The supermarket is not super. Far from it. It is a boring building in which one does a boring thing - food shopping. It is my dreaded Monday morning chore. Up and down the aisles I go with Goo, the littlest youngster, who rides happily on the front of the cart. Far too disorganized to bring a pen I try to mentally check off my list as I go knowing that I will return home without some vitally needed items - it's always the way.

Oh look. Roast beef is on sale. Pitter-patter goes my little heart. Not.

Time to pick out the best buy on toilet paper. Edgerton's voice fills my head. "Remember: look at the cents per sheet." Edgie thrives on this sort of thing. Not me. I couldn't wait to get to the end of my list.

Bu then something remarkable happened. The muffled monotony of the Muzak suddenly became clear ... is it? Could it be? Annie's Song? John Denver?

The supermarket was transformed!! No longer an uninspiring stink-pit of doom, it was now a place of wonderment.

You fill up my senses like a night in the forest
Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain

There was a bounce in my step as I headed off towards the dairy section. I gave a happy nod to the old lady who was blocking my access to the cheese. Did I wink? Yeah, I probably did.

Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

As I hummed along, I noticed for the first time the vibrant oranges of the cheese. I was like a newborn lamb taking in the beauty of the dales.

Oh, how the Pillsbury Dough Boy smiled at me as I read the ingredients of his Pop'N'Fresh dough. My heart brimmed with happiness at how he never lost that doughy grin, even when I gently laid him back down again due to an over abundance of artificial flavours.

Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms
Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you

Yes, John, if only you were still with us.

The song came to an end but not my new found optimism. No, that lingered for a long time afterwards ... because that's what John Denver does to me. I've said it before and I'll say it again. He fills up my senses.

I can't get up in the morning because at that time of the day I am usually in bed asleep. It's hard to get up and move around when you're asleep unless, of course, you suffer from somnambulism.

So for those rise-and-shine-the-early-bird-catches-the-worm morons who love to be smugly superior about "making the most of your day while the rest of us waste ours in bed": PISS OFF. It's easy to get up in the morning if you're actually awake. What do you want, a medal? Some of us, on the other hand, are still sleeping at the crack of dawn. If we were awake, we'd get up. Do you think we're stupid? We're asleep! So get off your high horses and give us a break.

Here is a great quote:

I have a "carpe diem" mug and, truthfully, at six in the morning the words do not want to make me seize the day. They make me want to slap a dead poet. ~ Joanne Sherman

Here are some vomit inducing quotes from dead people that I'd like to slap:

Lose an hour in the morning, and you will be all day hunting for it. ~Richard Whately

(Not me, matey. I don't lose hours in the morning - I use them wisely by sleeping through them. And, anyway, I'm opposed to hunting so- na-na-na-na-na)

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep. ~Rumi

(I am told secrets in my early morning dreams by John Denver as we frolic together on the Colorado plains and trust me, Rumi, his secrets are a lot more interesting than the breeze's.)

The stillness of the early morning scene enables me to take in and enjoy many things which pass me by during the bustle of the day. First, there are the scents, which seem even more generous with their offering than they are in the evening. ~Rosemary Verey

(What if the scent is cow manure or diesel fumes? Huh? Boo-ya!)

I leave you with one last quote:

Rooster today, feather duster tomorrow.

Christmas, a time to celebrate the birth of a great man, one Henry John Deutschendorf, aka John Denver.

As those closest to me know, John Denver is my guilty pleasure. You know, I always say that … guilty pleasure. And why? Is there something embarrassing about having a thing for John Denver? I think not. Therefore, I am now mentally putting a giant X over the word ‘guilty’ with my imaginary Sharpie. There. That’s better. John Denver is simply … my pleasure.

What is it about JD that I love? His voice, for starters. John Denver’s voice puts me in a peculiar state of relaxation. Trance-like, almost. That’s not so unusual is it? After all, people get high off music all the time, don’t they? Kraftwerk gives my husband an electronic kind of a buzz - for my dear old Dad it’s Pavarotti that sends him flying. But John Denver? He gives me a special kind of high. A rocky mountain one, to be exact.

A few years back I switched on PBS and there it was: The Wildlife Concert. I was suddenly afflicted with some kind of paralysis in my clicker hand. I watched the entire thing. I didn’t even care that it was pledge week. When the old folks appeared on the screen to babble on about money I just sat back, totally relaxed, basking in the glory of what I had just heard. I closed my eyes and imagined myself prancing through the plains of Colorado in a pair of bell-bottoms when who do I happen across but John Denver himself. He’s sitting cross-legged on the ground playing “Thank God I’m a Country Boy” on his acoustic guitar. He takes one look at me through his wire rimmed granny glasses and says “Far out!”

A night in with John Denver on the telly makes me want to scrub down from head to toe with a bar of Irish Spring until I achieve a healthy, squeaky clean glow. It makes me want to put on a sweatshirt adorned with the print of a bald eagle soaring gracefully over the Rockies and slip into a pair of crocheted slippers with baubles on the toes. John Denver makes me feel square. And sometimes it’s hip to be square.

The only thing that makes me happier than sunshine on my shoulders is John Denver’s voice in my heart. Go ahead, stick your fingers down your throat and pretend to gag. I don’t care.

John Denver was a great man, a talented singer-songwriter, a passionate environmentalist, and an outstanding humanitarian. On December 31 please remember this respectable, bespectacled fellow.