During supper prep this evening, I was listening to The Carpenters sing “Top of the World,” and it reminded me of another time when I heard this song.
It was many years ago, and Sid was listening to the song with me. Imagine, if you will, a much younger Sid and Tina, in their early twenties.
Such a feelin’s comin’ over me
There is wonder in most everything I see
Not a cloud in the sky
Got the sun in my eyes
And I won’t be surprised if its a dream
It’s a bouncy, sweet song. Okay, the song is complete and utter sap. But we were some lovesick little puppies.
Everything I want the world to be
Is now coming true, especially for me
And the reason is clear
It’s because you are here
You’re the nearest thing to heaven that I’ve seen
In this long ago time, my sweet (yet not fully matured) husband looked in my eyes and told me that this song always reminded him of me. And I bought it. Hook, line and sinker.
I’m on the top of the world lookin’ down on creation
And the only explanation I can find
Is the love that I’ve found ever since you’ve been around
Your love puts me at the top of the world
Then I was on top of the world. Really. I floated for days. I played “Top of the World” over and over. Though it had never been a particular favorite of mine before, it now had the power to melt my heart and turn me into a puddle of mush.
Something in the wind has learned my name
And it’s tellin’ me that things are not the same
In the leaves on the trees and the touch of the breeze
There’s a pleasin’ sense of happiness for me
I could not hear this song without the sweetest and most loving feelings toward my husband flowing over me. Sid really could have used this to great advantage.
There is only one wish on my mind
When this day is through I hope that I will find
That tomorrow will be just the same for you and me
All I need will be mine if you are here
About three days after his declaration of love, I mentioned to him how much I now loved “Top of the World.” After what he had told me, the song held such significance for me.
Sid gave me blank look.
“You know,” I said, only slightly exasperated. “When you told me that this song reminded you of me.” I began to feel slightly embarrassed, like I was begging for a compliment.
He shrugged his shoulders carelessly. “I never said that,” he said.
My every thought came to an instant standstill, then raced ahead again, confused and searching for an answer.
“Are you joking with me?” I asked.
“Huh?” he says, his mind already moved on to some other topic, likely diesel engines or why his printer wasn’t working.
Little alarm bells began to ring. I felt like an old mutt with a bone in her teeth. An unloved mutt who was getting kicked and trampled on, but I just couldn’t let go of this bone. “Three days ago,” I growled, “we were in this room listening to “Top of the World.” You looked at me and said that the song reminded you of me.” I now felt the full weight of frustration and embarrassment.
“No, I didn’t,” he said patiently and matter of factly, even as he turned his attention to something else, completely unaware that he was treading on my heart. With those cruel, spiky shoes that football and baseball players wear that rip into the ground, churning up tender grass by the roots.
With my tail between my legs, I dropped the subject. Utter mortification would be my only gain in trying to convince this man that I was so wonderful, that he was so besotten with me that his world revolved around me. Icky, icky, icky. My pride would not let me go there.
This story is pretty funny now. I sure didn’t think it was funny then, but I only held it against him for 3 days. Maybe a week. Okay, maybe I pouted a little bit longer. Somewhere along the way, I learned to be forgiving.
Now, when I hear “Top of the World,” I feel a little giggle instead, and I wonder at the miscommunications that occur between a husband and wife. Okay, mostly I think about the miscommunication problems of my husband and how much I love him anyway.
I’ve kind of decided that Sid suffers from a touch of ADHD or that I could probably build a convincing argument that he suffers from Asperger’s Syndrome. Either way, I feel pretty secure now that I am not the one with the problem. I am not crazy. I don’t make things up in my head. He can deny it all he wants, but he said what he said.
It’s my husband. He’s the one with issues. Poor man, he really needs a lot of love and understanding from me. I’m cool with that.
Since I’m not the one with issues, I can afford to magnanimous. And since this is my blog, I don’t have to write about all my little issues, the ones that require excessive amounts of patience, forgiveness and an overabundance of love. Fortunately for me, Sid also learned to be forgiving and matured into a beautiful, beautiful man.
After tonight’s supper, giving his best Mr. T imitation, Sid said, “Hey SUCKAH, I KISS the woman who makes me supper.” He gave me a resounding smack on the lips.
Ehhh . . . . . . he has an odd sort of charm.