Saturday, January 26, 2008

Marcie and singing: unexpected attentions

Jane and I were discussing Marcie and singing in an email, and I realized that a number of people would be surprised to know that Marcie was not much for singing in public, but she did like to sing at home.

Specifically, following Jane's email in which she shared her Marcie dream, I wrote to her:

She did used to sing, though usually just for herself. I would walk in and listen, and she would sometimes be so embarrassed that she would pretend I scared her and chase me out. It was quite cute to hear her sing songs by The Cranberries.

Marcie sometimes walked around in a bubble, and she didn't always recognize that other people were there, too. Jane, as it turns out, was pretty familiar with this aspect of her personality, and wrote back:

I can totally imagine her getting "mad" at you for that, and I love that memory. Maybe you can add that to the post about my dream.

I think the dream belongs in a post all its own, as it is. Marcie's inner joy and extremely private ways mixed oddly at times, to be sure. There's more about the singing...

Marcie was a redhead and therefore also loved Tori Amos. There is likely more to it than that, but she wads redhead-centric. She was also partial to Sarah McLachlan, and these two never failed to elicit a sing-along from her whenever they were played on the radio.

Marcie would also dance when she sang, which, if she knew she was observed, would have usually been okay, as the voice volume went down but the dancing became more to invite than to enjoy. Dancing in the kitchen with her in her "cleaning clothes," and old and me in my sweats was always fun.

Marcie's most common defense tactic was to take umbrage with even the most innocuous intrusion when her defenses were down. But I had my own ways of being silly. I never stopped blushing when she confronted me about watching or staring at her.

I often found myself watching her in a quiet moment, admiring her and generally being happy and smug that I had her. When she would notice, it would always trigger a little routine she liked to play out with me.

It always felt like I was beign caught watching the pretty girl across the room, and she never let it slide, which I am glad for, really.

"What are you looking at?" she would ask, her mischievous half-smile and half-closed eyes belying her delight.

"You," I'd say. I would invariably be blushing like a teenager. On the spot.

"What are you looking at on me?" she would ask.

"Your eyes," I would say.

"Are they pretty, honey? Do you like my eyes?" she would ask, and sometimes tease me about blushing.

They were always pretty, but they weren't always her eyes. Sometimes it was her soft lips or her hair or her pretty face in general. Sometimes it was her legs, her hips, her breasts, her butt. Regardless, the pattern remained the same.

"And my lips? What about those?" She would ask, smiling a little more, never quite disengaging from the task I was observing her in.

And what would follow was a long, playful interrogation in the same vein. Sometimes a few questions long, a little smile and eventual silence. But sometimes it would meander, which I greatly enjoyed.

When she either ran out of body parts and attributes in general, or became bored with the game and being the most beautiful, intelligent, gracious, talented, loving and the sexiest wife on the planet, she would move us on.

"That's right," she would say. "And you'd better keep that in mind."

Generally, if she caved in to me like that, she was blushing, too, though I took care never to mention it. But sometimes she would give me an extra treat.

"So, honey," she would smile, closing her book or setting aside her cooking utensils. Sometimes she would lean over to me, biting her lower lip. "Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

I always had a little list of things she had not asked in my head, which I would tick off to her as I kissed, touched, squeezed and held her. And sometimes she would ask me, but kiss me to quietude. Tell her some other way, that meant.

We always ended up in the same place and on the same agenda. It was just nice to get there with a little appreciative lust first, and to get it, all I had to do was "happen upon" her as she did her thing.

It was a habit I miss indulging. That I can certainly share.