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So, one day, back in another lifetime when I was sharing an apartment with Heidi, she and her best friend Phil discovered John Bucchino, (who is a pretty talented songwriter in case you haven't discovered him yet). Specifically, they discovered his album Grateful. That was a lucky day for me, because as they were exploring the album, they came across what ended up being one of my top 100 all-time songs.
(Now, you know I don't really have a list of my top 100 songs, right? But this is making me think maybe I should put one together.)
The song in question is called The Song with the Violins, and I've pasted a video below that is my favorite of the 5 to 7 versions currently uploaded to youtube.
Now, if you're short on time, or don't have access to youtube right now, I'll give you the condensed version of the song. It's a semi-neurotic woman, singing a song to the man that she loves/likes/is starting to date/is stalking/whatever-you-want-to-think. In the song, she talks about all the things she has done to prepare herself for him, and then mentions in passing, a few of the things that he hasn't done to return that love. The song cracks me up, and reminds me of myself more than I'd like to admit, but not so much that I'm morbidly embarrassed to admit it.
Now, the point of sharing this song and that story with you is to tell this one. To follow it, you'll need to keep this part of the song in mind:
I hope you've memorized your script,
I've got my part down perfectly!
The fact is, there are times when it becomes painfully clear to me that in the life-play (which, let's be honest, is actually a musical not just a straight play) of Charlotte & Eric: The Early Years, Eric has not memorized his script.
Last December, I was perusing this blog, and I found this recipe for easy shortbread cookies. Having never made shortbread cookies before, and thinking (incorrectly, as it turned out) that since they had no chocolate in them, they wouldn't be a temptation for me, and therefore would be an ideal neighbor gift for Christmas, I decided to give it a go. They turned out really well, in my opinion. Well enough that they were a temptation for me, which basically defeated the whole purpose of making them, but oh well, sometimes that's the way the cookie crumbles.
(I'm killin' me here!)
I shared the cookies with Eric, and he liked them fine. He didn't rave about them or anything like that, but he enjoyed them well enough, or so I thought.
Later on that week however, some neighbors dropped off a plate of absolutely delicious Christmas cookies. So delicious that the whole lot of them were gone within a few days. That brings us to the point where Eric went "off-book", and missed his lines completely.
One evening, as he was polishing off the last of the cookies on the plate (which just happened to be shortbread cookies in the shape of Christmas Trees with little red and green sprinkles on them), Eric turned to me and said,
not his lines, which were:
"Honey, these cookies are so good, but I'm glad that yours are even better."
"Honey, these cookies are delicious, as are yours. "
No, he didn't say any of that. Instead, he went completely off on his own, and said,
"You know, you should call Katie and get her recipe for shortbread. These are really good cookies."
|Image courtesy of Julep67|
Obviously, this is a man who has not memorized his lines.
(Don't worry too much about me though. To quote Fanny Dashwood, "There are qualities that will always make up for that, and [Eric] has those in abundance.")