Living with Mom and Dad in the Ancestral Family Split-Level was quite an experience, and law school was boggling. When I moved back home after college, I was unprepared for the efforts of my Old People to stay young.
I don’t know if it’s a Scot thing or a Milanese thing, but we all tend to sing when we think we’re alone and are doing a domestic task. Mine tend to come from VH-1’s Top 20, and Mom and Dad tend to Motown, since in 1961 that was the thing.
The central staircase of a split-level separates the living areas by function, which is cool. It also enables one to spy on what’s going on on other levels without being seen.
So, when I came home from work and discovered that my Jamiroquai CD was missing from my car, I was a tad startled to hear it blasting from the stereo in the dining room.
Mom.
She had her friend Pam in the living room and was dusting. There was wine – a huge bottle of Pinot Grigio. She sang “You know this spooky is for real!” and Pam folded up on the sofa in a pile of giggles. I stood there on the stairs to the den with my jaw unhinged as Mom pranced around with a can of Pledge. Canned Heat with lemon freshness. “I threw my caution to the wi-hi-hind! Oh. Hi. I borrowed your CD. Do you want some wine?”
“Mom, I think you’ve had enough for both of us.” The crazy bitch was actually speaking LOLcat.
Finally, I tottered out to the terrace and called my friend Bill. After telling him what was up, I asked if I could move in with him. “My Mom sings ‘Stairway To Heaven’ when she dusts.” he informed me. “You’re better off.”
Then, the next day, I was watching HGTV in the den with the kitty, and Dad was working in the garage with the door open just a bit. It was just enough to hear him yell along with Boston “I closed mah eyes and she slipped away-ayyy-hay! She slipped away-AY-HAY! It’s moar than a feeeeeling (moar than a feeling) when I hear that old song play woo-ooh-ooh-hoo!” The cat cocked an ear in that general direction, then shook his head, like “Christ, make it stop.” My sentiments exactly.
I peeked in, and there he was at his workbench – making a goddam birdhouse, so that the goddam blue jays have a haven from which to dive-bomb our outdoor meals.
“Are both of you batshit?” I asked him.
“Maybe, a little.”
“Great. That looks terrific for me and my future.”
“Heh-heh-heh.”
Don’t get me wrong. If I had boring Old People I’d be bored and more than slightly irritated. I just wish they were a little less musical about it.
And I’m so glad I live 20 minutes away now, with my Cap’n. Though he thinks I’m a bit kooky when he catches me singing Colbie Callait to the cats.