Delores at The Feathered Nest supplied, for Photo Prompt Monday, this wonderfully peaceful picture of someone asleep in a gazebo.
Hmmm . . . gazebos
My Husby loves the movie, “The Sound
of Music”.
In fact, if favourites were
discussed, that title would probably be the first to come up.
Most particularly, he loves the gazebo
scene.
And its accompanying song, “Sixteen
Going on Seventeen”.
Really loves it.
To the point that, if ever a gazebo is
sighted, he has to run inside and sing.
Badly.
Really badly.
Badly on purpose.
Just to embarrass his kids.
He's very, very good at it.
Inevitably, after he has run joyfully
to the gazebo and danced around inside for a few minutes, singing at
the top of his lungs, his children have disappeared.
Totally.
Completely.
You thought children could disappear
quickly in a shopping mall?
That doesn't even come close to how
quickly they can vanish when their father-figure is embarrassing
them.
Suddenly they have, quite literally,
ceased to exist.
And they only reappear some time later.
When anyone – anyone – who
might have witnessed their father's performance has defected and/or
suffered an aneurism.
As my Husby has aged, the suitability
of the words of the famous song have . . . lessened.
With his usual creativity, he has
managed to 'age' the words to suit.
I include them for your perusal:
[him]
You
wait, old girl, on an empty stage
For
fate to turn the light off
Your
life, old girl, is a filled up page
About
which you should not scoff.
Should
not scoff.
You
are sixty, going on seventy
Baby
it's time to think
Better
beware, be canny and careful
It's
hard to be old, I think.
You
are sixty, going on seventy
Old
goats will get in line;
Eager
old cads and nimble old dads
Will
be wanting all of your time.
Totally
unprepared are you
To
face the world of time.
Timid
and shy and scared are you
Of
geritol and lime.
You
need someone older and wiser
Telling
you what to do!
I
am seventy going on eighty -
I'll
take care of you.
[her]
I
am sixty going on seventy
I
know that I'm naive
Old
goats I meet may tell me I'm sweet
And
willingly I believe.
I
am sixty going on seventy
Beautiful
as a rose
Widower
dandies, wheelchair bandies
What
do I want with those?
Totally
unprepared am I
To
take a man again.
Timid
and shy and scared am I
Of
geezers who call themselves men!
I
need someone older and wiser
Telling
me what to do.
You
are seventy going on eighty,
I'll
depend on you!
* * *
A
word?
If
you're walking with us out in public and a gazebo appears in the
distance?
Distance
yourself.
