Favorite Things: March 2006 Archives
Judy over at Just Ask Judy has been posting her sheetmusic collection. She posted one of my most favorites, Let Me Call You Sweetheart, a few days ago.
Many of these old tunes I sing to my babies in place of as lullabyes. Some bring water to my eyes, some leave me smiling and some I can't remember all the words and humm the tune while I rock my babies.
I do not have a nice singing voice. I wish I did. If there was ever a talent I wanted it was singing. My singing is so bad that Gracie would cry as an infant when I sang to her. As a toddler she would put her hand over my mouth and hush the words, "You no sing, Momma," she would say.
When Colby was little we sang together and often loudly. As a baby she hated riding in her carseat and would cry and scream. As she grew older and could sit in a forward facing carseat nothing much changed except the screaming was quieted but the struggle to keep her in the car seat was monumental. I would sing and ask her to help me sing and remember the words to keep her occupied until I got to where we were going.
BTW, Colby still finds it very funny when she remembers how Gracie would cry when I sang. The Hell?!? Kids aren't supposed to remember those things! I did not give permission!
With this baby boy I don't know if he likes my singing. When I sing and humm he gets very still and wants to nurse. Either the singing is comforting or he is trying to escape in any way possible and sleep is easier than learning to get up and run away.
For whatever reason the tunes come and go. Some long forgotten until a memory sets it off. That is exactly what happened the other day.
Susie over at the Underpaid Kept Woman headquarters posted her interview with Bill Thomas, the writer of music for the Captain Kangeroo show.
She noted a discussion with Mr. Thomas of runcible spoons (a pickle fork really) which made me think of The Owl and the Pussycat ... more specifically the first line:
I do love this tune. I sang it to my baby boy all day yesterday as he was having a bad day and finally he settled down and slept for a couple hours after we rocked and sang in the late afternoon.
Did I ever tell you that lullabyes make me cry? They do. No reason that I know of. Just emotion spills out all over the place int he form of tears slipping down my cheeks. I am tearing up just thinking of it.
I purchased the Jack Johnson cd, the Curious George Soundtrack, for Steven. I love his laid back voice. On a side note that has absolutely nothing to do with this post have any of you noticed that Jack Johnson looks like the little curious monkey named George? He does! If you go to his site, click films, bonus material and watch the Upside Down video. Love it! But these don't make me cry.
Sing me a lullabye, leaving the words in the comments - won't you please? Perhaps one you sang to your babies or one you remember from your own childhood. I am in the mood for lullabyes.
Updated to add: I found a website with the midi so you can get an idea of the tune to sing The Slumber Boat to your babies. The midi has a 1998 copyright. The song itself is public domain (as is most sheet music before 1923).
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat ...
The Slumber Boat
Baby's boat's the silver moon, Sailing in the sky, Sailing o'er the sea of sleep, While the clouds float by. Sail, baby, sail, Out upon that sea, Only don't forget to sail Back again to me.
Baby's fishing for a dream, Fishing near and far, His line a silver moonbeam is, His bait a silver star. Sail, baby, sail, Out upon that sea, Only don't forget to sail Back again to me.
In this online sphere of the written word I hop and skip across the world checking in with women and a few men and their interpretation of their day to day lives. I bounce from the east coast to the west and back. I pop in and out of Europe. I sail down to Australia. Eventually I wend my way back to the states and to my own humble online home.
I love looking at photos of their kids, their homes, the place they go. I like discovering the similarities and differences in lifestyles. I like the straight forwardness of some, the humor of others and the blatant honesty of them all.
I don't link to all the journals that I read. There is a reason why I don't. I like to take my time and get to know the writer. I weigh how they interpret politics, religion, parenting, daily home life, hobbies, etc. I spend time trying to hear their voice. I try to hear the tone and inflection of their words so that I don't misjudge the person or misinterpret what and how they speak.
My reading links reflect alot about me moreso than it does the linkee. I don't give reciprical links just for the sake of having been or getting linked to. I don't link to journals that are outrageously different to my way of thinking. I don't link to journals that in any way offend me.
