As an adoptee, there are times when you look at who your family is and try to find things that look familiar: someone's nose, for example, or your affinity for math, or your allergy to pinecones. When we find something like that in my family, my mother is apt to exclaim, "We must be related!"
It may have come up earlier in this blog, but I cannot sing. Well, that's not exactly true. I can vocalize on some sort of melody, and sometimes even hit the notes that the other person is singing. But usually I'm off, either by a painful lot or by a niggling tone or two. My neighbors must have loved me, because I do like to sing... I just shouldn't. Ever. In public. Or private.
Thing One is a very patient person, and over the past nearly 28 years has put up with a lot. Including my unique brand of song stylings. I have a rather large knowledge of lyrics and frequently enjoy inserting them into the conversation when we're watching tv. Last week he mentioned that I seem to have only one tune with innumerable lyrics. Now, that's not exactly true, there are more tunes. It's just that the tune I hear in my head is never the one that comes out my mouth (when I'm singing a cappella) and usually isn't even close to what the original singer/composer intended.
Apparently my mother's mother used to play a game with her children where she'd hum a tune and make them guess the song. In her mind she'd be humming, say, "Strangers in the Night" and yet somehow it never made it past her lips to anything recognizable.
I've never met the woman, as she died when my mother was 13 (or, as I like to think of it, when I was -12). Despite that, we must be related!
And if Thing One (or any other Thing) is reading: I'm still gonna sing. Bring earplugs.