Today on Song Lyric Sunday, Jim is asking us to write about a song that mentions a profession; thanks to Di for the suggestion. Since we’re all here on WordPress writing about something, it seemed only logical that I would choose a song about writers/authors.
My sophomore year of high school was one I’ll never forget. Our teacher, Mr. Erdmann, took his show on the road, so to speak, and brought our class on field trips into Manhattan where we saw movies such as “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner”, “To Sir With Love”, “Wait Until Dark”, among others. He also played movies for us in the auditorium, classics like “On The Waterfront”, “The Pawnbroker” and “Casablanca”.
It wasn’t a year of just fun and games, though; we had to write reports on the movies and held discussions in the classroom. I loved writing those movie reports almost as much as watching the movies! It was a real thrill when I got one of my papers back with a note from the teacher in big bold letters: “A++ We’ll make a screenwriter out of you yet!”
Well, I never did become a screenwriter but that’s when my love of writing truly took hold and never let go. Thank you, Mr. Erdmann! I’m blogging my heart out on WordPress!
My song choice for today is “Paperback Writer” by the Beatles.
Written in 1966 mostly by Paul McCartney, the song allegedly came about when his Aunt Lil said something like “Can’t you write anything besides love songs?” According to Paul, he was thinking about his aunt’s question while backstage at a concert venue when he spotted Ringo reading a book and something clicked. The beginnings of “Paperback Writer” were already forming in Paul’s head.
The lyrics are in the form of a letter from an aspiring author addressed to a publisher. It starts off “Dear Sir or Madam” …. really quite clever, don’t you think?
The Beatles recorded “Paperback Writer” at EMI Studios in London on April 13-14, 1966. The song was released in May 1966 as the A-side of their 11th single and topped the singles charts in the UK, the US, Ireland, West Germany, Australia, New Zealand and Norway. The song was at #1 on the US Billboard Hot 100 for two non-consecutive weeks, being interrupted by Frank Sinatra’s “Strangers In The Night”.
“Paperback Writer” was the last new song by the Beatles to be featured on their final tour in August 1966 where they performed 16 shows across the US and 2 in Toronto, finishing up at Candlestick Park in San Francisco on August 29.
Here now is “Paperback Writer” by the Beatles.
Lyrics
Paperback writer (paperback writer)
Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book? It took me years to write, will you take a look? It’s based on a novel by a man named Lear And I need a job So I wanna be a paperback writer Paperback writer
It’s a dirty story of a dirty man And his clinging wife doesn’t understand His son is working for the Daily Mail It’s a steady job But he wants to be a paperback writer Paperback writer
Paperback writer (paperback writer)
It’s a thousand pages, give or take a few I’ll be writing more in a week or two I could make it longer if you like the style I can change it ’round And I wanna be a paperback writer Paperback writer
If you really like it you can have the rights It could make a million for you overnight If you must return it you can send it here But I need a break And I wanna be a paperback writer Paperback writer
It wasn’t just a year of fun and games, though; we had to write reports on the movies and held discussions in the classroom. I loved writing those reports on the movies almost as much as watching the movies! It was a real thrill when I got one of my papers back with a note from the teacher in big red letters: “A++ We’ll make a screenwriter out of you yet!Well, I never did become a screenwriter but that’s when my love of writing truly took hold and never let go. Thank you, M
When I first started writing on WordPress, I printed out every story I wrote along with its accompanying graphic.
I filled five of the largest 3-ring binders I could find at Staples.
I was so enthralled with the fact that I was actually a “published author”! I felt my work needed to be immortalized in plastic.
For what? My 15 minutes of fame? To prove I existed and to share my brilliant thoughts with the world? To have something to pass on to my children and their children’s children?
Who the hell do I think I am?
Then the stark reality hit me: who cares? No child of mine is going to want these tomes cluttering their shelves; besides, they’ll never find the time to sit down and read them. They’ll get tossed in a basket next to the recliner, with all the other good intentions. Soon they’ll be relegated to the basement or worse, the attic …. the black hole in every home.
I know what you’re thinking: “Why not self-publish on Amazon, Nancy, and have pretty books to keep on your shelf (or in a box) instead of unwieldy, unattractive 3-ring binders?” Honestly, I know me and it won’t get done. I just don’t give a rat’s ass and those pretty books will end up as kindling or more ‘stuff’ to be disposed of when I croak.
I suppose I can have them buried with me so I’ll have something to read as I become one with the earth. That’s a thought.
And so I made the call. Sometime during the summer of 2023 I stopped printing out my stories. I now have a little more free time not to mention plenty of ink for my printer.
Anyone interested in five 3-ring binders of my stories? They’re going cheap.
“Hold it right there, Everett! I’ll not be fooled again by the likes of you! My own twin brother! Who ever thought it would come to this? You always hated me, didn’t you, Everett? Even as a child you were a malicious, jealous little bastard, like the day you started the fire in the gatehouse. You knew I’d be nearby working the horses and the first to see the smoke. And what happened? I got blamed for the fire! Everything I ever had, you wanted. You stole my darling Clarissa just weeks before we were to be married, then you forced yourself on her, all the while pretending you were me. She could never forgive me. She left town, a bitter, broken woman. My reputation was ruined and the only woman I ever loved was gone because of you. Now it’s down to our inheritance. You just couldn’t be satisfied with half, could you? You had to have it all. You think I don’t know it was you who took a shot at me the day we were out hunting with Father and Uncle Wyatt? Good thing for me you missed your mark that day. Well, I’ll not miss mine, you rotten, scheming son of a bitch. That’s right, this is the end, brother. I’m going to enjoy watching you beg for mercy. Good riddance, Everett. See you in hell.”
“And …. Cut! Great job as always, Bobby. That’s a wrap. This one’s got “AcademyAward” written all over it!”
We never went on vacation when I was a kid; that was for “rich people”.
You can imagine my unbearable glee when it was decided in the summer of ’59 that we would leave The Bronx for five glorious days in a place called Sunny Hill Farm.
Looking at the brochure we declared it to be “perfect” with lush rolling hills, horses, swimming, picnics, barbecues, fresh air and sunshine everywhere.
We loaded up the car, singing all the way to our vacation nirvana …. where it poured and poured for days.
“Good morning, Sunshine! Did you notice the wildflowers? It’s like they sprang up overnight. It’s awfully stuffy in here, don’t you think, Charlie? I’ll open the window a crack for some air if you promise to behave. One little yell from you and I’ll be forced to put your gag back in. Do you want that, Charlie? Ah, that’s a lovely breeze, isn’t it. Oh, now Charlie! You really shouldn’t have hollered like that! Just when I was gonna untie you. Why can’t you follow orders? That makes me angry. You remember what happens when I’m angry, don’t you, Charlie?”
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays! Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on this 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 Etta James Born January 25, 1938 in Los Angeles, California
From the album “Etta James”, this is “A Sunday Kind Of Love”
This is “I’d Rather Go Blind” from the album “Tell Mama”
From the album “Etta James – At Last”, this is “At Last”
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is challenging us once again to create an amazing Six Sentence Story, this time using the word “access”; this is my response.
Due, no doubt, to the cold weather, I have been doing a lot more cooking indoors, eschewing the barbecue grill for simmering pots of tomato sauce, bubbling trays of lasagna and stews roiling in slow cookers – a skill which comes naturally to me since, as I have mentioned many times recently, I hail from a long line of talented cooks, with my mother topping the list; she instilled in me at an early age a love of hearty and delicious home-cooked meals and the know-how to prepare them.
