When I was a kid, I attended a private Lutheran school from First Grade all the way through my senior year in high school; being in an unusually close environment such as that with a bunch of other kids was like having a very large extended family and, just like siblings, there were days when we fought like cats and dogs and there were times when we’d do anything for one another.
Being a relatively small school, there were some features we didn’t have that you would normally find in a larger public school; for example, we had a gymnasium but not an auditorium so phys ed and basketball games were held in the same room as our concerts, plays, pep rallies and graduations. We also did not have a cafeteria where students could buy food for lunch; everyone brought their own lunch, which we ate in the lunchroom or student union, and were able to buy snacks, desserts, candy, ice cream and cartons of milk in the small school store just off the lunchroom.
The snacks in the little store were nothing special – mostly things like chips, pretzels, Hostess Twinkies and Snowballs, Sugar Daddys, Tootsie Rolls and novelty candy items like Pixie Stix, miniature wax bottles filled with a sticky sweet liquid, button candy and tiny ice cream cones that weren’t ice cream at all but some kind of rubbery sugar substance – but we also had real ice cream and individual cartons of both regular milk and chocolate milk; it’s funny but the feature I remember most about those milk cartons was the round perforation on the top side where a straw could be inserted for mess-free drinking.
One unforgettable day when I was in fifth grade, a representative from Drakes Cakes came to our school and our class learned it had been selected as the official ‘taste tester’ for a bunch of new products being considered for the school store; once every week for about four months we got to sample items that weren’t as yet available to the public for sale such as Funny Bones, Ring Dings, Devil Dogs, Yodels, Coffee Cakes and Fruit Pies.
Man oh man … as you can well imagine, that was one of the most amazing times in our young lives and by far the best year we ever had in school; my class was the envy of all the other kids and I still can’t resist those delicious devil’s food cake ‘hot dogs’ filled with whipped cream that we all know as Devil Dogs.
The minute she walked into my deli on Arthur Avenue, I was blown away. She knocked my socks off. Even through the crack in the storage room door I was dazzled by this profusion of red hair the color of a bright autumn day, creamy skin with a splash of freckles and captivating emerald eyes. I’ve got a weakness for gingers and I fell head over heels.
I’m Bruno Deluca – or Mr. Monotone compared to the stunning Monarch butterfly that just gaily flew into my market. I have the quintessential Italian look – walnut brown hair, coffee brown eyes and a perpetual deep tan. But I have a sparkling smile and dimples “to die for”, as my Aunt Carmella always says.
This amber goddess stood in front of the meat and cheese display, a bewildered look on her face. Here’s my big chance. I dashed from the back room and positioned myself directly in her line of vision. “Welcome to Deluca’s Salumeria. May I help you with something, miss?” [Smooth, right? Not to mention original!]
She looked up and I flashed her my trademark smile. And she smiled back, blushing winsomely. My knees grew weak when she spoke, her lilting Irish brogue a sweet surprise.
“Everything looks so exotic and delicious! I wouldn’t know what to order, even if could pronounce the names!” And when she laughed I swear I saw musical notes wafting through the air.
“No problem” I replied as I swiftly came around to her side, naming and describing all the meats and cheeses.
She smelled like honeysuckle. I smelled like provolone.
She still couldn’t make up her mind so I tried something radical. “How about I give you a few samples – on the house – if you promise to come back and buy something, even if it’s one slice of salami?”
She hesitated for a second, then laughingly said “You have a deal, Mr…..”
“Deluca. Bruno Deluca. And you are…..?”
She extended a delicate porcelain hand. “Rowan McCourt. Pleased to meet you, Bruno.”
“Rowan, eh? That’s a lovely name. What does it mean?”
Tentatively toying with her hair she said “Little Red-haired One. And what does Bruno mean?”
I shrugged and matter-of-factly stated “Brown” and we both burst out laughing!
I packed up a nice selection of sliced meat and cheese and some of my best Italian bread. “Here ya go, Rowan, and don’t forget…..”
“Oh, no Bruno! This is too much! I couldn’t possibly…..!”
“Go! Enjoy! It’s always good to have leftovers. See you soon!”
The next day I kept glancing at the door; I couldn’t get Rowan out of my head and I was disappointed when she didn’t return. True to her word, though, she was back the following morning.
“Bruno, everything was delicious!” she declared excitedly. “Now what shall I buy?”
She browsed for a minute. “That looks incredible! What is it?”
“That’s lasagna – sheets of wide pasta layered with ricotta, mozzarella, grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, sauteèd chopped beef and sausage in my homemade tomato sauce. It’s already cooked; just heat and enjoy. Would you like to try it?”
“I would indeed! You make it all sound so delicious, Bruno. My mouth is watering!”
“You won’t regret your decision, Rowan. Lasagna is one of our specialties.How much would you like?”
“Enough for a few portions, please” Rowan replied. Her smile was radiant.
“Ah, leftovers. You remembered!” I said, smiling back.
“Actually, Bruno, I was hoping you would join me for dinner tonight.”
It took me a second to remember to breath. “I’d love to” I whispered while inside I was shouting “YES! I’d love to!”
“Wonderful! Here’s my address. See you at 7:00. And Bruno, can you bring a bottle of wine and some of your fabulous bread?” Rowan asked.
I stared into her eyes and nodded mutely.
“Bruno, I’m very happy you’ll be joining me tonight.” Taking her bag, Rowan floated out the door. The slightest trace of honeysuckle tickled my nose.
“Motown was about music for all people – white and black, blue and green, cops and the robbers. I was reluctant to have our music alienate anyone.” – Berry Gordy, Motown Founder
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Welcome back to In The Groove: Motown Melodies!
It’s the last Tuesday of September – time to conclude our musical journey in the Motor City. I’ve chosen to start today’s segment with a 1963 high octane hit by another incredible girl group that you’re all sure to know.
Is it my imagination or is it getting hot in here?
“Heat Wave” was written by the songwriting team of Holland-Dozier-Holland and was first made popular by the group “Martha and the Vandellas”. Released as a single on the Motown subsidiary Gordy label, this song garnered a Grammy Award nomination, the first Motown group to ever do so.
Founded in 1957 by friends Annette Beard, Rosaline Ashford and Gloria Williams, the group eventually included Martha Reeves who moved up in ranks as lead vocalist after Williams’ departure in ’61. During their nine-year run from 1963-1972, “Martha and the Vandellas” charted over 26 hits recorded in the styles of doo-wop, R&B, pop, blues, rock and roll and soul. In 1995 the group was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.
