An elderly couple walked into the lobby of the Mayo Clinic for a checkup and spotted a piano. They've been married for 62 years and he'll be 90 this year.
Check out this impromptu performance. We are only as old as we feel, it's all attitude. Enjoy! They certainly do
Shortly after Dad has his second procedure to remove gallstones, he related a story to me.
"I woke up and there was a man in my room. He was wearing a white suit."
"It was probably just a dream, Dad." Either that or tripping on whatever medication the hospital sent him home with.
"No, it wasn't a dream. I was awake."
"Did you know the man?"
"No, just that he was wearing a white suit."
All I could picture was Mr. Roarke from the television show Fantasy Island or Tattoo, Mr. Roarke's little dude sidekick. Boss, de plane! de plane!
Did this man talk to you?"
"No, but I heard a voice say, 'Not now, they still have time.'"
Dad was not at all upset about a stranger in his room.
"Your mother heard the voice too."
"She did?"
"Yes, because she asked me the next morning who was in the house."
Not exactly what I would call a good witness as Ma hears someone singing risque Italian songs all the time.
"God sends someone to come and take you home."
Dad seemed quite comforted by this thought. Now I have heard this type of story, though I had heard it was always a family member or someone you knew who came to help you cross over. Not a complete stranger. On the other hand, The Happy Wanderer would gladly go with anyone that offered him a lift.
I was spending the day with Ma, waiting to hear the results of a procedure Dad was having at the hospital. Ma was sitting on the settee under the picture of Auntie Rose. I was sitting opposite Ma and flipping through a Martha Stewart magazine.
"There she goes again," Ma said with an irritated edge to her voice.
"Who?"
"The music."
"What music?"
"Don't you hear the music?" Ma looked at me as if I was dumb as well as deaf.
I concentrated. I could hear the ticking of the clock in the kitchen, the refrigerator gurgling, and if I listened real hard, the roar of the highway. "I don't hear any music, Ma."
"You mean to tell me you can't hear that? She does this every single day, all day long. It's driving me crazy."
"Who?" There isn't a soul around the neighborhood. Everyone works.
"She must have a Victrola, and she plays those records."
"What kind of songs?"
"Dirty, Italian songs."
I might have half believed her if she had said that jungle music you used to listen to as a kid. I laughed. "Ma, who around here would be playing Italian songs? Let alone dirty, Italian songs. No one is Italian."
"Come sit with me and then tell me you don't hear the music."
So I crossed the room and sat on the settee next to Ma. She watched my face expectantly.
I shook my head. "Sorry, Ma. I only hear the clock and the refrigerator.
The only part of the Italian language I ever got a handle on were the swear words. Ma and Dad only spoke Italian when they didn't want The Brother or me to know what was going on. No mistaking swear words, and usually you knew what was going on because you were at the bottom of it or soon would be. So if there were Italian swear words to be heard, I knew I'd be able to pick up on them.
I tried to get Ma to tell me the songs she was hearing, but she couldn't quite put a title to any one of them. We used to have a couple of records by Italian singer Lou Monte. He sang a few of the old favorites like "Eh Cumpare." He sang a couple of funny songs a mixture of English and Italian like "What Did Washington Say When He Crossed the Delaware." It wasn't a dirty song. Ol ' George laments the fact that it's wicked cold and he must have forgotten his mudandies (long underwear). The Brother and I enjoyed the song about Pepino a mischievous mouse who eats Lou's cheese, drinks his wine and scares the mudandies off his girl.
Ma hearing voices is sad and funny at the same time. Dirty, Italian songs. I suppose it's a blessing she's hearing them. She could be hearing voices telling her to kill those who can't hear the music.
If you want to sing along with Lou, here are the lyrics to Pepino.
Pepino, oh, you little mouse Oh, won't you go away Find yourself another house to run around and play You scare my girl, you eat my cheese, you even drink my wine I try so hard to catch you but you trick me all the time
Cesta no surecillo a basoccella dinda mur Ogna sere quella esce quanda casa scura Endo dindo la cucina balla sulasu A parrano malandrino pura un gabo sapaur
Pepino suracill ana parta scubari Managa suracill a casa ma dai Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa
The other nightI called my girl I asked her could we meet I said let's go to my house We could have a bite to eat And as we walked in through the door she screamed at what she saw There was little Pepino Doin' the cha, cha on the floor
Pepino suracill ana parta scubari Managa suracill a casa ma dai Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa Quella non ci piace u formaggio American Quella va trova no poca Parmesan La fatto ghiata ghiat gusto ena cor Quando cella camina para probino caladur
Pepino suracill ana parta scubari Managa suracill a casa ma dai Stasira da cucina nu poco di vino ci au lasciar A quando si briaggo a Pepino giong apa
