Archive for the ‘ Ramblings ’ Category

Quite a compliment


Recently, someone who was on the audition committee for a show said that I caused great difficulty during the casting process.  Naturally, I apologised (I’m good at apologising, particularly if the apology is needless), but was soon reassured that this was not a bad thing.  Apparently, they could have slotted me in anywhere, which made the decision about what to do with me harder than it otherwise might have been.  A strange thought, but on reflection, it’s possibly one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received.  What better praise can there be for a performer than to have their flexibility or adaptability noted?  It’s nice to know that I’m a versatile singing librarian.

2009
02/21
CATEGORY
Ramblings
Theatre
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Snow joke


I love my country, and am proud to be British, but sometimes I despair.

Weather is a fairly common occurrence here on this lovely group of islands. In fact, it is such an important part of our lives that I would have thought it was our most common topic of conversation, even if we tend to grumble about it in all its variations. Come rain or shine, come gale or snow, sleet or hail, drizzle or heatwave, the British can be counted on to complain. It will be too hot, too cold, too damp, too dry, too windy or too calm. And in extreme circumstances, such as the appearance of frozen water from the sky, we simply retreat into our shells and hide until it’s over.

Today, it seems that snow brought the country to a standstill. Or at least it brought London to a standstill and this had a knock-on effect across much of the nation, partly because it seems all the trains had been sleeping in London overnight and were therefore not available to transport anyone to their chosen destinations. In my part of Kent, the snow made a vague attempt at doing its job, but mostly looked pretty and melted. It would be very generous indeed to suggest that we had an inch of it. Further west, roads were harder to travel on due to the lack of gritters. Quite why gritting had not happened, I don’t know. Snow on Sunday and Monday was forecast before the weekend, so there was plenty of warning. To be fair, the major roads around here seemed to be fine, but reports from colleagues and friends suggest that this was not true everywhere.

The Library of Doom held out longer than many places. Plenty of High Street shops remained closed today, and most of the rest of Kent’s institutions of higher education either never opened or shut up shop at lunchtime. We sent home those people who were having public transport difficulties, then continued providing our usual librarianic services until 6 o’clock, when we put the books to bed and turned out the lights.

Reports suggest that other areas were hit harder by snowstorms, but it is clear that the levels of snow were and are nothing compared to snowfall in places such as Russia, Canada and Scandinavia, where life seems to continue happily during even the bleakest winter. Here, however, our winters are less harsh than they once were, but they seem to affect us in ways they never did before. Suddenly, many places of work and education are closed, public transport throws in the towel and the radio is warning us of impending doom. Is it the wrong sort of snow, or is the country just a bit pathetic? I suspect more of the latter, but tinged with a lack of preparation, an amazing ability to be taken by surprise by something we all knew was coming. One suspects that the rest of the world (and probably other parts of the United Kingdom as well) is sniggering at us behind their hands. If so, I really don’t blame them.

2009
02/02
CATEGORY
Library
Ramblings
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It’s behind me!


The Singing Librarian as the Genie of the Lamp - click for larger version

The Singing Librarian as the Genie of the Lamp

PPA Productions’ Aladdin has been over for almost a week now, and I still feel as though I’m recovering somewhat, despite returning to the Library of Doom full time and resuming rehearsals for my next two shows (no, I don’t ever stop, and I’m not sure I’d be allowed to). I had a terrific time, and really did stretch myself. I would never have expected to sing a Queen song for the paying public or wear and dance in a costume that involved so little material above the waist. Nor would I have expected to be applying quite so much glitter to myself, not to mention the hateful daily routine of self-tanning. The things we do for art!

I had a few days when I really wasn’t enjoying myself, mostly due to worrying too much. Once I accepted that I would never be the world’s greatest Genie (nor probably even Kent’s greatest Genie), but applied myself to simply being the best Genie I was capable of being, it became somewhat easier in the mental department. The cast was very supportive, though, and we buoyed each other up, since everyone had at least one “what the heck am I doing here?” day. By the end of the run, I was really enjoying the performances and was remarkably unselfconscious about wandering around in my beautiful but revealing costume.

I shall treasure various memories, mostly of exciting ad libs forced on various people by circumstances beyond their control. Technical problems, memory issues, unexpected heckling from the audience and so forth. I shall certainly always remember the scene in the final performance when the Dame decided he was going to try to make me laugh – a great battle of wills. I came so very close to laughing, but made it through (biting the inside of my lip eventually) and the audience thought it was hilarious, so everyone was a winner. The axe which hit the wrong person then went missing is also a firm favourite.

