My mother has always liked things quiet. She'd nix the jazz when my dad would leave the room and her nerves would visibly settle.
She could go days in silence. I've become alot like her.
So you can imagine my surprise when I arrived at her house on Thursday to have her hold out La Vie En Rose and tell me, "This is my favorite CD."
She turned on the movie's sound track and spun around the room.
"I studied French in high school so I even understand the words," she smiled as she sang along.
We loaded up the van to head for the Jersey Shore. Haven said, "Let's listen to the 'French.'"
My dad had brought it along. My mom sang soft and slurred with her hands flitting an imagined cigarette. My dad commented on the arrangement.
"The orchestra worked well with Edith," he said.
"And she with them," she replied.
We had 4 splendid days at the beach. I forgot my camera cause I'm a jerk so I'll just have to remember my boys charging the waves and the perfect swim I had all alone while my folks watched the kids. I'll just have to remember the feeling of freedom -- running along the beach with my boys, leaping and laughing.
When we loaded back up to return home Haven again asked for the 'French.'
Of course they complied.
As mom and dad sang along, I imagined serving them cocktails in my guest cottage when they are old and gray. Offering cigarettes. A newspaper.
"Wouldn't it be great, mom, if you lost your mind and you really, truly believed you were the great Edith Piaf? Wouldn't it be great?" I asked her.
She nodded, smiled bright and kept singing with the music.