerner, but in any case, Nancy knows her limitations. Apparently, she knows the limitations of others, too, because she looked me square in the face and with calm cold eyes, said, "That's the worst thing I have ever heard." And she wasn't talking to Daddy.
I continue by saying Bruce has never complimented me on my singing. He just says nothing. I sing in the choir for goodness sake. Could it be they are desperate for bodies and willing to turn up the organ volume to mask any foul notes?
Well, I'm no dummy and I have come to realize that although I sing my grandbaby to sleep with sweet lullabies, she may be sleeping because I've played with her so much, she's just pooped.
Always the optimist, I don't let my sour voice go to waste. I use it on Bruce to get him to turn off the sound of TV commercials. I threaten to sing the "mute" song which is composed of the word mute and a shocking combination of off-notes, not unlike the squeal/screech of a rusty wheel barrow wheel. Bruce hates that particular ditty of mine. Is it my singing or my high pitched tone that hurts his ears?
Undaunted, I shall continue to sing, perhaps in softer tones- perhaps not. Heck, I'm not doing anything criminal, at least nothing that is on the books. But, me thinks, if my sister has anything to do about it, she may write her congressman - you know, "There should be a law ..." You just can't please some people.
