How can I cite my Poppy's birthday and my Aunt Bubbles' and Uncle Gene's wedding anniversary as my misspent youth? I don't get to celebrate those days with them anymore. I celebrate them, of course, because they're people to be celebrated, but it makes two of the happiest days in August a little less shiny. Makes me start regretting every minute I spent not near them, but then the zen kicks in and I remember they're in everything I do and all I can do is pull out the Stevie Wonder song As and declare that I get the lyrics because of them (and a few others but this weekend is theirs).
This song happens to be one of three songs I've got in my head to have played at my funeral because it's that awesome. I realize unless I manage to create some people to outlive me I probably won't have anyone to carry out the task of pressing play much less understand why I'm obsessed with this song so I'll just crank it up now and every time I hear it and be all, "I have people I love and sea-faring parrots are in the lyrics and this song is capable of raining down glitterly love all over the world and I would make a total fool of myself if I was ever near Stevie Wonder because he wrote the greatest song that can be heard." Only not that coherently. It would come out as, "YAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAAAAAAAAA!"
If you need another twelve minutes of As goodness, I give you the Gene Harris version from '77 and George Michael/Mary J. Blige version from '99.
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