My November

During November, those of my loved ones who have passed over are closest to me. So I try to take note of what wafts, unbidden, into my mind. This morning it was an old song. Maybe you know it...

If I could plant a tiny seed of love
In the garden of your heart,
Would it grow to be a great big love some day
Or would it die and fade away?

My dad used to sing this often, and truly, thinking of what kind of a father he was to me and my younger brother, I could say that he was all about song and story. He knew the words to so many of the popular songs of his youth, of his time during the Second World War, and on into his middle age. And he used to sing them, often. What a gift that was for us!

Maybe those old songs were easier to sing than many of the pop songs today, mostly because they had more of a melody. JMHO

My dad also used to whistle. This of course was something women did not do. So yesterday I was whistling and a friend, an ex-German, came up to me to tell me about an old saying: that women who whistle and chickens who squawk deserve to have their necks wrung!!

Hmm. I can actually hold a tune better when whistling than when singing. Perhaps the jury's still out as to whether either of these is acceptable!