Tales out of Rhode Island, Part One. Dear friends, tonight we start with a puzzle. Can anyone tell me who wrote the lyrics and music to the song below? I know it’s an old pop standard, but for the life of me, I can’t find an author credit. About three years ago, my mom, my mom’s cousin, Lloyd and I had the great good luck to see Blossom Dearie at Danny’s Skylight Room in midtown. If you’ve never heard Blossom sing, take my word for it: you want to. The night we saw her, she sang this, after asking the audience, in a speaking voice as direct and sweet as her singing voice, “Is there anyone here tonight from Rhode Island?”
Every state has something its Rotary Club can boast of
Some product that the state produces the most of
Rhode Island is little, but oh my
It has a product anyone would buy
Copper comes from Arizona
Peaches come from Georgia
Lobsters come from Maine
The wheat fields are the sweet fields of Nebraska
And Kansas gets bonanzas from the grain
Ol’ whiskey comes from ol’ Kentucky
Ain’t the country lucky?
New Jersey gives us glue
And you come from Rhode Island
And Rhode Island is famous for you
Cotton comes from Louisiana
Gophers from Montana
And spuds from Idaho
They plow land in the cow land of Missouri
Where most beef meant for roast beef seems to grow
Grand canyons come from Colorado
Gold comes from Nevada
Divorces also do
And you come from Rhode Island
And Rhode Island is famous for you
Pencils come from Pennsylvania
Vests from Vest Virginia
Tents from Tentassee
They know mink where they grow mink in Wyomink
A camp chair in New Hampchair - That’s for me
Minnows come from Minnowsota
Coats come from Dakota But why should you be blue?
For you - you come from Rhode Island
little ol’ Rhode Island
And little ol’ Rhode Island is famous for you
Tales Out of Rhode Island, Part Two. I did promise once that I wouldn’t brag overmuch about Lloyd, but this week I cannot refrain, for he is much too good to me, much better than I deserve. I came to bed late last night, too lazy to actually look for a pair of pajamas, so I pretty much just shed my outerwear onto the bedroom floor, snakelike, and crawled into bed in my undershirt and underpants, under a sheet, no blankets, no comforter. (No, there are no photos forthcoming, and if there were, they would not be exciting. Really. If you are looking for that kind of excitement, there is probably more than one site available on the internets for your pleasure.) At 3 a.m. I realized the error of my ways. My nose was freezing. My shoulders and hips hurt. My fingertips and toes were blue. It would be a pure act of folly to believe that I could will myself into feeling warmer, but then, I’m an old fool.
At 3:30 I couldn’t take any more, and got up to fumble around in the dark for a warmer shirt. Shirt found, I resumed the Foolish Exercise of Will, falling asleep in a cramped and achy heap.
At 5:45 the alarm rang. Lloyd got up to get his shower, as he does at this time every morning, but not before taking his blanket and wrapping it tightly around me. Ahhhhh, warmth. I felt as snug and well-placed as a tamale. As I snuggled into my lovely warm cocoon of bedding, I thought to myself, we should do something nice this weekend. I asked Lloyd if he wanted to spend the weekend in Providence, and not only did he say yes, but he didn’t change his mind when I told him what the whole shebang would cost. We head out on Friday night, we return on Sunday night, and in the meantime we will wander around Johnson & Wales, checking out the culinary library and generally spooking the youngsters. We will probably pay homage to 11 years of wedded hilarity on Saturday, at this restaurant if we’re lucky, in our room eating $12 grilled cheese sandwiches if we’re not.