The Truth About Susan Boyle

Like everyone else on the Internet, I had seen the video of Susan Boyle’s lovely performance of “I dreamed a dream” from Les Miserables on the TV Show “Britain’s Got Talent.”  I enjoy a good performance, and this one was no different.   I moved on.

And then, a few days later in my Twitter feed, one of my friends updated with this:

I spent the next five minutes or so drafting a 140-character response that encapsulated why we’re all infatuated with Ms. Boyle.  I ended up not responding, but Susan stayed with me.

Susan Boyle is a 47-year-old woman with a Voice.  This, in and of itself, is not amazing; everyone has a voice, and some of us have Voices, good ones.  What knocks our socks off is that Susan Boyle exposed us for what we are: cynics who judge others based solely on looks and station in life.  She stood onstage, and the audience laughed at her.  They rolled their eyes at her audacity to not fit in the mold, to be a spunky, funny middle-aged woman who wants to sing like Elaine Paige.  How dare she try to sing with that frizzy hair and country accent?

And then she blew us away.

In the first four measures of song, she shocked us into listening.  We sat, rapt, as her voice climbed and held that delicious five-note crescendo halfway through.  We breathed a collective sigh when she finished, some of us with tears in her eyes, some of us elated by the sheer power of her voice.

You can see in the YouTube video that the judges tell her everyone was against her before she started singing — and she looks confused.  Ms. Boyle never thought of us as opponents.  But for many of us, that was our first instinct.

And therein lies the real power of Susan Boyle.  She is a woman who opeend our collective eyes and showed us that there is another way to beauty.  She exposed that raw nerve inside that wishes we were accepted as the way we are, instead of the way society tells us to be.  Ms. Boyle’s singing elevated us all for a brief, shining moment to another level of community, one that wholly backs every individual.  By simply doing what she loves, Susan Boyle showed us another way.  If only the rest of us were so lucky.

Image courtesy of The Mirror.

Calling All Friends

I’m not giving much up to tradition for this wedding.  I’m not big on superstitions, or  traditions that are based on outdated practices.  But for some reason, the “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue,” thing has stuck with me.

I’ve got the new (that would be my dress) and the blue (a bit of embroidery on the inside).  I’m sure I could dig up something old to wear, like my shoes, or some of my grandmother’s costume jewelry.  The part that’s giving me trouble is the borrowed.  Specifically, I’m looking for a brooch, to wear on the dress.  I would prefer not to have to buy one and then gift it to a friend, who would then loan it to me.  That seems like cheating.  So!  Do you have a brooch?  Something silver-toned, with something pearl on it?  I’ve been looking at these:

From ChadwickCottage57

From LifeTravelsDesigns

From kittyBcreative

If you have a brooch that looks similar, and is silver, and has something pearl on it, I would love to be your best friend for a day and borrow it from you.  What do you think?

xxxooo, SavvyChristine

Danger is my Middle Name

I got a bike.  No, this one isn’t my bike — but I wanted it, BAD, as you can tell from my expression.  Look at how awesome it is: yellow, wide handles, big fluffy seat, bike satchel included.  I had just flicked the bike bell by accident, and its stereotypical  “ting-a-ling!” absolutely delighted me.  Can you believe someone gave such a bike away?

My eyes fell on this beauty on the town’s bike recycling day, and I couldn’t believe my luck.  This was just what I wanted: It’s the type of bike that you ride down tree-lined streets while wearing a sundress and holding a giant lollipop.  When you ride this bike, children with cowlicks play ball in suburban driveways, and store-owners pause in their sidewalk sweeping to wave.  The sun makes sure to shine on yellow-bike-riding days, and cars pause respectfully when you cross the street.  A bike like this is magic; the only thing that could have made it better was if it came with a wicker basket to carry fruit from the farmer’s market and a freshly-baked baguette.

My bike doesn’t look anything like this.

My bike is red and petite, and made for speed.  It’s a little care-worn, but it fits me (unlike the magic yellow bike).  It looks something like this:

This one is not my actual bike, but close enough that I feel good posting it.  Mine doesn’t have a bottle holder (though the person I stole it from does).  I also do not have a helmet, but I’ve been riding anyway, which is why Danger is my middle name.  Savvy DANGER Christine.  I plan on getting a helmet soon.  And a bike rack, and a tire pump, and a little bell of my very own.