And the Angels Sing
I feel like a long married woman looking across the table at the wrinkled face that's greeted her every morning for decades.
But no, it's just me, talking to my paisanos back in the States.
Why don't we sing more?
You'll all accept my apologies in advance if I land in Boston November 15 only to discover hordes of Americans blissfully harmonizing their way through Logan airport.
I have long wanted to write a post about how freely and gosh darnit - whether it's genes or education - how well the Spanish sing. I've yet to hear a Spaniard sing timidly. Or off key. I get this vision of my father, the musician, shaking his head as he tells me, "See? See what music in the schools can do?"
Is it music is the schools, Spaniards?
I had the title of the singing post on my to-blog list for months: And the angels sing. Warmly dedicated to the group of young men who worked outside my office during the 2 years I spent working inside a Salamanca company, including a star soloist named Ángel. My coworkers sang from 9 to 5, gladly took requests, and many a day made my day with a rousing rendition of "These Boots are Made for Walking" (I couldn't make this up, I swear). You haven't truly lived until you've been serenaded by 10 young españoles joining Nancy and Frank Sinatra on "Something Silly Like I Love You". Friday afternoons they brought out a children's song pasted on some website or another and belted out "Sí Toco La Trompeta" in perfect unison, trumpet noises and all.
I miss my serenades.
So I was less than shocked when I confessed my curiosity about the musical courage of the average Spaniard to a friend....only to see her leap from her chair, grab me by the arm and confess a long held worry about her American husband.
He doesn't break into song, it seems. Asked why, our stoic American dares to speak the words his wife assures me have never crossed Spanish lips: I
He accompanies this statement with a shrug, apparently. It's the shrug that really worried her.
She's spent years convinced he's survived some horrible trauma he is still unable to share with her. It was my pleasure to set her mind at ease.
He's fine, I told her: Just American.
So, really, my fellow self-conscious Americans, why don't we sing more?
Labels: on living in Spain