Cock-a-Doodle Who?

In my world, Saturday nights usually consist of a glass of wine and a hot date with Alex Trebek from Jeopardy. So I'm a trivia geek. Sue me.

But last night I ventured out. My best friend, Pam, invited me to a bon voyage party her mother Anita, and stepfather Walt, were hosting to kick-off their three week vacation to Colombia next month. Held on their large deck overlooking the serene Delta waters, it was a festive catered affair complete with a Mariachi trio.

Now as far as I know, Mariachi music is Mexican, not Colombian, but perhaps Shakira wasn't free. Then again, my mother was from Colombia and she absolutely adored Mariachi music, so maybe Colombians have a soft spot for Mariachis. Who knows.

Anyway, that's why I was invited. Anita and Walt thought I'd enjoy the music my mother so loved. And much to my surprise, they were right. Because as a kid, I couldn't stand the stuff.

My sister and I grew up listening to Mariachi music. Almost every Sunday afternoon, Mom and Grandma (who was from Nicaragua and lived with us) would play their favorite Los Panchos Trios albums on a stereo the size of a Winnebago. They'd crack open the vino, which in the early 70s was Gallo Wine, a perennial supermarket favorite. Today Gallo has been rebranded as the moderately decent Turning Leaf, but they can't fool me. I remember Gallo when it came in a green gallon-sized jug and tasted like a cross between vinegar and rubbing alcohol. But Mom and Grandma liked it.

With the volume cranked up, they would stretch across the sofa with their vino, laughing, talking, and singing along for all the neighbors to hear. I just criiiiinged, wishing they liked the same stuff the other moms were listening to, like Tom Jones or Mac Davis. There was one song in particular that I couldn't stand -- The Rooster Song, I called it. So coined because in the main chorus, one of the trio warbled like old Foghorn Leghorn himself was being massacred.

But last night, that was the song I wanted to hear. Every tune by the Mariachis was like an invisible hug, bringing back a flood of warm memories. When I requested that song, I couldn't remember the name, but I sure knew how to describe it.

I crowed like a rooster.

With a knowing grin, the Mariachis nodded and began serenading me with The Rooster Song. And I closed my eyes and reveled in the moment. Missing Mom. Missing Grandma.

And grateful that the Mariachis weren't Mac Davis.