The falling leaves
Drift by the window
The autumn leaves
Of red and gold………
Those inaugural words of Frank Sinatra’s lament Autumn Leaves resonate around my neurological corridors this morning. Despite it’s melancholic undertones, it’s a welcome guest; although it could have brought cake, the tight get!
I’m unsure why the first verse of a underplayed ululation by ‘old blue eyes’ has made an unscheduled visit to my random mind. Although, I’d venture it possibly has something to do with the sight of red and gold leaves drifting by my window on the early autumn breeze.
From the mouth of one of the parties, the song written by Mercer/Kosma/Prevert tells of the sadness of his relationship breakup, along with it’s subsequent memories of happier times together. A song more suited to an ambience of late evening low lighting and oaky fumes from a single malt, than a sunny Monday morning with a slice of toast and a glass of water.
It’s also a ballad whose profound sadness would lead to some to opine at yours truly “Bloody hell, what a depressing song. Put summat cheerful on, you miserable bleeder!”
Even though it is undoubtedly a song for after dusk, like the majority of Sinatra 1950’s laments on the Capitol Records label it gets a free pass to play on my cranial jukebox whenever it feels the need.
Another possibility of the existence of this tune in my conscious mind could be the current ill health of my father. Him being the man who introduced me to the beauty of these songs, projected brilliantly in the unmistakable phrasing of the late Hoboken born singer.
As my wife would no doubt vouch, I’m not an overtly romantic man. An opinion she’d no doubt back by raising the fact my anniversary gift to her was a dust pan and brush, along with a poorly focused aerial photo of her parents home.
I don’t know why see was so arsey about it, after all she got me an ironing board and an aerial photo of my parents house…….. As the old adage goes ‘What’s good for the goose is worth a pinch of salt’ (or something like that anyway).
Despite being bereft of displaying romantic gestures, I do find the songs I alluded to earlier have a quality that regress the mind back to a more romantic time. An era where aerial photos of houses weren’t deemed suitable gifts for seduction, and you could get a happuth of slack for…….. ermmmm…… a happuth.
They were times when gentlemen could woo a potential mate by wearing a trilby and blowing smoke rings from a Luckys cigarette into their suitors porcelain skinned visage. Decades when her man’s tea was ready on the table on return from work, and she wouldn’t have dreamed of buying him a gift of an ironing board. Even if, in the unlikely event, her housekeeping money was suffice to secure the purchase.
As I bring today’s nostalgic ramble to a conclusion, the autumn leaves continue to fall. Consequently, my back lawn now resembles a gleaming emerald with inlays of gold. A aesthetically pleasing sight…… or it would be if my wife hadn’t have just hung out the washing.
Even with my naivety into the art of romance, I’m fully aware the sight of my undies, t-shirts and bed sheets don’t form part of any mating ritual….. A successful one anyway!
Right, where can I hang this aerial photo of my mum and dad’s house?