Mom was a Sicilian immigrant who attended school only until the age of 9; with her own ailing mother unable to maintain their home, my mother assumed the role of nurse, cook and maid …. devastatingly unfair, but that’s the way it was in 1925 – kids forced to abandon their childhood, growing up in a hurry.
My mother and her cousins did not have access to YouTube or TikTok or cooking channels on TV; there were no cookbooks in her small apartment …. just recipes galvanized in her brain from watching her grandmother and her aunts holding court in the kitchen.
Many of the ingredients my mother used were home grown, such as vegetables, herbs and fruit, and the items that didn’t come from the ground were all bought from the local grocer and butcher, the price haggled and haggled once again until my mother was satisfied; her purchases were of the finest quality and she always returned home with change in her purse.
When I, as a kid, would come home from school or a day outside with my friends, I would always be greeted with the sublime aromas of something magical cooking; I would float into the kitchen as though carried by angels, my nose twitching, and I would dreamily ask “What’s for dinner?”
So many mornings I was awakened by the steady thump thump thump of the base of my mother’s palm kneading and pounding the dough for her exquisite double crust pizza filled with nothing but sweet, caramelized onions sautéed to golden-brown perfection; to this day after too many years and countless attempts, I still have not figured out her secret to that culinary slice of heaven.
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt is challenging us with the word “note”; in exactly 72 words, this is my response.
My mother was a terrific cook; her specialty was, of course, homemade Italian food – manicotti, arancini, etc.
She left me her ‘recipe book, which was really nothing more than scribbled notes. Her ‘detailed‘ cooking instructions read: “some cheese” and a “glass” of water.
I can remember the glass she used to add water to whatever she was cooking; it was an old Flintstones jelly jar.
Glyn Wilton is our host at Mixed Music Bag; the theme this month is groups or solo artists that start with the letter A or B.
Before there was Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young, there was Buffalo Springfield, my group of choice for Glyn’s MMB challenge.
Buffalo Springfield was formed in 1966 in Los Angeles by Canadians Neil Young, Bruce Palmer and Dewey Martin and Americans Stephen Stills and Richie Furay. The group released three albums and several singles in the two years they were together. Their music combined elements of folk and country with British Invasion and psychedelic rock influences and was key to the early development of folk rock. The group became widely known for their protest anthem, “For What It’s Worth”.
The Sunset Strip in West Hollywood was a gathering place for hippies and followers of the rock and roll culture. Young people would congregate nightly, disrupting the flow of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian. Local business owners had enough of it and petitioned town officials to impose a curfew. Well, that notion didn’t sit right with many of the young people.
On November 12, 1966, fliers were distributed inviting people to join demonstrations that night to protest the curfews. Several of Los Angeles’ rock radio stations also announced a rally outside Pandora’s Box on Sunset Boulevard, a club where groups like the Beach Boys and Sonny & Cher had performed over the years. That evening, as many as 1,000 young people, including future celebrities such as Jack Nicholson and Peter Fonda (who was handcuffed by police) gathered to protest. Although the rallies began peacefully, trouble soon followed. The unrest continued the next night, and periodically throughout the rest of November and December, forcing some clubs to shut down. It was against the background of these civil disturbances that Stephen Stills recorded “For What It’s Worth” on December 5, 1966.
Despite having a reputation as being an anti-war song (as it was also written during the Vietnam War) Stephen Stills said that “For What It’s Worth” was mostly in response to the Sunset Strip riots. In an interview for the Los Angeles Times, Stills said “It was really different things intertwined, including the war and the absurdity of what was happening on The Strip. But I knew I had to get out of there fast before the cops nabbed me. I headed home where I wrote my song in about 15 minutes. For me, there was no riot; it was basically a cop dance …. the term ‘riot’ is ridiculous. They were demonstrations and the song was written in response to them but it was big, man. It looked like a goddamn revolution.”
The lyrics reveal to the listener Stills’ perspective of the tumultuous time, referencing people in the street, singing songs while hoisting up protest signs. “For What It’s Worth” is on the group’s eponymous debut album, “Buffalo Springfield”, released in December 1966 on Atco Records and has been covered by a vast number of recording artists over the years. In 1977, Crosby, Stills and Nash – along with Tom Petty – performed the song at Buffalo Springfield’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
After several drug-related arrests and line-up changes, the group disbanded in 1968. Stephen Stills went on to form the supergroup Crosby, Stills & Nash (CS&N). Neil Young launched his solo career and in 1969 became a member of CSN&Y. The group briefly reunited for a comeback tour in 2011.
Wars are still raging, people are still protesting and the world keeps on spinning. In some ways, not much has changed.
Here is Buffalo Springfield with their epic tune, “For What It’s Worth”. Listen for the dissonant chords when the words “paranoia strikes deep” are sung; little things like that make a great song even better.
Lyrics
There’s something happening here But what it is ain’t exactly clear There’s a man with a gun over there Telling me I got to beware
I think it’s time we stop Children, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down?
There’s battle lines being drawn Nobody’s right if everybody’s wrong Young people speaking their minds Getting so much resistance from behind
It’s time we stop Hey, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down?
What a field day for the heat (Ooh ooh ooh) A thousand people in the street (Ooh ooh ooh) Singing songs and they carrying signs (Ooh ooh ooh) Mostly say, “Hooray for our side” (Ooh ooh ooh)
It’s time we stop Hey, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down?
Paranoia strikes deep Into your life it will creep It starts when you’re always afraid Step out of line, the men come and take you away
We better stop Hey, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better stop Hey, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better stop Now, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down?
You better stop Children, what’s that sound? Everybody look, what’s going down?
It’s a fiver today, including prompt words from FOWC with Fandango and Weekly Prompts Wednesday.
“Debonair, sophisticated and charming” sighed Alice Carter. “I just love that movie. Cary Grant is so good-looking and classy. They don’t make movies like that anymore, you know?”
“And that Ingrid Bergman is some beauty, too” replied Alice’s husband Ralph. “Those smoldering eyes, high cheekbones, graceful neck – a real looker, that one.”
“And so chic, too, Ralph. You always knew a real lady when you saw one. Well, I better start dinner. I’m making your favorite – sausage and potato casserole.”
“I hope you made a lemon meringue pie for dessert.”
“Of course! Have we ever celebrated your birthday without your favorite pie? I know what you like, Ralph.”
“No, we have not, Alice. The kitchen is your milieu and no one makes a lemon meringue pie like you, my little chickadee!” Alice blushed with delight; Ralph’s compliments were rare these days.
Returning to the den after starting dinner, Alice found Ralph was watching the weatherchannel. “My goodness! That weather girl’s pants are awfully tight! They’re a bit unseemly for TV, I think. Don’t you agree, Ralph?“
“Oh, I don’t think so at all, Alice. She’s got a lovely figure; she probably works out every day. I’m sure her parents instilled in her an excellent work ethic. You know, I remember reading in some countries the TV weather girls are topless.”
“Topless? Why, I never” Alice declared indignantly; Ralph switched the channel to the news.
Alice clucked her tongue. “Why aren’t there more delightful men on the news, men like that handsome Peter Jennings?”
“Because he’s dead” replied Ralph.
“How about Mike Wallace? He’s so dapper.”
“Also dead” Ralph reminded Alice.
“Look at that clown, Glenn Beck, wearing jeans and sneakers on a TV news show! Give him a beanie and he’d look just like one of those little rascal kids. What ever happened to that nice Matt Lauer?”
