One brush with fame the Larson family had during the impressionable 1960s happened when our Mom sang in a parish musical. It was called “The Gay ’90s.” Her sister sang, too; and I think this upped the special factor.

In the weeks before the event, energy in our ranch house made it jiggle like jello.

Mom sewed her costume evenings in her airless bedroom at the end of the bedroom wing, which was the only wing the house had. Her sewing machine whirred in a festive way, happy I guess to be privy to girly pink and silver brocade fabric.

I didn’t see her in this bustled finery until the night of the musical. Then she rustled down the hall, through the kitchen and into the car with a whoosh like a wisp, a breeze. The feathery hat on her dark curly head bobbed. Mom never bobbed. And, she laughed a bell-tinkle laugh when my bothers and I said important stuff like, “Wow.” and “Wow.”

I don’t recall what songs she and her sister sang but still hear how beautiful she sounded as she left our house to wow the crowd.