Would I ever do something like this again? Absolutely yes. Tiring, not at all easy, but so rewarding, thanks largely to the wonderful cast and crew. It’s behind me now, but I hope to return to the world of “oh yes he should” the next time panto season rolls around.

The Genie's Make Up

The Genie's Makeup

2009
01/31
CATEGORY
Ramblings
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Things that panto rehearsals have taught me


Flyer for Aladdin

Flyer for Aladdin

This week, I have mostly been rehearsing for Aladdin, the pantomime to be performed very, very soon at the Winter Gardens in Margate.  On Tuesday, the cast (sans Dame, who arrived on Wednesday), met and began blocking the scenes.  We were soon into the swing of audience participation, learning the songs, figuring out how much teasing people can take and generally getting the show ready.  It’s always nice when casts get along together, and we do.  I have also discovered that we have much to teach each other.  I’m sure I have much still to learn, but for the benefit of my readers, lessons from the first week of rehearsals include:

Men should not moisturise. Ever. According to Princess Jasmine, it is unmanly.  As are many other things, including shaving your armpits (but really, why would any man want to shave their armpits?).  Baking biscuits is a good thing according to all who consumed the ones I took in on Wednesday, but it is also unmanly.  Drat!

I come as a package deal with the Emperor of China. To be fair, we are friends, but we seem to be seen as a unit, possibly a double act by some people.  If we were to become a double act, we could definitely use our middle names as the title of our act, but I shall leave that title as a mystery.

Tradition! I love panto, and I love all the traditions of the genre, but it has been very eye-opening to see just how many traditional elements and rules there are, sometimes competing with one another.  Most people are also very protective of their character and their gags, which can be quite amusing.

Padiddle. This is a wonderful game to play with a car full of people on a wintry night.  If you spot a car with one headlight out, then you shout ‘padiddle!’ and score a point.  Simple, but most amusing – well done, PC Pong, who introduced the game to us.  Apparently, according to my extensive research, it has been played with varying rules for decades, but this simple version is fine for me.

Black canvas trainers are de rigueur. They are spreading like a plague among the cast.  My favourite panto rehearsal picture so far is the shot at the foot of this post, looking down at the matching feet of the Genie, Aladdin and PCs Ping and Pong.  I did let the side down by wearing a different pair of trainers to today’s dance rehearsal, though.  We may be able to make them official uniform by the time we’re finished.

The funniest thing I can do is sing. The role of the Genie of the Lamp is not a comic role really (which is OK with me, truly it is), but I did manage to raise a huge laugh during the session where we went over the finale in our music rehearsal.  Everything in the show is in a somewhat unusual style for me, but something must have clicked in my head on the second sing-through and I cut loose with my vocal.  This took those who have worked with me before by surprise and made them laugh.  At first, I was alarmed, and thought that I might have done something awfully wrong, but I was reassured that the reaction was because it was ‘so right’ but ‘excessively unexpected’.  Of course, being me, I now fear that I have peaked too soon vocally.  But at least I know that I once did it well enough to make people laugh.

I really ought to charge an ‘Ask a Librarian’ fee. It amused me that when Aladdin wasn’t sure how to pronounce a particular word, he asked me.  Others have checked geographical facts with me (yes, there is a Thebes in Egypt, and yes, Egypt is in Africa) or otherwise sought explanations for the more esoteric aspects of their lines.  However, I drew the line at researching “he’s so fat he…” jokes.  A librarian’s powers are not to be squandered!  I am known to some as ‘D– the librarian’, not just ‘D–‘ or ‘thingummy who plays the Genie’.  This just goes to show that you can take the librarian out of the library, but you can’t take the library out of the librarian.

Panto is hard work, but fun. I think I already knew that, though.  And of course, if you’re in Kent, want to experience the fun, and see the Singing Librarian alongside a whole bunch of talented people including Ben Mills and Mark Arden in Aladdin, come along to Margate Winter Gardens from 16th-25th January.  Tickets can be booked by telephone on 01843 296111/292795.  I, the great djinn, the genie of the lamp, would be delighted to see you there.

The WordPress ‘spellchecker’ function does not recognise the word djinn. How strange.

Proof that the cast of Aladdin all have the same dress sense?

Proof that the cast of Aladdin all have the same dress sense?

