I don’t know if this is actually conductor Zubin Mehta’s grandson watching his grandfather conducting the orchestra on television, as some proclaim. Nevertheless, the little boy — no matter who he is — is too cute, and he absolutely knows what he’s doing. He’s heard this song before. I have watched this over and over. Make sure you have your sound on.

Have a safe and healthy Easter weekend. No matter what’s happening in the world, we can be comforted by the fact that Jesus died for us, and is risen on Easter Sunday.

A-OOOOOO
Tuesday evening, I got a text from my sister Jen, asking if Bill and I were going to howl at the moon at 8 o’clock. Excuse me? We might sit outside and have a wee bit of Grand Marnier of an evening (as they say in Great Britain). We aren’t prone to any howling, however. Well, it seems that in some parts of the country, people are going outside at 8 o’clock in the evening and howling in a show of support for our essential workers. Well, you won’t be surprised to find out that Bill was immediately ALL IN. In fact, he began setting up the speakers and searching for some howling sounds online. His goal was to connect the two and howl UP a notch. As it turns out, he was unsuccessful in time. I will admit to giving out one small howl at the beautiful moon, but it seems our ‘hood hadn’t gotten the message. Somewhere around 8:15, we heard a howling in the distance. As I told Bill, as close as we are to desert, it was probably a REAL howl, as in coyote. Not a great shot, but proof that we were out viewing the moon…..

Thanks for the Wipe
And speaking of essential workers, my brother Dave is one of them. When the quarantine was first announced (what? a year ago?) and people were losing their minds — purchasing every square of toilet paper, every bag of pasta, every container of bleach or antiseptic wipes, every bottle of hand sanitizer, and EVERY LOAF OF BREAD — he took it upon himself to personally travel from Basha’s store to Basha’s store around the Phoenix metro area to bake fresh white sliced bread to serve their customers. Now stupid purchasing has sort of slowed down, but he still is on the front lines, working with the bakers who provide us with our rolls and bread at Basha’s every day. He texted me yesterday and told me that he had been sitting in his Basha’s van in front of one of the stores. An older man walked up to him and motioned him to roll down the window, which he did. The man thanked him for having toilet paper.  He was serious, my brother said. It’s a different world right now for sure, he added.

I say, Old Chap
You might have noticed that I mentioned above that a phrase was common in Great Britain. Since deciding to spring for Acorn TV and Britbox, I have spent a few hours every day watching every British detective from Poirot to Morse. I warned you that I was going to begin speaking with a British accent, and I’m afraid it’s beginning. Bill just shakes his head.

Mr. Bainter 
Bill, by the way, has been keeping busy by painting the patio. It was in great need of a fresh coat of paint, as the paint he applied a number of years ago had nearly vanished. I keep telling him to slow down, because once he finishes that task, there ain’t another waiting in the wings. Since we are stuck here until heaven-only-knows-when, he might want to pace himself. Otherwise he is going to have to learn to like Hercule Poirot.

Ciao.

Again, nothing new on the interesting life front. So once again, I tossed Bill the challenge to pick a date. He chose June 14, 2016. Here is a reprise…..

Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry
When I take you out in my surrey
When I take you out in my surrey with the fringe on top. – Rodgers and Hammerstein

Shirley Jones and Gordon MacRae (didn’t he star in every Rodgers and Hammerstein movie ever made?)

I recently finished reading a book that had to do with my secret addiction – anything having to do with the British royal  family. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I can’t get enough of the Dysfunctional- Family-To-End-All-Dysfunctional-Families. We all have our dirty little secrets and being a Windsorphile is one of mine.

One of the more useless pieces of information that I learned from the book was that the Queen’s favorite song is People Will Say We’re in Love. She loves it so much, in fact, that she has it played every morning for her, by a piper outside her bedroom window. I think it’s a pretty song, but after about 5 minutes’ worth of Rodgers and Hammerstein on a bagpipe, I would ask them to stop. Please, please stop. Never come back. Off with his head.

Anyhoo, if you’re an avid musical fan, you will recognize, as did I, that People Will Say We’re in Love is from one of the many Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals. I couldn’t, however, recall which one. Carousel? South Pacific? State Fair? Something where the main female character wears a dirndl skirt and looks longingly into her soon-to-be boyfriend’s eyes as she sings to her. That much I knew. So, like any intelligent person in the 21^st century, I Googled it.

It’s from Oklahoma. Shirley Jones sings it wearing gingham. I’ll bet Queen Elizabeth II has never owned a single item in her life made of gingham. Nevertheless, it was the first song that she and her prince danced to, so it’s “their song” and her favorite. She has a right.