There are so many journals I would like to link to. But I can't. There are so many bright, educated, well written women out there but they ruin it with their blatant disrespect for their kids and/or spouse in an effort to be humorous. There is no humor in disrespect in my book. More often than not it is the one reason I click the little red X and never go back. It is fair to say that I remove people from my list for the same reason.
(For the record my current reading links are not up to date as I am working on a new template and will be doing away with that page soon.)
After a few weeks/months of reading I begin to develope a sense of knowing about the writer. I lurke in the shadows trying to decide if this is a person I would invite into my house. Is this someone I want to be my neighbor and share gossip over the back fence, a cup of sugar every now and then or to see me in my housecoat when I dash out across the yard early in the morning hoping that no one sees me? If the answer is yes, I begin to leave comments.
Some journals have comments closed and I am either too lazy to send email or I presume comments are not welcome and I don't bother. Sometimes I am just in awe and I never comment. Ever.
That has been the case when it came to Jen over at Jennsylvania. Besides my own reasoning for not commenting she has written on more than one occassion that she is lazy about answering email and whatnot so I didn't want to be in the numbers of unanswered mail sitting in her box like some lame-o fan.
I was thrilled to read of her book deal and have waited and waited to purchase a copy. I did not rush right out and buy a copy the minute it hit the stands. I rarely pay full retail and I am not embarrassed to say I was waiting to pick up a second hand copy. (Sorry, Jen, if you ever read this.)
Nothing thrills me more to see the writers I love the most make it in the publishing world. In the past I have been suckered by all of the hype and bought a book and was highly disappointed. I have recieved a free book club selection and been thankful that I didn't waste my money on it.
I was delighted when Susie gifted me with a copy of Jen's book. When I read it and enjoyed it so very much I felt guilty at having gotten such pleasure from it when I was so unwilling to pay the retail price for it.
I am on the verge of gushing over her book. I want to tell you all the places I laughed the hardest. I want to share with you the pages I read out loud to Steven while he looked at me and the chick humor caused his eyes to roll back in his head. I want to tell you how badly in the beginning I wanted to smack her upside the head for her smart mouth and bitchitude. Then I want to tell you how I wanted to be her friend and drop by her house or go out for a drink or send her little gifts in the mail just to make her smile.
When I finished reading my copy I was thinking how much this book would be enjoyed sitting out by the pool on a long summer afternoon. If you haven't already pick up a copy, pour yourself a pink girly cocktail, sit back and enjoy.
But instead of acting all willy nilly like a deranged fan I am opening the first edition of Home Grown magazine today. The feature this month is the review of Bitter Is The New Black, a soon to be best selling new book by Jen Lancaster.
A Pink Collar in the World of White Collar Finance
Compared to other reviews, like this one in the Washington Post, you would not think we read the same book. Look deeper. There is indeed a love story under all the snarky sorority style writing. If you ask me, the story every one seems to latch on to is superficial compared to the story that takes place in the shadows of high-end living, unemployment and designer diva blues.Jen Lancaster made a pink collar splash in the white collar world that was the dot com industry. The girl from small town Indiana climbed the corporate ladder to a six figure income and a Chicago penthouse. Pearls clutched in a tightly fisted well-manicured hand, she fell from her lofty perch at the top of the world and missed few rungs on the ladder on her way back down. From the penthouse to the poor house, from bottled wine to wine in a box, from riches to rags, the self-proclaimed modern Greek tragedy Bitter Is the New Black reads more like romantic comedy. The spotlight is cast not only on the loss of a lucrative career but the brutal honesty of a wedding in the midst of a porn convention, the night spent with a missing groom, and the gusto of an overweight chick who would not be made to feel less than beautiful, smart and sexy. With wit, cynicism and razor sharp snarky humor this is the reality of a plus-sized Cinderella, her depressed Prince Charming, more than a few pair of designer glass slippers and the beauty’s beasts known to the rest of the world as Maisy and Lokie. Jen serves up her sensational new book much like a steak dinner with all the trimmings. In the end not only will the reader love her but will be wondering what’s for dessert.
