🐘 Nancy is a storyteller, music blogger, humorist, poet, curveballer, noir dreamer 🐘
“Eavesdropper, eh? Terrific odds. He’s a mudder and on this muddy track today, I’m taking that as a good sign. Just look at his lineage! Yep, Millie, I predict Eavesdropper’s the winner of Race 9” Harry Goldman boasted to his wife.
She brushed him off with a wave of her hand. “Whatever, Harry Houdini. Not one of your so-called magical predictions has paid off yet.”
“All right, Millie. I admit you got lucky today. What’s your secret? Been communicating with a horse whisperer?” Harry asked, annoyed at his wife’s winning streak.
“Oh, zip it, Harry! If it wasn’t for me, we’d be in the poor house. You haven’t won all day! Now be quiet and let me concentrate on my choice for this race.” Millie buried her nose in the racing form.
Harry heaved his portly body out of his seat. “Pardon moi, madame. I’m gonna place my bet on Eavesdropper. Then we’ll see who’s got horse sense!”
“Haha!! Horse sense! That’s a good one, Harry! You’ve been sittin’ on yours so long you’re now a horse’s ass!” Millie cackled. “Go on up. I’ll be along in a minute. I’m thinking here.” Snapping her Bazooka like a bubblegum queen, Millie studied the lineup for the next race, then clickety-clacked her way to the betting windows, her leopard print heels pinging off the metal steps like a kid’s cap gun.
Bets placed, Harry and Millie settled in for the race. “I got a good feeling about this one, Millie!” Harry said excitedly, rubbing his hands together.
The starting gun shot out and the announcer shouted “And they’re off!”
Eavesdropper took the lead immediately and didn’t let go. Anxious, Harry sprang to his feet, urging his horse on. Suddenly, the horse in fourth place started picking up steam. Faster and faster he galloped, flying past the other horses, and at the last second crossed the finish line just before Eavesdropper.
The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “I can’t believe my eyes! What a shocker! The winner by a nose …. Muddy Waters!”
Harry slumped into his seat, defeated. “I don’t freaking believe it! Of all the rotten luck! Eavesdropper was a shoe-in.”
Millie, however, was happy as a clam. “Well, I won again, Harry! Good old Muddy Waters brought it home for mama. I just knew it!”
Harry stared at his wife, amazement mingled with contempt dripped from his creased brow. “Now wait just a damn minute! You won again?? Millie, I’m begging you! How’d you do it?”
“Harry, calm yourself before you have a coronary! It’s really a no-brainer. Remember how you said the track was muddy today? When I saw the name ‘Muddy Waters’, I knew I had to go with him. I was inspired.”
“Ok, I’ll give you that one, Millie. But how’d you pick all the other winners?”
Millie chewed her bottom lip, not sure if she wanted to reveal her secret. Finally she blurted out “It’s the colors! If I like what the jockey’s wearing, I’ll pick that horse.”
Flabbergasted, Harry spewed out his beer and howled with laughter. “That’s your strategy? COLORS?!? Ok, Mrs. Crayola. Who you picking for the last race?”
Millie looked around surreptitiously. Tapping the racing form with her fire engine red fingernail, she pointed to a name on the card.
Harry was nonplussed by Millie’s revelation.
“HIM?? Rabelais? His color is ‘Eiffel Tower Brown’ – like a friggin’ turd! Are you sure that’s how you wanna go, Millie?” Harry was almost giddy, anticipating Millie’s long-awaited loss.
“Shh! Not so loud, Harry! People are listening! He’s from France and you know how I love my Frenchies! You could say I-FELL for them!” Millie elbowed Harry and laughed gleefully at her pun.
“Hardy-har-har!! Aren’t you the clever one?” Harry groaned. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I give up, Millie. Go with your cockamamie hunch and bet it all on Rabelais!”
Millie was already at the window, her chubby fist clutching her money, before Harry was even finished talking.
NAR © 2023
Join me today for
a very special
Name That Tune.
