The season of fresh starts has arrived, and as with many things in my life, I tend to associate this with a song.
I have been singing the opening lines of “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” to my grandchildren on and off all August, since the corn is as high as an elephant’s eye, as you may have noticed, too. And although setting the intention that “everything’s going my way” does not necessarily make it so, there’s no harm in hoping.
Singing is not confined to the daylight hours or to the presence of a captive audience, either.
On August 19, I silently performed a street-side, solitary nocturnal serenade to the Super Blue Sturgeon Moon. “My Sweetheart’s the Man in the Moon,” written by James Thornton in 1892, I learned in childhood at my father’s side, as he played the tune on the piano.
The moon’s constancy inspires me to remember that we are never truly alone; and how around the world at different hours, no matter our ages or circumstances, we are drawn to look skyward toward our companion celestial sphere.
My musical tastes are not limited to those from past centuries, of course.
I watched much of Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour last winter—and now I understand why during family vacation karaoke, my grown kids, nieces and nephews have little need for written lyrics during their turns at the microphone—and they can bust out the associated dance moves as well!
Their musical acumen is not all that different from how we used to collect Beatles cards in my youth, and belt out The Fab Four’s top hits, with harmony, at the bus stop.
Whether singing Johnny Mercer’s 1945 lyrics to “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive,” or thinking “Every Little Breeze Seems to Whisper Louise,” music is central to my being.
“Life can be so sweet on the sunny side side of the street.”
I anticipate this.
And embrace the freedom to make it so. ©