“Fired for overt misconduct and sexual harassment” replied Ralph.
“Good Lord! I don’t believe it! Well, what about Bill O’Reilly, Eric Bolling and Charlie Rose?”
“Fired, fired and, oh yeah .… fired. Alice, can I please have a moment of peace and quiet to watch the news?”
“Well, pardon me for living! No need to be rude, Ralph” she sniffed. “I’m going to check on the sausage casserole.”
When she returned Alice stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh my God, Ralph! What on earth are you watching now?”
“It’s still the news, Alice. In fact, it’s called ‘The News Channel’. News all day, every day.”
“The ‘X Rated News Channel’, you mean! No wonder those poor men got fired. What red-blooded guy could resist floozies like that showing off their goods on national TV? They look like hookers! And look at you sitting there in your underwear all bug-eyed. Disgusting!” Alice harrumphed.
“Put a lid on it, Alice! You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about. These women are professionals. They’re lawyers, professors and judges, not some bimbos with sketchy qualifications who just walked in off the street.”
“Yeah, they’re highly qualified alright …. as adult entertainers!” Alice snapped. “Take that one on the end with the dyed blonde hair and skirt so short I can practically see Niagara Falls! What happened …. did they run out of fabric? And the other one with the dark hair. Who is she …. one of the Kardashians? With those spike heels and implants, I’m sure she can get a job as a pole dancer!”
“Woah, woah, woah! That’s enough, Alice! Look, this here is Megyn Kelly. She has a law degree, is a journalist, an author and a world-famous political commentator as well as a news anchor. The dark-haired one is Kimberly Guilfoyle. She’s a political analyst, an attorney and former First Lady of San Francisco. Now she’s engaged to Donald Trump, Jr.”
“Well, big whoop!! If you think I’m impressed, Ralph, you’ve got another thing comin’. You’re delusional!”
“I don’t care what you think, Alice. I’m sure their families are very proud of them. Besides being absolutely stunning, they are brilliant. Now why don’t you just run back into the kitchen and let me enjoy my one indulgence.”
“Indulgence??” Alice countered. “So you admit it’s all about cheap thrills and nothing to do with the news. You’re such a pig, Ralph!”
“Alice, your ignorance is showing. Can we please stop talking about this? How’s that sausage coming, anyway? I’m starving!”
Alice saw red. “Here’s an idea for you, Ralph. Get Kimberly what’s-her-name to see to your sausage. I’m sure she’s highly qualified! And one more thing …. Happy Effin’ Birthday!”
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt is challenging us with the word “note”; in exactly 72 words, this is my response. 🍸
After thirty minutes and two martinis I began feeling paranoid. It was painfully obvious, at least to me, that everyone who saw me sitting by the bar thought I was either an elegant call girl just past her prime or a lonesome, tedious housewife who had been stood up.
I became aware of someone approaching. I looked up expectantly, smiling; it was just the concierge. Whispering discreetly, he handed me a note.
Today Jim at Song Lyric Sunday is challenging us to choose a song dealing with mental health. This is a double edged sword; it’s wonderful that there are so many songs about this subject to choose from but it’s a shame that there are so many troublesome issues (and troubled souls) to write songs about.
I chose this one because it’s a tremendously uplifting song, I love the group and I feel a personal connection as well. When you’re talking about a song, it’s great to have something that ties you to it. It may not always be something positive but that’s just the way life is. The beautiful thing about music is there’s something for whatever is going on in your life. I hope you enjoy my selection today.
“Mr. Blue Sky” is a song by the Electric Light Orchestra (ELO), featured on the band’s seventh studio album “Out of the Blue” written and produced in 1977 by front man Jeff Lynne. Promotional copies were released on blue vinyl, like the album from which the single was issued. Due to its popularity and frequent use in multiple television shows and movies, it has sometimes been described as ELO’s signature song.
I have loved this song since the first time I heard it. It’s a happy and fun tune about a make-believe superhero, inspired by a silly TV show Jeff Lynne loved as a child. It was recorded with percussion played on a fire extinguisher, for crying out loud, and was so powerful and singable, astronauts would use it as an alarm clock in space! Reaction by critics and the public was a definite thumbs up, calling the tune “truly exhilarating”; the song would go on to be referred to as “the happiest song ever”. Sorry, Pharrell!
In 1977, Jeff Lynne and the other members of ELO rented a place in the Alps to work on music for their new album. Jeff was trying to write songs but the weather was so dark and dreary around him, he went into a funk. So how was it possible for Jeff to have written this fun, happy song?
During a BBC Radio interview, Jeff Lynne gave this account of how it all went down:
“It had been dark, wet and dreary for more than two weeks, and I didn’t come up with a single thing for the new record. I started going to the local pub, getting drunk, and spending more time there than back at the studio with my mates. Here we were in a house in the Alps and I was totally spiritless. I had writer’s block and fell into an ugly depression. Those two weeks felt more like two years! Finally one morning the sun suddenly came out and shone brilliantly. It shook me from my gloom and I felt inspired for the first time in weeks. It was like, ‘Wow, look at those gorgeous mountains, that beautiful sky’! For me that was a sign, a re-awakening, a chance to start over. I was so encouraged and motivated, I wrote “Mr. Blue Sky” and 13 other songs in the next two weeks.”
That’s Jeff’s great story; now here’s my story.
Over a span of 8 years, 2011 to 2019, I had two major surgeries on the same knee. It was not fun but what surgery is?
After operation #1, a total knee revision, I was in a lot of pain and my recuperation did not go well. I fell into a major depression. I lost my appetite, suffered panic attacks and shut myself off from everyone and everything. All I wanted was be left alone and sleep. I was convinced I was going to be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of my life, unable to play with my young grandchildren. I began seeing a psychologist. And I was taking anti-anxiety meds and pain killers.
My husband Bill was my biggest supporter, a shoulder to lean on, my rock. He took me to physical therapy 3 times each week and stayed with me. He drove me to see the psychologist and sat in the waiting room. He took me out for drives just to get me out of the house. He set up FaceTime with our sons. He arranged for someone from the nail salon to come to the house to give me a mani/pedi. He helped me shower and wash my hair. Family and friends brought over prepared meals which Bill warmed up for me, even though I had little interest in eating. He was worried about me, scared for me but never let it show; he was a saint.
One day Bill came into the bedroom and said he had something to show me. He switched on the TV and inserted a DVD; it was the “Concert for George” and it was the first thing in months that held my attention. That’s the day I started listening to music again. Bill and music were the major factors in getting my mental and emotional recovery into motion. I put on my headphones and listened to all my favorite tunes. I started feeling better and eventually got myself to the point where I felt before the urgent need for surgery …. but I still had nagging pain in my knee. X-rays revealed something wrong with my replacement and I needed to have a total revision …. a complete do-over of the first operation. All that suffering between 2011 and 2019 because of something that could and should have been avoided.
The 2nd surgery was in early December 2019, just before Covid. I had great hope this time around but my recovery turned into the perfect storm. A visiting nurse came to see me five times and Bill brought me to have my staples removed. I started physical therapy but that lasted only about two weeks before everything came to a halt. I was left to my own devices as far as physical therapy was concerned and I had a wave of anxiety wash over me thinking “here we go again” …. but this time I sort of knew what to expect. I had an exercise routine from my first round of PT 8 years earlier which I did on my own as best I could. Being your own physical therapist after major surgery is far from ideal. By the grace of God, I did not hurt myself or fall into another depression. Once again music and Bill were my constant companions. I’d also begun to write again.
