On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being "among the most beautiful things on earth" and 1 being "pretty darn beautiful," how lovely am I? I confess—I am pretty darn skilled at looking good.
We all have something we're great at . . . some of us paint stunning images, some of us recite pi to 100 digits, some count cards, and some masticate hay with perfect precision. FarmWife? She bakes good cakes, she's a whiz with ID'ing dog breeds, and she can improvise song lyrics on the spot.
FarmWife gave some thought to a mulish rendition of "That's Amore," as requested by fan Ludovica, but I wasn't happy with her rehearsed lyrics. Not only was the tempo all wrong—too slow, and I am NOT about to stride goofily along like a mall-walker just to suit her playlist—but the lyrics lacked originality. Thinking to shake things up a bit, I took advantage of her distraction (singing, riding, and operating a video camera) and turned for home. My clever ploy worked! Losing her focus and her boring, dry train of thought, she launched into a new and more interesting set of lyrics—made up on the fly, and sung from the heart. I love her for it.
Later in our ride, I made her sing something entirely new and different. I gave her this assignment—"Sing something," I told her, "about me being famous." And so she did, as you will see. Again, give her credit—she's singing, she's videorecording, she's riding a mule, and she's making this up as she goes. It is a useful skill, and though her voice could be a little more powerful and the tempo a bit more upbeat (again, I walk how I walk and there ain't nothing that's going to change that) I think you'll agree that she rhymes well.
This is a helpful parenting tactic, too, and she makes use of her insta-rhymes every night at bedtime. It takes a special talent to take such diverse instructions as "sing something about a lake of fruit punch and an adorable puppy on a skateboard with macaroni and cheese and a forest of vines" and produce from them a coherent song in a conventional meter.
Now, it's true that I did call this a questionable talent. Singing these songs, after all, is fun. I like to hear her do it. Putting them on the world-wide web for all too see? This, I'm afraid, may raise some doubts. Doubts as to her sanity, her maturity, her self-respect.
To this, I tell you—I made her do it. It was me, Fenway Bartholomule.
Ears to you!