Anne Murray - I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Write Myself A Letter Lyrics

Have always enjoyed her voice..........

To be born with that rich tone is one thing, and to swing is another. She has both eh?

Very beautiful !!

I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And make believe it came from you
I'm gonna write words oh, so sweet
They're gonna knock me off my feet
A lot of kisses on the bottom
I'll be glad I got 'em.

I'm gonna smile and say I hope you're feeling better
And sign with love the way you do
I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And make believe it came from you.
******************
I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And make believe it came from you
I'm gonna write words oh so sweet
They're gonna knock me off my feet
A lot of kisses on the bottom
I'll be glad I got 'em.

I'm gonna smile and say I hope you're feeling better
And sign with love the way you do
I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter
And make believe it came from you
And make believe it came from you.....

such a beautiful woman!!!!!

Is this available on a record ?

I really like your version of this great song.
Please check out my clarinet cover of this song on my channel

Sounds like its time to take enventory

I love this song with Anne Murray when I met my sister for the first time in my life in 2007 we realized we both have a thing for music and we learned these songs and we'd sing it everytime we went downton the mountain into the city and sing our hearts out with this beauty of a song, thanks for posting it thank a mill

 
The Sounds, Smells, and Flavors of My Life

Almost every Sunday, which was my father's only day off, from 1958 to the late 1980's, would be his time to sit down stairs, in what was then called 'The Rec Room', of our brick home in suburban Cranford, NJ. He would sit on an old avocado green 1960's couch. With his flower patterned metal foldable coffee table in front of him, a fresh cup of instant Chock Full O’ Nuts coffee, a  Chesterfield’s cigarette burning in the ashtray, a 1919 The Gibson guitar in hand, and a very used "fake book" from the early 1950’s in front of him... he was a very happy man!

He would proceed to arbitrarily flip through his old fake book. If he knew the song he flipped to, he would play and sing it with incredible conviction and emotion. If he didn't happen to know the song that he flipped to, he would try and work it out as far as his patience would allow. If it was a song that he knew in his head, but not know how to play, he would work on it, with his ear leading the way, again, until his patience ran thin. In his next "Rec Room Sessions" he would work those unfinished tunes out a little bit more. At that juncture, it was back to flipping through the fake book.

My mother would be in her (most of the time) favorite place in the house, the kitchen. Indeed, Sunday mornings, the smell of bacon, eggs and pancakes, coffee, Chesterfield and Salem cigarettes, and the sounds from the Rec Room; of Jazz, Bossa Nova, and Gypsy up-tempo guitar playing, ala one of the old guitar players that had a profound influence on my father... Django Reinhardt.

There were the sounds of his singing with the deepest of emotion and conviction… and the loud voice of my father yelling up to my mother…” Shirl, make me another cup of coffee, please?!?!?. She would almost always respond with… “Another? For Christ sakes Anthony, that’s too much coffee, you’re going to get agita (heartburn, acid reflux) again!!!”... she would make it, and bring it down to him… This was simply how it was around the home I grew up in, but not how it was, I realized as I grew older, the way it was around almost all of my friends homes.

Later in the morning, when my father was tired of ‘fake booking it’ (if you will), and the caffeine and nicotine were in full swing in his central nervous system (pun intended!), he would resort to his old memorized staples of repertoire, drawing from the Great American Songbook. So, whenever my father started to sing, ‘I’m Gonna Sit Right Down And Write Myself A Letter’ by Fred Ahlert and Joe Young… My mother, who was cleaning up the mess we all made, from all the ‘love’ she just served up to us for breakfast that morning, would start singing that song at the top of her lungs along with my father. They would sing in unison, and harmonize with each other, him taking the lower harmony, and my mother taking the upper, and sometimes they would switch harmonies. My mother upstairs, and my father downstairs, singing their hearts out together!!!! As a child, that was both embarrassing, and comforting, to hear my parents interacting in this beautiful way.

My father was a gifted musician and vocalist, who was self taught. He was influenced by all the great big bands of the 40’s, and all of the great progressive musicians of the 40's, 50’s and 60’s that he and my mother, together, would go to hear, during the late 40' and early 50's. Those were their younger years, the carefree, totally in love years, before having kids stomped on the air brakes hard, on those fun, joyous, and loving music/date activities.

