My Mother’s Son Strikes Again

Most of my writing time of late has gone into determining if the book I started writing some years ago still has a pulse. Time for a blog post, I say…

When I was young, I was easily embarrassed by my mother’s habit, when hearing a few words in conversation from a song she knew, of joyfully breaking into the song herself.

“Is the Expos game against the Phillies a day game or night game?” someone might ask.

“Night and daaay, you are the one,” she would sing back. “Only you beneath the moon and under the sun.” And then, perhaps after a short self-conscious laugh over her impromptu joy, she would dutifully answer the question.

Meanwhile I would look for a place to hide. I guess I might as well get over it, given that I realized a few years ago, I have the same habit.

For instance…

While taking shots of this lamppost I’m in love with at the Outremont Metro station, giving the anonymous underground the quality of hominess, anyone within earshot would hear me singing – loudly and possibly on key – Herman’s Hermits’ rendition of “Leaning on the Lamppost at the Corner of the Street.” How rewarded these commuters must have felt to be serenaded with such words of wisdom as:

She’s wonderful, she’s marvellous, she’s fabulous, she’s beautiful,
And anyone can understand why,
I’m leaning on a lamp-post at the corner of the street
In case a certain little lady comes by.

Then, after capturing a bit more of Outremont station…

…I walked around the city for the next two days, sharing the song with everyone else. Couldn’t help it. Generosity is something else that comes naturally to my mother.

I’ve also been taking pictures of other things than Metro stations. For example…