It’s a sure bet
you’ll have a blast!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Boys and girls, do I have a treat for you today! That’s right! After strong-arming graciously inviting our friend Tom to write his own Name That Tune post, he eventually relented heartily agreed to join the ranks as a guest host!
Here are Tom’s five splendid clues for you to contemplate. Let’s see if you can determine the song in question and the artist(s) who performed it.
Ground Control to Major Tom: We have liftoff! 🚀
First time at bat and the rookie hits a grand slam homer! Well done, Tom!
What do you say, friends? Were you able to figure out Tom’s featured song and artists of the day? Well, scroll on down and see if you were right!
Yes!! If you said “Crying In The Rain” as performed by a-ha, you were right! Shall we have a listen?
What an great video that was; I’m really glad I found it I really enjoyed it! How about you?
Now for a little more fun. Here is Tom’s outline for creating his clues. This is as entertaining as the post and video:
The clues: 1) The duo who originally sang the song was the Everly Brothers. The clue gives a few of their songs. 2) It was covered by a-ha in 1990; ‘no brollies‘ indirectly pointing to crying in the rain. 3) ‘The sun always shines on TV‘ is an a-ha song. A-ha is also spelt out in clues 1, 2 and 3 (the extra ‘a’ in clue 1 isn’t a typo! 4) ‘The Living Daylights’ refers to a-ha’s James Bond movie theme, and Scandinavia refers to where they are from (Norway). 5) The song was written by Carole King; ‘Hark! It’s’ is a play on Morten Harket’s name (main vocals), and the last sentence is a line from the song.
Now I think it’s only appropriate that we give credit where credit is due and play the video by the duo which Tom mentioned in Clue #1. Here is “Crying In The Rain” as performed by The Everly Brothers:
Now here is an extra bonus. We’re gonna bring this baby home by going back to where it all began – to the composer herself, Carole King, singing her song “Crying In The Rain”:
How’d you like our guest post today, gang? I think Tom did an awesome job and he’s welcome back here anytime for another round of Name That Tune!
Tom is such a good sport, I know he’s the first one having a good laugh at the fun I had with my comments. Tom, you’re A-OK in my book, a pleasure to work with and I’ll be happy to do so again any time! Fantastic job today!
That’s a wrap, kids!
See you on the flip side.
I’m The Sicilian Storyteller
NAR © 2023
We kept teasing Uncle Herb that he was turning into a hoarder and he might end up like the infamous Collyer Brothers who died of starvation and heart failure among tons of trash and hoarded items.
I think that scared the crap out of Uncle Herb and he agreed to let us help him clear out his stockpile of stuff. Check out that darling bistro set we uncovered. A little TLC and it’ll be good as new.
I wonder what else I can find back there. Surely a look around won’t hurt. After all, one man’s junk is another’s treasure.
NAR © 2023
100 words
It was December 17, 1997 – one mere week after the birth of our first baby. This was to be a special time alone for Stephen and me; Christmas as a new little family.
Stephen set up the tree and brought down from the attic the decorations I collected over the years – heirloom pieces lovingly given to me by his mother. Inside the large box sat a smaller box; cradled inside was a treasured ornament belonging to Stephen’s great-grandmother, a delicate crystal snow globe passed from one generation to another.
The sudden, unexpected knock on the door quickly jarred our tranquil mood. On the threshold stood my parents, suitcases in hand. My heart sank. Perhaps it was wrong of me but I loved my husband’s mother more than my own.
Stephen showed my parents in and the dynamic in the room instantly changed.
My mother had the ineffable ability of showing up at the worst time – always unannounced, uninvited and unwelcome. I’ve often wondered if she knew how I felt about her surprise visits and didn’t care. Every event, momentous or ordinary, had to be about her.
Mother’s greetings were interwoven with recriminations about it being mid-morning and I was still in my nightgown. Then she swooped in, taking my sleeping son from my arms; disturbed, he wailed pathetically.
