I'm Tired. I'm Pooped. I wanna go home.

The old lady band practice got off to a good start. We practice again on Monday and we are anticipating two more members to join. Besides harmonizing and messing with different instrumentations, we considered names for the band. I suggested something with the word "Lily" in it as a nod to the state flower. Jenna came back with the "Ungilded Lily" and that's pretty much  where we're at, but we will be working toward guilding that lily.

I have not blogged in a couple of days because I have been thinking. I've been thinking about why we do the things we do -- more specifically, why I do the things I do. I have a great fear of becoming Mary Bennett. I don't know if I've told you yet, but I see the world in terms of "Pride and Prejudice." I have quite a few post ideas built around P&P quotes, but I don't think any of them have made it past the editing stage. Today one will.

Mary Bennett carries piano books with  her where ever she goes. Like a good boy scout, she is always prepared. The minute anyone suggests that entertainment might be in order, she races to the piano. She is just as anxious to sing. However, she is not "the best". She takes no joy in giving pleasure to others. It is doubtful that the mechanics of playing even give herself pleasure. And her singing voice is best described as painful.

My voice is not a solo voice. I like to think of it as "filler voice." I am aware of the pitch. Most of the time I can sing on pitch. All of the time I am acutely aware of notes that are off pitch. Nobody would pay money to hear me sing. On the other hand, you couldn't pay me enough money to get me to stop singing. I love to sing. I love even more to sing with others. I love even more even more to sing in harmony with others.

But why? I will never be "the best". Even at instrumentation (for which I have a much better aptitude) I will never be the best. And that is discouraging. Unlike Mary Bennett, however, music gives me great pleasure. Last night I was playing "Count Your Blessings" on the autoharp (ala Maybelle Carter) to see if that would work. As I sang, I was so caught up in the lyrics, I could hardly sing for choking back the tears. "Count your many blessings; ev'ry doubt will fly, and you will be singing as the days go by."

The appropriate response to life's quirks, whether good or bad, is song.

I want to thank Judy for sending me a video of her original piece "Wanda the Waitress." The story of Wanda sums up my whole blog. Wanda's life was not easy, but you never heard Wanda say, "I'm tired. I'm pooped. I wanna go home." The plus side of this is everytime we sing this song, we get to say it!

P.S. Judea wants it noted that of course Wanda is a "real" song, she just thought it was a song that should be known outside the family.

Wanda the Waitress