I attended Broadway night at Johnny’s Social Club  here in Flin Flon, and was reminded just how much I love musicals. In fact, I would like to live in a musical, with every bit of it set to the appropriate song. Yes, it would take awhile to get through the day, but maybe that would help me live in the moment like I’m supposed to. If I was walking down the street and someone asked me (because we’re allowed the occasional spoken word, just for dramatic emphasis) how are you? I’d reply like this:

‘I’m fine, but not really fine. Can you read between the lines?’ (I’d hold the last note, possibly doing a soft shoe dance routine while throwing my arms in the air.)

‘Tell me more!’ the woman would sing. And I’d tunefully unpack all that information right there in the street. We’d both sound lovely in this musical world of mine. Everyone would. A truly great musical is packed with passion, and I think we all spend too much time subduing ourselves and not admitting to the world that we have something to say. Something big. Because even if doesn’t seem that way, it feels that way. And that feeling needs its own song. Tim Rice, Andrew Lloyd Weber, or that Hamilton guy could do all the lyrics. I’d bring Richard Rogers back to write the music, although Mark Kolt also really gets to the heart of things, as we Flin Flonners know.

There would be no more suffering in silence. We’d all be singing our hearts out, stopping only to pay the cashier at the Co-op or say good morning to the attendant at the Gas Bar pump. On second thought, we’d sing those parts, too. I recently watched the musical, ‘Bells are Ringing,’ with Judy Holliday and Dean Martin. While one of them crossed the room to sing, the other pretended they couldn’t hear. They sang about each other in a way that would be considered stalker material nowadays, but was sweet and naïve because people didn’t know better then.

In my musical world, no moment would go uncelebrated or un-mourned. And when we returned to our homes in the evening, we’d still sing. But in a more subdued way. Perhaps a lullaby for the kids, or a romantic number for that special someone. In fact, don’t be surprised if the next time I greet you on Main Street, I give a little twirl and turn my salutation into a catchy number. And if I see you ducking around the corner or just plain avoiding my eye, I’ll completely understand. In fact, I’ll be ready for you next time with a tune about annoying people like me. And there won’t be an ounce of irony in the whole song.

If we all lived in a musical, there would be no need for therapy. We’d be like scientologists, shunning psychiatry and feeling like our best selves all the time, but without the whole .13 cents an hour wage thing. (Now that would be an interesting musical.) For now, though, it’s so long, farewell, auf weidersehen goodbye. I hate, to go….well. You get the idea. Until we meet again. (I can’t stop.)

Published by Judith Pettersen

Judith Pettersen is an author living in Canada. She blogs about her life in the north and the ups and downs of being a writer.

3 thoughts on “Sing!

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