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Find Me Somebody To Love

Find Me Somebody To Love

Hello and good day!

I've spent several afternoons in a recording studio recording the audio version of my book, which is coming out June 4.

I still have several sessions to go.

Reading an audiobook is harder than you'd think it would be.

I now have a lot more respect for recording artists and professional singers.

It feels like the energy that you put into the audio is much higher than the energy you end up hearing in playback.

Much of the time when I hear myself on the track, I think I sound subdued.

But when I was in front of the mic, I was reading my heart out.

Getting the right amount of passion into a recorded song must require incredibly hard singing or a very powerful voice.

When I hear songs now, I am going to imagine how it must have been for the singer while they were recording.

I will think about how hard they had to sing.

The recording studio is behind the house of the people who own the studio. There is a sound booth and a control room, just like you see in movies and documentaries.

It is a real and professional set up.

To get to the studio, I have to walk through a house. The studio and the house belong to a lovely married couple.

The husband is a musician.

The wife is a sound engineer.

And they are grandparents.

Yesterday, they had their five-year-old grandson over.

Grandpa took care of the boy while grandma worked with me in the studio.

When I was done with my two hours of reading, my voice was tired and scratchy, and my head was light. The session was at the end of an already long workday, and I was ready to go home and spend the evening with my family.

However, on the way out, I saw grandpa and his grandson playing checkers.

Instead of leaving right away, I lingered to watch the game.

The five-year-old kid was smart. He was playing a decent game of checkers.

Grandpa wore the look of a man who was unalterably smitten with the little human being in front of him.

I liked the boy.

But I didn't love him.

I couldn't.

He isn't mine.

The house and the studio were up on a hill overlooking a big valley.

I know the valley. It runs next to the road we use as a shortcut to the freeway. The trees and the grass in the valley are still brown and hibernating.

Plant life around here isn't yet partaking in Spring's rebirth.

However, on the way out, I did see a couple of bright orange breasted robins hopping along, pecking, and foraging for worms in a patch of dirt near the road.

That is usually a good sign that Spring will be upon us soon and we'll get to see the flowers blooming.

As to the little boy.

I have a five-year-old son myself. And I love my five-year-old very dearly.

Even though he had a temper tantrum in the Apple store for no good reason a couple of days ago, I'm still crazy about the kid.

He is mine.

There is something to this possession business and I believe it goes beyond biology, so please bear with me.

When I was growing up, I had just one aunt, my Aunt Connie.

She was my dad's sister.

On my mom's side, I had uncles, but I didn't get close to them until later in life.

For a decade, my mom was estranged from the brother she grew up with. They had a big fight at Thanksgiving one year and stopped speaking with each other.

We didn't know about my other uncle until I was a teenager.

He was my mom's long-lost brother.

My mom found a long-lost sister as well, and now she is my aunt.

They all had the same father, and he was a rolling stone.

But that is a whole other story.

Growing up, it was just my Aunt Connie.

My dad only had one child, me.

And he only had one sister, Connie.

She called me her favorite nephew, which was our inside joke, because I was her only nephew.

I called her my favorite aunt, which was funny for the same reason.

Every summer for 8 or 9 years in a row, I flew from San Diego, CA to Rochester, NY to spend a week or two with my favorite aunt.

Aunt Connie used to spoil me rotten.

She let me stay up as late as I wanted.

She bought me whatever food I wanted to eat.

Then she sent me home, back to my parents, a full-blown spoiled brat.

Here is the thing that I am thinking about this morning and that I started to think about last night.

Aunt Connie hardly knew me before I started visiting her. She'd only seen me half a dozen times. But she wanted me there with her.

She loved me.


Because I was hers.

I was her nephew and nobody else's.

We belonged to each other.

I had a teddy bear when I was little. I called him Teddy.

I loved him very sincerely.

When I went to school, I sat him in a little wooden chair and brushed his cheek with my hand and apologized to him for having to leave him alone.

I set Teddy up with his own little bed and I tucked him in at night.

The manufacturer made millions of those teddy bears, but Teddy belonged to me.

I took care of him and I loved him.

I feel the same way about our chocolate, and my marriage, and our garden, and our kids, and my parents, and my book.

Reading the book out loud is reminding me of what a good story it is.

But even if it was a crappy book, I'd still love it because of the time and energy I put into it.

I am running long now, so I have to start wrapping up.

Here is the first part of a song by Queen called Somebody To Love:

''Each morning I get up I die a little

Can barely stand on my feet

Take a look in the mirror and cry

Lord, what you're doing to me

I have spent all my years in believing you

But I just can't get no relief, Lord


Ooh somebody

Can anybody find me somebody to love?''

The song is about how the singer can't find anybody to love and it is killing him.

As an aside, imagine Freddy Mercury in the studio and how hard he sang.

But I digress.

Based on what I've been thinking about, I think that there is a way to manufacture love.

And this doesn't have to be love for a person necesarily.

Also, it doesn't only apply to romantic love.

It could be love for a friend or a pet, or a plant, or a work of art that you've created.

All these things can fill your heart up in their way.

First, accept mutual ownership.

Whatever it is, you belong to it, and it belongs to you.

Second, pour your time and energy into it.

Build it up and mold it and make it the best it can be.

Therein you will find love.

Thank you so much for your time today.

I hope that you have a truly blessed day!


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