If I Had My Way

Check out this chorus written the year my grandma was born:

If I had my way, Dear, forever there’d be
A garden of roses for you and for me.
A thousand and one things, Dear, I would do,
Just for you, Just for you, Just for you.
= – = – =

Now, something from today’s #2 song:

Boy I think about it every night and day
I’m addicted wanna jump inside your love
I wouldn’t wanna have it any other way
I’m addicted and I just can’t get enough

= – = – =

What a difference a hundred years makes.

First of all, 1,001 things?  For somebody else?  This is a major paradigm shift: Where it once was, “Just for you,” now it’s,  “I can’t get enough.”  Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote, “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.”  She used words like depth; breadth; freely;purely.  “I love thee to the level of everyday’s most quiet need.”

In the words of Monty Python, “And now, for something completely different.”  Here’s a snip-it from today’s #1 song:

= – = – =

Kiss me, ki-ki-kiss me ~ Infect me with your love and
Fill me with your poison
Take me, ta-ta-take me ~ Wanna be a victim
Ready for abduction

= – = – =

Disclaimer: Allow me to save you the trouble of calling me on the carpet: I am not—nor do I claim to be—perfectly cultured or sanctified.  But I’d like to think I’m closer to Barrett-Browning the Kanye West.

If I had my way…

people would talk about roses.  What’s wrong with talking about roses?

…public radio would not play the phrase jump inside your love.  Isn’t that a bit personal?

we could go to the market without experiencing cussing, cleavage, and carrying on.

…the movies would be a happy place!

a smaller percentage of Americans would be functionally illiterate.^

…more people would appreciate Shakespeare.*

= – = – =

^“Literacy is broken down into three parameters …Only 13% of the population is proficient in these three areas.”  – National Center for Education Statistics

= – = – =

*Sonnet 60

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:
And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand
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