Friday Potpourri Vol. 7
Well, that was an interesting week.
First of all, I want to thank everyone who read the post on March 14 about my Mom. I heard from a lot of people who I don’t usually hear from when I write something. I know one person had trouble leaving a comment on WordPress. I hope that was just an isolated thing. The feedback can be the best part of blogging.
We here at the Bellbottom Blog have to make a correction to a previous posting. Poing is not outside of Berlin. It is outside of Munich. Thanks, Ken for setting me straight. And shame on the rest of you who knew this and just let me go on with that error sitting there.
So, looking over the last week in Twitter, I am reminded that I got spammed. @Patrixmyth caught it and helped me fix it.
Amy at @lucysfootball wrote a beautiful tug-at-the-heartstrings post about her Nephew and his visit with her. Which reminded me of a Harry Chapin song.
Now, I am a very big Harry Chapin fan. Saw him in concert three times during the ’70’s. His concerts were a lot of fun. Always a couple of hours long full of stories and story-songs.
The song I was reminded of was NOT Cats In The Cradle. I like the song and understand the sentiment behind it. It was written by Sandy Chapin, Harry’s wife. Talking to him about his relationship with his own son.
The life of a musician, at least in Harry’s case, is one of almost constant travel. He would do over 200 concerts a year. A lot of them for charitable causes. He would stay after concerts and sign autographs for anyone who donated to WHY (World Hunger Year). This was years before Band-Aid.
Anyway, the song I was reminded while reading Amy’s reach -for- the -Kleenex post, was Dancing Boy. He wrote this for his son because his son as a little toddler did a very unique dance which Harry would imitate on stage before the song.
Here is part of the song:
Yes, I’m so proud when you are with me, That my heart sticks in my throat.
And when you stop to strut your stuff, My eyes go all afloat.
And when I have to leave you home, as sometime it must be.
I feel that with my leaving, I leave too much of me.
Yes, you’re my dancin’ boy and it’s scary how you trust me.
Just one look from you and I come pouring out like wine.
You’re my dancin’ boy,I’m sure by now that you must see,
You’re dancin’ means much more to me than any dream of mine.
It was a cute song when I was young, but with parenthood, it takes on a whole different tone.
In other news, the NCAA tournament is on and as usual I am losing our friendly competition here at the house.
To all of the (I never watch sports, and I am winning my bracket) people, please hush.
I could go on but I have to put my bracket in the shredder.
Aw, thank you!
I have to find that song and listen to it tonight. Thank you for the reminder.
Do I HAVE to shush about NCAA? I’m totally dominating my office right now. It’s making the men here SO MAD. Like, there are 46 of us playing? And I’m TIED FOR FIRST. And I know NOTHING about sports. It’s the funniest thing ever, and I love the grumpy faces people make at me. (Side note: if they pay attention at all, they’d realize I always do well in the first round, and then lose miserably going forward. But I won’t spoil them to that inevitablity.)
I’m also beating my DAD. Who watches ALL the games, and makes stats sheets, and yells at the TV like it can hear him.
You know how I pick my teams? “Oh, Purdue. I like chicken. I’m picking Purdue. Oh, Duke. I like their mascot, it’s got verve.”
People don’t appreciate this. I don’t know why. IT’S GOT WHIMSY.