Imaginary Conversations
So, play this one loud. (There is a YouTube video embedded here of Ruthie Foster singing "People Grinnin' in Your Face."
(If I may just start with an aside (why, of course, you can, Barb! How would that be any different than how you usually start??) have I ever told y'all my theory of how I got my voice and not, say, the voice of Ruthie Foster? Here's my theory: When Aretha Franklin was born, God was about to put her voice box in her when it slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. So he said, "Hand me that voice I was saving for Barb Cooper and I'll make her another one." So then when *I* was born, God was out at the dentist and the angels didn't know I was destined for a different sort of voice and they just gave me Standard Teeny White Girl Voice Number 63. Which is how I was born with a love of soul so deep that it curls my toes but no way at all to express it. Except for singing in my car, which brings us right back to today's blog post.) (Oh, am I good or what??)
Last week, I got back from having lunch with my friend Sherry and I was BELTING out that song as I walked from my car to the house. (And, y'all, I sounded JUST like Ruthie. I ALSO was doing an a cappella version! Is that amazing? Because we soul sisters just naturally groove together...)
(Oh, just...hush. Hush UP.)
Anyway, I was BELTING out that song in the way a woman who is almost positive no one is listening can do. BELTING. At FULL VOICE.
And then I cracked up laughing, thinking of the potential for someone to not only be listening, but to be formulating another anonymous complaint letter.
Dear Neighbors,
We assume you do not realize that everyone in our community does not enjoy listening to your singing (even if you do do sound JUST LIKE Ruthie Foster, OMG!) If your constant singing cannot be controlled, please do it inside.
Thank you for your consideration,
A (cowardly, chicken) neighbor
So, THEN, we had the first Epic Water Fight of 2010.
It started with a volley of water balloons and quickly escalated into full on hose warfare. (And may I just say that Coop VASTLY underestimated the cunning and cooperation of his opponents. He should have divided and conquered, which is how I get them up and ready for school every morning.)
Dear Neighbors,
We assume you do not realize that everyone in our community does not enjoy listening to your family engaging in water warfare in your yard. If you MUST play with water (thanks for watering our shrubs, by the way), please do the shrieking part INSIDE.
Thank you for your consideration,
A long-suffering neighbor
So, THEN, Ana had her friend Andrew over to play some guitar and at one point, the house was just reverberating with the sounds of "Stairway to Heaven" and I kind of wondered what the anonymous neighbors would say to that?
Dear Neighbors,
Please. Please. PLAY SOMETHING ELSE. Led Zeppelin is not something anyone in this community wants to hear.
A neighbor
PS: Thank you for setting up the new mailbox for our letters. We do think, though, that you could remove the sign that says, "Please place cowardly anonymous notes HERE."
And then Jane had her biweekly drum lesson. Her drum teacher says she hits the drums like a forty-year-old man. She is very strong.
Dear Neighbors,
Uncle. Put the freaking dog outside again. We preferred him.
Your neighbor
(If I may just start with an aside (why, of course, you can, Barb! How would that be any different than how you usually start??) have I ever told y'all my theory of how I got my voice and not, say, the voice of Ruthie Foster? Here's my theory: When Aretha Franklin was born, God was about to put her voice box in her when it slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. So he said, "Hand me that voice I was saving for Barb Cooper and I'll make her another one." So then when *I* was born, God was out at the dentist and the angels didn't know I was destined for a different sort of voice and they just gave me Standard Teeny White Girl Voice Number 63. Which is how I was born with a love of soul so deep that it curls my toes but no way at all to express it. Except for singing in my car, which brings us right back to today's blog post.) (Oh, am I good or what??)
Last week, I got back from having lunch with my friend Sherry and I was BELTING out that song as I walked from my car to the house. (And, y'all, I sounded JUST like Ruthie. I ALSO was doing an a cappella version! Is that amazing? Because we soul sisters just naturally groove together...)
(Oh, just...hush. Hush UP.)
Anyway, I was BELTING out that song in the way a woman who is almost positive no one is listening can do. BELTING. At FULL VOICE.
And then I cracked up laughing, thinking of the potential for someone to not only be listening, but to be formulating another anonymous complaint letter.
Dear Neighbors,
We assume you do not realize that everyone in our community does not enjoy listening to your singing (even if you do do sound JUST LIKE Ruthie Foster, OMG!) If your constant singing cannot be controlled, please do it inside.
Thank you for your consideration,
A (cowardly, chicken) neighbor
So, THEN, we had the first Epic Water Fight of 2010.
It started with a volley of water balloons and quickly escalated into full on hose warfare. (And may I just say that Coop VASTLY underestimated the cunning and cooperation of his opponents. He should have divided and conquered, which is how I get them up and ready for school every morning.)
Dear Neighbors,
We assume you do not realize that everyone in our community does not enjoy listening to your family engaging in water warfare in your yard. If you MUST play with water (thanks for watering our shrubs, by the way), please do the shrieking part INSIDE.
Thank you for your consideration,
A long-suffering neighbor
So, THEN, Ana had her friend Andrew over to play some guitar and at one point, the house was just reverberating with the sounds of "Stairway to Heaven" and I kind of wondered what the anonymous neighbors would say to that?
Dear Neighbors,
Please. Please. PLAY SOMETHING ELSE. Led Zeppelin is not something anyone in this community wants to hear.
A neighbor
PS: Thank you for setting up the new mailbox for our letters. We do think, though, that you could remove the sign that says, "Please place cowardly anonymous notes HERE."
And then Jane had her biweekly drum lesson. Her drum teacher says she hits the drums like a forty-year-old man. She is very strong.
Dear Neighbors,
Uncle. Put the freaking dog outside again. We preferred him.
Your neighbor
Comments
I LOVE your blog. This is so funny.
Love you!
I just got this letter in my mailbox:
Dear Neighbor,
We are concerned that raucous laughter is errupting from your house at an alarming rate. If you continue in this vein, you must, MUST share the source.
Jealous neighbors
Of course, I sent your blog to my entire neighborhood upon receipt of this note.
Maggie
You were pretty funny today. Guess you're out of your funk. Had me smiling. keep it up. love it.
Yours are much more entertaining.
Glad to see your sense of humor has returned :)
Oh, Barb, I (heart) you!
Anyway, you crack me up.
One day when I was driving my postal truck around with NO ONE in sight ANYWHERE I just got the notion to sing Somewhere Over The Rainbow at top volume with a lot of sliding into notes and quavers and what have you. I slid up to a mailbox just when I was singing "why oh why cannnnn't......IIIIIII?" and of course there was someone right behind the bush grinning.
Oh well, it was better than the time the meter reader caught me farting when I thought I was alone. (I was stringing it out...)