Turning abruptly to show my father his screaming grandson, the hem of mother’s coat swept against my cherished ornament, sending it flying.
It shattered; the jagged shards tore into my wintry heart.
NAR © 2023
“Maxine? It’s Gloria. You are not gonna believe what I got today. Go ahead, take a guess.
Nope, not a new bouncy toy.
Applesauce? I wish! Between you and me that creamed banana and prune combo is the pits! Gag me with a spoon!
Hahaha! OMG! You’re so funny! It does look just like that!
One more guess, Maxine.
A new teddy? No and I saw a really cute one when Mommy was on Amazon but she said she was shopping for new school stuff for the boys. Helloooo! What am I? Mashed peas, FFS?
OK, give up? Well, you know how I’m always wearing my brothers hand-me-down t-shirts and jeans? Honestly Maxine, you don’t know how lucky you are having older sisters! You get to wear pretty sundresses and rompers. And even with your short hair people know you’re a girl.
Well, Mommy said she and Daddy are keeping an open mind about what I relate to. She said I should be able to choose my own identity and be fluid. I think I’m already plenty fluid, judging by my frequent diaper changes!
Anyway, Grammy had a conniption when she heard that! I never saw her eyes bug out like that before!
What’s that? Yeah she was royally pissed.
But wait. Here’s the best part. When Mommy left for work, Grammy had a surprise for me. A great big beautiful bright green bow for my hair! It’s just gorge, Maxine. Just gorge! Wait till you see it!
Then Grampy said now no one’s gonna mistake his only granddaughter for a goddamn boy!
And Grammy said Mommy’s gonna freak out when she sees my bow. And they laughed and laughed!
Listen, toots. I gotta go. Catch you after nap.”
NAR © 2023
WHAT HAPPENS WHEN MESSAGES GET CROSSED
January 1, 2015
10:00 AM NY Time
To: Sophia
From: Paolo
Cara Sophia – I send you warmest greetings from Sicily and hope that you are well. Unfortunately, I have very bad news to share with you. There was a terrible fire in the guest cottage in Agrigento and all was lost. I know the idea of permanently relocating to Sicily and moving into the guest cottage has been your dream for many years; an undertaking of such magnitude is a huge change in one’s life and you were understandably hesitant to make a final decision. Sadly, now the house is destroyed and the decision has been made for you. Fortunately you still have your lovely home in New York. I hope sometime you will visit us for a few weeks at our home in Palermo. Ciao, cara – Paolo
AT THE SAME TIME ON THAT CONVOLUTED DAY
January 1, 2015
10:00 AM NY Time
To: Paolo
From: Sophia
My dearest Paolo – After much thought and soul-searching, I have decided to accept your gracious offer to move into the beautiful guest cottage in Agrigento. The New York winters are getting progressively worse and I cannot stand another day here. I desperately need a change of scenery and a new life. I’m ready to become a permanent resident of Sicily! Luckily, I was able to sell my house quickly. The buyers would like to move into my house in two weeks which will give me enough time to pack my clothes, a few personal belongings and get everything in order for relocating. In anticipation of my move, I have already booked a flight to Palermo; my arrival date is two weeks from today. I will send you all the pertinent information in a separate email. Thank you again, my dear cousin, for the use of your guest cottage. I look forward to seeing you very soon in sunny Sicily. Ciao, caro – Sophia
AT THE SAME TIME ON THAT VERY CONVOLUTED DAY
January 1, 2015
10:00 AM NY Time
To: Sophia
From: Angie
Hi Soph – How’s my favorite sister? I’ve got exciting news! I landed that great job I was angling for – the one at the music school near you. I know it’s been a while since you offered your guest room to me if I ever returned to New York so I’m hoping the offer still stands. You haven’t turned the room into a shrine to George Harrison, have you? LOL! Anyway, I sold my condo here in Boston and all I need to do is pack my stuff and buy a one way ticket to NY. I’ll be there in two weeks. Can’t wait to see you! It’ll be like old times hanging out together when we were teenagers. Talk to you soon, roomie! Love, your favorite sister, Angie
PS: Brad moved to Seattle; singing at Starbucks and hoping to be discovered. He’s such a jerk! Oh well – his loss.
