Picture my morning: It is 07h55. I’ve had my breakfast – a mixture
of cereals and yoghurt – my husband is already charging around the garden
outside “sorting stuff out”, as he usually does on Saturday mornings. I am
tidying the kitchen and washing the morning dishes, peering out a window that
overlooks the back yard.
I’m feeling musical this morning, so I already have my iPod
hooked up to my lumo-pink Shox speaker, and I’ve selected the Pearl Harbor
soundtrack. I hit ‘Play’, and immerse my hands in the dishwater, scrubbing
absent-mindedly at a sticky coffee cup. Outside, my husband continues to charge,
back and forth, back and forth.
To this day, I cannot listen to this soundtrack, without becoming at least slightly choked up... The sound of Faith Hill’s smooth vocals rises from my iPod,
and suddenly I am all too aware of the moment. Dishes forgotten, my mind is
outside. It is a glorious day. I hate that the phrase “glorious day” has been
so over-used and clichéd, because this truly
is a glorious morning. Not a cloud in the sky, grass as green and fluffy as…
well, grass… the trees heavy-laden with leaves and Summer… and today is
particularly glorious because it is the first day of our local white butterflies.
I’m not sure what to call them… South Africans will know
this: once a year, from somewhere in the great outdoors, millions and millions
of white butterflies take flight from their cocoons all at once, as if in some
conspiracy to redecorate the world, spreading beauty and purity across the countryside for days, weeks
at a time. Go outside, look around, and if you’re lucky enough to live in such
a blessed region, your outside will be a-flutter with pulsating white life…
So yes, I’m having a very girly morning, after my very girly
moment. The combination of the soundtrack and the magnificent summer outdoors had
my insides all bubbly and googly, and I was momentarily overwhelmed by the urge
to abandon the dishes, and rush outside to join in with nature’s festivities. The word “frolic”
comes to mind. “Prance”. Oh, if only I were a fairy-tale, free to frolic among
the butterflies, grass between my toes, untouched sapphire skies rising triumphantly overhead…
Have you ever imagined an eight-month pregnant lady frolicking
in the garden? I have – imagined it, that is – it’s a disturbing image. It
involves terrified butterflies fleeing the scene in haphazard panic, indented-grass footprints making drunken paths across the back yard, and the pregnant fairy
most likely landing a podgy foot in a large landmine of doggy-doo.
There are certain things that one should not attempt while
pregnant. Such as a frolicking. Or riding on the back of a superbike. (definitely
not with curlers and slippers)
Right. Glorious day. Back to the dishes – it’s safer to
dream these dreams in my head, where they can maintain some dignity.
Just another example of the way life has it's soundtracks... when you find that perfect song for that perfect time, a moment so mundane can be brought so very much alive. I may not have frolicked, but in my head and and my heart... I did. Music is magical.
(Some personal history on this soundtrack... In 2001, producer Jerry Bruckheimer released one of hollywood's greatest war films, Pearl Harbor - with it's compelling story, characters both charming and flawed, convincing actors and actresses, and a haunting soundtrack so inspired and so utterly beautiful... This is one of my favourite movies, and a soundtrack that I shared with my BFF during our Hans-Zimmer-crazed teen years. Good times.
If you haven't watched the movie, you have missed one of Hollywood's finest moments. I recommend it, with a box of tissues.)
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