Her swing is the daily coveted spot, and come spring, I check the forecast nightly to see when she’ll be able to assume her position and do some composing on her keyboard.
Yesterday was the day.
Finally Outside
Though it was warm, I still dressed the Queen in pants and a long-sleeved shirt. She didn’t mind. Her excitement built as I tied her shoes. “Swing!” she signed. “Yes, you get to swing!” I signed & said back.
She squealed and flapped those arms as fast as they could go, so much that I had to tell her to calm down so I could walk her outside. Once on the porch, she turned, backed up, sat on the swing and immediately signed “music”. I already had her pink, sparkly keyboard tucked under my arm—Omma was one step ahead of her.
The Perfect Tune
Without missing a beat, she pushed off and began swinging—high—higher—higher—and turned her keyboard vertical so the speaker would be right against her ear. Her thumb pushed the melody button madly, each tune playing only a note or two until she pressed for the next one. “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” began playing.
Success—it played in its entirety.
From age 6 to about 10, she had a small “jam box” (my 80’s friends know what I’m talking about) with Elmo’s face on it. It, too, played a variety of songs. Eleven to be exact. But her favorite was “Frere Jacques”. Each quick-press of her thumb created a cacophony of sounds until “Frere Jacques” began playing. For some reason that tune pleased her more than the others. And now, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” has the same effect. For added enjoyment, I’ll sing along…and sway…and provide an over-the-top theatrical performance as the melody plays in her ear. It elicits grins and laughter, and often a nodding of her head which is my cue to do it again.
So I do.
(Thank goodness she’s over the “I’m a Little Teapot” song for now).
Lost in her Music
As she played, I sat on the step and trimmed the woody stems from the lavender bushes. Occasionally, she’d say, “Omma!” and want me to turn to look at her. She would have her keyboard on her lap to free both of her hands, her right arm would be in the air above her head, her left hand strumming against her right arm, playing her air-guitar accompaniment in her best Eddie Van Halen-esque fashion. Funny how, instead of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”, I heard “Eruption” as she played.
Her music. Her swing. Her audience of one. They bring her joy. And I’m privileged to be witness to it. And part of it.
As expected, she wanted to come off the porch and into the direct sun. She signed “stand up” then “go”, and I knew where she was headed—the sidewalk. She sat on the warm concrete, keyboard on her lap, and began playing. Delight seemed to overtake her as she realized she created a sharp, dark shadow. She turned—positioned herself for the best shadow effect–and began conducting her orchestra.
Arms outstretched, overhead, down low, flap up, flap down, raise the roof. When she realized she couldn’t see her hand-clapping shadows, she turned 45 degrees so she could. And resumed. She even incorporated her legs now. Up, down, up down, then clap clap clap. Her music had long since stopped, but the melody in her head continued. The sunshine, the warmth, the reply from her shadows, all brought contentment and joy. And not just to her.
The Overflow
I never tire of these scenes. This tiny, 90lb, 5-feet-tall young lady lives life largely. She lives it with reckless abandon to the joy that bubbles in her soul. That effervescence elicits the same response from me. It reminds me to stop. Enjoy. Notice. And sing another round.
Take me out to the sunshine
Take me out to the yard
Bring me my keyboard and watch me play
I don’t care if we stay here all day…
Omma is thankful to have such a sweet reminder in her life.