AT THE SAME TIME ON THAT INCREDIBLY CONVOLUTED DAY
January 1, 2015
10:00 AM NY Time
To: Angie
From: Brad
Babe, I’m a total jackass! Forgive me, please!! Moving to Seattle was a really stupid idea. You tried to tell me and I wouldn’t listen. I miss you so much and this long distance relationship is never gonna work. What the hell was I thinking?? I’m coming home, Babe. I can’t wait to be back in Boston with you where I belong! I miss you and our life together. See you in two weeks. I love you, Babe! Brad xoxoxo ❤️😍🥰😘
NAR © 2023
Don’t get your wires crossed!
Meet me today for another
new segment in
The Rhythm Section!
There will be music
and maybe even cake!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays here in The Rhythm Section. Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on that day. There won’t be any chit chat from me, no facts and figures – just some great tunes (and an occasional surprise). Check it out right here every Thursday and enjoy the music.
Happy Birthday to Buddy Holly
Born September 7, 1936 in Lubbock, Texas
My parents fought just about all the time; from breakfast until Dad left for work they would argue about something, then they’d start in again after dinner.
I’d hear them arguing while I did my homework; at night while trying to get to sleep I would hear other noises coming from my parent’s bedroom which were pretty loud but they definitely weren’t fighting and the next morning they were all smiles – go figure.
Then one day my friend’s older sister told us we had to have a talk; she was 12 years old and already wearing a bra with a C cup so we paid attention. That was the infamous day we learned about S-E-X and boy, was that an eye-opener!
I was a pretty curious and precocious child so after that talk I figured out darn quick what those noises were from Mom and Dad’s bedroom at night and why they were always so happy the next morning after one of their big arguments.
Right then and there I promised myself when I got married I would fight with my husband as often as I could; I mean, if Mom and Dad were that happy every morning, there had to be something to this S-E-X thing after all.
NAR © 2023
It’s 4:30 AM.
She wakes and grabs a quick shower. The hair blower died weeks ago; no matter – it’s a luxury she can’t afford. She lets her hair dry naturally as she prepares a cup of instant coffee.
She rouses the kids by 5:00; they’re sleepy and cranky. We got no choice, she says, reminding them to brush their teeth before getting dressed. They walk eight blocks to her mother’s place. Breakfast is already on the stove – oatmeal, something hearty for their bellies.
She walks to the diner where she works, stopping at the dollar store to by laundry detergent. At the diner, she stashes her things in a locker, checks herself in the mirror and goes out to face the breakfast crowd.
It’s 6:00 AM.
She likes the breakfast people; they’re regular folk on their way to work … truckers, construction crews, nurses, bikers, plumbers, the gang from Home Depot. They stop in every morning and usually order the same things. They never talk about work. They pass around photos of their kids and grandkids, compare notes on last night’s game, talk about that new movie they hope to catch. Who got engaged, who’s graduating, who’s going on vacation … ordinary everyday stuff people talk about. They laugh heartily and it’s contagious. She’s on a first name basis with most of them. They’re creatures of habit and there’s something very comforting to her about that. Breakfast is her busiest shift; she doesn’t mind. It’s fast, seamless and exciting. These people are the salt of the earth. The best tippers.
There are always a few stragglers between breakfast and lunch but it’s never busy and she’s got some downtime. That’s when she writes – stories, poems, even some songs – wishful scribbles on a notepad. Maybe she’ll be famous someday. Possibly. Probably not. Pipe dreams. She remembers hearing someone say ‘you’ll miss every shot you don’t take’. She liked that and scribbled it on her pad..
It’s 11:00 AM.