“Heat Wave” was one of the first songs to exemplify the style of music later termed as the “Motown Sound”. Here are Martha and the Vandellas performing their 1963 hit, “Heat Wave”.
What a great song by a terrific group – the epitome of that legendary “Motown Sound” that still sounds fresh and new today.
I have a few more dimes left for the jukebox; let’s punch up a couple more hits by “the girls”.
Wow! What a great bunch of songs! I’ve been loving listening to the Motown girl groups; how about you? Please leave a comment and let me know your thoughts about these great Motown hits.
Another month is in the books, kids. Thanks for movin’ and groovin’ with me to the greatest sounds to come out of the Motor City! 🚗
Be sure to join me here next Tuesday as we dive into a brand new category for October. What will it be? All I can say is you don’t wanna miss it. We’re flying to England where we’ll be kicking it up and raising some hell!
Sadje has asked us in her Sunday Poser if we have any bad habits we want to give up.
Who, me?
Do not get me started on bad habits. That will only result in a monumental snowball effect which will totally ruin my day and likely bore the pants off everyone else.
Just the fact that I’m sitting here taking the time to write this when I could be cleaning out a closet is statement enough; I don’t need to produce a laundry list of my bad habits.
It’s been raining like gangbusters here since Saturday – the type of weather when all you want to do is watch old movies, read or write on your blog. I thought about keeping up with my daily walks but it was pouring so I said “Nah” and pulled my hoodie up over my head.
Look, here’s the bottom line:
Everyone has bad habits, big or small. If anyone can point a judgmental finger at another person while professing to not having one single bad habit themselves, they’d be lying … or at the very least, bragging. Those are bad habits right there.
No, don’t get me started on bad habits.
We are all flawed.
Perhaps we might want to hone our good habits and not dwell so much on the bad ones. Imagine all the money we’d save on antacids!
I rest my case.
PS: Yesterday we were granted a brief window of no rain. We dragged our sorry asses out of our recliners and went for that walk after all. I felt good about that. The jury is still out on what will happen today. And that is no lie.
Today Jim at Song Lyric Sunday is asking us to think about a musical group with a type of food in its name and write about one of their songs. I have chosen the Canadian hard rock group April Wine and their song Sign of the Gypsy Queen.
♛
“Sign of the Gypsy Queen” was written and originally recorded by Lorence Hud. The song became a hit in Canada when released as a single in 1973. Hud’s version appeared on his eponymous debut album. The song reached the top 5 on the West Coast, #3 on CJRW-FM in Summerside, Prince Edward Island, and peaked at #16 nationally on the RPM 100 chart.
April Wine had more success with its 1981 hard rock version of the song. It was the second single from their album, The Nature of the Beast. The song reached #40 on the Canadian Hot 100, and #57 in the United States on the Billboard Hot 100, and #19 on the Mainstream Rock Tracks.
This version has become popular on album-oriented rock radio stations, getting frequent airplay in the United States and Canada; a music video aired on MTV’s first day of broadcast. It remains one of the group’s signature songs and a live concert staple.
“Sign of the Gypsy Queen” gained a brief resurgence in popularity when it was featured in an episode of the American television series Breaking Bad in 2013. The episode, “Granite State”, received critical acclaim, and is one of the most popular episodes in the series history.
Sign of the Gypsy Queen – by April Wine
Lyrics
Lightning smokes on the hillrise Brought the man with the warning light Shouting loud you had better fly While the darkness can help you hide Trouble’s comin’ without control No one’s stayin’ that’s got a hope Hurricane at the very least In the words of the gypsy queen
Sign of the gypsy queen Pack your things and leave Word of a woman who knows Take all your gold and you go
Get my saddle and tie it on Western wind who is fast and strong Jump on back, he’s good and long We’ll resist till we reach the dawn Running seems like the best offense Staying just don’t make any sense No one could ever stop it now Show the cards of the gypsy town
Sign of the gypsy queen Pack your things and leave Word of a woman who knows Take all your gold and you go
Shadows movin’ without a sound From the hold of the sleepless town Evil seems to be everywhere Heed the spirit that brought despair Trouble’s comin’ without control No one’s stayin’ that’s got a hope Hurricane at the very least In the words of the gypsy queen
Sign of the gypsy queen Pack your things and leave Word of a woman who knows Take all your gold and you go Sign of the gypsy queen Pack your things and leave Word of a woman who knows Take all your gold and you go Sign of the gypsy queen Pack your things and leave Word of a woman who knows Take all your gold and you go
When she saw him for the first time, he was walking alone at night in the pouring rain. She sat in her car, stopped at a red light, and watched as he slowly tramped forward, head lowered, collar raised and hands in his pockets. He seemed haunted, lost and oblivious to the weather and his surroundings.
He appeared to be in his late teens, tall and slim. Even though she couldn’t see his eyes she felt a great sadness must be behind them. She had the strong urge to reach out to him. She experienced that familiar combination of sympathy, nurturing, curiosity and desire.
The light changed and she had no choice but to move on. Instead of going straight she turned right once, twice, three times until she was now at the corner just as the teen approached. She pulled up to the curb and rolled down the window, asking if he needed help, perhaps a ride to wherever he was headed. At first her questions got no response; neither she nor the young man moved. Then he slowly raised his head and looked up. His eyes were lifeless, his face devoid of emotion.
Again she called out to him, saying he must be cold, possibly hungry. No reaction. She leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door offering him shelter from the rain. Still he did not move and she quietly asked him to allow her to help. His face softened imperceptibly and he tentatively approached the car. She said to please get in and close the door. She smiled as he did what she asked.
She inquired if she could take him somewhere; no response. Shifting the car into drive she headed in the direction of her house. She told him he could trust her. She offered him the comfort of a hot meal and a place to rest. He sat looking straight ahead, saying nothing. She spoke softly, telling him she had groceries in the car – a freshly roasted chicken and warm bread – and she noticed he inhaled slightly, savoring the delectable aromas. She drove into her driveway, pulled straight into the garage and closed the door using the remote control. With a velvety laugh she told the young man she was famished and was going inside to eat. He was welcome to join her – his choice.
