Here is my cute 89 year old mother with her new cat, Patches, a Christmas present from my husband.
Life is ironic.
My mother lives with us. She is basically a fundamentalist who loves TBN. She NEVER watches t.v. (except TBN and ice skating). She rarely listens to music other than hymns. She never reads a book that does not have a religious theme of some sort. She thinks all movies are questionable unless they are produced by Disney.
The other night I flipped on Public Television, sitting sleepily on the couch and waiting for my husband to come home and tell me to go to bed. Instead of anything "high brow" I found myself watching the reunion concert of Cream. Ah, those guys weren't as well known as the Beatles or the Beach Boys, but the sound of their music can sure transport a Baby Boomer right back to 1966 or so. If you go to the link and click on sound samples and listen a little, you will see what I mean.
I was never a Cream fan exactly, back in the day, but I listened to the guys, admiring their talent (especially Eric Clapton--wow!), considered how tired drumming like that for two hours would make one, pondered the fact that they all looked wrinkly and--well--old.
My mother came in and sat down silently. I waited for a comment like, "What awful noise. How can you listen to that?" Instead, after a few moments of watching the t.v. with a quizzical look on her face, she said, "What kind of music is that?" I replied, "Rock. Well, rock with blues and jazz overtones...but rock. Yes." "Rock? Really? Hmmm" my mother said.
A few minutes passed. I was on the couch kind of bobbing my head and thinking of riding to the beach in my sister's little red convertable on a sunny California day about 40 years ago, many pounds lighter, sans wrinkles or grey hair, full of anticipation for life. In the back seat were our bags with swimsuits, towels, coconut smelling suntan cream, a radio, and two meatball sandwiches. And I cranked up the radio to listen to Cream cranking out "Sunshine of Your Love." Amazing what music can do for my memory!
Meanwhile, my mother was over in the recliner, silent and still, alternately gazing at me and the television.
She eventually got up, and as she headed for her room she quietly said, "They're pretty good."