Time for the lunch crowd. She’s not a fan of many of the people who come for lunch except for the folks in “The Big Apple for the first time all the way from Des Moines and would you mind taking our picture?” The kids all grin displaying goofy toothless smiles and press their noses up against the window to wave at passers-by. The parents ask if she knows how to get to the museum – the one with the dinosaur bones – and “that coffee shop from Seinfeld” and they laugh self-consciously at their naïve questions. She overhears them talking excitedly about going to the wax museum after lunch and next time they’ll have to come at Christmas “to see the tree”.
Lunchtime brings in the slick salesmen too cheap to go to a real restaurant; they talk nonstop, their prospective clients pretending to be interested but they know BS when they hear it. Over at the corner table in the rear section of the diner is the businessman having a luncheon liaison with his secretary. The man is much too suave and the woman much too impressionable. She wants to scream at that hopeful, hapless woman to “open your eyes and run like hell; he’s only going to use you and hurt you!” but keeps her mouth shut. She can’t afford to lose this job.
Then there’s a different breed of men all together, the ones who drink martinis before, during and after lunch, the ones who think it’s perfectly acceptable to call her “Brown Sugar”. She cringes. They are flabby and pasty and unattractive with Brylcreemed hair, fat lips and sweaty hands. They’re the ones who cop a cheap feel, slide their fingers up her skirt, try to stick a tongue in her ear. She manages to tap dance around the slithering slugs but they are determined and will be back again tomorrow. She’s perpetually afraid some day one of them will corner her in the bathroom. That’s when she’ll scream, job or not.
In the center of the dining room are the loud, orange-haired twin sisters from Kmart who chain smoke and order black coffee, wipe their teeth with a napkin and constantly re-apply bright red lipstick, grinning into a beat up old compact found on the bottom of a cheap purse. One always has a grease stain on her blouse and they laugh raucously. They head back to work after leaving cigarette butts in the coffee cups, a pile of greasy, lipstick-stained napkins and a shitty tip.
Slowly the place empties; time to clean up the messes left behind.
It’s 6:00 PM.
She’s been at the diner for 12 hours, a regular day for her. The usuals start arriving for dinner, many of them returnees from breakfast. It’s quitting time for her. Sometimes, if she’s lucky, she can pack up a doggie bag; Bart, the day manager, is good about letting her take home leftovers. Her babies can have real hamburgers with tasty fries for dinner. She retrieves her stuff from the locker and starts the walk back to her mother’s place.
The kids devour the burgers and fries, giggling and chattering like little chipmunks. She hugs her mother, scoops up the kids and walks the eight blocks home. It’s bath night, all three kiddos together in the tub. Can’t waste water or time. She reminds them to brush their teeth before getting into bed. She reads one story, then tucks them in and kisses their foreheads.
She gets the laundry together, grabs some quarters from the jar in the kitchen, locks her apartment door behind her and goes down to the shared laundry room in the basement of her building. She prays the kids don’t wake up; she can’t leave the laundry unsupervised – someone would steal her clothes for sure. She makes a mental note to look for a baby intercom at the dollar store. While the clothes dry she jots down wishful scribbles on her notepad. Ninety minutes later the laundry’s done and she heads back up to her babies.
It’s 11:00 PM.
She folds the clean clothes, piles them neatly in the laundry basket, gets undressed and stares at her body in the mirror. She thinks again about becoming an exotic dancer. She has a friend named Crystal who makes good money stripping. Crystal gets to spend time with her kids; she even bought a nice Christmas tree last year and presents to put under it. Maybe she should give Crystal a call.
She slips a cotton nightgown over her head and climbs into bed, exhausted.
Lather, rinse, repeat. Tomorrow she gets to do it all over again.
It’s 11:45 PM.
NAR © 2023
I hope you’ll join me today
In The Groove, kids.
