Moon River, and me

There is a soft spot in my heart for Andy Williams.  Maybe it’s because I instinctively associate him with Christmas, and with my parents, who are longtime fans.  His heyday coincided with their young adult years; in some sense, I look upon him as belonging to that elusive, near-mythical time before my parents were my parents.  (My mom apparently saw him in person at Pebble Beach in the 1960s.  “He was shorter than I expected,” she told me.)

And even if you are not a  young old fogey like me, you have to admit, the guy could sing.   Hearing him do  “Moon River” can pretty much move me to tears.  Plus it makes me think of great moments on-screen, like Audrey Hepburn sitting in her window with a towel wrapped around her head, or Big and Carrie dancing in an empty apartment.  It’s lovely and wistful and romantic.

Ah, Andy, you have a fan in me.  You always will.

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