Mitch Miller

Here EG and the kids view music as an essential background to their day, much like the Muzak played in Kmart stores. What is interesting is what they choose to play, as that is what varies. One night Transiberian Orchestra, the next night oldies (Mom, how do you know this stuff?), and the next night Carrie Underwood with a little classical sprinkled throughout. As Rocky prefers classic rock, like Queen and Pink Floyd, and he is henpecked by his sisters, he rarely gets to vote on what they play.

The past few nights Kiki has been at voice lessons and then at girl scout camp, so Nita has been the disc jockey. It has been The Jonas Brothers two nights in a row so far. And Billy Joel's Piano Man, but none of his other hits.

Yesterday, I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the entire kitchen and hall. The floor, which was put in by my parents, is white on white textured, perfect for a guest bathroom or a kitchen owned by two eighty somethings, but not so perfect for three kids, three labs, and two cats. I used a toothbrush, scrub brush and magic eraser, getting into all the crevices and taking off the ground in discoloration. It took nearly four hours. I then put acrylic seal down and let it dry.

The floor looks brand new.

However, during that time, the house was quiet, and I was remembering my mother. She, too, didn't play music that often, but when we were getting close to Christmas, she would pull out her Mitch Miller Christmas Albums, her Perry Como and Andy Williams, and we would hear the same music we had heard every year during our childhood. I scrubbed the floor and "heard" some of the old songs, and felt at peace. Somehow I knew my mother was close to me, in her kitchen, in the quiet of a weekday afternoon.