Finally the renovation of our bedroom is complete, the last paint touch up done, the last inspection complete and passed. It’s so good to have peace and quiet in the house and I luxuriate daily in the added space and the entry directly from the kitchen, and especially the newly installed laundry chute.

A definite improvement is the inspiration I had to move my music setup from the office (where it had moved to from the family room) to the newly designed bedroom. Finally, there it all is, all my music collection is in one place and easily accessible. Finally I’m able to play my music even when Hubby’s watching his sports on t.v. I tell you it’s nothing short of heaven to put on a stack of cd’s, hit the shuffle button on the player and that settle into the lounge swing on soft pillows right outside the French doors on the back porch, and lie there with a pillow and a book and a drink while the music takes me almost everywhere.

My collection is so varied that one minute I might be wishing I could understand French when Ertha Kitt is singing “C’est si bon”, and the next I may be rocketed right back to that London theatre where I first saw STARLIGHT EXPRESS and heard Belle the sleeper car with the heart of gold implore me not to judge or dismiss her because she’s past her prime. I can be catapulted a few seconds later right back into my 1950’s childhood while Jim Reeves sings my sister’s favorite song or Marty Robbins comes along with his male-skewed stories about devil women. There’s something about those old country songs that tell stories that I just can’t resist. But oftimes they bring up a subject that makes me reflect on life a little bit, too.

I hadn’t heard that old Eddy Arnold classic I’d Trade All Of My Tomorrows For Just One Yesterday song in a very long time. Listening to it I was not only a child again in the old second-hand car klunking along to Grandma’s house for Sunday dinner, but it got me thinking about whether I’d want to give up ANY of my tomorrows for just one yesterday and if I did which yesterday would it be. I’ve just come through what I think of as the “valley of the shadow of death” as prescribed by King David in the 23rd Psalm of the Bible’s Old Testament, and I must say that the thought of not having any more tomorrows–at all–disturbs me quite a lot. Nothing like the threat of perhaps either a long slide into who knows what kind of scary death, or even a quick one for that matter, to make you realize how much you want to live. Since my recent bout with cancer and the ensuing and invasive treatments that seemed almost deadly at times, but for which I’m eternally grateful, I have tried to not only focus on one more tomorrow each day, but I make the effort to live in the moment more than ever before.

I’ve had many momentous yesterdays that I certainly like remembering just as we all do I’m sure. The problem is that there are SO many that I’d have the dickens of a time choosing JUST one. And who’s to say I might mess up if I got to play them out for real one more time. Sometimes I dream of long-gone people, especially my mother, and it feels as if we’ve had a nice visit even if I only vaguely recall the dream. Sometimes old friends pop up too. They look, all of them,  just as they did when I last saw them. So I’m quite content to settle for memories and visits in my dreams while my yesterdays remain just what they are–yesterdays–while I look forward to many more tomorrows. One of them might be even more perfect than the best I’ve known.