I’ve gotten to the age, I guess, where I want to accomplish a few things in my life before I find I’ve shuffled past the accomplishment point of departure place. (OK. That didn’t make sense to me either.) What I mean is that if I’m going to make all the wannabe dreams I’ve had in my life come true, I’d better get on the ball and get on with them. Time she’s a-runnin’ out. Well, she’s a-runnin’ somewhere and it’s gettin’ harder by the year to keep up.

I won’t list all my dreams here because I know you’d be bored and wouldn’t much give a rat’s tail. You’ve got your own dreams to make come true, right? I’d really love to know them, so I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours, OK?

Here’s one high on my list; I really want to learn to play the xylophone. Not one of those kiddie things you hold on your lap, but a real big, long table kind you stand up at, with lots and lots of keys and big, long mallets.

So, there it is. I think the sound of great xylophone music is about the closest thing to heaven there can be, music-wise. In my opinion, the angels up there play xylophones, not harps. I know, I know — you can’t fly about carrying a xylophone with the ease you can a harp, what with those mallets to deal with, but no matter, the xylophone seraphim can stand on the clouds to play or something. And I think they do.

Oh, what a joyful sound. Xylophone music can stand alone. Doesn’t need a big orchestra behind it. Maybe a drum, maybe a little bass. But oh boy, being able to stand in front of a big xylophone holding four mallets and playing harmony with yourself (how do those guys do that anyway?) would send me to the skies.

When my dear husband “Mongo” and I were courting, (that word wasn’t used even back then. I just like it. I like to say “parlour” too,) Anyway, he took me to a big dance at his college, Lafayette (I still have the corsage. Yes, I’m a sap) and the dance orchestra that night was Lionel Hampton’s. That man could play his huge xylophone as if being conducted by God, and move? Oh, he moved and jumped and threw himself all over the stage and against the walls and never missed a note. It was a wild and fabulous musical night and we danced our feet off and I’ll tell you, Mr. H. set that xylophone on fire. What an athletic musical genius! I’ll never forget that night. I’d loved the xylophone before that dance, but after, I was completely xylohooked. And so, I put the fantasy of learning to play that glorious instrument in my secret dream box with all my other dreams, where it stays closed and locked in the way-back of my heart. (Today it’s one’s “Bucket List.”) But I planned someday to unlock that dream box or dig into my bucket list and learn to play that instrument of dreams!

I knew a woman in her sixties (as I was once around 2 decades back) who also had a dream, and it was to take tap dance lessons. She didn’t do too well, but she didn’t care a fig; she was dancing her geriatric Fred Astaire imitation and she was lovin’ it! She knew she was more clumping than tapping, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was getting the dream done, and more importantly, she was getting it done in time.

Another person I know also decided it was time to “realize my dream because the clock’s ticking” was a guy who wanted to ride in a camel race. He wasn’t from any part of the world where camels are raced or were even seen for that matter, but it was a yen he couldn’t get out of his head. He saved his money, went to some desert country where they ride and race the great nasty beasts, took some lessons from some guys, got on the least monstrous of them, galloped across the sands (in some amount of pain) and came back to America a satisfied and happy man, one who will never, ever get anywhere near a camel again, even in a zoo. “Gross,” says he, but he smiles.

I guess learning to play the xylophone is a kind of lame dream compared to the dreams other people follow. I read of one person getting on stage to dance with the Las Vegas showgirls, another quitting a very lucrative job to amble around the woods in winter to follow and record the tracks of mountain lions. He did it, told me his feet never once got cold and that he’d never known such peace and happiness.

Do you have a special dream? Do you hear a clock ticking somewhere? Will I ever take xylophone lessons? Will you learn to play your own xylophone?

LC Van Savage is a Brunswick writer.

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