They would drive from Elizabeth, NJ, north on the NJ Turnpike, over the GW Bridge and on up to the Harlem theaters and clubs in NYC. If they were going to the 52nd street Jazz clubs, they would take NJ Turnpike to the Lincoln Tunnel, and if they were heading to a club in the Village, they would take Rt 9, over the Pulaski Hwy, and through the Holland Tunnel. They would make these NYC Jazz club journeys in a used, black, late 40's Chevrolet Stylemaster, 2 door Town Sedan, that my father scrimped and saved for. My father's and mother's love of music, and music being central to their lives, rubbed off on me at a very early age.

 To this very day, at age 92, everyday I lay my crazy, diverse music collection on to my father’s ears. He will sit in his green lift chair, looking out over a beautiful farm, replete with old wood barn and silo, with cows grazing, hawks hunting, wild turkey roaming, and yes, coyotes howling. With his beloved boom box by his side, that has an MP3 input and USB input, that he is totally confused about how they function. There he will sit for hours on end, until I get him up and out and moving around. He will listen to the likes of: Herbie Hancock, Chic Corea, all the blues cats, Latin cats, fusion cats, New Orleans Second Line, Professor Longhair, Alan Toussaint, rock dudes, metal bands, classic rock, bluegrass, Texas swing, Bakersfield… you name it, he has probably listened to it!!!! When he is board with spinning music himself, he turns on the cable TV and tunes into MUSIC CHOICE, and gets to read a little about each artist.

If the music that he spins is true to it’s roots, he’s diggin’ on it big time daddy’o!!!!
If the music feels contrived to him, he’ll pass on it and try something else!!!!
Keep in mind, this is a 92 year old man I am writing about!!!!

My father is a WWll veteran, who was stationed in Guam, attached to the marines. He would play that 1919 Gibson guitar to try and cheer up the troops on some small amounts of leave time. This was the only time the troops had to try and calm their shattered, shell shocked nerves, by drinking a little ill-gotten beer, smoking some local marijuana, and singing along with my father and his Gibson guitar.

His immigrant father bought him that 1919 Gibson guitar from a pawn shop in NYC around the year of 1934.  This beautiful Gibson guitar was unfortunately lost in a flood in the early 1970’s, when the Rahway River that was across the way, overflowed and flooded our Cranford home (3X!!!!).

Today, my 92 year old father is my direct next door neighbor, who I am now a full time caretaker of. I have, over the years, little by little, picked up whatever slack was needed for him to continue to function at adjusted, maximum independence. This said slack (if you will) has now become almost all consuming for me, and at times, very difficult for me to deal with. But no matter what his needs are, or will become, I will always be there for him, and have his back, to the very end of his wonderful and beautiful existence on this planet. The same way he had my back from the second I was born, to this very day.

This man, who is still incredibly vibrant, goes to many concerts and Jazz shows with me, and he absolutely loves Thai food, 92, Thai food, go figure. He has a great sense of humor, and is always making jokes about his declining physical and mental abilities. He eats more than me, and wants to go out and party more than me!!! He is simply in the business of living, not dying. In the words of the great Bob Dylan… “your either busy living, or your busy dying”.

My father is a beacon, and a beautiful example to me, and anyone who meets him, of a man truly living life, and not letting life live him!!!!

The life lessons I have learned from him are incalculable. He is truly my best friend and confidant, who unconditionally loves me for who I am. So, with what I have been fielding from what life has been throwing my way lately, I don't really know what I would have done without him as my closest friend.

My mother was also a very talented singer, actor, cook, and the proverbial ‘hostess with the mostess’. She thrived on entertaining, and making people happy with her food. She would lay out a feast of incredible food on Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas... that words simply fall short in describing!!!! God rest her soul, I miss her every day, but she will live eternally in my being!! I am a lot more like my mother than I realize, or maybe want to realize, but have found the love in it all. I embody most of her good traits, and yes, some of the not so good!!! The same holds true for me with my father’s good and bad traits, though I have learned to dial the bad traits back to minimum, to zero. I am definitely not the offspring of the milkman!!!! Wow, milkman!!!!

I was a very fortunate child growing up where I did, and the way in which I did, in the 1960’s, and 70’s. The unconventional, yet rich, on so many levels, ways in which I grew up, have shaped (in a deep way) who I am, how I love, and the things I find deep joy in, to this day!

It was all of those rich experiences from my loving, and passionate parents, that have taught me what pure love, devotion, dedication, hard work, and joy; looks, sounds, smells, and tastes like.

These are the memories I choose to hold on to... the not so good, other’s?
I choose to let go forever.
These are the very memories that are etched in my heart and soul forever, and will continue to shape who I am, for the time I have left, to REALLY live my life out, on this wonderful planet, with pure love and pure joy.

With eternal love, devotion, and appreciation for the interconnected web of life!

May it be so,

Brian James Foti