Princess Elizabeth and Lt Philip Mountbatten after their wedding November 1947. Mirrorpix/Courtesy Everett Collection (MPWA574514)

But it got me to looking at what other songs of note came from that particular musical. I can’t say I knew a whole lot of them. There is, of course, Oh, What a Beautiful Morning. But I don’t think Pore Jud is Daid, or The Farmer and the Cowman ever made it to the Top 40. But then I saw it: The Surrey With the Fringe on the Top.

And I thought of my dad.

He never owned a surrey with or without fringe, at least as far as I know. But I have a VIVID recollection of him singing that particular song as part of a men’s musical choir originating in Columbus, Nebraska, when they performed on a local Omaha television station. Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry…..

My dad had a beautiful tenor voice. He was, as I have mentioned before, a gifted musician. He was part of the Navy band during World War II. More importantly, at least as it relates to me, he played clarinet and saxophone as part of a dance band directed by one of my mother’s brothers. It was as part of that band that my mom and dad met. She collected money at the door and he sat and stared at her with his tongue hanging out (those would have been my mom’s words). The rest, as they say, is history.

I actually never heard my dad play either one of those instruments. He had long ceased playing in the band by time I was born. I have long suspected that music was how my father WISHED he could have earned his living; baking, however, was more realistic for a family man.

I did, however, hear my father sing on many, many occasions. He sang in the choir at St. Bonaventure Catholic Church in Columbus for many years. And he would still sing loud and clear with the congregation long after leaving the choir.

And then, of course, he sang as part of the Apollo Club, a choir started in Columbus in 1946, headed up by the local musical guru Forest L. Corn. Mr. Corn owned Columbus Music, and also taught band at the public high school where my dad was a student. In fact, it was Mr. Corn who persuaded my father to join the band, thereby changing the course of my dad’s life. My dad always felt a bit guilty because he admitted to me one time that he only joined the band to get out of working in the bakery after school.

But back to my father’s singing voice. It was beautiful, as anyone who heard it would attest to. It was the clearest tenor voice I had ever heard. Well, there was Andy Williams, but hey! I was 6 or 7, and it was my dad! Seriously, however, he really did sing beautifully, and kept the clear tone until he was pretty darn old. God bless him. He’s undoubtedly singing now with the angels.

I think the Apollo Club dissolved sometime in the 70s. But I can still picture the group of men in their matching tuxedoes singing that song on our little black and white television. I think of that every time I hear it. Every. Single. Time.

Watch that fringe and see how it flutters
When I drive them high steppin’ strutters
Nosey pokes’ll peek thru their shutters
And their eyes will pop….

For that tiny little surrey with the fringe on the top!

Well, that’s it. For the time being, I have run out of things about which to write. My life, at this point, is too dull. I am turning to oldies but goodies, at least for now. This was originally posted on March 16, 2015. I chose this particular post by asking Bill to think of a date between today and February 2015. This was the date he chose….

Many years ago when I was still employed and got paid to write, the company for which I worked administered the Myers-Briggs personality test to its employees. The company was big on personality and motivational testing. For a bit of time, they actually printed the Myers-Briggs personality type next to the employees’ names on the internal phone list. Knowing the personality score of the person you were calling was supposed to enhance communication. Failed experiment.

I don’t remember what the test indicated my personality was (ESPN? IPAD? ETSY?), but I remember it was the one where the person requires being around other people in order to be energized and motivated.

I knew immediately that was incorrect because being around a lot of people absolutely WEARS ME OUT. I want to go behind a tree and hide. I like people, but then I just need some quiet time to unwind. I quickly figured out that the reason my score was so skewed was that I had answered the questions the way I wanted my personality to be instead of the way it actually was. I lied to both Myers and Briggs.

All of this is to say that when Bill left early yesterday morning to spend the day watching NASCAR with my brother, I danced a little jig as soon as they were out of the driveway. Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband and enjoy spending time with him. It’s just that when we are in Arizona, due to the small size of our house and the fact that we only have one car, we spend probably 90 percent of our time within sight of one another.

I had the entire day ahead of me to do WHATEVER I WANTED. Heaven.

Here’s how my day went….

I decided to start with a walk. Bill and I exercise regularly, but since he’s taken to working on the outdoor kitchen he’s building from the twitter of the first mockingbird at dawn until I drag him in for dinner, exercise has been put on the back burner temporarily. In fact, Saturday morning he was eyeing the electric drill and the power saw hungrily at 7 o’clock in the morning. I knew if he started power tools at the crack of dawn on a Saturday, our neighbor (who you might remember is often naked or nearly naked; if you don’t remember, read this…) might come storming over, and we definitely didn’t want that. I took him out to breakfast instead.

Anyhoo, yesterday, I set off on a two-mile trek.

Almost immediately, a man about my age came out of his driveway and started walking as well. I figured I would lose him when I turned west towards Superstition Mountain, but nope, he went the same direction, just a bit ahead of me.

