As part of Old Post Resurrection Hop,  here’s a blog I wrote in February of this year. (I made some changes)

“Be Silly.” That’s what was imprinted on a license plate in front of me today, as I drove up Laguna Canyon Road to a yoga class in Irvine. I couldn’t help smiling. Instant love for the driver, an older man from what I could see. There were two women and another man in the car. Four heads in an old beige Mercedes tootling up the road.

No doubt they were all wearing Groucho Marx clip-on noses with attached black eyeglass rims and eyebrow tufts. Perhaps the driver was shirtless, his hairy chest covered with a spangly Madonna-like pointy bra, his legs in red striped tights. Maybe the women were dressed as Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum, the other man in a mauve tu-tu that frothed up around him.

I just knew if I pulled up alongside them at the stop sign at El Toro Road, Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen would burst from the windows and all four heads would jerk back and forth in time, with the foursome singing at the top of their lungs along with the group. If I continued alongside the rocking car up the canyon, I would see them lift their chins and sing the final chorus, “Nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me,” lips stretched to the sky. And I would sing along with them.

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