Today I am 73. Somewhere amongst the detritus of a waning literary life there is a note that reads "Today I am 29." Forty-four years and not much to show for it. The fault, if there be any, is not in my stars.
~~~~~~~~~~
My mother always called me on my birthday. After singing the birthday song she would often remind me that she used to sing Melancholy Baby to me because "you were such a sad child!"
"Do you want me to sing it for you now?"
"No, Mother."
"Oh, come on!"
I would give in, of course, and she would sing the chorus. She had a nice, mellow, somewhat husky alto voice.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"No. Thank you. Good night, Mother."
"No, Mother."
"Oh, come on!"
I would give in, of course, and she would sing the chorus. She had a nice, mellow, somewhat husky alto voice.
"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"No. Thank you. Good night, Mother."
"Good night, Jerry."
glwarren, 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment