Room without a roof

I, too, have fallen for everyone’s current favorite song.

Since Pharrell’s performance at the Oscars last night I haven’t been listening to much else.

“Happy…!” while folding three guys’ and one girl’s laundry,
“Happy…!” while editing blog entries,
“Happy…!” while getting letters for this week’s mailing ready,
“Happy…!” while stamping a blue jay feather on each envelope.
“Happy…!” with feet tapping.
“Happy…!” with hands clapping.
“Happy…!” with shoulders swaying.
“Happy…!” with chin twitching.
“Happy…!” with tears streaming down my face.

Here’s what I love:

•The contagiousness.
•The percussiveness.
•The joy.
•The touches of hymn, gospel, Motown.
•The genius of Like a flash mob unspooled – it touches on something big to see everyone and their grandma have their turn at getting down with the tune, even with the veggies in the produce aisle.
•Watching people let it sweep them up. And their smiles when they let it – big, beautiful & goofy.
•I can’t (or don’t want to) imagine the person it will not move – at the very least physically.
•The timing. A year ago would have been too soon for me.
•How it agrees with Artie, my husband, who’s always, through it all, believed that happiness is a truth.
•How it reflects the way happiness actually is – in a minor key, in common places, ending in an echoey, empty, darker space, but letting us leave that again as soon as we hit replay.
•The mention of a hot air balloon headed for space!
•The room without a roof. It’s the only way happiness, real elementary happiness, can even reach us – if we allow ourselves to be exposed and not to worry about rain, sun and wind coming in.
•I feel exactly like a room without a roof. Mama’s death blew it off.

Cool when a song gets that.
Guess that’s what a hit is. Hitting a nerve. Or rather millions of nerves.

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