Wouldn't you like to be a dreamer, too?

 "At the tone please record your message.  When you've finished recording you may hang up or press one for more options."
 
I cried when I heard it.
 
There's no melody.  There's no jingle.  There's nothing.  But I still teared up.  It's normal to be moved by music.  There are prom songs, first-boyfriend songs, convertible songs, ski lodge songs, cheerleading songs, physical therapy songs, diving resort songs and first year of M-TV songs.  There's nothing strange about hearing an old tune that stirs up a memory.  That's what music is all about.  And sometimes it makes you cry. 

But crying at the sound of the computer voice lady on the voicemail of so many American cell phones didn't really seem normal.  For me it was like the voice of an old friend that I hadn't heard since I moved to Italy.  It really felt like home.  Then I started thinking of all of the other things that might have the same effect on me and since I was feeling a bit melancholy I decided to spend the morning with You Tube and a box of Kleenex.

First I checked on the Culligan Man, but he was busy with the carpet guys at 588-2300.  Then I decided to look for Mr. Whipple, and as usual he was busy telling the ladies not to squeeze the Charmin.  The only person I found available was Barbara.  She was still up.  She was cleaning her oven. 

Even though I was taking this walk down memory lane early on a Monday morning instead of at 7:00pm Sunday night, I decided to search for Walt Disney.  Hearing the theme song wasn't quite the same without a toasted tuna fish sandwich on a TV tray and a head full of wet ringlets.  At that time my hair was curly enough to curl itself with a little help from my mom.  She'd take a wet chunk and brush out all the snarls.  Then she'd wrap the strand around her finger like thread around a spool.  When she pulled her finger out, the hair stayed in a tight little ball.  I had to sit kind of still until the balls started to dry and fell on their own, forming thirteen perfect ringlets. 

Anyway, even without the tuna fish sandwich and ringlets, I was moved by the magic of Disney.   I closed my eyes and listened to the music.  I could see the little fairy with her wand making the fireworks go off behind the castle.  If she wasn't a fairy and she didn't actually create the fireworks, don't tell me.  That's the way I want to remember it.    I think the only words to that song that I ever really knew were "When you wish upon a star"  and then I just hummed the rest.  But the whole song goes like this:

When you wish upon a star
makes no difference who you are
Anything your heart desires
will come to you
Like a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through
When you wish upon a star
Your dreams come true

The thought of believing these lyrics made me smile and I giggled like the Pillsbury Doughboy when he gets poked in the stomach. Woo Hoo :-) So, all I have to do is wish upon a star and my dreams will come true!  I'd started to think dreaming was a bunch of b-o-l-o-g-n-a.  Maybe it's because I've surrounded myself with a group of Italians that aren't dreamers.  Did they stop dreaming because they've decided they just have to settle for mediocrity?  Or is what I continue to call "mediocrity" really such a nice place to be that there's no need to dream of the next best thing?  I still don't have the answer to that one.  At the moment I've got to try my hardest to be more like Mikey.  He's the only one that had the courage to taste LIFE and as soon as he dug in....he liked it, hey Mikey! 

I'll probably be out looking for stars tonight anyway.  As Sarah Ban Breathnach says, "the world needs dreamers and the world needs doers.  But above all the world needs dreamers who do."  Wouldn't you like to be a dreamer, too?





(Sorry.  If you're not at least a 40-year old American, this post will make no sense.  I hope you'll stayed tuned for the next one.  Tell 'em Charlie sent you.  Doors closing.....)