Long story even longer, when lockdown was lifted, I went back to therapy. That’s how I met the therapist who literally saved my life and I still see him when I have a flare up. Besides being a great therapist, he’s an incredibly good person who loves what he does …. helping people recover and feel better. And he always has music playing during his sessions! If I didn’t have him and Bill, I don’t know where I would be right now. And I’m also no longer taking meds.
Depression is serious business. As hard as it may be, we need to try to let people into our life. We need to talk to someone, anyone who will listen and be a good friend. There’s no shame in being depressed; it’s an illness and needs to be treated as one …. not covered up like a dirty secret.
I’m one of the lucky ones and I have music, my therapist and Bill to thank for helping me on the road to recovery.
Take good care of yourselves, my friends, and try to listen to music every day. Don’t underestimate it’s powers. It’s a balm for your body, mind, heart and soul. It could also mean a new lease on life.
National Depression Hotline – 866-629-4564 for free help, treatment options and support. Call 24/7.
This is “Mr. Blue Sky” by ELO
LYRICS
Sun is shinin’ in the sky There ain’t a cloud in sight It’s stopped rainin’, everybody’s in the play And don’t you know It’s a beautiful new day? Hey
Runnin’ down the avenue See how the sun shines brightly in the city On the streets where once was pity Mr. Blue Sky is living here today, hey
Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long (so long) Where did we go wrong?
Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long (so long) Where did we go wrong?
Hey you with the pretty face Welcome to the human race A celebration, Mr. Blue Sky’s up there waitin’ And today is the day we’ve waited for
Oh, Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long (so long) Where did we go wrong?
Hey there, Mr. Blue We’re so pleased to be with you Look around, see what you do Everybody smiles at you
Hey there, Mr. Blue We’re so pleased to be with you Look around, see what you do Everybody smiles at you
Mr. Blue, you did it right But soon comes Mr. Night creepin’ over Now his hand is on your shoulder Never mind, I’ll remember you this I’ll remember you this way
Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why You had to hide away for so long (so long) Where did we go wrong?
Hey there Mr. Blue (sky) We’re so pleased to be with you (sky) Look around see what you do (blue) Everybody smiles at you
It’s been dreadfully cold lately; I seem to get a chill much easier now that I’m older. Maybe my “Senile Under-Skin Bleeding” is a direct result.
I spoke to my dermatologist about the thinning, drying and bruising skin on my lower legs; she suggested sauna bathing. The benefits include detoxification, increased metabolism, weight loss, increased blood circulation, pain reduction, anti-aging, skin rejuvenation, improved cardiovascular function, improved sleep, stress management and relaxation.
What could possibly go wrong?
I located a spa with a sauna. My glasses steamed up, I tripped and bumped into the frozen water bucket.
✦ Authors Note: “Senile Under-Skin Bleeding”, also known as “Senile Purpura”, occurs when the skin and blood vessels become more fragile as people age, making it easier for the skin to bruise from minor trauma. While it is mostly associated with older people, it is a common problem among those in their 30s and 40s. This frustrating and painful skin issue with a very ugly name can be improved slowly following a dedicated regimen of gentle exfoliation, daily Vitamin D and a skin lotion rich in Vitamin C. Staying out of the sun and wearing sunscreen, keeping hydrated and eating fruits and leafy greens are also extremely important and helpful.
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays! Each week I will feature someone from the world of music whose birthday falls on this 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 Bobby Goldsboro January 18, 1941 in Marianna, Florida
Live from The Ed Sullivan Show, “Everybody’s Talkin'”
From “The Best of Bobby Goldsboro”, this is “Honey”
“See the Funny Little Clown” from The Bobby Goldsboro Show
Sammi at Weekend Writing Prompt has challenged us to write a piece of exactly 87 words, making sure to include the prompt “appointment”. This is my response to that challenge.
It’s week three of the Mixed Music Bag and Glyn’s theme is a solo artist or band beginning with the letter A or B.
Don’t ask me the date …. early 70s is as close as I can get …. we went to the Nassau Coliseum to see Bedlam, Badger and Black Sabbath. It was one of the most bizarre nights with a strange vibe in the place. A guy in the audience must have gotten his hands on some of the brown acid left over from Woodstock because he decided it would be cool to set his arm on fire. I can say with 100% certainty of all the many, many concerts we went to from ’67-’77, no one ever set fire to any part of their body before or after that night. What people won’t do fortheir 15 minutes of fame.
There’s no need to discuss Black Sabbath, is there? I decided to feature Bedlam in my post today; they had a good sound and the group’s members were infinitely better known than Badger’s. But the whole story about Bedlam is a bit weird.
Originally known as Beast when it formed in 1972, Bedlam was one of the UK’s least-known supergroups, a hard rock band featuring singer Frank Aiello (from Truth), guitarist Dave Ball (from Procol Harum), bassist Dennis Ball (formerly with Long John Baldry), and drummer Cozy Powell (who made his name with major rock bands and artists such as The Jeff Beck Group, Rainbow, Michael Schenker Group, Gary Moore, Graham Bonnet, Brian May, Whitesnake, Emerson, Lake & Powell and Black Sabbath). Wow!
In 1973 they made one self-titled album produced by Felix Pappalardi, best known as the bassist and co-lead singer for Mountain. Like I said, the lineup was a good one but in 1974, after just two short years, the group fell apart when Cozy Powell left. That one studio effort showed the band to be a talented, bluesy, hard-rock outfit in the vein of the Jeff Beck group and Rory Gallagher’s band, but without the new twist of originality that might have sustained interest.
Adding to the ambiguity surrounding this group, I was unable to find lyrics for any of Bedlam’s songs; I hope you enjoy the tune I’ve selected for you today.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is challenging us to write a Six Sentence Story using the word “kick”. I threw in 8 other prompts I had in my back pocket; this is my response.
Last week I had my bi-weekly (every two weeks) session with my pain management doctor; I always get a perverse kick out of the term ‘pain management’ and feel like I need to say something witty and clever (sarcastic) about it to the insentient people who work there, hereafter referred to as ‘the staff’.
“You know, the term ‘pain management‘ is all well and good however I’m really here in search of ‘pain termination‘”, I mention to the front desk receptionist who is characteristically unresponsive; my darling, unceasingly patient husband stands to the side with a sheepish yet accepting half-smile on his face (sometimes accompanied by a masterful eye-roll) knowing all to well there are times I cannot or simply will not control my Sicilian forked tongue, being the perspicacious and savvy sort that I am.
My doctor’s office is in a building with other doctors so there’s always a soft parade of wheelchairs and people with canes, crutches, walkers or other means of physical assistance going into the various offices; many have spouses/friends/caregivers accompanying them with dogeared paperbacks, sudoku puzzles or endlessly-beeping cell phones except for my husband and me who both have appointments with the same doctor for ‘management’ of our pain, he at 11:00 and me at 11:20, and so we accompany and entertain each other.
Akey is needed to unlock the door to the ‘Guest Restrooms’ which are located near the elevators; this is a majorinconvenience and I have issues with this arrangement since there’s not one but two ‘Staff Only’ restrooms in the doctor’s office which screams HYPOCRISY considering the patients are the ones who would benefit from having a restroom nearby and because the ‘staff’ sometimes uses the ‘guest’ restroom when they have their own damn restrooms (but we can’t use theirs), and since no one is actually resting in the ‘restroom’, let’s drop the euphemism and call it what it is – a toilet, FFS!
