What a Wonderful World

I've been humming my favorite song all day.  What a Wonderful World was written for me, I just know it.  It was certainly written for a day like today--beautiful blue sky, nice temperature, low humidity (a gift in August in the midwest).  And I just found out one of the writers of my favorite song, George David Weiss, passed away. 

I think the ability to write songs is such a gift. I am not a songwriter.  I wish I was.  For some reason, on those rare occasions I've tried to write a song, it comes out very 1st graderish with every line rhyming:

I'm so in love with you,
Thank God you don't have the flu.

Okay, not quite that bad, but close.  Regardless, it's easy to see why I appreciate good songs.  The ability to express what others think or feel or go through to the point where it spurs them into action, or to tears, or just makes them smile is a gift.  Not everyone has that gift, but I can certainly appreciate those who do. (And, for the record, I am so in love with my husband, and I really am thankful he doesn't have the flu.)


What a Wonderful World

I see trees of green, red roses, too.
I see them bloom for me and you.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue, clouds of white,
Bright blessed days, and dark sacred nights.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,
Are also on the faces of people going by.
I see friends shaking hands, saying "How do you do?"
They're really saying, "I love you."

I hear babies crying,

I watch them grow.

They'll learn much more

Than I'll ever know.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. 

I think to myself, what a wonderful world. Oh yeah.

Rest in peace, Mr. Weiss.  It really is a wonderful world.  Thanks for the reminder.

Happy Birthday, Dale!

I am the president of the Dale Duncan Fan Club.  Not an easy task.  The guy has lots of fans.

My dad, for example, loved Dale more than he loved me.  He thought Dale was incredible.  In fact, if Dale would have professed a love of country music, my dad would have deemed him perfect.  What Dad did believe, however, was that Dale is perfect for me.  My dad was right.

My mom, who met Dale before we even started dating, thought he was perfect as well.  When I called to tell her we were dating, I could hear the smile in her voice from 1200 miles away.  She loves Dale and thinks of him as one of her children.  She recently gave Dale something that had been my dad's.  When Dale suggested that maybe one of the sons should have it, she told him that one of the sons does have it.  He loves my mom.

Dale is helping raise 3 of his biggest fans.  These boys are blessed to have such a great father.  He loves them.  He listens to them.  He helps them.  He works hard to provide for them.  He defends them.  He corrects them.  He even lets them beat him in video games.  Isn't that right, Dale?  You are letting them beat you, aren't you?

Dale has some fans at work, too.  It's really hard not to respect someone who works so hard, who knows so much, and who is so helpful and patient.  He enjoys helping other people do their best.  He celebrates the accomplishments of others, and he doesn't throw people under the bus.  Plus, his knowledge of 70s rock music trivia is pretty phenomenal.  Who wouldn't love that? 

And Dale is a pushover when it comes to little girls.  Nieces, little girls I've babysat, little girls in restaurants--they could ask him for anything, and Dale would say yes.  God, in His infinite wisdom, gave us sons (and they were hard enough for Dale to say no to).  When it's Girl Scout Cookie selling time, well, let's just say I've learned to budget for Dale's inability to say no.  (Secretly, it's one of the things I love most about him.)

I am amazed at how difficult it is for me to adequately describe this guy I love.  Let me try it this way:  Dale has a good soul.  And he's the best person I know.

Happy Birthday, love of my life.  Thanks for being born.