...that I've already told you this, but it bears repeating.
The wife is out getting drilled and thrilled at the dentist, and Nat and I were upstairs in the kid's room, looking out the window at the birds. A huge flock of them, in the field across the fence, feeding on seed from the freshly mown grass. And that reminded me of something.
Nat is getting to the age where she can retain memories, so I told her a tale of her mother.
The wife is an operatic-trained singer. Her voice coach was the one Judy Garland used. The wife is also a trained classical pianist, and all I can do is smile when I hear her playing her keyboard in the bedroom, and singing along. If that is the last sound I hear on this earth, I will go with a look of perfect contentment on my face.
The angels are doubtless shuddering at my approach, but they have a reserved spot designated for the wife in their choir, and doubtless cluster around her to listen when she sings and plays.
Have I mentioned lately what a lucky man I am?
Anyway, the tale is this: When the wife was a girl and used to practice and play her piano, and sing along with her playing, the trees would fill with birds, and they would pick up her pitch, and trill along with her as she performed for them. When she finished, they'd leave.
Weird, huh. And way, way cool.
She would practice at the same time every day, after school, and the birds would show up before she started, and fidget until it was time for choir practice. The wife told me that they would raise their little birdy heads, and just sing their hearts out. She seemed amazed, as she told me. After all these years, still kinda stunned.
I get it, though.