Heaven on a Monday Morning

A thousand hours ago, I felt the sunlight upon my flickering lids, intuited the morning, loosened my grip on the last threads of sleep, rose from my bed -- warm and tousled -- and hailed the new day.

Brushing my teeth, I thought I heard one of my most beloved songs -- Heaven by the Talking Heads. Little Babe, I thought, must be playing his iPod, plugged into speakers.

Shuffling into our dining room, I was stunned to find my ninth grader, singing and playing a perfect rendition of Heaven on the guitar he had restrung and tuned the day before, a hand-me-down from MOBB (mother of Bungalow Babe); an artifact from the era in which she taught young children and envisioned herself as Maria from The Sound of Music.

Seeing my expression of shock, Little Babe nonchalantly informed me that there is an app for guitar chords on his iPod. He simply entered "Heaven" and the music popped up.

Oh. That explains it. Except for the fact that Little Babe has never had guitar lessons. Nor, as far as I knew, had he ever learned how to string musical instruments.

Fifteen minutes later, I was helping Little Babe out the front door, hauling his cello, which is his main instrument. As a member of his high school band, he had rehearsal after school. As my youngest rode the elevator downstairs, I returned to the urban bungalow to commence my work week, wonderfully calm in the face of Monday.

I opened Outlook and began reading the 45-plus emails that had arrived overnight, catching myself up. I was about to release an important news item for a major client in an hour and needed to get final revisions to an official letter. I checked my calendar for the day's appointments. The sky outside my window grew brighter, though the temperature was oddly autumnal.

A humming overtook me as I worked. Heaven had taken root in me. I marvelled once again at my son's musical prowess and good taste. I felt a personal sense of thrill that the very song that moved me more than twenty years earlier also spoke to him.

Soon, I was searching through YouTube for videos of Talking Heads performances. I took out headphones and plugged in. I listened/watched about five videos. I felt unaccountably happy, then sad/moved. Tears filled my eyes and ran down my cheeks.

Tip-toeing into the waters of his Monday, reading the New York Times on the couch, feeding the goldfish, praying the morning service, HOBB seemed horrified by the spectacle of this woman, plugged in, tuned out, weeping.

Heaven followed me throughout my Monday. I sang it with abandon while walking across Central Park several hours later; I listened to it on my iPod at the gym during my lunch hour; in true adolescent fashion, I pondered the lyrics. Heaven kept me buoyed all day long. Heaven infused my heart. It was the soundtrack of my day. And when I returned home from my swing dance class at 9 pm, Little Babe greeted me with surprise.

"Hey," he said. "I was just plaving Heaven before you got home. It's funny that you're humming it now. "

Not funny ha ha or funny strange, but funny wonderful.

Play it once again. Play it all night long.

HEAVEN
Music and Lyrics by David Byrne and Jerry Harrison

Everyone is trying to get to the bar.
The name of the bar, the bar is called Heaven.
The band in Heaven they play my favorite song.
They play it one more time, they play it all night long.

Oh heaven, heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens.
Heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens.

There is a party, everyone is there.
Everyone will leave at exactly the same time.
When this party's over it will start again.
It will not be any different, it will be exactly the same.

Heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens.
Heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens.

When this kiss is over it will start again.
It will not be any different, it will be exactlythe same.
It's hard to imagine that nothing at allcould be so exciting, could be this much fun.

Oh, heaven, heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens.
Oh, heaven, heaven is a place, a place where nothing, nothing ever happens.