She became aware of his presence before she saw him. He stood in the hallway, his sopping wet coat dripping on the floor. She told him to remove it and she gingerly helped him take it off, hanging it on a hook to dry. She placed heaping platters of food on the table and only then did he look up, his face expressionless yet more handsome than she imagined. He allowed her to lead him to the table where his hunger overcame him and he devoured everything on his plate, never once looking at her.
When he finished eating she brought him to the den where he sat on a sofa by the fireplace. Quietly she placed pieces of kindling and wood in the fireplace and watched as the flames began to flicker, filling the room with a warm glow. When she turned around the teen was asleep, his face finally at rest. She removed his shoes, covered him with a blanket and went upstairs to bathe.
Slipping into a sheer robe, she went back downstairs and silently walked into the den. Her guest was awake, staring at the fire. She sat beside him and placed her hand over his. He didn’t move away. Emboldened, she lifted his hand and placed it on her breast. He shuddered and closed his eyes. Reaching across his body she placed her left hand on his right shoulder, turning him to face her and for the first time they looked into each other’s eyes. She shrugged off her robe and placed both his hands on her breasts, encouraging him to caress her. His breathing was ragged and she smiled seductively as she began to unbutton his shirt. Now his hands were roaming freely and he didn’t stop her when she unzipped his pants, feeling his erection growing harder beneath her deft fingers.
She told him it had been four empty years since her husband’s sudden death and she was very lonely. Slowly she eased him back and mounted him, delighting in the exquisite sensation. She gyrated smoothy, deeply; there was no need to rush. Afterwards they went upstairs to her room. There was much she could teach this boy and the possibilities excited her.
The next morning when she awoke she was alone. She went downstairs but he was gone. Unperturbed, she walked into the kitchen and brewed some coffee. She lit a cigarette and sat at her laptop. Clicking a key she studied the roadmap that appeared on the screen, contemplating her next objective. In which direction would she drive tonight?
Welcome back to Name That Tune! I’m The Sicilian Storyteller and it’s my turn to toss out a few questions in the hope you’ll be able to guess the name of today’s featured song and the person who performed it.
Are you ready to rumble? Here are your five clues; let’s see how well you do. Put on your wizard caps and conjure up a little magic for this one. And, we’re off!
Today’s featured song was written by an American singer-songwriter in 1968 and was first recorded by an Irish actor/singer. His version peaked at #2 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and at #4 on the UK Singles Chart.
Additional recordings of this song were released – one was a 1969 Grammy-winner by a country-western singer and another was a #1 Billboard Hot 100 disco arrangement from 1978, sung by “The Queen of Disco”.
Our very famous Irish singer/actor of today’s song was offered a huge role in the Harry Potter movies which he almost turned down due to poor health; he ultimately accepted the role because his then 11-year-old granddaughter threatened never to speak to him again if he did not take it!
The song’s somewhat bizarre lyrics led to believe that it was totally made up; however, the composer said the song symbolized the end of a love affair and claimed that everything mentioned in the song was personally witnessed by him and nothing was fabricated. This same terminated love affair also sparked the famous song “By the Time I Get to Phoenix”. Boy! That must have been one hot love affair!
Today’s featured performer had a very varied career spanning 46 years in which he portrayed many characters ranging from a Roman emperor to a coal miner to King Arthur and, of course, a wizard.
Do you think you know the answers? Well, let’s check by scrolling down beyond the spinning record for the big reveal.
If you said “I know! It’s ‘MacArthur Park’ sung by Richard Harris”, you’d be right. Congratulations! Let’s tune into that iconic song right now.
Ok, let’s be honest. How many of you thought composer Jimmy Webb was on some kind of acid trip when he wrote this song? I know I did! It isn’t every day someone is in the park and leaves a cake out in the rain but if Jimmy said he saw it then I guess he saw it (wink, wink).
MacArthur Park was meant to be a cantata which Jimmy Webb first pitched to the group, The Association; they turned it down. Along came Richard Harris who took the soggy cake and ran with it and the song became a success.
So, what about the two covers I mentioned in Clue #2? Here’s the first one done by country music star Waylon Jennings which won a Grammy. I gotta say, kids, I have a pretty good memory and I don’t remember this ditty at all. 🤷🏼♀️ What about you? Here, let’s have a listen:
I’m banking on all of you knowing this one. Here’s the one and only “Queen of Disco”, the amazing Donna Summer! Polish up your disco balls, boys and girls. Let’s spin it!
Incredible! What a great voice the Disco Queen had! You have to admit it; disco was a happening scene! 🕺🏻
I hope you enjoyed this Sunday in the park with me playing Name That Tune. Catch you next week for another go.
Behind the windows of this estate there once resided a reclusive couple. It’s said that everyone has a story; this couple was no exception.
As young newlyweds they longed for a child but were unable to conceive. They sought the advice of seers and gypsies, to no avail.
Now middle-aged, the wife found she was pregnant. She was told the babe would not survive but survive it did and grew inside its mother, causing her great discomfort. Finally the time arrived for the birth. The wife labored for hours and as the baby’s head began to emerge, the midwife screamed and ran from the house.
The husband took the midwife’s place and immediately recoiled in fear. The wife pleaded for her husband to pull the baby from her body but he refused. Reaching down between her legs, the wife grabbed hold and pulled until the babe was free. Asking her husband to bring the lantern closer so she could see the infant, the new mother gasped and cried out in horror and despair.
The poor babe was grotesque, his head enormous with eyes fused closed and his mouth a mere slit.
Without looking back, the husband left the house, heading to the tavern to drown his sorrows. He informed everyone that the baby had died. Filled with remorse, he returned home to find his wife and baby gone. He went searching but never found them. He died, a broken man.
The other night I was sound asleep when I gradually became aware of a noise somewhere in the background of my mind. I could tell it wasn’t an intruder … nothing so threatening or invasive as that. It was more of an ambient sound; it came and went and I was only vaguely aware of it – just enough to ambush my slumber.
The recurring sound eventually roused me completely from my sleep. Asking myself “What is that?”, I elbowed my snoring husband and was rewarded with a prolonged, irritated grunt. Whispering his name and tapping him on the shoulder did nothing so I was forced to use the bicep shove.
“Honey! There’s a noise and it won’t stop. I think it may be coming from the bathroom.”
“GRLBRTH! Probly tlet. Jgl hndl” was my husband’s alien-sounding response. Being fluent in S.I. (Sleepus Interruptus), I had no trouble translating. I padded into the bathroom and jiggled the toilet handle, per my husband’s instructions. I listened to the water run for a bit, then stop. Quiet was restored.
