Ever since last weekend when I stepped off the train in Delft,
I have been thinking about the song I heard playing on the church bells. (When was the last time you heard a tune chiming from church bells that you actually recognized?)
I was walking away from the train station when I first heard it. Slowly it dawned
on me—Hey I know this…wait a minute…holy cow!
You are my sunshine,
My only sunshine…
Before my granddaughter, Anna, could talk I sang that song
to her. As I like to point out, babies love me—I have long arms and big boobs. They
fit right in there. Four minutes and two verses of You Are My Sunshine and…out
they go…works like a charm. Besides Happy Birthday, You’re a Grand Ole Flag, and
most Beatles’ songs on the radio, I can’t say I know too many tunes. You Are My
Sunshine is definitely one of them. I rock ‘em back and forth and mumble my way
through the words that couldn’t be truer if I had written them myself. I learned
it from my father. I’m not real sure where he learned it, but I heard him sing
it more times than I can remember. Anna and Andrew can say the same.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
It’s funny, sort of, that a song about “sunshine” should come
to mind in a mostly gloomy place such as this. This song—one that has been in my
life for as long as I can recall—has found me to remind me of my sunshine.
You’ll never know, dear
How much I love you
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