I persevere and consider the walk to the ‘Guest Restroom’ part of my daily exercise but rest assured – I am seething inside and secretly hope there’s a member of the ‘staff’ in the ‘Guest Restroom’ who might accidentally trip over someone’s cane; there are a lot of canes at ‘pain management’.
Speaking of canes, I bring along my boldnew walking stick; I don’t always need it but I think it makes me look erudite, sophisticated and elegant in a nonchalant sort of way, even though my knees are barking like angry junkyard dogs; looking good is half the battle.
Lisa is serving as host for today’s dVerse Prosery prompt. We are to write a piece of up to 144 words and include the line “But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face”. This is my response for Lisa’s dVerse Prosery prompt.
We were living in Tennessee with my Aunt Luella and Uncle Boz after my mam and pap were killed in the South Carrollton, Kentucky train wreck of 1917. Just five days before Christmas and our family was torn apart. My mam and Aunt Luella were sisters; mam’s death nearly destroyed Auntie.
Back in January we all had such high hopes for 1917. My cousin Henry, Aunt Luella and Uncle Boz’s firstborn, was set to graduate high school in June, the first one in the family with that distinction. Aunt Luella was so proud of Henry, she couldn’t help smiling thinking of Henry’s bright future.
But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face.
Henry enlisted in the army one month before graduation. He died in the Battle of Cambrai on Thanksgiving Day.
When Ekon and Mosi awoke they were not in the same place as the night before. They were in a higher elevation; it was colder and there were traces of snow. They were laying in a rudimentary tent, comfortably covered in blankets with a small fire nearby. Shiga happily munched on a shrub to which she had been tethered. Besides the change of location, there was a much more obvious and puzzling difference in father and son: both had aged approximately five years. Mosi looked to be about 25 years old and Ekon’s hair and beard were now as grey as the mountain sky.
A group of strange-looking men emerged from the woods and started walking in their direction; immediately Ekon patted his chest, feeling for the vial in his wrap, and was relieved to find it where he always kept it; he placed one drop on the tip of his tongue. The leader of the group, who looked like nothing more than a dead tree branch, spoke in a senescent voice, explaining that two of his people, while out hunting, had found Ekon, Mosi and Shiga unconscious near the brook and brought them back to a safe clearing just outside their village. The brook had been poisoned years ago after a mysterious storm and the tainted waters resulted in a deep, years-long sleep for anyone who drank; there was no antidote that they knew of.
These men were the last of the Twigorian order of monks; they were learned men, wise in the ways of the universe, science and nature. They lived among the members of the ancient San tribe as leaders and teachers. The chief monk assured Ekon and Mosi they were in no danger. When Ekon answered in San, the monks were surprised but quickly discerned that Ekon possessed the power of the Jal’mboor. After the men had talked for a while, a few San women approached; they asked Ekon and Mosi to follow them into the village where they would be able to wash, don clean clothes and eat. Mosi immediately caught the eye of a beautiful young woman called Tayla and they exchanged smiles.
Ekon and Mosi listened as the San people explained their ways. They knew how to preserve food in such a way that it could be dried to last a long time and reduced to a compact size for easy transport and storage. They developed a shield of invisibility which allowed them to disappear at the first sign of danger, thus avoiding any conflict, violence or harm to themselves or their land. They were philosophers and great thinkers but lacked basic skills such as tool-making and construction. Their homes were straw huts and tents in a great state of disrepair and their boats were rotting; everything was falling apart.
Mosi and Ekon told the San people of their quest to reach the top of the Sky Mountain Pines. Many had tried but very few succeeded. It was a treacherous journey but the San promised to help if Ekon and Mosi did something in return: teach them to make tools to build homes, boats and proper implements for hunting, fishing and farming. The pair agreed and spent the next two years working with the San people. During that time Mosi and Tayla fell in love and he promised to return to her after they reached the summit.
The San warned Ekon and Mosi about the Sanguine Precipice, the Gralapthian Dragon Den and the bloodthirsty gorillas known as the Ikorana Buhangi. The monks gave Mosi and Ekon a map to help them safely pass the precipice. In addition, the monks presented them with the invisibility shield to evade the monstrous beasts along their way. Their promise and mission now complete, Ekon and his son prepared to leave the San people the following morning.
Shiga was loaded down with new flasks containing safe, clean water, sacks of food, blankets and the invisibility shield. Bidding Tayla farewell, Mosi and Ekon followed the monks until they were safely on the other side of the poisoned brook. At the last minute, Mosi fetched a dozen old water skins and filled them with tainted water. Now they were truly on their own, prepared but anxious. The higher they climbed the colder it became and they blessed the San women for the warm clothing they now wore.
The pair hiked for days, sometimes not uttering a single word. In one terrifying second, their silence was shattered by horrific screeches and savage bellows. They knew they reached the first deadly threat: the Gralapthian Dragons. The sound of enormous flapping wings filled the sky and father and son covered their ears from the deafening noise. Mosi grabbed the invisibility shield just before catching a glimpse of the nightmarish creatures; he quickly covered himself, Ekon and Shiga, gently stroking the terrified mule’s nose to keep her quiet. The Gralapthian hovered over them, sniffing the air with gargantuan nostrils. Mosi gripped the shield tightly to keep it from flying off in the great gush of wind caused by the dragon’s wings.
The Gralapthian angrily flew away only to return moments later, obviously in the hope of catching their prey unawares. Again Mosi almost lost control of the shield. The Gralapthian spewed fire in different directions and spittle like molten lava rained down but Mosi, Ekon and Shiga stayed put undercover and the dragons missed their mark. Disgruntled, the Gralapthian flew off beyond the high pines. Mosi and Ekon remained where they were until they were sure all was safe. When they felt the time was right, they carefully retracted the shield and secured it onto Shiga’s back. The shield had served them well and once again they silently thanked the monks.
At first Ekon kept a journal of the passing days and nights but eventually lost count. They walked for what seemed an eternity and Mosi questioned himself a thousand times over if this was only a fool’s quest. Lost in their thoughts, Ekon and Mosi were surprised when they came to a divide in the path. Unsure which direction to go, they consulted the San map but it was of no help. Not knowing which way to turn, they finally settled on one of the paths; it proved to be the wrong choice.
Rounding a bend they found themselves face to face with the much-feared kings of the mountain – the Ikorana Buhangi Gorillas. They were hideous beasts, a mutation of a gorilla and a rhinoceros. Ekon froze as the monstrous creatures slowly came closer, snorting loudly, beating their breasts and baring massive teeth. Mosi thought quickly and placed a drop of the Jal’mboor potion on the tip of his tongue.
To the bewilderment of the gorillas Mosi began speaking in fluent Buhangarian: “We are travelers. We seek no trouble. All we wish is to pass by safely.”
The largest of the gorillas growled: “How is it you can speak to us, human?”
“We are magicians. We can offer you whatever you desire. What is your greatest wish?” Mosi asked, covering his fear.
“To rip your body to pieces and eat you!” shouted the Ikorana Buhangi.
“But you can do that any time. Surely there is something you desire above all other things” countered Mosi. “I repeat – what is your greatest wish?”
“ABSOLUTE POWER!” roared the beasts. “RULERS THE UNIVERSE!”
“If that is indeed your greatest wish, I can instantly grant it. It’s as easy as drinking the mystical waters in these skins” and Mosi tossed the twelve old water skins to the gorillas. They greedily swallowed every last drop the tainted brook water and were poisoned before they hit the ground. The earth under their feet shook from the tremendous weight of the gorillas but Mosi and Ekon were safe.
