Regally walking through the grass with her mother's half-slip on her head framing her face like a delicate, lace-edged wimple, she clasps her small hands behind her back. The 7 year old girl begins to lightly hum the orchestral introduction. As it crescendos, she slowly begins to spin with her arms swinging freely like helicopter blades, then stops and gazes up with a faraway look in her eyes. "Puh-duh-duh-Puh-duh-duh-duh-duh-pah-duh, duh, DUH-DUUUUH!" Gulping in a lungful of air she begins operatically, "THUUUUUH hills are alive! With the SOWnd of muuuuuzick!" With her arms spread wide like angel wings, she gently steps towards the clothesline. Toe-heel. Toe-heel.
She reaches for its rusty pole with one hand and dramatically swings leaning as far out as her little arm can stretch, her sandy blonde tresses wagging down past her shoulder, "With songs they have suuuuuuuuuung, for a thousand ye-ahs!" Standing straight up, chin held high, with her hands squeezed prayerfully at her chest, "Thuh hills fill my haaaaaawt with the sound of muuuuuuzick! My hawt wants to seeeeng every song it iiiis [sic]! [softly echoes in Von Trapp child's voice] "Every song that it is!" Playfully she begins to skip along the side of the carport slowly emphasizing each note, each word, "My hawt wants to beat likethewings of the buhds that rise from the lake to the trees...[softly echoes] To the trees!"
She rounds the front of the carport and heads towards the side of the house, "My hawt wants to sigh like a chime that FLIIIIIIIIIES, from a chuch on a breeze!!" Leaning against the blossoming mimosa she smiles as she sings, "To loff like a brook when it trips and foals over stones on its waaaaaay! [echo] On its way!" Pausing, looking appropriately pensive raising her chin slowly skyward, "To SING through thu niiiiiiight, like a LOCK who is LUNNING TO PRAAAAAY!"
Arms outspread she glides to the front steps and slowly, dramatically sits singing, "IIIIIIIIIII go to the hills when my hawt is LONE -LEEEE." She briefly pauses to milk the moment, then, looks forward front and center with new resolve and delicately warbles, "I KNOW I will heeeeeeeee-ah what I've heard BEFOOOOOOW!" Standing squarely on both feet with her arms gracefully reaching forward with a gentle smile on her lips, "My hawt will be bul-essed, with the SOOOOWnd of Muuuuuzick!" Her eyes cast dreamily to the ground, as she mellows for the poignant finish. "And, I'll... Seeeeeeeeeng. Onnnnnnnnnnnce. Mowwwwwwww!"
A brief, humble curtsy as the applause swells, and Captain Von Trapp comes forward to gently, lovingly take her hand, eyes shining with adoration. Together, tenderly gazing into each other's eyes, they walk toe-heel, toe-heel back to the mimosa tree and climb up into its branches. "Ooooh, Captain Von Trapp...I mean...Gay-org," she shyly grins, "we'll live happily forever in this mansion on the hill...for somewhere in our wicked, miserable pasts...we must have done...something...something goooooood."
Oh, how I miss the freedom of my childhood! I'm jealous of small children who dance wildly in the middle of the mall. Sometimes, it's all I can do to keep from bursting into a show tune as I gracefully ascend on the escalator in Dillard's. "I'm FLYING HIGH! DEFY-YING GRA-VITY!" Marching on the elliptical machine at Bodyworks: "Do you HEAR the people SING? SINGING the SONGS of angry MEN? IT is the music of a PEOPLE who will NOT be SLAVES AGAIN!!!!" Within my shower "soundbooth": "Seventy-six TROM-bones led the big PAH-rade! With a HUNdred and TEN cornets close at hand!"
Those days are gone. Maria Von Trapp no longer performs in the front yard. "Gay-org" has moved on. It's a cryin' shame I tell ya. A cryin' shame.
The time has come for me to head to wardrobe and makeup for Act II: Lunch with Friends. I leave you with this, "POP-u-ler, it's ALL about POP-u-u-ler!"
[lights fade. curtain down. the crowd roars.]