When Brooke comes over, she often sings and often sings songs that I know the words to.
One night when we had a small gathering of friends over, several of us were on the front porch, with the torches lit, rocking in the chairs and the glider.
Brooke and I started singing several songs from For the Boys.
That started it all. Now there's always a bit of music in the air, humming or whistling.
Tonight she and Kirk harmonized a smattering from about a dozen different musicals, The Music Man, The Sound of Music, Cabaret, The Phantom of the Opera, Oklahoma!, several others I can't recall at the moment, and even some familiar du-wop songs.
It gives the whole evening a feel-good, comfortable sigh, warm-fuzzy feeling.
Tonight I just lay my head back on the arm of the loveseat and listened, my feet on the other arm pushing my knees up close to my chest. It reminds me of singing with my mom and sister back when I lived at home, unbashful, without any self-consciousness.
Or times that my whole group of friends would spend the entire night on the beaches of Sardis, campfire or no, and sing, heads on each others shoulders or in laps, wrapped up in over-sized blankets.