Dear Eddie:

I heard you singing. I was chilling in the gazebo one morning in July and harkened to your voice coming up from the garden. “And a partridge in a pear tree.” I chortled; you lifted me up, yet again. Your singing expresses your “glass at least half full” approach to life. You are not Pollyanna, but you are positive most of the time. I am thankful for your gift.

I am thankful that your singing family traveled to Grandma’s with hymns and choruses since there was no radio. I am thankful that in your all in one small town k-12 school Peg Milnes was in charge of chorus, glee club and talent shows—your repertoire is awesome. Added was that Mrs. Milnes expected all Methodist teens to sing in the choir at Michelsen Memorial with her and their folks.

I am thankful for the singing in our parenting and grandparenting years. You give us repeated lines, bursts of joy, seldom whole compositions. “Little Champ” from your cornet audition for band, “Choke a cholo cholo cha laylee,” “Mares eat oats, and does eat oats,” “Beautiful Blue Eyes,” “You are my Sunshine.” All the camp choruses resound and set a day’s tone.” This is the Day,” “Revive Us Again.” At how many 6:15 am Cline Store bus stop mornings did you rouse our pack of three, and probably the whole neighborhood, with “Rise and Shine and Get those children out of the muddy muddy?” At least one of the kids would get into it, complete with motions, while the older ones at least grimaced and sometimes deigned to join you. You and I might have dragged up that hill in the dark, but we handheld back home with the sunrise behind us.

Your singing is part of garden season for sure. You are up and at it at daylight. When I get up to fix breakfast, I am often greeted with snatches of song from the twilight. You are out there happily planting, weeding or cutting. At random times of day, I will hear some random sound, and realize Eddie’s singing.

I love you, songbird. You lift me up.

Sylvia