All of a sudden, something felt like it darted by me and I was momentarily startled. Cautiously I found my way to the bedroom door, and peeked into the hall; without my glasses I could only make out blurred images but nothing seemed amiss. Satisfied all was as it should be, I turned back into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar to allow for the air to circulate on this cool September night.
I climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up around my face. Just as I was about to slip back into the arms of Morpheus, the noise returned and I did an eye roll behind my closed lids. Reluctant to leave my cozy cocoon a second time, I chose the wait-and-see option. Eventually the sounds stopped and I fell back to sleep.
Like the soft beat of a tom-tom on a far-away island, the distant yet persistent swooshing sound once more made its presence known. My shoulders sagged and I sighed deeply; a grim realization set in – sleeplessness had won out. I felt cheated, gypped out of a decent night’s stay in The Land of Nod.
As I lay there becoming increasingly annoyed, another vexing fact occurred to me: today was the beginning of a long holiday weekend. The odds of contacting a plumber, let alone finding one willing to come to the house, would be slim at best.
I sat up in bed, my back resting against the cushy pillows, as my vision gradually became accustomed to the dimness of the pre-dawn hour. Squinting through sandy eyes, I barely made out an ethereal shadow in the bathroom; it was the Night Stalker – of that I was certain. I reached for my glasses and the creature’s image came into clear view. She looked directly into my eyes and intentionally, deliberately choosing to defy me, stretched out her arm.
What happened next was something I had never witnessed before; I stared in amazement. Part of me was amused, just slightly. Reaching for a paperback book on my nightstand, I heaved it in the general direction of the offender in the bathroom. The book missed its mark and succeeded only in knocking several items to the floor.
“You little bitch,” I hissed.
She jumped off the toilet and strolled away indifferently, typically ignoring my existence.
It’s all new Birthday Thursdays at The Rhythm Section. No talk, no fuss, no muss. Just wall-to-wall music! Stop by and check it out! 🎂 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 Leonard Cohen Born September 21, 1934 in Westmount, Quebec, Canada
You know how it is when you see a person or hear a name and it sort of rings a bell but it’s not in its usual context so you don’t make the connection?
Yeah, that’s what happened to me when I discovered Carlton’s Candy Coop – my favorite place for all my sweet-tooth cravings.
Chocolates, nougats, peanuts, caramels … all those mouth-watering, sugar-rushing, delectable tummy treats that stick to your teeth but you don’t care because they’re just too damn yummy!
Then it hit me. Carlton. Carlton? Carlton! But of course! Carl Carlton was my dentist!
“Jesus Christ, Marco! I’m a nervous wreck!” wailed Tina. “Meeting your mother for the first time is freaking me out! Do I look ok? What if she doesn’t like me?”
“Are you kidding me, babe? You look great! She’s gonna love you! Besides … my mother thinks we’re just friends; she won’t be judging you!” replied Marco with a huge grin and a bit too much enthusiasm as he selected his mother’s favorite Dean Martin record.
“But honey, you’ve told me how your mother scrutinizes everything with an eagle eye and doesn’t miss a trick. I’m scared of her and we haven’t even met yet! The pressure is killing me! What if she figures out we haven’t been honest with her?” Tina was getting frantic.
Marco reached out and pulled her close, giving her a comforting hug. His mother never liked any of his gitlfriends, saying no one was good enough for him. Just this once Marco wanted her to likr being with Tina for who she was, without any preconceived notions – even if it meant keeping the truth from her for a while.
“Babe, try to relax. Ma’s bark is worse than her bite. I promise, there’s nothing to worry about. You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason. When my mother finally hears the truth, it won’t matter that we didn’t tell her right away; she’ll already be crazy about you! I’m not a little boy and I don’t need my mother’s permission for anything. As long as Dean Martin is playing in the background, she’ll be fine.” It sounded to Tina like Marco was trying to convince himself as well as her.
The ring of the doorbell was expected but it still startled Marco and Tina. Carrying a box of Italian pastries, Marco’s mother Francesca arrived promptly at 6:00 – ready and quite curious to meet this woman sharing her son’s new house. Introductions were made, niceties exchanged and then Tina excused herself to check on dinner. “She certainly knows her way around the kitchen well enough; maybe her cooking won’t be so bad” Francesca thought hopefully while keeping a close eye on her son’s “house mate”.
While Tina put the finishing touches on dinner, Marco brought out some appetizers. “Ah, bruschetta!” exclaimed Francesca but when she bit into the small thin slice of toasted Italian bread, she discovered the topping was raw meat. “It’s steak tartare, Ma” explained Marco. Francesca made a horrified face and hastily deposited her half-chewed mouthful into a paper napkin. “O Dio mio!Raw meat will give you food poisoning!” Francesca exclaimed. “I hope the rest of the meal is cooked”, she thought.
In an attempt to calm his mother down and get her mind off the failed appetizers, Marco decided to give her a tour of the house he shared with Tina.
“Look, Ma. Isn’t this nice? A large airy kitchen with an island and plenty of room for a table and chairs. Here’s the dining room with a buffet and hutch filled with glasses and dishes that belonged to Tina’s great-grandmother. Isn’t the furniture beautiful? We got at a Roma’s in Brooklyn, imported from Italy. We even have a fenced-in backyard and patio with a barbecue grill. But the best part is two big bedrooms, each with a separate bathroom so there’s no fighting over who gets to shower first.”
Marco realized he was saying too much and talking way too fast; he laughed self-consciously, feeling like he was 10 years old again and his mother’s laser eyes were burning right through his skull after catching him in a lie. He squirmed uncomfortably and quickly closed the bathroom door when he noticed the towels that were on the rack were embroidered with the words “HIS” and “HERS”.
Francesca just nodded her head and mumbled “That’s nice” every so often; she may have seemed indifferent but that was far from true. If Francesca saw the bathroom towels, she gave no indication. Now Marco was nervous about that … a careless mistake on his part.
“Come in the kitchen, Ma. Let’s have a nice glass of wine to celebrate your first visit to our house” Marco suggested.
“Our house” thought Francesca.
