‘Which is to say, “not one bit”‘

Again with the excuses for not keeping up with my posts! But these days I have two unbeatable ones: 1) visiting my grandson, and 2) visiting my Mom.

Visiting grandson and mom at the same time via Facetime (!)

A couple of weeks ago, I got to do both in person. I’m finally settled down enough to write about these visits, so let’s start with the one to see Mom.

Mom recently moved to a new apartment at her senior living place, and this was the first time I got to check it out. I’m glad to report that it is as cozy as her former pad and even brighter and sunnier — and much more quiet, once I figured out how to get her heater to stop clanking. (Speaking of clanking, her old place overlooked the loading dock; it’s a good thing I like to wake early, since beefy guys were out there clanking and yelling every morning around 5:30.)

A view of Mom’s former building, with her room (second floor, corner) overlooking the loading dock

Anyway. New apartment = new friends. I got to meet a bunch of them at Mom’s breakfast table. (Hi Eugene! Hi Ann-Without-An-E! Hi Candy! When I mentioned to Candy that I had never met an actual person named “Candy,” she said that her mother wanted to name her Denise, but that her aunt said “there’s no way I’m going to have a niece named “Denise!” and that was that. Read that last phrase aloud with a Sopranos accent to see what Candy’s aunt meant.)

Mom may have changed rooms, but Snoopy and Woodstock were still on Christmas duty at this house on my morning walk

Anyway (again). This place is kind of like high school; Mom has “her” table in the dining room, and we sat with these new friends at Happy Hour on Thursday. Happy Hour starts at 2:30 in this joint (since dinner is from 4:30 to 6:00), and is very popular, with real booze (a popular cocktail is half Sprite, half “blush” wine) and live entertainment. This Happy Hour featured a singer attired in a fancy pearl-buttoned western shirt who played guitar and sang cowboy songs. (One of these was a chestnut called “I Am My Own Grandpa.”) My Mom rather enjoyed this one. But then Mr. Singer told a story about once having the great pleasure of hearing Eddie Albert sing — and yodel. Now, if you don’t know what yodeling is, you can, in my opinion, count yourself among the lucky. But if you are curious, you can watch this video with guys in cowboy outfits yodeling away.

I wonder if Mr. Baby is smiling because he just heard some yodeling?

And not only did this guy yodel, he invited us all to yodel along. Now, my Mom hates to be asked to sing along, so you can imagine how she reacted to being asked to yodel. Well. Not only did Singer Guy’s enthusiastic audience yodel along, but some of them got up and started line dancing. 

Now. My mother hates line dancing about as much as she hates Whoopi Goldberg. Which is right up there with her hate for Robin Williams. Or root canal. But line dance these folks did. While yodeling.

Now, I’m betting Mom would have loved the line dancing at The Child’s wedding (see photo at the top of this post, and the video, below). But then again, maybe not. At least they weren’t yodeling.

There was room at Mom’s table for a few more music-listeners, not just Mom’s pals. There was a couple seated to my right; the man was an enthusiastic yodeler. When the yodeling at last reached a screeching halt, I leaned around the woman and said to the guy, “Hey, that was pretty good!” After which the woman (I’m assuming it was his wife) looked me right in the eye and said, “Thanks a lot.”

Shortly after the line dancing/yodeling session at Mom’s, I was on my way south along the coast for the grandson half of my visit…to be continued!

Amagansett, New York. January 2025