I am Mae German. 34 years old. Born in Mangatarem, province of Pangasinan. I was taught and trained by 
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Some-Kinda-Blog-Stop Grandma is singing a new song.
Some-Kinda-Blog-Stop Grandma is singing a new song. | Grandma is singing a new song. |
| Thursday, 05 November 2009 | |
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"Oh! how I hate to get up in the morning, Oh! how I’d love to remain in bed; For the hardest blow of all, is to hear the bugler call; You’ve got to get up, you’ve got to get up, you’ve got to get up this morning!" She was singing in the bathroom while we were both waiting for her new bed. And she knows the lyrics by heart! I can only heave a sigh whenever I think of the changes from the day that we went home from the hospital and the nearness of what we have been, well, expecting. And the thought that I may not be around on the day that she has to cross over just gives me a heavier heart. Still, I am praying for a smooth transition. God is good at that. I am keeping my faith. Ahh.. like my morning exercises and strengthening even without a dip machine, gone were the days when I can really blog. Gone were the days of our Summertime song (someone has to sing me a new one; and it'd better be good!). ~~~~~~~ Here's the rest of Grandma's song: Oh! how I hate to get up in the morning Irving Berlin The other day I chanced to meet a soldier friend of mine, He’d been in camp for sev’ral weeks and he was looking fine; His muscles had developed and his cheeks were rosy red, I asked him how he liked the life, and this is what he said: Oh! how I hate to get up in the morning, Oh! how I’d love to remain in bed; For the hardest blow of all, is to hear the bugler call; You’ve got to get up, you’ve got to get up, you’ve got to get up this morning! Some day I’m going to murder the bugler, Some day they’re going to find him dead; I’ll amputate his reveille, and step upon it heavily, And spend the rest of my life in bed. Oh! how I hate to get up in the morning, Oh! how I’d love to remain in bed; For the hardest blow of all, is to hear the bugler call; You’ve got to get up, you’ve got to get up, you’ve got to get up this morning! Oh! boy the minute the battle is over, Oh! boy the minute the foe is dead; I'll put my uniform away, and move to Philadelphia, And spend the rest of my life in bed. A bugler in the army is the luckiest of men, He wakes the boys at five and then goes back to bed again; He doesn’t have to blow again until the afternoon, If ev’ry thing goes well with me I'll be a bugler soon. |
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