Francesca sipped her wine and silently simmered on a low boil, her thoughts working overtime while Marco and Tina puttered around the kitchen. “Well, Tina certainly made herself right at home, bringing over all her great-grandmother’s dishes and glasses! I don’t get it. Unmarried men and women sharing a house?” Francesca asked herself. “Maybe in a big house with five or six other people and a lot of bedrooms, but an intimate space with two people of the opposite sex? I don’t like it! And how come the bedrooms have such big beds? Something fishy’s going on here!” Francesca tapped her foot impatiently, her eyes taking everything in.
Finally dinner was ready; throughout the meal, Francesca couldn’t help noticing how attentive Tina was to Marco. By now she was very suspicious about their relationship; she was sure there was more than just friendship between the two of them and their little interactions further convinced her there was something brewing between her son and his “house mate”.
Recognizing the look on his mother’s face, Marco said “I know what you’re thinking, Ma, but I told you before – Tina and I are just friends. House mates. Don’t go making a big deal out of nothing.” Francesca smiled thinly and replied “Whatever you say, Marco”. But in her head she was thinking “House mates, my ass!”
About a week later Tina said to Marco “I know this is gonna sound crazy but I can’t find the napkin rings I used the night your mother was here. I’ve looked everywhere for them. You don’t think your mother took them, do you?”
“Well, I can’t imagine why she’d do that”, Marco replied, “but there’s only one way to find out. I’ll send her an email.”
Dear Ma – Crazy question! Tina’s napkin rings are missing. Now, I’m not saying you TOOK the napkin rings and I’m not saying you DIDN’Ttake them but they have been missing since you were here the other night and you were the only other person to see them. Love, Marco
A reply came through one minute later:
Dear Marco – Funny you should ask! Now, I’m not saying that you DO sleep with Tina and I’m not saying that you DON’T sleep with her but if she was sleeping alone in her OWN bed she would have found the napkin rings by now – under her pillow. Love, Ma
“Motown was about music for all people – white and black, blue and green, cops and the robbers. I was reluctant to have our music alienate anyone.” – Berry Gordy, Motown Founder
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Welcome back to In The Groove: Motown Melodies!
Let’s continue our musical journey with Motown’s third R&B #1 hit.
In 1960, Berry Gordy signed a talented group of vocalists called The Contours as one of Motown’s first acts. “Do You Love Me?”, recorded in 1962, was TheContours third single, far and away their best-known record. This song blazed its way up the charts and became a smash hit before being goosed all the way up the charts again more than 25 years later thanks to a little movie called “Dirty Dancing”.
This record is not just a big hit; it’s an enduring classic that’s still going strong!
Let’s give a listen to TheContours asking an age-old question: “Do You Love Me?”
For straight up Rock & Roll, it doesn’t get much better than that! I was just a kid when that song came out. My sister was a high school sophomore; she and her friends would jump up and dance every time The Contours came on the radio. They wouldn’t let me join in their teenage fun but that didn’t stop me. I made my own good times … dancing in my bedroom in front of the mirror with the door closed so no one could see me!
Do you remember dancing to that great Motown hit?
Well, sixty years later, under the direction and leadership of the group’s founder, Joe Billingslea, The Contours continue to shake ’em down. During its distinguished career, the group has entertained tens of millions of fans and sold millions of records along the way. The Contours are ranked as one of the top 500 R&B artists of all time according to “Top R&B Singles 1952-1995″ compiled from Billboard Magazine’s charts.
Let’s see what other recordings I can come up with for The Contours.
And now here’s a rare clip; if you haven’t been dancing yet, this is one that’ll get you moving!
I hope you’ve been enjoying these great early Motown tunes; they sure have brought back a lot of memories for me. Your comments are always welcome so let me know what you’re thinking.
Thanks for stopping by today; please join me next Tuesday as we conclude this segment of In The Groove with more great sounds out of the Motor City. 🚗
An ekphrastic vignette written for the last issue of Visual Verse.
Happy to say I made the final cut. Thanks, sis.
ON BROKEN WINGS
There’s a feeling you get when a relationship is about to end. It sort of sneaks up on you like ivy climbing up a tree trunk. You see it starting but it’s nothing terribly worrisome; then it slowly starts working its way up the trunk until it overtakes the tree. It’s got a strangle-hold on that poor tree, suffocating it. It doesn’t matter if it’s a mighty oak or a frail mimosa; the ivy will win out every time.
That’s the feeling I now had for Jeremy and I don’t know why. I just knew it was time to break things off. That was clear; what wasn’t clear was how I was going to tell him.
It’s not as though we started off like a couple of teenagers on a hormone rush. Ours was a gradual connection much like our disconnection. We had chemistry. We could make each other laugh. We liked the same music, the same food, the same movies. We could talk at length or enjoy a quiet, lazy Sunday afternoon. And we had great sex.
Jeremy gave me a rose-colored braided love knot ring; I accepted it because it was pretty and didn’t feel as permanent as a real ring.
We talked about moving in together but it never happened. Now I’m glad we didn’t; that would have made things so much harder. It was good to come and go as we pleased; now I found we were doing that less and less. I don’t believe it was deliberate; we just started drifting apart. Everything gradually slowed down and cooled off. I realized at some point I had finally exhaled and I was no longer suffocating.
We spent a cool Spring afternoon sitting on a bench at the beach. Watching the waves rolling in and falling back, I knew the time had come. Quietly I told Jeremy what I was feeling and he slowly nodded in agreement. I think he was glad the pressure was off him. I started to remove my ring but Jeremy refused to take it back.
I slowly walked away and took the long route home through the park. It had begun to drizzle. I stared down at the pavement as I walked. Just then I came upon a dead bird at my feet. I stood there staring at the poor little finch; he must have fallen out of his nest. I took a few tissues from my pocket, wrapped them around the bird and carefully picked him up; he was still warm, his tiny body limp.
I carried the lifeless bird home and retrieved a small spade from my gardening tools on the back porch. It began raining a little heavier as I dug a deep hole beneath the tidy row of boxwoods; there I buried the bird. Before filling his grave with dirt, I took off Jeremy’s rose-colored ring and placed it across the broken wings.
My face was wet; I didn’t know if it was the rain or my tears.
Just who in the hell do you think you are Sitting out there in your flashed up car? Everybody knows that you’re just a fool Strutting ‘round town like you’re oh so cool!
You chased me and wooed me and swept me off my feet With dime store trinkets and whispered lies so sweet. I felt so very special when we were out together. Ignoring all my friends when they said I could do better.
