How did my sweet Al become my muse? I didn’t know I was being inspired, I thought it was an irritation. Is this inspiration? It hides its self very well. Usually out of irritation and something that drives me up the wall, I laugh at Al because he is who he is. Then it becomes funny, and I look at my self, and know there is a lesson or principle for me to learn. Then there seems to be something to write about.
Looking up the word “muse”, I found that there were muses for the different kinds of sciences and arts. People call on muses to get into their zone, so to speak; such as Clio, the muse of history; Thalia, the muse of comedy; Melpomno, the muse of tragedy, Calliope, the muse of epic poetry. They were Greek myths, Greek gods and goddesses but my muse is real. He is not a figment of my imagination, he lives in my zone. I am looking at him right now and I think, “Who is this guy? I am plumb crazy about him; he is one in a million.”
So everyone has their own muse. I recently wrote an article on “Traveling with Sweet Al.” It brought up some great comments which spurred on this article.
Julie writes from Minnesota, “I love this story, Betty - it reminds me of me and Larry - how I want to cringe when he wants everyone in the check-out line to hear what clever thing he thinks he is saying, or how he knows the names of everyone behind every counter he frequents or how he is greeted by them all when we both walk in to an establishment - and I'm thinking, "everyone knows Larry!"”
When I think of Larry, I think of a party. If you haven’t met Larry, I am sure you will one day. When Larry and Julie come to Pagosa, Larry goes to the ball games with Al. Last time apparently he had all the people in the bleachers cracking up. They all went home laughing and talking about Larry. He is charming and his ways are enduring, he never meets a stranger, he brings the party and we all love Larry. Yes, everyone not only knows Larry but loves Larry.
Larry and Julie spend time with us every year. He is the guy who will come, visit and paint our house and wash our windows which are twenty feet in the air. Julie is right beside him, she supports and cares. If you need a cheerleader, Julie is the one you want around. So when this young couple comes, we are glad to see them.
Does the fact that everyone knows Larry bother us? No, we all want to be like him. We wouldn’t change him for the world. So when Julie writes, it is interesting that those things that are so endearing to outsiders will drive the person they live with, crazy.
Another comment from a wife writes, “My husband was always whistling, I hated it. He came in the door whistling, I would tell him to stop it. He doesn’t whistle anymore. He has lost his song. We are no longer married.” It sounds like she lost her song as well.
Everyone has their song, and they need to sing it. When we muzzle another person’s music because it is not our tune, we take away something from them, and we miss something beautiful in return. The man, who whistled because he was happy, doesn’t whistle anymore. That is sad to me. I know the man. He used to have a song in his heart.
For sweet Al, I wouldn’t change him for anything. He always tells me, “When you write, stay sweet.” Maybe it is me that needs to be changed. I don’t know about this muse thing, but Al has given me my own song to sing. He remains my inspiration. There is no deal-breaker here.
Final Brushstroke! Enjoy the one who sings a different song; he might just be your muse.
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