2009
01/10
CATEGORY
Ramblings
Theatre
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Ian for a summer


One of my friends has me listed on her mobile phone as ‘Gerald’, as this was the role I played in Me and My Girl, opposite her as Jaquie.  The idea was that she knows a great variety of Davids (mark this date in your diary, it may be the first time I’ve mentioned my name on this blog), but Gerald will probably always be me and only me.

A reminder of this fact, combined with being dropped off at Newport Pagnell service station at Christmas by one of the other Davids of the world, caused me to recall my summer of being Ian.  It is not unusual to be temporarily called any one of a number of names, Chris and Simon being particular favourites, but this is the only time I’ve gone by a pseudonym in real life for any length of time.

This was during my student days, when a summer job was an absolute necessity and was unlikely to be overly fulfilling.  This particular summer I managed to secure employment with Welcome Break at the M1 service station at Newport Pagnell, the town where I grew up.  I was employed to clear and clean tables, operate the floor cleaning monster truck and occasionally to do the washing up, a particularly unpleasant task.  In addition to duties which were less than stimulating to the mind, I suffered a series of problems with the whole point of my presence there – being paid.  Although I was supposed to be paid weekly, it wasn’t until several weeks had elapsed that I received a payslip.  Opening it eagerly, I was deeply disappointed to find that it was for a total of zero pounds and zero pence.  A crushing blow.

I was eventually paid for my labours, but my summer had more confusion in store than simple cash-flow troubles.  When I started, I was issued with my beautiful Welcome Break polo shirt, but they did not have any name badges with my name on.  Not a problem, I was told.  Apparently I didn’t really need a name badge, and as I would only be there for a couple of months, it wasn’t really worth getting one done for me.  Unfortunately, there was one circumstance where name badges were needed: when there was a visit from Head Office.

So, on one fine day, I arrived at the service station, only to be told that there was a visit from Head Office expected today and I should be wearing my name badge.  I politely mentioned that I had no name badge because there were no Davidic ones available, and thus caused a minor panic.  The shift supervisor soon hit upon a cunning plan – give me a random name badge for the day and hope that it went unnoticed.  A quick trip over to the uniform repository and I was ready for work with a name badge proudly stating that I was Ian.  The day passed, for me at least, without any further incident of note.

An elegant solution, one might think, to a very temporary problem.  Unfortunately, this was not to be.  For reasons that were unknown to minions such as myself, the visit from Head Office was extended for quite some time.  And so, because I had been Ian on the first day they were there, I was (at least in the realm of name badges) to be Ian until they went away or I went back to university, whichever came sooner.  You can probably guess which one came sooner…  For several weeks, therefore, my uniform proclaimed me as an Ian, whereas my inmost being knew me to be a David.  My fellow minions were confused at first, but most of them soon learned to trust what they knew to be the truth and continue calling me David.  I refused to introduce myself as Ian, but my Davidic nature went undiscovered for the remainder of the summer, or perhaps it was deigned to be unimportant compared to the real cause of the extended managerial visit.  I suppose I shall never know, but I shall always remember being Ian for a summer.  It didn’t really suit me, but at least I know I have the choice.  David I am, but Ian I could be if necessary.  I was, after all, accustomed to looking round when I heard the name, and could soon get back in to the habit.  But would a David by any other name still be the Singing Librarian?

2009
01/07
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2008 becomes 2009


Looking back over this year in the world of the Singing Librarian, I found that I couldn’t really put things into words fit for blogging, and yet I know that a year-end post is rather expected.  So what is there that I can say?  Strangely for me, not much. This has been a very eventful year with a few downs but many ups with things that I never expected to happen coming to pass.  I have been changed for the better by certain people and events, I have learned lessons and I have had unforgettable experiences.

I am a very lucky man, in so very many ways.  In relationships, in health and in the opportunities I am handed to do things I love, this has been a good twelve months.  The library has perhaps been more frustrating than usual this year, but I do have the consolation of knowing that I am now a qualified librarian and may, eventually, be able to progress up some sort of career ladder.  All in all, I look back and see that this is a year I am very grateful for, and I enter 2009 with a lot of hope, optimism and expectations.  See you there in a few hours!

2008
12/31
CATEGORY
Ramblings
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Vending machine oddness


Many odd things happen to me in my life, but this week something odd happened which was not in any way connected to the theatre and was only vaguely related to being a librarian, in that it happened on the university campus where I work.

