ROCK ON

Somewhere under the rainbow, and maybe close by, there is a land I want to discover, the land of a lullaby. I need a soothing song, and I need a comfortable lap to climb into once in awhile. I must be reverting into neediness or something similar to it. Now Don has songs and Don has a lap but the conditions are changing.




Really, Don would sing to me if I would let him, the songs would all have made up words, that is all except "It's a Grand Old Flag", he always remembers that one. It's just that… it is not really soothing when he sings, although it would be "suggestive", as in, "Aren't you gonna' get supper♫ now?" or "Please, oh please♫ don't wash my underwear♪!♪!♪! with the red towels this time!", rather commanding in a hesitant sort of way, things like that. His songs end in a question mark or exclamation point sound, not soothing, it would be a love song of sorts, but really not soothing.



Now He would be glad to give me a comforting cuddle, but his lap is arthritic now, and it hurts my back to balance on his knee without really putting weight on the plumper part of my body with all of that pulling from gravity going on. Sharing a chair was better for us both thirty or so, pounds ago. So the back rub has changed into a foot rub on the evenings that I can stretch my feet far enough from my position on the sofa to his recliner, nice, even so, almost lulling except for his hangnail that tickles.



So anyway, I really need a lullaby, I need a "Grandma" rocking chair experience. Accepting, serious offers only please. Put my coffee in a baby bottle and tuck my afghan around me, swing me gently on the porch, and I'll go "to that land that I've dreamed of" for little a time. I know it sounds like I am pouting and I am! You probably think I'm being a baby, I don't care, treat me like one sometime—burp me—maybe that’s my problem, gas!