It’s all brand spanking new!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Above the front windows of Motown Records’ Detroit headquarters was a sign that read “Hitsville U.S.A.” Placed there by Motown founder Berry Gordy soon after his company moved into the modest home on W. Grand Blvd, the sign demonstrated Gordy’s blazing self-confidence. At the time that sign wasn’t much more than wishful thinking. Then the wishes started coming true.
Founded on Jan. 12, 1959, Motown quickly became another Detroit factory; where the Big Three produced automobiles, Motown assembled the soul and pop classics that changed America. There’s no exaggeration in that statement. Arriving at the height of the civil rights movement, Motown was a black-owned, black-centered business that gave white America something they just could not get enough of — joyous, sad, romantic, mad, movin’, groovin’ music.
A former boxer and automobile worker, Berry Gordy was a budding songwriter when, at the urging of Smokey Robinson, he decided to establish Motown Records. The two had become friends years earlier and Robinson, who was the lead singer of a band called The Miracles, produced, wrote, and sang several of Motown’s most memorable hits — including the label’s first smash song, “Shop Around” in 1960. A year later, “Please Mr. Postman,” by The Marvelettes, was the label’s first No. 1 song. It would not be the last.
The Motown Sound has something extra-special about it. Berry Gordy knew people would be listening on their car stereos and transistor radios and he was going to do what it took to make songs sound good and memorable. Even if you couldn’t put your finger on it, when a Motown song came on, you knew it. Still do.
🚗 🚙 🚗
Welcome to In The Groove: Motown Melodies! Let’s start our musical journey for September with The Miracles’ first smash hit – a song about a mother giving advice to her grown son on how to find a woman worthy of being a girlfriend or wife. From 1960, written by Smokey Robinson and Berry Gordy, here’s “Shop Around” by The Miracles.
That was the timeless sound of classic Motown – still fresh and fabulous 63 years later! I’ve got a bunch of dimes for the jukebox; let’s listen to a few more from The Miracles:
Turn the lights way down low; it’s ‘slow-dancin’ and romancin’ time. This one was my first.
Five teenaged friends from Detroit formed The Miracles in 1955; ten years later the group would be known as Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. The group and its music has had an incredible impact, influencing scores of artists from many different musical genres around the globe. The original lineup has consistently been praised by critics in major music magazines and has received numerous honors and awards for its contributions to the music industry.
I hope you enjoyed the first installment of In The Groove: Motown Melodies; I’d love to read your comments. Please join me here every Tuesday in September for more terrific sounds out of the Motor City. 🚙
It was great fun movin’ and groovin’ with you today!
See you on the flip side.
I’m The Sicilian Storyteller
NAR © 2023
When I was an infant, my parents decided our small apartment in Manhattan was no place to raise two little daughters. The following day they set off on their search for a house in The Bronx. Back then living in The Bronx was a lot different than it is now. Crime was practically nonexistent; drug dealers weren’t openly operating out of school playgrounds, storefronts weren’t gated and padlocked and families were not shattered by drive-by shootings.
The Bronx was like a country village with farms dotting the neighborhoods of Baychester, Kingsbridge, Morrisania, Riverdale and others. People raised sheep, goats and chickens. Gardens were abundant with homegrown fruit and vegetables. It was a different world, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Life was peaceful.
My parents bought a new semi-attached two family house spacious enough for the four of us and my maternal grandparents. We had a nice piece of corner property and a large backyard perfect for my grandfather’s grapevines and fruit trees and my mother’s vegetable garden.
My grandmother was a sickly woman, having been ill since my mother was only 12 years old. Nonna was not quite bedridden but spent a fair amount of time inside in bed or looking out the window. My mother was her caregiver; when the weather was nice, she would wrap a blanket around Nonna, making her comfortable in a lounge chair in the backyard.
Nonna’s ‘job‘ was to rock my carriage as I napped outside. Since she was not strong enough to carry me, my grandmother delighted in being able to help my mother in this small way. Nonna relished being outside in our quiet backyard watching my grandfather tending the garden; the warmth of the sun on her frail body renewed her spirit and magically brought a glow back to her face.
