Mr. Music Man lives at my house. My husband constantly warbles a tune - any tune, anywhere. This morning the lyrical sounds came wafting out of the shower, a Hawaiian tune: "Night and you in blue Hawaii. The night is heavenly and you are heaven to me.... Come with me while the moon is o'er the sea, the night is young and so are we."
Before we sit down to our cold cereal and banana breakfast, Robert has hummed a few more bars - in his low and strong voice. Just a phrase or two, but enough to keep our home life lively and upbeat.
We both grew up in the Big Band era. Though we didn't know each other at the time, we each sang and danced our summers away at the Glen Island Casino in New Rochelle, N.Y. - my hometown - to the wonderful music of Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, and the best of the jazz bands. When summer was over, we and all of our teenage buddies would take the short drive to the Big Apple, where these bands played at the big hotels and clubs, for more of the same. We'd come home at 2 a.m. It was a happy time in our lives, free of worries and full of energy.
Those songs have stayed fresh and vibrant in our memories, and my troubadour carries on the tradition. I join in with my own warbling on a fairly steady basis. Sometimes I actually keep the tune. If our notes occasionally go sour, we pay no attention - just switch to another tune. The thought of timidity never enters our minds. We belt out, we go off-key, we keep on. We have a blast.
Today, we spent a few minutes at our local supermarket. The plan, as always, is to separate, taking our lists with us, and eventually meet up at the check-out counter. There was Robert, waiting patiently with his basketful of goodies, and humming softly, "But I'm bidin' my time, 'cause that's the kind of guy I'm..." I joined in with "Da da-dah da da da-dah, da da da-dah... Bidin' my time."
With only an occasional sour note, life with my warbling mate is upbeat and sweet.