Elated with their quick thinking and great success over the Ikorana Buhangi, Ekon and Mosi quickened their pace as they moved on. Their relief was short lived, however, when they reached the Sanguine Precipice. Never before had they seen such a narrow path or so steep a cliff. Mosi checked the San map and saw a widening in the path about four feet ahead. Crossing that short but deadly span would mean victory or defeat, life or death. They could not make one false move. Mosi believed he and his father could do it but he wasn’t sure about Shiga. The men decided to lighten Shiga’s load by dividing it among themselves. She stood a better chance without the extra weight. Slow as snails they placed one foot before the other, Mosi leading Shiga and Ekon gently pushing her rear.
Just as they reached the safety of the clearing, Shiga lost her footing and landed full force on top of Ekon who howled in agony. Working quickly, Mosi uprighted Shiga and tied her to a tree, then he returned for Ekon. As soon as he tried to lift his father, Ekon screamed and fainted; Mosi immediately knew his father’s back was broken. Mosi gently carried Ekon and laid him in the shade of the Sky Mountain Pines; it was only then that he realized they had made it to the summit. His quest was complete but at what cost?
Slowly, Ekon opened his eyes and whispered “We made it, my son!” Then quietly he exhaled and died. Mosi cried out in grief and Shiga softly brayed where she stood, still tied to a tree. Mosi buried his father on the summit of the Sky Mountain Pines, laying his trusty spear across the grave. Snow began to lightly fall as Mosi packed his belongings and secured them onto Shiga’s back. Now, knowing the safe route, Mosi and Shiga began their trek back to Tayla and home to the Sangala Valley. They left the summit without looking back.
The sun was just beginning to rise over the Sangala Valley and the day was already warm. Ekon, a middle-aged widower and his son Mosi sat outside as they did each morning eating their breakfast before beginning their long day. It had been just the two of them since Ekon’s wife Bisa died from a mysterious illness several years earlier.
The Sangala Valley is very small but a good home for Ekon and Mosi. There is an abundance of sunlight for growing crops and copious amounts of fruit trees to provide food and much needed shade during the hottest times of the day. Mosi fishes daily in nearby Lake Caballo; he has become quite proficient but Ekon is the hunter, always keeping them well-fed with rabbits, pigs, deer or fowl. They also keep roosters, chickens and have a mare mule for milk.
Three other families live in the valley and share the area peacefully, frequently trading with each other. Ekon and Mosi are fortunate to have a variety of foods to eat; however, they have had little luck growing wheat or other grains – something Bisa excelled at. Sometimes the women bring them flatbread and loaves of Green Mealies, a fluffy corn bread, in exchange for fish or rabbits.
Forests of wild pine trees grow in the distance and the view from the valley is magnificent. One evening as father and son relaxed by their campfire, Mosi expressed his greatest desire: “Father, one day I shall visit the Cloud Mountain Pines.”
“One day?” exclaimed Ekon and laughed heartily. “My son, the pines are hundreds of miles away, a rigorous and dangerous journey of many months. It is a quest, not a day’s adventure.”
“But how can that be, Father?” Mosi questioned. “I can see them as clearly as I can see Lake Caballo.”
“Mosi, the wild pines are enormous and tower over everything” Ekon explained. “Their closeness is a mere illusion.”
“But Father” Mosi argued. “Look across the lake. The pines are plainly visible and the land is flat. We can get there in two days!”
“That is true, my son, but reaching the pine trees on Cloud Mountain is another story. You must give up this fantasy. Now, off to bed for both of us.”
Mosi did not mention the Cloud Mountain Pines again for a long time but he never abandoned his dream. One morning during breakfast Mosi told his father that he had decided he would not be able to rest until he traveled to the woods – or at least tried. Ekon’s first reaction was to once again talk Mosi out of his idea but as he looked at his son he realized he was no longer a child and his mind was made up. Ekon told Mosi he understood the need that drove him and they would make the trek together.
Mosi was overjoyed and immediately began to prepare. Ekon said they must bring only the barest of necessities, their fishing and hunting tools and their mule Shiga. There was also one priceless object which Ekon would never leave behind, a treasure handed down from generation to generation: a tiny vial containing the Tincture of Jal’mboor. One small drop on the tip of the tongue would enable the user to speak in any language chosen and the spell would remain until no longer needed.
They set out the following morning, reaching the woods at dusk on the second day. Mosi was shocked to find how much bigger everything was. Even the smallest trees were taller than him. Ekon and Mosi camped under the moon at the foot of the lake; after an early breakfast of fruit and nuts, they set off. The terrain was flat and easily passable until the fifth day when they came upon a vast, swiftly moving river blocking their path. Having no craft, the duo consulted an old map and chose to travel east. This would take them out of their way but it was the safest route. After many days of walking, they reached a shallow section of the river which they crossed safely.
The new terrain was steeper and difficult. The forests were dense and hardly any light shone through. They were keenly aware of the ominous stillness and Ekon kept his spear at the ready. Without warning the trees began to quake; suddenly hundreds of birds flew out and disappeared. A second later a massive Basambi Kurumandi Tiger appeared. He stared at Ekon and Mosi, deadly pale green eyes observing their every move. He snarled, exposing razor sharp fangs. Ekon whispered for Mosi to stand perfectly still but Shiga was spooked and whinnied loudly. In an instant the tiger leapt but Ekon was ready and felled the giant cat with his trusty spear through its heart. Father and son refilled their water skins from the river and, exhausted, went to sleep far from the felled tiger. They would start fresh in the morning.
For today’s challenge, Jim at Song Lyric Sundayhas asked us to write about a Scandinavian song and/or performer. This was a no-brainer for me; I couldn’t write about anyone other than the incredible Yngwie Malmsteen. Honestly, for many years I didn’t think there was any better guitarist than Ritchie Blackmore; then I heard Yngwie.
Born in 1963 in Stockholm, Sweden, Yngwie first became known in the 80s for his neoclassical playing style in heavy metal. In his career of more than 40 years (and still going), Yngwie has released 22 studio albums. In 2009 he was listed in Time magazine as #9 on its list of the 10 best electric guitar players of all time.
Really? There are 8 better guitarists than Yngwie? I wonder who they could be. Well, let’s take a look: in descending order starting with #8 they are – Les Paul, Chuck Berry, Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, Keith Richards, B.B. King, Slash, and Jimi Hendrix. I’ve got issues with this list. And where are Ritchie Blackmore, Eddie Van Halen, Matteo Mancuso, Henrik Freishlader, Tommy Emmanuel, Joe Bonamassa and Guthrie Govan, FFS?
Anyway ….
As a teenager, Yngwie was heavily influenced by classical music, particularly Paganini and Bach. During this time he also discovered his most important guitar influence, Ritchie Blackmore. Yngwie has sad that Hendrix had no musical impact on him and did not contribute to his style but seeing him on TV smashing and burning his guitar at the Monterey Pop Festival of 1967 was “really cool”.
Yngwie Malmsteen has been a member of Steeler, Alcatrazz, Hear ‘n Aid, G3 and is currently with Generation Axe. Addtionally, he has had side projects and made special appearances with many other groups and performers.