It didn’t take long for your true colors to show. And you turned into someone I didn’t even know. That was just the start of a whirlwind of deceit. Thinking you could use me and then kick me to the street.
My father always told me you were nothing but scum But I just wouldn’t listen, I acted deaf and dumb. You think you’re perfect like Jesus walking on water But tell me, what kind of man leaves his wife and daughter?
What happened to your soul, your spirit, your heart? Did you ever once wonder why it all just fell apart? Of course you didn’t; your conscience is clean Of every misdeed you claim to have never seen.
So do us all a favor and get the hell out of here. Don’t come close to me or the ones I hold so dear. Take your heart of rotten wood and don’t bother to return. You’re going straight to hell and I’ll be laughing while you burn!
“Scorching weather we’re experiencing, Maureen. Unheard-of for September. You and Jamie might want to consider postponing your holiday for a while. As you know, your Aunt Camilla detests air conditioning and those wretched noisy fans; I fear you will be terribly uncomfortable here. We’re off to Spain in October and staying through Christmas and the New Year, a long-overdue visit with our darling Penelope and son-in-law Alejandro. Aunt Camilla says she’s dying to see Cherbourgagain and has her heart set on February. I think perhaps April would be a more suitable time for you to visit, Maureen dear. Springtime here is brilliant, as you undoubtedly recall. Do let us know your decision. Hope New York is treating you well. Love to Jamie and Josie. –Uncle George”
I stared at my uncle’s email in dismay. It had been eight years since I left England for New York. Jamie and I met at work; we fell in love and were married the following year. Neither of our families were able to attend our wedding. Jamie’s family is from Scotland so we decided to kill two birds with one stone by spending our honeymoon in Wales. We set aside two weeks to visit Jamie’s family in Perth, my parents in Newcastle Upon Tyne as well as my aunt, uncle and cousin Penelope in Kent.
Now I was looking forward to a return trip, an end of summer vacation and Uncle George was going on about an oppressive September heatwave. Having to postpone our vacation until April was dreadfully disappointing.
We had just booked our flight that morning and made reservations at some of the many attractions in the area. Our plans included a visit to Canterbury Cathedral, Port Lympne Animal Reserve, Chiselhurst Caves and Hever Castle with its incredible labyrinthine gardens. I could just picture our five-year-old daughter Josie running through the vast field of mazes, giggling at every dead end.
I knew Aunt Camilla and Uncle George would be happy to watch Josie for a few hours, giving me and Jamie a chance to go on a tour of Shepherd Neame Brewery. Their menu of ales and lagers was extensive, each one brewed to perfection. I must admit after years in New York I preferred my beer served ice cold in a frosty mug – not at the traditional ‘English cellar temperature’. I never did care for the taste of a tepid brew and finding a crisp cold beer could prove challenging. However, with so many brews to choose from at Shepherd Neame, I was willing to bet that wouldn’t be a problem.
When I told Jamie about my uncle’s email, he reminded me that we had 24 hours to cancel our flight and reservations without incurring a penalty. The first thing we needed to do was check with the airline, then we could look into our other plans. Lady Luck was definitely on our side; we were able to reschedule our flight and all our activities without any problems. In fact, our new agenda was going to be even better than originally planned.
Hever Castle had recently opened an area called “Adventure Playground” where kids ruled the castle. Josie could discover and explore Tudor Towers with its 2 metre high willow structure, a giant sandpit and grassy mounds with hidden tunnels. There were secret dungeons, moats and turrets plus climbing frames, swings and slides. Josie would never want to leave!
Perhaps that image was the seed that started sprouting in my brain!
I began entertaining serious thoughts about moving back to England permanently; the list of positives far outweighed the negatives. I had no family tying me to The States. My parents chose to retire in Tuscany so visiting them from the UK would be an easy jaunt and Josie would finally get to spend time with her grandparents. Jamie, I knew, would love the idea of being close to his family, not to mention the fact that his firm had a branch office in London. When Josie was eligible to start first grade at age six there would be no shortage of good schools to choose from. Looking over my list, I could see no viable reason for us to remain in New York.
When I brought up the subject with Jamie, he was enthusiastic about the prospect of returning to the UK. It would be an experience of a lifetime for Josie, not to mention an exceedingly happy surprise for our families when they learned we’d be moving back home.
Now that the decision was made, we were more excited than ever! I smiled when I realized this all came about because of an unseasonal September heatwave. Who knew all our grousing about the oppressive heat would have such a happy ending! The most difficult part would be keeping our plans a secret from the family. The next morning I responded to Uncle George’s email:
“Wonderful news, Uncle George! We had no trouble at all changing our travel plans to April. After months and months of FaceTiming, Josie can’t wait to finally meet you and Aunt Camilla in person, not to mention her grandparents! Jamie and I are so looking forward to being with family again; we’ve missed you all terribly. I’ve saved the best for last but only a hint for now: we have a big surprise planned which I’ll share with you in good time. Are you curious? Do try to have patience, dear Uncle George! Stay cool and give our love to Aunt Camilla and Penelope. Till next time ~ Maureen.”
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 Amy Winehouse Born September 14, 1983 in Southgate, London, UK
Today’s burning question from Cyranny is: “What’s one odd thing about yourself that you would never want to change?”
Perhaps it’s not so terribly odd but for me it is a no-brainer: Promptness, as in I am never late … never; there’s no good excuse or acceptable justification to make anyone wait for me because in the scheme of things, I am just not that important.
I have a family member who is consistently late and by consistently I mean late for everything, even her daughter’s recent wedding (how is something like that even possible?); we like to joke around that she’s going to be late for her own funeral but all the joking in the world doesn’t erase how irritating it is to have to wait for her every single time and it’s gotten to the point that we have to fib a little and give her a 20 minute earlier meeting time knowing she’ll be 20 minutes late but will actually show up on time … lol … see how that works?
Sure, shit happens, like being unable to control the weather or traffic; maybe we can’t control it but we can anticipate it by checking our weather apps and bringing along a freaking umbrella or listening to the traffic report and leaving the house 15 to 20 minutes earlier than the other guy … the guy who doesn’t care if he shows up late and makes people wait.
I’d rather be half an hour early for my doctor appointment than arrive 5 minutes late; at least I can get myself a cup of coffee, listen to the radio and relax in my car until it’s time to go in, even though chances are excellent the doctor will be running late!
