A long, long time ago my brother Mark gave us some old CD’s he didn’t need anymore. One, the acoustic guitar meanderings of Adrian Legg, we listen to all the time. Another artist, we keep secret from all of Aaron’s jazzy friends because he has long, wavy locks and wears a tight, black leather outfit. If years were clothing, the eighties would be his get-up.
But the man, Warren Hill, can play the saxophone. His saxophone speaks. It does; it says, “I STILL BELIEVE IN YOU!!!” and “BABY, GIVE ME JUST ONE MORE TIME!!!” When it’s rainy and gray, we usually have to have a pre-dinner jam to at least numbers 1,6, 7, and 10—“Reed My Lips”—with our own invisible handheld microphones and some very dramatic head-swaying action.
I told Aaron that we couldn’t hyperbolize our dance moves to Hill’s rendition of “Tears in Heaven” because that one told a sad story, so he took it down a notch after bath time last night and gave Clara her first Daddy-Daughter dance.