When I pretend I’m gay
I never feel that way
I’m only painting the clouds with sunshine
When I hold back a tear
To make a smile appear
I’m only painting the clouds with sunshine

—“Painting the Clouds with Sunshine,”
Joe A. Burke and Al Dubin

*

My husband says, “Start with the headline.” So.

Ailing Kathy Waller Watches Eclipse from Hotel Bedroom
but Claims Holding Back Tears Unnecessary, She’s Fine
Hillsboro Partly Cloudy, Street Lights Kick On but That’s About It

That really is about it. Few blanks to fill in. I came down with something Saturday night, slept most of Sunday, drank Coke, watched NASA’s broadcast of the eclipse on TV (Mazatlan, Torreon, Kerrville, Dallas, Little Rock, Cleveland . . . ), drank more Coke, ate a few saltine crackers, slept most of Monday. Drove home Tuesday.

*Total eclipse 2024, Dallas, TX, via NASA, viewed from hotel room, Hillsboro, TX*

I didn’t wake with a song in my head Tuesday morning but on the drive was suddenly gifted with the one referenced above.

Published in 1929, the song “encourages listeners to embrace a mindset that seeks out the silver lining in every cloud, finding solace and joy in even the darkest of times.”

That description doesn’t reflect my feelings about my eclipse experience. In the first place, it wasn’t, metaphorically, “the darkest of times”; it was a little bug, a mild under-the-weatherness, a minor malady leading to a minor disappointment. In the second place, it wasn’t “the darkest of times” in reality either; every cloud in the partly cloudy sky had a silver lining. It didn’t get dark at all. That could have been a major disappointment, but frankly, my dears, I felt too ratty to care.

(Oh, all right, I admit to having a couple of evil thoughts at hearing people in Dallas, only 56.36 miles northeast of the room where I lay wallowing in my misery, whoop it up in pitch-black dark at midday. And I decided the Greeks might be right about weasels.)

OldTimemusic.com references Bing Crosby’s recording of “Painting the Clouds with Sunshine,” but I prefer Jean Goldkette’s version, vocal by Frank Munn, recorded in 1929. I like the music of that era. The arrangement is so bouncy that the singer couldn’t be near tears.

People watching from outdoor Eclipseboro–Eclipseboro Park, Main Street Eclipseboro, Cosmic Cowboy Eclipse Festival, Eclipse Carnival, Eclipseboro Landing, or Parking and Pancakes at First Methodist Church, for example–might have seen the moon move across the sun even if not in total darkness; I didn’t ask. I did snap a picture through the window during totality, but the flash sort of dulled the effect.

And that is the story of Kathy and David’s Excellent Eclipse Adventure 2024.

*

Pollyanna. Hayley Mills. Pollyanna (movie). Pollyanna (clip from movie, 1960).

For women my age, “Pollyanna” needs no explanation. For the younger generation, there are the links. There are several movie adaptations, going back to a 1920 version starring Mary Pickford, but the only real, true Pollyanna was released by Disney in 1960.

The script writer said, “In the book, Pollyanna was so filled with happiness and light that I wanted to kick her. In the old days, she came on like Betty Hutton. Now, she is shy. We have an adult drag advice out of her. … instead of making her the ‘glad girl’ of the book, we’ve simmered her cheerfulness down to merely emphasize the things-could-be-worse attitude.”

Pollyanna and, a couple of years later, Disney’s The Parent Trap, made Hayley Mills the god of millions of American girls’ idolatry. It’s fashionable to sneer a bit (as I did in the title) at Pollyanna’s “glad girl” personality, but I saw the movie again, more than fifty years after seeing it the first time, and still liked it. The script writer did well, toning down Pollyanna’s robust and saccharine optimism, and making her a sweet little girl who’s taken her father’s philosophy to heart.

*

Composer Joe Burke also wrote “Tiptoe Through the Tulips” and “Carolina Moon.”

Lyricist Al Durbin also wrote “We’re in the Money” and “September in the Rain.”

Just sayin’.

Mr. Frank Churchill did not come. ~ Jane Austen, Emma

Emma was not at this time in a state of spirits to care really

about Mr. Frank Churchill’s not coming… ~ Jane Austen, Emma

*

Remember what I said about the furniture and assorted stuff in my living room maybe going Poof! and disappearing?

A couple of things did.

The recliner, for one. David, who normally sits beside it, got a long look at it head-on and asked whether we should dispose of it immediately, before getting a replacement.

Oh, my, yes.

Poof! It disappeared.

The chair was a good and faithful servant, but it should have departed about the same time George W. Bush did.

The search for adequate lumbar support that followed lasted the rest of Monday and all of Tuesday, and it wasn’t pretty. I despaired of being able to get out of bed the next day without a forklift. But I could and did. And the living room looked better. And that was a good thing.

Tuesday night, after listening to considerable moaning and groaning on my part, David asked whether we should shop for a chair Wednesday instead of waiting until Friday, and we did, and bought the one I’d coveted ever since I first tried it out, about four years ago, and he assembled it and the accompanying footstool, and, after I’d tried to poison us all by spraying the cushions with Scotchgard (I’m waiting for people who know me well to say, “Why did you get beige?”), in an inadequately ventilated space (It was raining), things turned out pretty well. I stopped moaning and groaning and concentrated on keeping Ernest from making biscuits on the nubbly fabric.

So far he hasn’t expressed much interest in sitting there. He’s tried it only once. After about fifteen seconds he moved to the nearby rocking chair. Relocation was possibly due to the rocker’s new green seat cushion, purchased during our shopping trip–it matches his eyes–but I like to think he responded to my schoolteacher glare.

William, who does not respond to schoolteacher glares, in the new IKEA bathtub — William, who does not respond to schoolteacher glares, enjoying the lumbar support of the new IKEA bathtub

As to the other item that went Poof!–it didn’t exactly disappear, because it was never here in the first place.

Like Mr. Frank Churchill, the carpet cleaner, who was scheduled for “sometime after 9:00 a.m.,” did not come.

Unlike Emma, I did care really that the carpet cleaner did not come. I waited for him almost as long as Emma waited for Mr. Frank Churchill.

And I waited with a backache.

Well. It seems the carpet cleaner canceled because of the rain. That was sensible.

But somehow, through no fault of his, I didn’t get word until my ability to extend immediate forgiveness had passed the point of no return. Too little sleep compounded by the mother of all backaches propelled me in the direction of the most convenient scapegoat, and the carpet cleaner was first in line.

So file that part of the day under Phooey!

As soon as my new chair was ready for occupancy, however, sanity returned and unconditional forgiveness reigned supreme. I am once again a veritable Pollyanna, spreading gladness to all I meet.

Which is another good thing, because the carpet cleaner is scheduled to come next Monday “sometime after 9:00 a.m.”