“Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I” wrote US songwriter Lorenz Hart about the feeling of infatuation. It’s blissful and euphoric, as we all know. But it’s also addicting, messy and blinding. Without careful monitoring, its wild wind can rage through your life leaving you much like the lyrics of a country song: without a wife, […]
It’s that time of year again!!! Ready to hear it again???
DISCLAIMER: I am no Barbara Streisand. I’ve never taken a singing lesson in my life. Not one.The inspiration for this song came two weeks before Thanksgiving when I received a call from my doctor: we had better get together a plan for lowering my cholesterol.
Getting to it … right after I fix my pituitary tumor, abnormal aortic valve, bipolar brain, and facial fungus.My high cholesterol is not a new issue. Somewhere around the time David was conceived I found out that my cholesterol scores were higher than my verbal SATs. But for the last six years I didn’t do anything about it because (honest confession coming up here) many of those days I was so depressed that I really wanted to be with God in his mansion upstairs. Dropping dead of a heart attack sounded like a great alternative to suicide. It’s easier, cheaper, much more socially acceptable, and involved stuffing myself with brie cheese and Eggs Florentine. Sign me up.
Then something inconvenient happened. As I gradually began to fix all my broken parts (pituitary tumor, bipolar brain, facial fungus, abnormal heart) I started to wake up excited.
I wanted to try and stick around for David’s high school graduation and Katherine’s Little Mermaid wedding and maybe, just maybe, for the birth of grandchildren.
As a jogged around the Naval Academy the morning I got my SAT scores, I mean cholesterol count, I reflected on all the parts of my mental-health program–prayer, therapy, fish oil, medication, family support, sobriety, vitamins, yoga (even though I hate it), guardian angels–and it sounded like the lyrics to a song, “The 12 Days of Christmas” or something.
Yes, “The 12 Days of Christmas”!
With sweat dripping down my face, I pulled out a sheet of paper from my pocket and a pen (I run with those in case something like this happens) and madly scribbled down the words as if I were Moses taking down the Ten Commandments.
So, pretend that I have just invited you into my home, poured you a glass of Merlot (if you’re not a recovering alcoholic), and made you endure a live version of “American Idiot.”
With a holiday twist.