Y’know that song from the musical “Oliver” called “It’s a Fine Life?” (You need to google it and listen to it right now, okay?)[Or, go to the bottom of this post…] Nancy, the barmaid, sings it with a Cockney accent, so that it sounds kinda like “It’s a Foin Life”.
Well, I run movies in my head sometimes. George Clooney and his date, Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner, Matt Damon and his wife, Julia Roberts, Steve Martin, and Bruce Willis are all sitting at a big round table at the Oscars, and so am I–well, my far-superior daydream-persona, anyhow. Someone accidentally drops/flips their fork, so that it winds up landing in Ben Affleck’s lap, and some crude wisecracks are made about the damages. I am drinking at the time (champagne, of course), and do a spit-take, laughing. It’s because I just thought of these lyrics, which I proceed to sing out:
If you don’t mind tinklin’ at the ceilin’,
It’s a loin fife!
Though the holes left by those tines,
Make you tinkle tunes sublime;
When you’re feeling randy,
It still comes in handy,
It’s a tined, loin fife!
Now, aren’t you sorry you know what goes on inside my head?
Here’s another one:
I’m in an airport, with snowed-in people, one of whom is a man with his 4-yr-old twin nephews. I keep them entertained (let’s skip those details) and finally, make a bed for them by leaning two suitcases against each other, handles extended to make a little tent, up against one of those giant columns all airports have. I cover it with clothes from my suitcase. I lay my winter coat down for the boys to sleep on (4-yr-olds are pretty small). Then, I read them a bedtime story before putting them in the bed. I don’t have any books with me, so I hold my two palms face-up, touching pinkie edges, like a book, and have them take turns turning the “pages” as I read them a poem that I make up on the fly (like I used to do for you boys).
Oh–and since I am traveling with Norman [a tiny stuffed moose], I let the little boys borrow him to sleep with. Each boy holds one of Norman ‘s little paws, and they are very happy with this.
It’s been a long, long time since I dreamt up this script, so I forget the words, but the night I thought it up, the words came trippingly (like they used to do each night when I sang made-up songs to you and Jonah at bedtime), and that was fun. I do remember the last stanza:
So she read them a story,
And she gave them a kiss,
And they went to bed and said their prayers,
Just like this:
and I close the book, which makes my hands praying hands.
Don’t you think a board book shaped like two hands praying, with a poem in it by me, is a marketable concept? Shhh!!! Don’t tell anyone! Maybe I’ll actually do it. It’ll take me 20 minutes to whip off the poem, and 5 years to get a publisher…
I love you.
Next letter, please. (Thank you.)