Speeding down the highway with the windows closed tight, it begins. I can hear you telling me to roll the windows down, feel the breeze and live a little. What you don’t understand is that for once I am living. Living loud.
The inside of my car becomes a stage. The music choice is naturally an important part of the show. What is more important however, is who to share the stage with. It has to be a perfect pairing of both pitch and playfulness. Laughter with a scoop of giggles if you will. There is no better partner, confidante or best friend to share the stage with than my Mom. She taught me this trade at an early age. For as long as I can remember, when we are alone in the car something special happens. The music begins, the volume goes up, and two shy women become music movie stars.
We are loud. I know you can’t believe it, but from the safety of being inside a closed car, we are loud. I am talking Fred Flintstone yelling for Wilma type of loud. Somehow barriers are dropped and our inner divas come out. We YMCA, Walk like an Egyptian and Cotton Eye Joe. We sing, if you can call it that. It is more like screaming words at the top of our lungs. We make our own hand motions. Best and most important of all is we laugh together.
So next time you pull up to a car at a stop light, look around. You just might see us having the time of our lives. Living loud.
