I don’t remember a birthday at twelve. I don’t know why. But what I do remember-vividly-was this song, “What a Difference a Day Makes” playing to my brushstroke as I worked on a paint-by-number at the kitchen table, waiting for someone to come home from work and end the isolation.
Dinah Washington’s voice had a profound affect on me that day. It was more her vocals than the lyric that grabbed my little Beatle’s heart because it was like syrup! Like pure maple syrup on pancakes rippling around the phrasing. I didn’t feel as alone. She wasn’t singing to anyone but me and it made me happy. I would not learn until I was grown that she had won a Grammy Award in 1959 for her live performance. I’ll try to link up to this version but I am so new to WordPress that I don’t know if it will work.
So, today as I walked out the door and languished in the warmth of the sun, I took a deep breath of nearly spring air and listened to the blossoms breaking forth about as loud as I’d ever heard them and I thought of the contrast; the sheer difference between night and day as I came away from yesterdays post. The fine wine of Dinah Washington’s Blues as compared to Green Day’s punk sound. I felt grateful to be. And thirsty for more.