A-one, an' a-two ...
We settled in on Saturday evening, me with a stack of final portfolios on my lap, Bridge stretched out on the couch, a veggie pizza between us.
"The Lawrence Welk Show" was on, and we were glued to the TV. As we watched the dance numbers, the songs, the clarinets and trumpets, the camera spanning the dancing audience of old ladies in cat-eye glasses and old men in belted slacks, Bridge said, I want to live then.
Lawrence Welk is a North Dakota boy, the son of German immigrants, a Catholic German from Russia just like my mom's side. One of my third cousins, Joey Schmidt, once played accordian with him. When Mr. Welk speaks, I miss home. My Grandma and Great Aunt with their low-German accents. Hard, airy S's; there are no "zee" S's for them. Bismarck is Bissmarck.
German is Cherman. Th's are just T's, sometimes D's.
Once, in high school, my aunt and sister did a Bobby and Sissy over-the-back flip move in my Grandma's kitchen, and we were all surprised they didn't crash through the wooden floor and end up in the basement.
Lawrence Welk once said this:
Conversation didn't seem necessary when I put the accordion down and swung some young lady around the floor.
You know when I blush and stutter and look down?
I would rather be spinning you on the dance floor.
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4 comments:
My grandma once told me "The French sure liked us when we saved them from the Nassi's." I had to stare at her for a second to figure out what she meant.
You should her the way she say ghetto.
This post is totally wunnerful, wunnerful! Love. It.
Mr. Welk did a stint down here in Yankton, SD, where he got his start on radio on WNAX. I wasn't alive then. But I watched the show when I was a kid and developed a peculiar fondness for the polka that continues to this day.
Lu is the Polka Queen of NoDak!
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