A little sing-along-song from my mom and me.
My mother and I sang The Old Mill Stream together when I was little. We would take turns singing the call and the response. Before I shared this version, I listened to other versions and heard the mystery of oral tradition at work. Maybe my mother sang the real lyrics or maybe my memory is off. But either way, here is how I remember singing it as a child.
Down by the Old Mill Stream
Down by the old (not the new but the old) mill stream (not the river but the stream),
where I first (not last but first) met you (not me but you).
You were 16, (not 17 but 16)
my village queen, (not the king but the queen)
down by the old (not the new but the old)
mill stream (not the river but the stream).
Phlegmatic Temperament
Continuing our conversation about temperaments, let’s talk about those phlegmatics. My mom was a bright, shiny penny her whole life. It occurred to me the other day that, although my mother played piano almost daily most of her life, she had a repertoire of only a few songs. She never added any new ones or took any away. Think about that. Her honky-tonk version of St. Louis Blues was inspired and she played it pretty much the same way just about every day for at least 65 years. Now that’s a phlegmatic temperament!