"Chug, chug, chug," was all I needed to hear. I’d run from any point in the apartment and jump on. Mom’s washing machine was my rocking bronco. Old and cranky, it burped, coughed and passed gas, but it still ran. Its mechanical parts wrestled against each other without rules. The machine would lift itself from its usual corner by the kitchen sink beginning a Ouija board dance across the linoleum floor. You never knew where it was headed. Sick of having to plug it back in when it pulled itself out of the wall socket; Mom finally gave in adding a long extension cord. This cord became my passport to ride the wide open plain from sink to wall, from wall to door across the rolling kitchen floor. Only one rule was in play. I couldn’t wear my sneakers when driving.
.
On early rides, I’d firmly plant my sneakers on the papered walls to maximize liftoff. 
This left permanent marks resistant to all Borax cleaning products. This displeased Mom. Our compromise, I wore socks. So did Mom. We each wore a pair of Dad’s thick hunting socks. Me, to cleanly push off as the stage coach perilously neared the wall. I’d redirect my pony express out of the sage brush back onto the dirt road. Mom slid her socks across the floor in a fluid polishing motion till she saw her house proud smile reflecting off the burnished linoleum.
This left permanent marks resistant to all Borax cleaning products. This displeased Mom. Our compromise, I wore socks. So did Mom. We each wore a pair of Dad’s thick hunting socks. Me, to cleanly push off as the stage coach perilously neared the wall. I’d redirect my pony express out of the sage brush back onto the dirt road. Mom slid her socks across the floor in a fluid polishing motion till she saw her house proud smile reflecting off the burnished linoleum. The kitchen radio played tunes all day long or Mom would put Mario Lanza on Dad’s 1955 RCA Victrola record player. We’d sing on the top of our lungs locked in tune. The music, the bouncing machine and me, mom’s linoleum cleaning cha-cha, a chaotic orchestra playing for us two only. We joined Mario in song.
Drink, Drink, Drink,
To eyes that are bright as stars when they’re shining on me.
Drink! Drink! Drink!
To lips that are red and sweet as the fruit on the tree!
Here's a hope that those bright eyes will shine
Lovingly, longingly soon into mine!
May those lips that are red and sweet,
Tonight with joy my own lips meet!
Drink! Drink! Drink!
To eyes that are bright as stars when they’re shining on me.
Drink! Drink! Drink!
To lips that are red and sweet as the fruit on the tree!
Here's a hope that those bright eyes will shine
Lovingly, longingly soon into mine!
May those lips that are red and sweet,
Tonight with joy my own lips meet!
Drink! Drink! Drink!
Happy Birthday, John Lennon! Here is my favorite Johnny song today, "Rain." It changes a lot, there are too many I love. Listen to "Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts" radio on Tuesday night on Centanni, it's now a two hour show from 9pm to 11pm. My guest this week, actress, Susan Neuffer, will enchant you. She's smart and funny. Please, listen in.
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