It was the first Labor Day in our new home and I napped in my baby carriage while Nonna sat in her chair gently rocking me. I began to stir and when I opened my eyes, I saw my grandmother’s smiling face looking down at me. Her doe-like eyes twinkled as she sang an old Italian lullaby, “Ninna Ninna”.
It may be difficult to comprehend that a little one just seven months of age could have such clear and distinct memories. I can recall my grandmother’s happy face smiling at me, her dark brown eyes shining. The poignant song and Nonna’s expressive voice always had a mysterious way of calming me and I would drift back to sleep. Those days in our peaceful backyard are tenderly stored in my mind.
My grandmother passed away six years later; the special bond we shared is something I will treasure forever.
NAR © 2023
Fist pounding against
the pulpit, tongue wagging,
assuming you know more about
marriage
than the couples you
humiliate.
You are an
unseeing,
unfeeling,
unfulfilled
hypocrite.
NAR © 2023
26 Words
I hope you’ll join me today
in The Rhythm Section
for another game of
Name That Tune.
I’ll see you there!
https://rhythmsection.blog/
Time, my friends, for another round of Name That Tune; are you feeling lucky today? Let’s see how quickly you can guess the name of this song and the artist(s) who made if famous. It’s one of my personal favorites and you’ll find out why when you get to clue #5.
So how about we get this game going? Are ya ready? Ok, let’s do this thing!
Have you figured out what the most beautiful love song ever written is? I’ll keep you in suspense no longer; let’s go find out. You know what to do:
If you said The Beatles’ “Something” composed entirely by George Harrison and sung by him, you are correct! Are you ready to hear it?
Here’s a little refresher for you: George Harrison wrote “Something” in 1969 for his wife, Pattie Boyd. Fate stepped in and George’s best bud Eric Clapton fell in love with Pattie. Eric was so crazy about Pattie that just one year later in 1970 he wrote his own song dedicated to George’s wife. That song which I hinted at in clue #4 was “Layla” by Derek and the Dominoes, Eric’s group at the time. It must have been hell for poor Pattie having two handsome, sexy, talented guys so madly in love with her! She resisted for as long as she could but eventually Pattie left George and married Eric. George took it all in stride like the gentleman he was, saying “it happens” or words to that effect. He and Eric remained best friends until George died in 2001 and the rest is history …. or her story. 😉
Oh, I almost forgot. The most covered song of all time is another tune by The Beatles; it’s a little ditty you may have heard once or twice called “Yesterday”. There was also a movie with an intriguing premise called “Yesterday”, released in 2019 and chock full of Beatles tunes.
Thanks for spending some time playing Name That Tune. Hope you had fun today with me and The Lads!
See you on the flip side.
I’m The Sicilian Storyteller
NAR © 2023
Did you ever experience weather so dry that the ground and air crackled and all you could think about was bones … the ones you found buried in Vern Wilson’s barn that drought summer seventeen years ago?
That’s how it was for me and my friends Bucky Berringer and Grady McCallister.
They was human bones, alright, and we covered ‘em up right quick before ol’ Vern caught us.
Weatherman said rain’s a-comin’. Pappy’s fields are shrivelin’ up awful. We need us some good rain, days upon days of rain, but all we’re seein’ is damn fire bolts makin’ us twitch.
NAR © 2023
100 Words
How can this be
Cow got sold
Hen lays no eggs
The pig ran away
My goat up and died
The horse has no hay
Sheep lost her wool
Bull has the flu
Well has run dry
Flies swarm around
Farm’s overgrown
Barn is in tatters
Plow rusted over
Truck engine’s dead
Bills piled high
And money is gone
Wife left me cold
I’m here on my own
Cow got sold
How can this be
NAR © 2023
Here is a corrected version.
I didn’t realize the first words of each line
had to rhyme!
