When we first moved to The Villages some 18 years ago, we used to go downtown two or three times a week. Back then there was only one “downtown” – Spanish Springs. We had a good time watching people dance particularly one lady who was there every night and had a ball dancing. Of course, I believe that was before line dancing started its heyday, and most people, believe it or not, did what we called round dancing back in Pennsylvania. I think that name came about to distinguish it from square dancing which was about the only type of dance that I could do and not mess up. The Blonde in the house could testify to my shortcomings in round dancing, waltz, tango or whatever.
However, she won’t as she still is of the belief that I will someday figure out a way to have a left and right foot and not just two left ones. She is always very optimistic. Perhaps, I should learn the new-fangled line dance. It appears to me that no matter what music is played that they do the same steps. If that is really the case, I could probably learn the dance within a year. The problem is that I do not know if that is the case or not. I can’t keep a beat, although I used to think that I could. Then one day I was at a function and the band was playing a tune that I liked so I was slapping my hand on my knee to go along with the music. Then, a woman sitting next to me who I had never seen before, and probably would just as soon not see again, said, “You are just like my husband because you can’t keep time either”.
Naturally, I was hurt to the quirk. The Blonde told me not to let it bother me as I would catch on in time. So I forgot about it while thinking, “I wonder where that woman’s husband was?” Most likely drowning his lack of timing sorrows at the bar! Unless you are cursed yourself, you have no idea how the lack of being musically inclined can shrink your ego. My curse became very apparent when the music teacher in grade school said that I had the worst singing voice she ever heard. Back then, I hoped that when my voice changed that perhaps I would become a great singing baritone. Never happened! In fact, when I was in college my frat would not even let me stand with them at the Spring Sing for fear I might actually sing.
Despite all the gloom and despair that I have indicated, that does not mean that I never sing. The shower makes a good deal of noise, particularly when it is on full pressure. Boy, then you ought to hear me do my impression of Mario Lanza. True he was a tenor, and I am a scratchy baritone, but you can’t tell the difference in the shower. I just like the songs he sang so I just try my wobbly best.
One of The Villages good singers, Billie Thatcher, goes to the same church that we do. She often sits a couple of rows in front of us. One of these days, I may get up enough nerve to ask her if there is a way that I could adopt how she sings. In a male voice, I must add. I am bad enough as it is without trying to sing in a female voice.
You are not going to believe this! In fact I am not certain that I believe it myself, but as I was finishing this, I received an email from 23 and Me. The latter is a company to which you send a small bottle with some spit in it. They then determine what kind of a DNA background you have. The incoming email said that they had found genetic relationships to “The Ability to Match Musical Pitch” along with three other types of relationships. Naturally my DNA shows that I am on the non-match side. I knew that there was a definite answer to my problem – it’s my stupid ancestors. Why couldn’t I have had a Caruso or somebody similar among my ancestors?
Obviously, I am in a hopeless situation from a music standpoint so instead I will see if I can find a way to make people smile. A good smile is worth a lot. In fact, I mentioned that we used to go to a downtown frequently. We don’t do that as much now, but we did go to Sumter Landing the other night. While there I made a few people smile because I had on my special T-shirt which proclaims, “The Blonde’s Husband”.
It is not how you make people smile, it’s if you can!
Barry Evans writes about Life in The Villages.
