The playlist in our car is a bit odd. There’s Cindy Lauper and Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Des’ree and Cat Stevens. There are French CDs, Paddington Bear and Peter Rabbit. The kids sing along, each voice and story triggers my memory, makes me too sing, smile. There’s Arkadaşim Eşek and songs about postmen and crazy people with earrings. These are just songs, beautiful for the voices that join in from the backseat but annonymous aside from that.
Sometimes when speaking another language it’s easier not to say anything at all. A simple responsive comment like “going for an Indian along the curry mile” can turn into 30minutes of derailing the conversation to explain the subculture of that sentence to the other person, by which time you’ve gone from food to diet to doctors back to supermarkets and everyone’s forgotten why the comment about curry was made. Whether you’re the one speaking or listening, there’s always something that doesn’t make sense, so you shush. It’s not that you don’t want to talk, more that you simply just want to talk. Without explanation or clarification.
It was Mother’s Day last weekend. The boys gifted me a cowboy hat! Yesterday before bed T turned the strap of that hat into horse reins as he sat on my back and I neighed. Unbeknownst to us M was snapping away with the camera while we played and at 4am I found those photos. Unbridled joy all over our faces as we lost ourselves in our world behind the bedroom door. Who needs words when you can neigh?