Play Glenn Miller

I ran out of energy yesterday afternoon. I felt absolutely empty. Sometimes it happens, this feeling of being completely spent, and the only remedy is rest. Makiya and her friend were in the kitchen making chocolate chip cookies, Gerry was downstairs booking hikes, and Laurinda was at work, so I settled in on the sofa in the den with a cup of tea and a book.

By the time the girls were finished in the kitchen and it was time for me to make supper I wasn’t feeling much better. I had already revised my plan for an easy Sunday supper to make it even easier so I set to work. Thanks to our open plan living area, I was able to put my feet up in the living room while waiting for water to boil so I could make pasta. Uncharacteristically, and having little energy for anything else, I turned on the TV and scrolled through a few channels before landing on a PBS pledge drive special featuring the big band music of the 1940s. It was delightful!

That music takes me back to my mom and dad’s time and reminds me of my childhood when the world seemed like a safe place. This morning, it’s raining and foggy and having taken care of some things around the house, I’m again sitting with my feet up, a cup of tea in hand, after asking Alexa to “play Glenn Miller”.

This might become my new favourite thing.

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I’m a writer, reader, photographer, and gardener. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things.
1 comment
  1. Ah yes. That music transports me. I always miss mom when I hear Glenn Miller. Mm and my dad used to go to the Hollywood bowl and other hotel dance venues. They were among the beautiful people and also good people. My dad had been the head dentist for LA county schools for years and was about to open a childrens dental practice when he died in his sleep at 41 of a heart attack. I was 14 months and my brother was six. The dancing stopped. Three months later mom remarried and moved us to San Diego. I’ve missed my father always.

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