It’s that time of year again!!! Ready to hear it again???
DISCLAIMER: I am no Barbara Streisand. I’ve never taken a singing lesson in my life. Not one.The inspiration for this song came two weeks before Thanksgiving when I received a call from my doctor: we had better get together a plan for lowering my cholesterol.
Yeah.
Sure.
Getting to it … right after I fix my pituitary tumor, abnormal aortic valve, bipolar brain, and facial fungus.My high cholesterol is not a new issue. Somewhere around the time David was conceived I found out that my cholesterol scores were higher than my verbal SATs. But for the last six years I didn’t do anything about it because (honest confession coming up here) many of those days I was so depressed that I really wanted to be with God in his mansion upstairs. Dropping dead of a heart attack sounded like a great alternative to suicide. It’s easier, cheaper, much more socially acceptable, and involved stuffing myself with brie cheese and Eggs Florentine. Sign me up.
Then something inconvenient happened. As I gradually began to fix all my broken parts (pituitary tumor, bipolar brain, facial fungus, abnormal heart) I started to wake up excited.
About life.
I wanted to try and stick around for David’s high school graduation and Katherine’s Little Mermaid wedding and maybe, just maybe, for the birth of grandchildren.
As a jogged around the Naval Academy the morning I got my SAT scores, I mean cholesterol count, I reflected on all the parts of my mental-health program–prayer, therapy, fish oil, medication, family support, sobriety, vitamins, yoga (even though I hate it), guardian angels–and it sounded like the lyrics to a song, “The 12 Days of Christmas” or something.
Yes, “The 12 Days of Christmas”!
With sweat dripping down my face, I pulled out a sheet of paper from my pocket and a pen (I run with those in case something like this happens) and madly scribbled down the words as if I were Moses taking down the Ten Commandments.
So, pretend that I have just invited you into my home, poured you a glass of Merlot (if you’re not a recovering alcoholic), and made you endure a live version of “American Idiot.”
With a holiday twist.
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