Picture, if you will, a vending machine filled to the very gunnels with tasty Fairtrade snacks – chocolate, flapjack, biscuits, fruit juices and something that tastes vaguely like cola.  Sometimes (I will leave my readers to decide how often), a fellow needs some chocolate to sustain him through a day in the Library of Doom, and on this particular day, nothing suited my deprived taste buds more than tasty Divine chocolate, specifically the Orange Milk Chocolate flavour.  I duly fed the machine several shiny silver coins, pressed the buttons and watched the orangey milky bar of goodness tumble down towards the area you can reach through the flap.

As I watched, I was surprised to see that it didn’t stop when it hit the bottom, but instead took a flying leap back upwards, presumably trying to regain its former perch at the top of the machine.  Instead, its desperate gambit landed it in the vending slot for orange juice, where it stopped still, wedged between a carton and the metallic spiral keeping it in place.  My chocolate (which I needed, not wanted), was so close, yet utterly out of reach.

Since I have been trying, very unsuccessfully, to boot a cold out of my system, I decided that the machine was clearly trying to influence my Vitamin C intake, so purchased the orange juice, allowing both juice and chocolate to tumble out.  I spent a few minutes pondering how strange it was, and trying to recall whether I’d ever seen anything bounce in a vending machine before (I concluded that I had not), but soon got on with the much more important task of eating the chocolate, which tasted just as good as usual after its adventure.

Has anyone else witnessed anything similar?  And does anyone think it’s likely that I’ll return to more normal topics soon?

2008
11/30
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Ramblings
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Excess fire alarms


In the past week, I have been involved in evacuating two large buildings after fire alarms went off.  Oddly enough, those buildings were a theatre and a library, given that it often seems as though I barely spend any time anywhere else.

First, the theatre.  The cast had bravely battled through our second performance – a Thursday matinee – and had breathed that strange sigh of mixed joy, relief, grief and emptiness which came at the end of Titanic.  Then, a mere second or two after the curtain hit the floor, we could hear a muffled announcement being made in the auditorium.  Puzzled glances were exchanged among the cast before a member of the crew told us to get out by the nearest exit, which was (for added drama) one that none of us had ever used before.  So, in our many and varied costumes, we trooped out into the car park.  The surviving female characters were mostly wearing their husbands’ coats, uniforms were half on/half off, one lady was barefoot, and we were accompanied by a gaggle of children and a very large dog.  As we gathered to have our names checked off, the men of the cast who were still in jackets gradually gave them over to the ladies, since it was rather cold outside and their dresses were not the warmest items of clothing known to man.  The audience washed past us, out into the darkness, calling congratulations and good wishes, thanking us for an excellent show.  The roll call seemed to last for hours as the large cast, orchestra and crew were all accounted for one by one.  Then, huddling together, trying to keep out of the way of the fire engine, we began to sing.  Mr Guggenheim (or rather the actor playing him) started us off on ‘Godspeed Titanic’ and we gradually all joined in, fairly quietly, but in harmony, conducted by our musical director who stood on the other side of the road.  The sopranos and tenors chickened out of our final screechy C above the staff, but it was nevertheless a rather lovely moment of togetherness among the company.  A few minutes later, we were allowed back in, and not a moment too soon.  It was beginning to rain, and the microphones we were still wearing would not have been very pleased.

Back at work the next week, trying to catch up with the backlog of queries that clearly nobody except me could answer, I was sitting offering “User Services Support at the Issue Desk” when I heard a familiar sound.  “That’s odd”, I thought, “they normally test the fire alarms much earlier than this…”  The ringing persisted, and a few seconds later, we leaped into action.  Announcing in a loud voice that those in the foyer should leave, I made my way over to the help desk, where I was issued with one of the evacuation routes and set about dislodging the students.  As I headed through the periodicals, I discovered that most of the students were still sitting at their desks, happily ignoring the rather loud alarm bells.  Thankfully, it is much harder to ignore a librarian with theatrical experience bellowing “Can you please leave!” at top volume, which is, believe me, very loud indeed.  After a few minutes of pointing people in the direction of their nearest fire exit (because the big green signs obviously aren’t clear enough), my designated areas of the Library of Doom were cleared, and I was able to leave by my allotted exit and make my way to the car park with my colleagues.  Sadly there was a distinct lack of singing this time and also a distinct lack of people telling us how good a job we were doing (even though the library has an excellent fire evacuation plan).  The all clear was soon given and we filed back inside, somewhat irritated to see that the students had been allowed back in before the library staff.

