Ella Fitzgerald Does My Laundry

I listen to Ella Fitzgerald while folding my laundry.

Something magical happens when I turn her music on.  My breathing slows, my heart feels light, my small corner of the world becomes as shiny as a trumpet.  Stress falls away.  Heartache falls away.  Boredom falls away.  It's me and it's Ella, in a moment as dreamy as her voice.  I hum.  I sway.  I fold (and fold) baby socks and little boy shirts, and find myself feeling happy in the midst of a mundane task.  It's very cool, Cats.

I think there's an important truth to be discovered here--in my welcome moment of peace, beneath the hi-hat and the buttery crooning.  And that is find what you love, find what makes you truly happy, and embrace it.  Cherish it.  Drink it in.  Let it fill you up until you see the stars.  Let it lift you and hold you, if only for a short time.

For me, it's jazz.

Does it cure the autism?  Heck no!  Does it make my five-year-old want to use the toilet?  Of course not!  Does it make the math homework and the bills and the cooking and the cleaning just stop all together!?  No way, Jose.  (Side note:  Have you guys tried to figure out second grade math?  Oh.  My.  Gosh.  What the heck is a "math mountain" anyway!?)

Sadly, it doesn't cure all that ails me.  But that's not the point!  The point is that for the duration of a song--when the notes and the chords fill every inch of my living room--I feel light.  Carefree.  Happy.  I see that my chaotic home is actually heaven on earth, and all the little things--a song, clean clothes, a functional washer and dryer--are good things that make up the whole of my lovely life.  It reminds me of a quote by author and spiritual leader, Marianne Williamson, "Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are."

So play on, Ella, play on.



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