As we walked, it became apparent that I was walking about a millionth of a second faster than he. What to do, what to do? I knew I would eventually overtake him, but oh so slowly. Should I just let it happen naturally, which would likely result in him being creeped out as I slowly inch toward him? Or should I bolt ahead of him at an unnatural and uncomfortable pace? I elected a version of the latter.

I raised my arms and began swinging them like a runner, up near my heart. I pretended to be a power walker – walk, walk, swing, swing – until I surpassed him. I kept up the charade for about 10 minutes until I was safely passed him, and then slowed down to a comfortable pace. Crisis averted.

Food choice also dominated my lovely quiet day. Now, understand, Bill never complains about what I cook, and he almost always goes along with where I want to eat, despite the fact that I groan every time he chooses the dining place – always pizza. But yesterday I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted as much as I wanted.

Sushi for lunch, grilled salmon for dinner. See what I mean? No meat on Friday is no sacrifice for me.

I’ve mentioned before that I heartily dislike housekeeping, and put it off as long as I can. In fact, it would be safe to say that Bill does much, if not most, of the housecleaning. But yesterday, on that day by myself, I spent an hour-and-a-half cleaning house. I turned on my ipod, set it to shuffle my country songs, and played it loud and sang along while I cleaned. Dusted, scrubbed floors, changed bedsheets, did three loads of wash, sang along with Scotty McCreery and Taylor Swift (back in the olden days when she was country).

And then there were the movies. While I persuade Bill to go to places of my choosing to eat, I don’t even try to talk him into watching chick movies. So I watched three movies yesterday afternoon that he wouldn’t want to see – Mystic Pizza (have I mentioned I love Julia Roberts?), Stand By Me, and The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, which I plumb forgot is probably my favorite movies of all time.

All in all, a totally pleasant and quiet day.

As we were sitting outside yesterday evening enjoying the feeling of the heat of the day slipping away, Bill said, “I spent a little bit of time this afternoon reading the news.”

Brave man. As for me, I have given up listening to or watching the news. I had been watching it a bit on occasion until I heard the story about how the coronavirus is going to potentially wipe out the Navaho Nation. The whole damn nation. That was it. I simply couldn’t listen to any more news. My daughter-in-law Lauren posted a video recently on Facebook of Willie Nelson and his sons singing a song called Turn Off the News and Plant a Garden.

That’s my new theme song. I can’t plant a garden here in AZ as the planting season has passed me by (summers are too hot to be the growing season). But I can — and do — turn off the news. I just can’t do it any more.

However, when I log on to my computer in the morning, the headlines loom. I can’t escape them. I just don’t click on the links. However, a story headline this weekend caught my eye: The Long Lost Hobbies People Around the World Are Revisiting During the Corona Pandemic. 

Finally, a story that I might be able to read without feeling like I want to slit my wrists afterwards. It seems that now that people are stuck in their homes with no distractions (well, except for home schooling the kids while trying to do the work for which they get paid), they are turning back to the hobbies they used to have as kids. Like putting together puzzles. Or dusting off the model train set that your mother refused to throw away and is up in your attic. Or watercolor painting like you used to do as a kid. Or writing letters. Or working on your old stamp collection.

My sister Bec’s neighbors include three young kids. The other day when she went to get her mail, she noticed that the neighbor’s driveway was covered with chalk art. No more room for creativity. When she spotted her neighbor, she told him that the kids were welcome to use her driveway for their art. The next time she looked out, her driveway was covered with the beginnings of art. In fact, there was a hopscotch game drawn out.

Remember hopscotch? And jump rope? And kick the can? All games you can play with your family and still maintain proper social distancing.

I’ve said it before: if any good comes out of this dang blasted pandemic, it’s that maybe families will slow down. Kids might find out that model trains are more fun than Nintendo. Learning dance steps from Mom and Dad is more fun than Fortnight.

But it didn’t help the day I wore a mask to Walmart when I went to pick up the paint I had ordered, and the man in the car next to ours stuck his head out the window and said, “Stick ’em up.”

My sides hurt from laughing.

By the way, my childhood hobbies were crocheting and reading, and I’ve never stopped either.

When we heard word that the governor of Colorado was strongly recommending that anyone going out of doors wear a mask (after weeks of telling us that a mask wouldn’t help….just sayin’), Bill and I began talking about what we would do in the event that we needed to wear masks here in AZ. Bill had undertaken the task of making a mask, but found it too difficult for his taste. So, we had to go a different direction.

“I know,” he said. “Maybe we can buy a box of diapers and put our ears through the legs of the diaper.”

Not bad, I thought. Except what are the chances of finding diapers in this day of no paper products.

Still, it’s as close as I got this week to laughing.

Have a great — and healthy — weekend.