In a 2005 issue of Guitar Player magazine, Yngwie Malmsteen discussed his often-ridiculed behavior, saying that, “I’ve probably made more mistakes than anybody. But I don’t dwell on them. I don’t expect people to understand me, because I’m pretty complex, and I think outside the box with everything I do. I’ve always taken the untraveled path. Obviously, people have their opinions, but I can’t get too wrapped up in that, because I know what I can do, and I know what kind of person I am. And I have no control over what anybody says about me. Back in Sweden, I’m ‘Mr Personality’ in the tabloids, but obviously I can’t take that seriously. I know in my heart that if I do the absolute best I can do, maybe ten years from now people may turn around and say, ‘he wasn’t that bad’.”
Let’s get down to business and listen to some Yngwie tracks.
This is Yngwie Malmsteen playing “Allegro and Adagio” by Paganini with the Japanese Philharmonic Orchestra
While with Alcatrazz, here is “Lost In Hollywood” by Yngwie Malmsteen and Graham Bonnet
This is a real treat: Yngwie Malmsteen and Dio performing Aerosmith’s “Dream On”
The following is an interview with Yngwie Malmsteen and Rick Beato (the human music encyclopedia).
“It was a glorious day, greener than Killarney in spring. We were out for a stroll, the leaves sparkling with dew. You looked so beautiful, Maggie, you made my heart skip a beat. Bluer eyes than I’d ever seen and hair the aroma of fresh peaches. We stopped and I picked a wildflower. I don’t know how you did it but you twisted the stem and made a ring. That was the day we became ‘engaged’. You said we needed to walk under the branch that stretched out over the path to make it official. I held your hand and we walked to the middle of the little bridge. We stood there and I knew from that moment on we would always be together. That’s where I kissed you for the first time. We were very daring, you being an older woman and all. I was 11 and you were 13 but we knew then we were made for each other.”
“It’s exactly as I remember. Tell me more, Tom. Put your arm around me. I’m so very cold.”
“Do you recollect the day we walked into the woods and discovered that cabin? I called it a ‘dilapidated shack’; you said it was “our dream’. We fixed that place up good, filling it with dreams. We raised our family there and welcomed our grandkids. Now our grands are getting married. Three generations of dreams, Maggie. Maggie? Oh, my sweetest love. Sleep now and dream forever.”
In previous years at this time we’d be covered in a blanket of snow. With that in mind, here’s a story from January 14, 2023 ~ my response to Linda G. Hill’s Just Jot it January 2024 prompt word: “toast”.
A couple of years ago, New York was hit by a major snowstorm. Wearing thick-padded booties, the snow silently tiptoed in while we slept and when we awoke there was a three-foot-deep crystalline blanket everywhere we looked. It was coming down pretty heavy and we could barely see anything in the backyard as we looked out our bedroom window … almost as if someone was standing on our roof shaking out a king size comforter full of feathers. Bill and I stood there for a while taking in the silent beauty of it all, then shuffled into the kitchen to prepare a pot of coffee and a few slices of my homemade banana bread.
The instant we were done making breakfast, the lights went out. There was no point in trekking down to the basement to check the circuit breakers; we knew the area had experienced a power outage. We sat in the kitchen by the still-hot radiator enjoying our coffee and warm toasty bread, a pale white glow from the snow enveloping every room in the house. Before retreating to the living room, I poured our pot of coffee into a thermos to stay hot for a few hours.
I went to the closet and brought down Bill’s emergency hand-crank radio with LED flashlight, AM/FM stations including the NOAH weather channel, a power bank of phone chargers and USB ports. This baby would serve us just fine until the power was restored. In the meantime Bill ventured out to the frozen tundra of the screened-in porch to retrieve some logs for the fireplace.
Bill got a nice fire going while I set up the radio on the table between our recliners. The phone chargers and USB ports were lifesavers; we were able to keep our cell batteries from dying and my laptop going so I could work on my stories. I was even able to plug in my new electric blanket which used a handy dandy USB port. Bill marveled at the technology of the little red radio and only bemoaned one design flaw – there was no TV.
We were happily ensconced in our recliners enjoying our little haven. All was silent outside except for an occasional gust of wind and every so often we’d spot a blue jay out our front window picking berries off the holly bush. I think we must have dozed off for a bit when we were roused by the harsh sound of steady scraping. We listened for a few seconds, then realized someone was outside shoveling the snow. We peered out the window to see our two little neighbors, six-year-old twins Jackson and Connor, shoveling our front path. At least that’s who we figured they were; it was impossible to tell by the way they were bundled up.
We sat back in our chairs, sipping our coffee and listening to the steady scrape-scraping of the boys’ shovels. Closer and closer the sound came; now they were clearing the steps leading to our front door. The adagio of their shovels was replaced by a sharp staccato knocking on our front door. I sank deeper into my blanket while Bill went to get some money to pay the enterprising kids, delighted that he didn’t have to shovel our front path himself. He opened the heavy wooden door and stood just inside the glass storm door to settle up accounts. Jackson and Connor stood on the front porch leaning on their shovels; toothless grins, cherry-red faces and sparkling blue eyes glistened in the still-rapidly falling snow which clung to their long blonde eyelashes.
“We cleared your path for you, Mr. Richy!” they proudly declared in unison, looking over their shoulders to admire their handiwork which was now covered by a fresh ½” of new snow. They looked back at Bill, staring up at him for his approval, their faces sporting the goofiest, most irresistible smiles imaginable.
“I see that, boys, and a fine job it is, too” replied Bill. “So tell me, what’s your going rate?“
With furrowed brows and crinkled noses the twins eloquently asked “Huh??”
“How much do I owe you for shoveling our path?” Bill asked in a way they could understand.
Very matter-of-factly with absolutely no sign of embarrassment or regret, the boys announced “Oh, we’re not allowed to accept money. Our mom and dad said we have to do good deeds.”
“Hold that thought, boys, and don’t go anywhere.”
Bill scurried back into the living room. “Are you hearing any of this conversation?” he asked me, clearly incredulous. “A concept like that in this day and age is mind-blowing!”
“Well, what’s your game plan?” I asked, knowing Bill always had a plan brewing.
“My game plan? Why, I’m going to pay those boys for a job well done and toss in a few packs of Pokémon cards just for good measure!” He was downright gleeful.
Bill scurried back to the boys and, opening the door just a crack to keep the cold out, shoved $20 and two packs of cards into their pockets.
The boys immediately started to put up a fuss about taking the money but Bill told them to stash it in their piggy banks for a rainy day and if their dad had a problem with it, he was more than welcome to come over and talk about it. With new-found treasures in their pockets, the toothless twosome raced home to show their friends their unexpected booty. Their little friends cheered loudly at the sight of the boy’s riches. Even their dad came out to see what the hubbub was all about.
The big financial deal now settled, Bill sat back in his recliner and sighed contentedly.
“You’re such a soft touch” I teased. “You’re rather pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am!” he replied. “Listen, I’m all for good deeds but when I was their age, I was out shoveling snow and I know it’s hard work. Those kids did a damn good job. If their dad objects to them getting paid, I’ll just tell him to think of it as a tip for his two fine sons. I can’t believe he’d have a problem with that.”
Well, it came as no big surprise when the twins soon returned and began shoveling the snow off our driveway – and this time they had reinforcements. Their momma didn’t raise no dummies! You haven’t lived until you’ve seen five six-year-olds shoveling one driveway like their little lives depended on it.
“Better get your wallet out, Rockefeller. They’re back and they brought company” I laughed.
Bill may have unwittingly created a couple of monsters; during the spring the twins started going door-to-door pulling a wagon behind them. They were selling rocks! I’m reasonably certain their parents did not give permission for their budding business venture because it ended as abruptly as it started. Too bad; I’m sure they had the rock-selling market cornered. Very entrepreneurial kids; even Warren Buffett had to start somewhere!