In that case I am faced with the one thing I dislike more than being late and that, my friends, is called “The HurryUp And Wait Syndrome”; man oh man, does that ever burn my biscuits – like an old Sunbeam Toaster Oven stuck at 475º!
“Arabic For Dummies”? The Qur’an? What the hell are these disgusting books doing in our house? You’re still associating with that … that … savage, aren’t you, Gloria? Answer me!”
“Papa, please, calm yourself. It’s not good for your blood pressure. If you’re referring to Yusuf, he is not a savage. He’s a sweet, gentle and loving man and you’d realize that if you got to know him. He’s a student at the university studying religion and…..”
“And the making of bombs and God knows what else! Gloria, he’s an Arab, a Muslim, for the love of God! Haven’t you seen enough on tv to know what these people are capable of? You saw with your own two eyes what happened yesterday! Here, on American soil. Crashing planes into buildings! Innocent people jumping to their deaths because it was preferable to being burned alive! We wept for people we don’t even know, Gloria. We witnessed the unimaginable. They are animals, mass-murderers, all of them!”
“You’re right, Papa; what happened yesterday was unspeakable. We will never forget such horror. Yusuf and his family are appalled and overcome with sorrow over this tragedy. But Papa, tell me – when did you become an expert on Muslims or Arabs? You’ve never even tried to get to know them. All my Arab friends are good people, decent, peace loving people. We’ve spent hours talking, exchanging philosophies and sharing meals.”
“I cannot believe what I’m hearing. You actually sit down and eat with these people, if you can even call them that? This is a nightmare! How can you do this to me?”
“What am I doing to you, Papa? You haven’t even given Yusuf a chance. You refuse to meet him, to sit down and have a conversation with him. You’d see he is a man of peace, a good man incapable of hurting anyone.”
“Are you nuts? Have you lost your mind, Gloria? Do you actually think I would sit with him in my house? Please, God, don’t tell me he has you brainwashed already! That’s what they do, you know … draw you in to their cult and before you know it you’re hooked and there’s no way out. Why can’t you stick to our own kind, find a nice Jewish boy? An Arab and a Jew … whoever heard of such craziness?!?
“I can’t believe we’re fighting over this again! Why must you keep bringing it up, Papa? You didn’t give Evelyn a hard time when she said she was going to marry Gino. And what about Kenny when he and Makayla got engaged? You now have an Italian son-in-law and a black daughter-in-law who you welcomed with open arms and you don’t want me seeing Yusuf simply because he’s an Arab!”
“Oh no, do not be fooled, Gloria. There’s no such thing as ‘simply an Arab‘. They all have a hidden agenda! Are you blind to what’s going on around you?”
“Papa, look at me. I’m a grown woman capable of making my own decisions. Why can’t you trust my judgement like you did with Kenny and Evelyn?”
“Gloria, you’re not thinking clearly. Gino is a doctor, making an excellent salary. Your sister and their kids will never want for anything. Makayla’s parents are lawyers and she’s in law school herself. Your brother and sister made smart choices. They didn’t bring some maniac suicide bomber into our family.”
“STOP! Stop saying that! You know nothing about Yusuf and you have no idea what you’re talking about! He’s a wonderful man with a big heart and we have developed deep feelings for each other.”
“Deep feelings. Deep feelings? What are you saying, Gloria? Are you sleeping with him?”
“Oh my God! I can’t believe you just asked me that! I’m not a child and, frankly, that’s none of your business.”
“None of my business? As long as you’re living under my roof, it’s my business.”
“Here we go again! Well maybe it’s high time I moved out of this prison and found a place of my own!”
“PRISON! After all your mother and I have done for you, you have the nerve to say that! And by ‘a place of your own’, you mean shacking up with that terrorist, don’t you? Why don’t you just stab me in the heart and put me out of my misery!”
“Genug!Enough!Sei still!! What’s going on here? I can hear the two of you all the way downstairs!”
“Hilda, אהובתי(“my love”) I didn’t hear you come in.”
“As if you could hear anything over all the yelling in here! What’s gotten into the two of you?”
“It’s your daughter. She’s being absolutely unreasonable.I don’t even know who she is anymore.”
“Oh, mein Gott! So now she’s MY daughter? Sheldon, the last time I checkedshe was OUR daughter. Is this about that Arab boy again?”
“Mama, please! I can’t talk to Papa about this any more. If anyone is being unreasonable, it’s him.”
“Gloria, calm yourself, meine liebe Tochter. Why don’t you go out for a while, go to that nice coffee shop near the university? Spend some time with your friends. Sheldon, come sit with me.”
“Hilda, are you crazy?She’s going to run right to him!Don’t you see what you’re doing?”
“Just like you ran to me, Sheldon, when your parents called me a filthy Nazi? Look at me, Shelly. Do you remember what it was like for us when we first met? You a Jew and me a German. Ach du lieber Gott! What were we thinking? My father was so furious, he wanted to kill both of us. But we knew we’d rather die than be separated. Sheldon, you should know better than anyone that you cannot judge one man simply bythe sickening actions of others, byhis looks, what country he’s from or what god he worships. You’re a good man, liebchen. You were a good man when we were teenagers and you’re a good man now. You’re scared, Shelly, just like we were scared back then. But we persevered and in time my parents saw the real you and your parents saw the real me. Do you remember what you told your parents all those years ago?”
“Of course I do.I said ‘I love herand I would die for her’.”
“Ja. And do you remember what I said to your parents?”
“Like it was yesterday. You said‘I love him and I would die without him’.”
“Things haven’t changed that much, Sheldon, except now WE’RE the parents. Shelly, you have to let Gloria fly on her own wings. You have to trust her. If you don’t we will lose her. I hate to burst your bubble, meine schnitzel, but they love each other and it’s as simple as that. Trust them.”
“Motown was about music for all people – white and black, blue and green, cops and the robbers. I was reluctant to have our music alienate anyone.” – Berry Gordy, Motown Founder
🚗 🚙 🚗
Welcome back to In The Groove: Motown Melodies!
Let’s continue our musical journey with Motown’s first great girl group – high school friends Gladys Horton, Katherine Anderson, Georgeanna Tillman and Wanda Young – also known as the Marvelettes. Gladys, the group’s lead singer, was only 15 years old; what were you doing when you were 15?
