Another meeting that drones until 11 PM. It amazes me how many times and ways the same point can be stated and restated.
”How do you do it?” she asked me.
”The late hours?”
”No,” she shook her head. “The stress.”
Hmmm.
I walk in the front door and there is my answer. With tones that makes me smile and sway. Frank.
I pop in one of his great golden crooning hits. Who cares? I am swept up, gone. He booms through the speakers making me tap and begin swirling in the living room.
A few years ago I watched a part of his biography on television. Terrible life. Immoral. How can I face my beloved icon after such an awful depiction? He really did naughty things in this time. Fortunately, he was now too old to get away with much more.
This is a major existence of crisis. On the other hand, chocolate is on a par with Sinatra. It may do no good for the body but it makes this heart sing. Yes!
“Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Carnegie Hall. Here is Frank Sinatra!” The bands winds up to life as I’ve lunge to my feet and sing with so much passion that people run for cover.
All worldly concerns melt into the distant past of the instruments feel my head and invigorate every pore of my body.
Who cares of tomorrow or Sunday and it will rain all day long? Winter is a meaningless word. April 15 might as well be 12 light years away. Boring meetings? I don’t see any meetings, do you?
“You make me feel so young. You make me feel that spring has sprung…”
On those dark dreary days when nothing seems to go right, light radiates out my home. It pulses with joy and celebration. Everything is fine. I knew it would be anyway. Yes!
No comments:
Post a Comment