Neither of these evacuations was a planned drill as far as I could ascertain (I don’t think fire fighters normally turn up to drills), and I am still in the dark about their cause.  I have a taste for them now, though.  I wouldn’t be at all surprised if I am evacuated from, or help to evacuate, another building next week.  They do say that things come in threes, don’t they?

2008
11/19
CATEGORY
Library
Ramblings
Theatre
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Titanic Memories


The Singing Librarian as Harold Bride, Wireless Operator...

The Singing Librarian as Harold Bride, Wireless Operator...

So another show has come to an end, and it must be time for another blog post about many months of rehearsals and a few days of performances. This was a very special show for a number of reasons, and certainly one that cast, crew and audiences will remember for quite some time. Herne Bay Operatic Society should be justly proud of this production, even if audience numbers were not quite as high as had been hoped for – feedback from those who attended was amazing. In no particular order, here are some of the memories I shall take away with me:

Happy Birthday. It was my 30th birthday on the day of our dress rehearsal. Having had a lovely day in company with lovely people, I arrived at the theatre ready to get on with the business of hair, make-up, microphone, costume, photo shoot and all the rest of it. This was interrupted by the appearance of a delicious chocolate cake, and later by a rendition of the obligatory song by cast and crew, accompanied by our fantastic 19-piece orchestra which was lovely, but blew away any hope I foolishly had of keeping quiet about it! I was later presented with a card signed by the company and a lovely warm ‘Titanic the Musical’ sweatshirt.

Band Call. Our orchestra, as mentioned above, was large and absolutely fantastic.  The sound they made from the very beginning of the band call, the first time they ever rehearsed together, absolutely blew us away.  Titanic‘s score is not at all easy (more on that in future posts) and they navigated it with ease, creating both beautiful and exhilarating moments.  Our musical director, brought in at the last minute due to various issues we’d been having, was amazing as well, pulling out all the stops to create a beautiful, rich sound.  We had been quite worried about the whole show coming together, but the band call was an immense encouragement as the wonderful orchestrations, played by an equally wonderful orchestra, washed over us.

Kit Bag. I fashioned my own luggage for the show, as the props team were struggling to find enough kit bags to go around the number of characters who needed them.  Six hours in company with a cheap bed sheet, much thread, a couple of needles and three needle-threaders produced a work of something vaguely resembling art, which made it on to stage for all of three or four minutes, mostly hidden by being slung over my shoulder (as shown in the photo above).  I was pleasantly surprised that it made it through the week intact, though it did sometimes have an argument with the black tabs in the wings, making progress on to stage a tad more difficult than it should have been.

A solo-type duet. My key scene took place in the radio room, where I (or rather, wireless operator Harold Bride), sent a telegram for one of the stokers.  This telegram was dramatised in the form of a song, where he sang his proposal to his sweetheart, and Bride then sang about his own feelings, the way in which the telegraph enables him to connect to the world around him in a quite amazing way.  As the two of them join together in song, weaving their tunes around one another, neither one pays any attention to the other, utterly lost in their own worlds.  It is the most beautiful duet I have ever sung, and will surely be the only one I ever sing where each of us act as though we’re singing a solo, given the lack of interaction.  This number, ‘The Proposal/The Night Is Alive’ is also possibly the best bit of Titanic‘s score.  It’s always nice to nab one of the best songs!  It was even nicer to be paired with a fellow singer of such great talent (and a nice guy to boot!), which made singing it an even greater pleasure.

Crewing. As part of a campaign to keep myself busy, I volunteered to help with scene changes where possible.  This seemed sensible because I was often off stage, I was wearing a very dark costume and I have done backstage work at the theatre before.  Sorting out the first class dining saloon, the third-class quarters, the radio room and the grand salon was good fun (even if I did apparently nearly get hit on the head by part of the ship during one performance), livened up by minor panics caused by missing champagne glasses, recalcitrant lifebelts and a light that simply refused to fade.  I also helped with a quick change for one of the other performances and sang lustily into the offstage mic. to boost the chorus numbers I was not involved with, which eventually led to me conducting the first class passengers in the wings for one number, as they could not see either the conductor or the monitor.

Swinging. As has become traditional (again, perhaps more on this in a later post), I filled in for sundry missing people in rehearsals, covering first and second class passengers and various members of the crew from the bellboy to the lookout and the quartermaster to the captain.  The rehearsal where I drifted through the final scene of act one playing two characters in addition to  my own was a particularly memorable one for me.

