When I was a kid I thought mushrooms were disgusting little bits of fungi, but now I adore them. In theory, I just need to sample more opera in order to make the taste bud palate in my brain more receptive to operatic charms.
There are the opera songs I like, but they're the more accessible ones. I never get tired of listening to Pavarotti sing La Donna e Mobile in Rigoletto. My husband, who does speak Italian, filled me in on the translation one afternoon after I'd put the song on repeat and turned up the volume, "You understand he's saying women are fickle or flighty, right?"
Me: "Oh, but it's still a really good song."
Him: "Yes it is. Would you like me to translate the rest for you."
Me: "No, thank you."
Sometimes it's better not to know.
I considered dragging my whole family to the opera for purposes of this blog, but between soccer games, birthday parties and piano practice that seemed like an impractical, if not impossible, proposition to complete by Monday.
"I've got new music for the trip to Grandma's house," I announced. The kids were understandably excited.
After all, based on my previous playlists an argument could be made that I'm really thirteen; a little Katy Perry, followed by Adele and this summer just wouldn't have been complete without our 'Call Me Maybe' sing-a-longs.
It was a rude awakening. After they got done making fun of the undeniable talent streaming forth from the car speakers, the backseat crowd began to beg for Z100. And I did exactly what anyone else trapped in a car with two children, ages eight and ten, would have done. I caved.
But I think I'll start playing opera during Sunday night dinner. Who knows, maybe it'll sink into our brains and some morning we'll awake with unaccountable cravings for Puccini and Rossini. Or mushrooms. I would definitely take mushrooms as an acceptable answer.