The Hills Are Alive

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This old gal...

Had a flashback. A flashback to the ghosts of past—and then a sequel to the flashback...

That husband of mine deciding to mow the lawn. Choosing to do so at noon—the hottest time of day. Comes in for a break and gives that beautiful wife of his a kiss—a big old sweaty-all-over-the-face kiss...

And THAT'S when the flashback flashes back...

That mother of mine outside mowing the lawn. Young me inside, doing who knows what. Playing Barbies. Watching TV. It doesn't matter. The mowing sagas always ended the same way...

One of us would come in, huffing and puffing, making sure the little ones of us realized the sacrifice that was just made. How hard it was. How tiring it was. How HOT it was.

And that's when that mowing-mother would lean over Barbie playing (or doing whatever) me and say, 'Feel me.' As in touch my sweaty forehead to see how super hot and overexerted I am...

And so Barbie playing me did—feel her. Tiny little hands tap-tapping the sweaty brow while the insides cringed just a little...

Which takes us to the sequel. The sequel to the Feel Me Flashback. As soon as she was able, young me took her turn mowing. She liked it. The yard was flat. The yard was small. And she could sing. Sing at the top of her voice. She in her own little mowing bubble. The sound of the mower making those show tunes resonate...

And young me didn't just sing songs. She opera-sang songs. Had a unique voice for a child. Sang in her head voice. A little version of Shirley Jones or Julie Andrews. And she belted those tunes—'Climb Every Mountain', 'Til There Was You', 'Oooooklahoma (where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain)—because no one could hear...

Or so she thought...

Walked by a house one day, a half block away or so, and was stopped by a neighbor, who so kindly told her that he loved hearing her sing while she mowed. It filled the whole neighborhood, he said, because the mower makes the sound carry. Did she know that?

No, she did not.

And so it is...in life...Sometimes you get dinner. Sometimes you get a show. But if a singing girl in the neighborhood decides to mow at noon...you just might be lucky enough to get both...
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And that neighbor of mine...would agree...