Good morning starshine

16 August 2008

This week I’ve noticed that I sing a lot. I’m sure it’s because in just over 36 hours the Wilson household went from Filled To Capacity to Me, and I have been singing to fill the silence.

I would here like to take a moment to expound upon the term “Filled To Capacity”: This lovely, four-bedroom Tudor was home to, besides me and Jane in the cottage, Auntie Lynne, Uncle Dow, Mariah, Abe, Pete, Hannah, Becky, plus Mom, Christian, Kate, Tommy, plus Johnny, Mikey, Levi, plus sometimes Adam, and whoever else came to dinner—the old piano teacher, the flute teacher, the Mia Maids, some friends from Europe, Adam’s classmates etc. etc. etc. “Me” refers to the mass exodus of everyone else to various corners of the country, while I remained to keep house. The silence, which is: actually hearing the soft purr of my laptop, has been a bit of a shock. So I sing.

Besides my best Jazz standards and the latest Broadway hits, I have been digging up a few old childhood favorites. While taking my girls for a picnic Wednesday, I suddenly remembered this timeless classic; I think it was Ava’s hysterical screams at a nearby bee that triggered the wave of nostalgia:

Shoo fly, don’t bother me,
Shoo fly, don’t bother me,
Shoo fly, don’t bother me,
For I belong to somebody.

I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star.
I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star.

Rising? Faint? Unnoticed? I’m not really sure how a morning star is supposed to feel.