I may have mentioned this before, if so forgive me. There is a woman here, well put together, hair in a bun, fashionable clothes from the 50s, and made up to look like she was still in her 30s.
None of that is important. Just a bit of background to the painting. What is important is that each morning she enters the dining area singing, fully throated, “Oh what a beautiful morning.”
It’s not as crazy as it sounds. The aides have been instructed to say Good Morning and How Are You everytime they pass you or intrude into your room.
As a matter of fact, I was on the can this morning and had left the bathroom door open when a loud young lady walks in after a quick knock that you can’t even reply to, and yells, “I’m here to make your bed.”
I say, “I’m in the bathroom.”
She says I know and I watch her make the bed from the toilet seat. It reminds me of a famous story about Lyndon Johnson on the toilet holding a conference. I began to wonder whether I could do the same with her.
Before I can think of something witty to say, she says: Is anything wrong?
No, I say, but I’m trying to figure out how to get some privacy in this place.
She give a hearty deep-throated laugh and says, well you have a nice day, and leaves.
What I’m trying to describe is a place where everyone says Have a Beautiful Morning every morning. View the series The Prisoner to get a feeling for it: Be Seeing You.
But after singing the first couplet from Beautiful Morning she sits down at her table with three other cronies who all say what a beautiful morning it is. And then, the Beautiful Morning lady picks up her red bowl of oatmeal, and tosses it at the waitress.
The waitress, dripping in oatmeal leaves the scene crying, and a crowd of staff circle in around the Beautiful Morning woman who as far as I can see still wears the Musical (was it Shirley Jones?) affect.
I had no idea that I was going to write about this episode, but I found myself a few seconds before writing it staring out the window at the strong wind blowing the trees around.
And enjoying it. I began to wonder (a recurring theme) if there were warning signs such as being enthralled with the wind in the trees, that I should be watching for. That led to reliving the musical mornings. So far, I think I’m okay since I have only listened to Sweeney Todd and a few other Sondheim musicals. But if I find myself singing Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day… all bets are off.
Another influence in this blog, highly recommended: Diary of a Madman by Gogol. Still one of my favorites.
BECK 