Founded in 1960, the group signed to Motown’s Tamla label in 1961. Some of their early hits were written by the group’s members and a couple of Motown’s rising singer/songwriters, Smokey Robinson and Marvin Gaye (who played drums on a majority of their early recordings).
Despite their successful start, the group was eclipsed in popularity by the Supremes, with whom they shared an intense rivalry. The Marvelettes made a comeback in 1966 with several hits but struggled and ceased performing together in 1969. The group disbanded for good in 1970.
“Please Mr. Postman”, recorded in 1961, was one of the first #1 singles by an all-female vocal group and the first by a Motown recording act. It is easily Motown’s best single to date – a song with a killer tune, a sound like nothing else out there and a lyrical hook which listeners around the world instantly latched on to.
Here now the fantastic sound of “Please Mr. Postman” by the Marvelettes”:
Not bad for a group of teenage high school girls! I repeat, what were you doing when you were 15 years old?
Let’s check out the Marvelettes’ discography and listen to a couple more of their hits. This next one has always been a personal favorite. 😉
I hope you enjoyed today’s Motown sounds of the Marvelettes; it’s difficult to resist the urge to get up and dance!
Thanks for being here with me, movin’ and groovin’ to some great Motown Melodies; please join me next Tuesday for more terrific sounds out of the Motor City.🚙
The events of 911 are on all our minds today. I have chosen to repost a piece I wrote in 2020, not about what happened on that horrendous day, not about hate and violence but a reflection on a simpler time, a more peaceful time. I hope it relaxes your mind and soothes your heart and soul. ❤︎
When I was younger I remember my grandparents dancing in the living room to some of their favorite ballads: “I’ll Be With You In Apple Blossom Time”, “As Time Goes By”, “I’ll Be Seeing You”, “You Belong To Me”. They would drink a glass or two of sherry and talk about “the good old days” and how quickly the years pass. There was one song in particular that always made them somewhat melancholy. They’d sit side by side near the fireplace just listening to the words and holding each other close:
“When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame One hasn’t got time for the waiting game”
I was just a kid and I couldn’t understand why a song about weather and time made them sad. That’s the way it is with kids; time means nothing. If someone is 25-years-old, that’s practically ancient! We’d watch shows like “Father Knows Best” and “The Donna Reed Show”; the actors were probably 40-years-old, if that, but they looked decrepit to us. The concept of aging was nonexistent.
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You blink your eyes once and you’re suddenly in high school. Then before you know it you’re married with kids of your own. Wait a gosh darn minute! When did that happen? Funny how time has a way of creeping up on you. One day you’re sledding down a giant snow-covered hill and the next you’re taking your own kids sledding down that same hill.
Your little Katie with a head-full of golden curls is now a teenager and you hear yourself saying the exact same things your parents said to you. And now your parents are the ones sitting by the fireplace listening to “September Song”.
Then one morning you wake up and it’s Katie’s wedding day. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and your wife says how dashing you look, still so handsome in your tuxedo and you tell her she’s radiant in her gown, always the prettiest girl in the room. And in each other’s eyes it’s the truth; you haven’t changed a bit since your own wedding day.
You think about your grandparents, gone for a long time now, and you remember the call you got from your mother last week:
“Oh, dear, your dad and I are just heartbroken over this but we aren’t going to be able to make the trip up toVermont for Katie’s wedding. Lord knows, we hate to miss it but we’ll be there in spirit. Please give our sweet Katie-Girl all our love.“
You understand; they’re 80-something and don’t get around like they used to. It’s a long trip from Florida to Vermont and they can’t handle the cold weather. Still, you feel very sad knowing they’ll miss their first grandchild’s wedding day.
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What a beautiful bride Katie was! Doesn’t her wedding photo look lovely on the mantle next to yours and your parents and your grandparents? Now it’s just the two of you in that old, empty house. Once upon a time, when you and your brothers and sisters were kids, the house was filled with your laughter. But wait – it’s suddenly not so empty and quiet anymore. Where’s all that noise coming from? You take a peek around the corner; there are your grand kids in the living room near the Christmas tree. There’s some rock and roll song on the record player, the 12-year-old twins are playing “Yahtzee” and your 15-year-old granddaughter is furtively sharing a sweet kiss with her boyfriend under the mistletoe.
“C’mon, kids!” Katie calls out from the front hallway. “Your dad’s got the car all packed up and it’s time to go. Say goodbye to Grams and Gramps.” And she gives you both a kiss on the cheek promising to call soon.
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It seems like just yesterday but you realize eight years have gone by since you left Vermont and retired to Florida. You think about playing golf but your rotator cuff has been hurting a lot lately and your wife isn’t quite ready to hit the links so soon after her hip replacement. Well, let’s not think about that now. There will be plenty of days for golf. So you pour yourself another cup of coffee and work on a crossword puzzle while your wife knits a blanket for Katie’s grand-baby – your very first great-grandchild.
Now in the evenings you sip sherry in the living room. “There’s nothing good on tv these days. How about we listen to some music? Well, look what I found!” and you blow the dust off an old forgotten record laying on the shelf.
“What memories that song brings back!” And you sit holding hands, gazing at faded family wedding photos on the mantle, listening to Sinatra sing:
“Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December But the days grow short when you reach September”
And you give your wife a hug and a gentle kiss on the forehead.
It was my great honor and thrill back in 2020 to be asked to narrate a few of my stories on the BBC radio show called Upload; this was one of those stories. I hope you enjoyed reading it today.
“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 sayI-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.
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! 🚀
A duo originally trilled today’s song quite a bit back in the day, with a few others. All they had to do was dream, wake up little Susie, and then say bye-bye love… a… the sorrow and pain. Time passes, but it isn’t the duo I’m actually referring to.
Almost thirty years later, the trio in question covered the song, cover perhaps being the wrong choice of word here – ah – no brollies, thank you very much, boo hoo, they don’t conceal the emotion!
Where they say the sun always shines on TV, stormy weather is more appropriate for this song – aha! Another weather related clue.
Through the living daylights of Northern Europe, Scandinavia, and possibly the rest of the world, the trio performed many more times before splitting in 2010. They weren’t ‘not together’ for long, however, since they reformed in 2015.
The song in question is one of many written by a female king. Hark! It’s practically been revealed now, the song, crying out through all these clues raining down. If you’ve worked it out, I’m gonna wear a smile and walk in the sun.
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!
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.
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.
The Elephant's Trunk 