New people. With a cast of sixty plus crew and orchestra, there were inevitably quite a number of people involved who I had never met before.  It took a long time to get to know everyone, but by the end a great sense of family developed among the company and I met some great new people including several that I really very much hope to work with again in the very near future.

Moments. The whole production, from the roller-coaster ride of the rehearsals to the excitement and emotion of the performances, will stay with me for some time, but some moments will live on longer than other.  Second Officer Lightoller taking “the liberty of arousing the passengers” in one rehearsal; Benjamin Guggenheim asking the chief steward “why have the injuns stopped?”; Mr Astor’s beautifully well-behaved dog patiently waiting in the wings during the scene where the ladies boarded the lifeboats; getting my wireless equipment tangled up with my uniform; battling with my collar’s constant bids for freedom; colliding noisily with a parcan lantern in the wings; the night that the survivors played an accidental game of hot potato with a model of the sunken ship; Caroline Neville’s scream of anguish as she was parted from her husband-to-be; the unpredictable path of an out-of-control tea trolley…

So many moments shared with around 100 people intimately involved, plus however many sat, watched and applauded.  A special show and a special production.

2008
11/17
CATEGORY
Musicals
Ramblings
Theatre
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A little joy


One of the problems of this interactive, interconnected web 2.0 world is that sometimes the collective wisdom of the social networks, blogs and wikis turns round and bites you on the bottom.  A case in point is a little application on Facebook called ‘Compare People’, which allows its users to compare their friends – Who has the best hair?  Who would make the best father?  Who was is the most naturally talented? – and be compared to their friends’ friends.  From time to time, it sends out a little e-mail telling you that Carlos and Petunia are your most dateable single friends and that you are less famous than 27 of your network of colleagues, relatives, internet weirdos and people you perform with.  As I have observed these friendly little missives over time, I have noticed that as my Facebook social network changes and evolves, my friends remain remarkably consistent about my strongest strengths and weakest weaknesses.  My top 2 strengths never change, being punctuality and reliability.  A little dull, I suppose, but a reasonably accurate assessment.  The weaknesses are a little more variable, but there one of them has been consistent for many months: happiest.  That’s right – every time someone compares me to one of their other friends and selects who they think is the happiest, they choose the other person.  I am apparently the gloomiest, or at least the least sunny, person I know.

This, oddly, is not something that increases my happiness, so perhaps this little piece of information has become self-fulfilling.  It worries me somewhat, for a few reasons.  As a person who suffers from bouts of clinical depression, what does it say about me when I am the least happy person even when not afflicted?  As someone who works in a service environment, what effect am I having on the students I work with?  As a Christian, shouldn’t joy be evident in me, since that is one of the fruits of the spirit according to the letters in the New Testament?  Come to think of it, I’m probably falling short on some of the others.  Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.  Are those really words that describe the Singing Librarian?  And so a tailspin of spiritual confusion begins.

The truth is that I’m probably happier than people seem to realise.  I am, oddly, quite capable of being happy without smiling broadly or laughing all the time.  I don’t tend to be ‘big’ about any emotions I’m feeling, and happiness is no exception.  I don’t shout and punch people when angry, I make sure that I cry in solitude rather than in public, and I don’t often grin from ear to ear.  Also, in recent months, I’ve probably been happier than I have been for quite a while.  West Side Story gave me an immense amount of pleasure (thanks, Phoenix Performing Arts!), and a not-so-little thing called romance has taken me by happy surprise as well.  Perhaps I don’t express my happiness as often as I should, but I am happy.  I may experience frustrations or the black dog may hang around from time to time, but in my own quiet way, I’m a happy singing librarian.

On this theme, I have been entertained and challenged recently by a song called ‘Spread a Little Joy’ by Andrew Lippa.  It talks (or sings) of how we can change the world by being infectiously joyous (not a new idea, as I can think of other songs along the same lines from many decades past) rather than infectiously gloomy.

Don’t spend your life rehearsing every whimper and whine.
Go and spread a little joy
Every girl and every boy.
When you spread a little joy,
Then the sun will shine!

Perhaps that should be a challenge for me.  Spread a little bit of joy somehow.  If it’s true that the world laughs with you, does it smile and get a spring in its step with you as well?  I don’t know, but it’s worth trying.  I have no idea how, but I resolve to spread a little joy.

2008
10/07
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