How can this be
Cow got sold
Hen lays no eggs
Pen has no pigs
Goat up and died
Boat has a hole
Sheep lost her wool
Sleep now evades me
Well has run dry
Spell of no rain
Farm’s overgrown
Barn’s in tatters
Truck engine’s dead
Stuck in the mud
Bills piled high
Pills by my side
Wife left me cold
Strife is my friend
Cow got sold
How can this be
Oh, good morning! Sorry, I didn’t see you there till just now. Do you know who I am? I come into your homes multiple times each week. You’ve just never seen me look quite like this before.
I’m heading out to share coffee with my friend. Why not keep me company along the way?
You know, it’s funny how things happen. If you’re lucky, you go through life happy and content, grateful for the many blessings you have. Life may not be a whirlwind of excitement but it’s still life and I’m glad to be living it, especially since I have a dear friend to share things with. Sure, we may be creeping up on OBS (Old Bat Status) but we don’t care; life truly is what you make it!
It all began months ago when we crossed paths in this very location and the more we got to know one another, the more we liked each other. We discovered we have a lot in common. As time went by and we started peeling back more layers, we realized the similarities between us were uncanny. We jokingly say it’s like being “separated at birth”.
My friend and I each have a wonderful hubby, two terrific sons and four grandchildren we’re crazy about. We have a handful of good friends and we’re lucky to be doing the things we really enjoy:
writing {poetry for her and stories for me}, cooking, gardening, walking, listening to music and watching a little TV. We love the show, Granchester and like Will but wish Sydney would come back, you know?
Let’s see; we both wear glasses (although I seem to have misplaced mine today). We enjoy feeding the birds in our yards. We complain about doctors and think Seinfeld is the funniest show ever. We won’t wear clothes without pockets and prefer scrambled eggs cooked the French way. We love fresh burrata, watching sports, Bobby Darin and anchovies.
We relish the silence but our minds are constantly in the groove to the soundtrack of life; we are, as we like to say, “cautious worriers“. She’s also a wiz at that computer imaging thingy she does. What she can do with people is amazing; sometimes it just makes us laugh and laugh!
We’re comfy as two old peas in a pod. Being friends is as relaxed as sharing a warm slice of freshly baked sourdough bread, laughing at something funny one of us said.
Why, we even call each other “sis”; now, ain’t that a kick in the head!
We do have our differences, though: I love liver and she can’t stand it and she loves spicy mustard while I prefer mild. We enjoy working on puzzles – crossword for me, jigsaw for her. And she’s got a couple of inches on me.
Oh, look! Here she comes now! I wonder, can you recognize her from where you are? Who’s my friend?
Morning, sis! I was just chatting with a couple hundred of our WordPress friends. Right you are – it is a small world. Care for a cuppa? Here ya go, luv, just the way we like it. Cheers!
NAR © 2023
Went to the farmer’s market yesterday. Lots of pitting ahead of me but this isn’t my first rodeo.
Toss all the pitted cherries into a saucepan with some sugar and lemon juice. Let that cook over a medium heat just until the juices are released. Scoop the cherries into a bowl with a slotted spoon. Mix some of the cherry sauce with cornstarch until dissolved, then return it to the pot to cook until thick. Pour over the cherries and set aside while preparing your pie crust.
I love working with dough; it’s very therapeutic. After years of practice, making the perfect pie crust is a piece of cake! And don’t forget to save any dough remnants.
Line a pie plate with your crust and add the cherry filling. Here’s where you can get fancy. Remember the crust trimmings you set aside? Ball them up, then roll out the dough into a circle but not too thin. Cut strips out of your dough to lay a lattice top crust across the cherry filling. If you’re new to this, just place the whole, uncut circle of dough over the pie filling and poke a hole in the top for the steam to escape while your pie bakes.
Don’t forget to crimp the edges of your crust. Finish it off by brushing a thin layer of beaten egg over the top. We all like a bit of sweetness; sprinkle some sugar on it! 💋
Escargot another time. Cherry pie for Labor Day!
NAR © 2023
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The Elephant's Trunk 