Well, kind of a pity when you think about it. The boys scrubbed those rocks until they glistened in the sparkling sunlight. They really were impressive-looking rocks – there’s no denying that – but they were still just rocks, not exactly a priceless commodity.
Rochelle at Friday Fictioneers has challenged us to write a 100-word story prompted by the photo below. Incorporating prompts from Weekly Prompts Wednesday and FOWC with Fandango, this is my response to Rochelle’s challenge.
Welcome to Birthday Thursdays! 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, Clarence Clemons Born January 11, 1942 Norfolk, Virginia
“You’re a Friend of Mine”~ Clarence Clemons & Friends
“Jungleland”
“Unchain My Heart” ~ Joe Cocker & Clarence Clemons
Our host Glyn says “In the month of January, the Mixed Music Bag theme is to find a group or solo singer beginning with the letter A or B.” I missed last week so I’ll just jump in today.
When I was 14, somebody incredibly cool entered my life; he came and went for a couple of years, never really sticking around very long. He was a 17-year-old beanpole named Steven Tallarico – Google him; I’ll wait.
There were one or two times when I felt like kicking myself for not running off with him but my whole life would have turned out differently and I’m sure not for the better. On my short list of “No Regrets”, that 3-year-period during my teen years would be very near the top.
If you’ve finished Googling, you are now aware that the guy I knew all those years ago as Steven Tallarico is the legendary Steven Tyler, lead singer of Aerosmith ….that Boston band with a front man born in The Bronx, NY (my hometown).
I’ve written a story or two about Steven but I’m not here to talk about him. And there’s certainly no need to talk about Aerosmith. To paraphrase Hyman Roth in The Godfather: “They’re bigger than U.S. Steel”.
One of my favorite Aerosmithtunes is “Walk This Way”, written by Steven Tyler and Joe Perry, which was originally released as the second single from their album Toys in the Attic (1975). It peaked at number 10 on the Billboard Hot 100 in early 1977, part of a string of successful hit singles for the band in the 1970s.
This song is one of the reasons Toys in the Attic was a must-have for everyone growing up in the 70s. “Walk This Way” has a trademark Joe Perry riff and quite a few of Steven Tyler’s slyest lyrics; it’s a wonder some of his double entendres ever made it onto AM radio. It also became a groundbreaker ten years later when the group re-cut the song with Run-DMC.
Check out Steven’s clever and colorful lyrics as we listen to “Walk This Way” by one of the greatest bands in the US …. Aerosmith!
Lyrics
Backstroke lover always hidin’ ‘neath the cover ‘Till I talked to my daddy, he say He said, “You ain’t seen nothing ‘Till you’re down on a muffin Then you’re sure to be a-changin’ your ways”
I met a cheerleader, was a real young bleeder All the times I can reminisce ‘Cause the best thing lovin’ with her sister and her cousin Only started with a little kiss, like this
See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school With your feet flyin’ up in the air Singin’ “Hey diddle-diddle with the kitty in the middle Of the swing” like I didn’t care
So I took a big chance at the high school dance With a missy who was ready to play Wasn’t me she was foolin’ ‘Cause she knew what she was doin’ And I know love is here to stay When she told me to
Walk this way, walk this way Walk this way, walk this way Walk this way, walk this way Walk this way, walk this way Ah, just give me a kiss
Like this
School girl sweetie with the classy kinda sassy Little skirt’s climbin’ way up her knees There was three young ladies in the school gym locker When I noticed they was lookin’ at me
I was a high school loser, never made it with a lady ‘Til the boys told me something I missed Then my next door neighbor with a daughter had a favor So I gave her just a little kiss, like this
See-saw swingin’ with the boys in the school With your feet flyin’ up in the air Singin’ “Hey diddle-diddle with the kitty in the middle Of the swing” like I didn’t care
So I took a big chance at the high school dance With a missy who was ready to play Wasn’t me she was foolin’ ‘Cause she knew what she was doin’ When she told me how to walk this way She told me to
Walk this way, walk this way Walk this way, walk this way Walk this way, walk this way Walk this way, talk this way Just give me a kiss
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has challenged us once again to write a Six Sentence Story and to include the word “stock”. This is my response.
Monday after school, me and my friends were in our usual hang out …. Caroni Brothers Grocery Store …. where we go for snacks, gum, you know – typical things 10 year old boys like – and, as usual, my mouth was watering for my favorite candy in the whole wide world, Tootsie Rolls, BUT I forgot my allowance and my friends didn’t have any extra money to loan me so I just walked around the store feeling glum when all the while those chocolatey Tootsie Rolls kept calling my name; before I could even think about what I was doing, I reached into the display box on the shelf, snatched a handful of Tootsies and bolted out the side door, but instead of running as fast and as far away from the store as I could, I tossed my candy into my backpack and sat on the ground leaning against the wall, relieved that I got away with it, when suddenly Mr. Caroni appeared outta nowhere, looming over me like a gorilla, and he reached into my backpack for my stash of Tootsie Rolls, shook his beefy fist and snarled something about cleaning him out lock, stock and barrel and to “get outta here, you mangy little thief, and never come back!”
That night I prayed Caroni’s would burn down – no such luck, by the way – and every day that week I gazed at the store with longing as my school bus passed by with one sickening thought haunting me: this coming Sunday morning, when me and my Dad are gonna take our weekly walk to Caroni’s for a loaf of Italian bread, a box of macaroni, a half-dozen cannoli and the newspaper; there’s no way I’m gonna be able to walk into that store and I’m thinking maybe I should just run away from home right now and never look back, but that would break my Mom’s heart.
Sunday arrived and Dad called out for me to “get a move on!”, all the while I’m making up excuses why I can’t go but he ain’t buying any of them; that’s it – dead man walking – and I dilly-dallied the whole way to the store, watching caterpillars, kicking pebbles, stopping to tie my shoelaces .… again …. until my Dad couldn’t take it anymore and shouted “C’mon, kiddo; what is this .… a funeral?” and I’m thinking “yeah, mine!” and before I knew it, I started crying and blubbering like my baby sister.
Squatting down and taking hold of my shoulders, Dad looked me square in the eye and asked “Ok, what’s going on?” and sobbing pathetically like a little sissy, I told Dad the whole sordid tale about me, Mr. Caroni and a handful of Tootsie Rolls; he took out his handkerchief, wiped my face, held it to my nose and said “Blow; listen, kiddo …. what you did was wrong and it’s obviously eating you up inside, but I’m afraid it’s not over because you still have to apologize to Mr. Caroni, which won’t be easy, but you have to do it …. and not a word about any of this to your Mom because this is a “guy thing” and it stays between us guys.”
We walked into the store, picked out our usual items and brought them up to the counter where my day wasted no time mincing words and said “Mr. Caroni, my son has something to say”; shaking in my shoes, I managed to look up at Mr. Caroni’s face and squeaked out “I’m sorry for taking those Tootsie Rolls, sir, and I’ll never steal anything from you ever again”and I extended my hand; an eternity seemed to go by but, to my shock and relief, Mr. Caroni took my little hand in his large meaty one, gave me one solid shake and nodded in agreement.
“Anything else?” Mr. Caroni asked, to which my dad replied “Just these” as he tossed a handful of my beloved Tootsie Rolls onto the counter; I’m sure glad my secret’s safe with Dad ’cause the last thing I wanna do is break my Mom’s heart.
The Elephant's Trunk 