Taking an after-dinner stroll through our neighborhood is a much-anticipated ritual of our summer evenings. Most of the time, the boys will opt to stay home--shooting hoops or breaking in our new Spike-Ball set. Thus, my hubby and I set off down the street, through our little three-cove community, within hollering distance of the house. This is a novel concept for a city girl like me, born and raised in South Florida. I must confess that I’m rather enamored of our own version of “country living”!
We see bunnies scrambling across unfenced yards, folks watering their sun-drenched lawns, and dogs lounging underneath a shade tree--lazily ensconced behind their electric fence. At the end of the street, there is an inlet, of sorts, that leads to a planted field--wheat or barley, we have determined. And, if we get there at just the right time, we will see deer, cautiously exiting their woodland protection for a bite of dinner. Again, the city girl gets giddy.
But, one unexpected delight has become my favorite part of our ambling--the music. There is an older gentleman who opens up his garage door, turns on his stereo, and plays DJ from his lawn-chair. It’s usually a “golden oldies” playlist--the Temptations, the Beach Boys, or even Ol’ Blue Eyes (Frank Sinatra, for the youngsters!) It’s not obnoxious or annoying--simply loud enough for those who might wander past his driveway to enjoy. And, quite frankly, my step will quicken a bit--likely in rhythm to the music. Admittedly, I am the “vocalist” of this duo; but, I just know that my sweetie is humming along. Inside.
I just know it.