Monday's child is fair of face...

Wednesday's Child

“Monday's child is fair of face.

Tuesday's child is full of grace.

Wednesday's child is full of woe.

Thursday's child has far to go.

Friday's child is loving and giving.

Saturday's child works hard for his living.

But the child that's born on the Sabbath day

is bonny and blithe and good and gay.”

This old poem was written originally to help children learn the days of the week in order. I remember my grandmother teaching it to me—I was slow to learn most things, and I kind of wish I hadn't learned this because I was born on Wednesday.

I researched what was going on in the world on September 4, 1946, my day of birth, and found nothing earth shattering—no star in the east, no supernova. No one particularly meritorious was born or ordained or blessed by God on that day. I looked up the song lyrics to Wednesday's Child and found them to be singularly uninspired—one goes Pa-pa-pa-pa for lines and lines. Who knows what that means. Long story short, this is a day when nothing special happens to unimportant people. Oh well—oh woe.

Actually, being ordinary has its perks. No one has expected great things from me, so no one has been particularly crushed when I didn't produce. I tend to have a protected position as a 'nobody special', which means I can observe the world without distraction. Since I am not the hub around which the wheel turns, I am able to assess the movement from any angle I choose. I can say terrible things or flattering things about absolutely anybody and their lives are not hanging in the balance.

I heard yesterday that when child-songster, Justin Beiber, tweets his approval of something, fortunes are made, and when he disapproves, lives are ruined. Can you imagine having that kind of power at his age? Terrifying. And poor Prince Harry can't even do a little dirty dancing in the privacy of his own room (make that palatial suite) without getting into trouble with The Big Queen. Angelina Jolie can't burp without the national press bearing down on her. She gets more ink than the earth quakes out there in California. Who needs that kind of scrutiny?

Being ordinary is kind of wonderful really. It's freeing. I'll bet by now you are wishing you were Wednesday's child, too. Woe is you.

                                                       In the spirit,

                                                       Jane