Stream of Consciousness Saturday, Childhood Song

Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “a song from your childhood.” Think of a song from your childhood and just write. Have fun!

It just so happens that I have been editing that part of my memoir this week. I was always singing. So Mom put me with her piano teacher, Mrs. Skinner.

There was a primer. It was green. In the first few pages, we’re tracings of my five year old hands labeled with fingering and the first ten notes of the piano staff. Thumbs, middle C, pinkies F left hand, G right hand. The first song was Typewriter. There was the Windsock song. I hum it when we walk near our little airport. I don’t quite remember all the words. But my hands still remember how to play it.

Then there was the Eskimo song. Once again, the words escape me, but muscle memory is strong!

My favorite song was Mister Dragon 🐉🐲 (those emojis came up while typing–I couldn’t resist!)

Mister Dragon, tail a-wagging,

All you say is Boo!

Mister Dragon, Tail a-wagging,

I’m not scared of you!

And I can still play it! That book was so much fun. Mrs. Skinner had me color the pictures. When I learned a song, she pulled out her box of stickers. Some of the pages had so many stickers on them you could barely make out the music.

With all the moves, and giving piano lessons to my own students, that book is gone. And I can’t seem to find that book, even on Google. Does anyone remember it? I’d at least like to include pictures and the name of the book in my Memoir, Moving.

Ah, now that earworm is loose!🐉🐲🎵🎶🎼

#JusJoJan Daily Prompt: Fantastic – January 29th, 2018

Well, here I am trying hard to get my writing done before midnight. Seems I am the Midnight Writer! That is a cool name! In fact, I think it is

Sadly it is in use. Of course! And then I thought, ‘What about MidKnight Writer?’ that’s using last night’s prompt with this one. But it is taken, too.  Oh, well.

For those of you who are curious, that might not know yet, my son and his other siblings got here with half of his stuff. The siblings left (are safely home) and we are getting the house in order. In two weeks there has to be another trek down (8-hour drive) to pick up the rest and clean out his father’s apartment and then the 8-hour trek back only to unpack and figure out where the rest goes. The good of that is I get to see my other kids. The scary is everyone on the road so long. It will be nice to be finished with the move and everyone safely back where they belong.

So far the weather has been

for this crazy

 

The bewitching hour is at hand and I am too tired to care!

Just Jot It January is courtesy of Linda G. Hill.

Our fantastic prompt is from  Jill. See at her blog, “J-Dubs Grin and Bear It,” Here’s her link:  https://jilywily.wordpress.com/

Move Made Manifest

At last, the “iffy” trip and the “iffy” purchase of the acre and the double wide mobile have manifested. I’m sitting in my office/studio/escape looking out my window and seeing miles and miles of sagebrush. I can see little tiny hills far, far away and I can see the horizon. And the sky above goes on forever with feather clouds here and there.

As I sit here I can think of all the times I wondered if this was really going to happen. All the things that could go wrong did go wrong. They made me doubt that I should do this. They made me determined to try harder, but I didn’t want to press the gods that made this happen. What if I were to find out that I’m not supposed to do this? But what if this is exactly what I’m supposed to do? And I go around in circles with this batch of questioning. Still, I was packing boxes and packing boxes and packing boxes.

You see the two-bedroom apartment cave that I lived in before cost me over double what we will pay for this place. Our lease was up and we knew we wouldn’t be able to afford to live in that cave another moment.

In spite of how small the place was, we filled a van that should take a three-bedroom home and still had so much more to figure out how to get it here, or if we should toss it. And that was with C’s son moved out. His bed was the sofa and that was his sofa. So where do we get all this stuff? And how did the place get so dirty? Well, 2+ years in bed basically. And of course, we all know that nobody else cleans except the woman of the house. The pain of the fibro and the depression and the social anxiety all of the bundled up for those two years and all I could do was lay in bed. I tried to get out. I wanted to see friends but when I got to the day of doing it. I’d hit a flare. But this summer was different. I felt better. I got to go on a couple road trips. I got to go swimming. Whatever made me feel better, I am so thankful for it. The “iffy” trip gave me hope, gave me something to live for. And here I am, ready or not!