Tag: Beatles

Music Blog

Feb Fab Faux Four #13

The Sicilian Storyteller

WARNING: THIS BLOG WAS NOT CREATED FOR BEATLEMANIACS!
If you’re on the fence about the Beatles or if you just don’t like them,
this blog is for you. My goal is not to convert you; it’s to expose you
to Beatles songs we don’t hear day in and day out. These are treasures.
Of course, if you are a Beatles fan, pull up a chair and enjoy the tunes!

© Misky

Welcome everyone to Feb Fab Faux Four!

Let’s start with a little background info about today’s song. Legend has it that Paul McCartney’s aunt asked if he could ‘please write something other than love songs‘. Determined to give it a go, Paul was inspired to write about something new and different when he spotted Ringo back stage at a concert venue reading a dime store novel …. and today’s song was born.

This is “Paperback Writer” by the Beatles

🪲

This is SAXON doing their interpretation of “Paperback Writer”.

 

Back in 2021, British hard/metal rockers SAXON recorded an album called “Inspirations”, covering groups such as the Beatles, Hendrix, Motörhead, Deep Purple, Zeppelin, Thin Lizzy, AC/DC and Black Sabbath. According to lead singer Bill Byford, the group “didn’t want to change any of the songs too much, just play them more like Saxon.”

If I didn’t know the original version, Saxon’s remake would get my vote; it’s one of my favorite covers since I started doing this blog. That said, I’m calling this a draw; its a great example of excellence in two genres – pop rock and hard rock.

Same song done two ways, each with it’s own unique sound. Which one did you prefer …. the original or the remake …. or are you calling it a draw, like me? PS: Saxon’s album “Inspirations” is now on my playlist.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day so regardless of what Paul’s aunt said about love songs, prepare yourselves for a little lovin’ tomorrow; stop by to check it out. And don’t forget to show your significant other some love; there’s still time to buy your Valentine’s Day candy and flowers! 💝

See you on the flip side. 😎

NAR©2024

PS – If any video won’t play for you, I’ve provided the name of the song and who did it so you can find it on YouTube. It’s a pain in the ass but it does happen from time to time. My apologies.

This portfolio (including text, graphics and videos) is copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR © 2017-present.

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TICKETS TO RIDE

The Sicilian Storyteller

“Organized? You call this organized? I see books not positioned correctly on the shelves and why is there a bottle of Coca Cola sweating on your desk? There better not be any water rings on the wood. Now finish up in here; we haven’t got all day and my patience is wearing thin!” 

More anger and criticism rained down on me by my long-suffering mother. Living with her was neither fun nor easy – it just was what it was. 

Mother was a strict, in-control-at-all-times perfectionist who rarely let her guard down or her emotions show, which is why what happened that ordinary day in August left both me and my sister bewildered, squinting our eyes, skewing our faces and scratching our heads wondering who this imposter was in my mother’s place.

Mother raised her arm above her head. Suddenly the sky parted, angels sang and a brilliant stream of light shone down upon an envelope in her hand. My sister and I stared in disbelief as realization struck. We hugged each other, jumped up and down, screamed and cried tears of joy for peeking out of that envelope were three yellow tickets that looked exactly like this:

Three passes into a world we only dreamed of, a place greater than any national treasure, a fantasy land more majestic than any shrine in the universe, tickets more precious than gold, frankincense and myrrh. 

Clapping her hands twice, Mother brought us back down to earth. “Hurry and get dressed. The show starts in four hours and traffic will be a nightmare. Dresses only, girls. No blue jeans and no shorts. And for heaven’s sake, wear your bras; you are not animals and this is not a free-for-all!” 

Oh, really?

Sacred tickets in hand, we jumped into Mother’s 1957 Ford Fairlane 500. It seemed to take forever to arrive and we sang one Beatles song after another. In the distance we caught our first glimpse of Shea Stadium glimmering in the glow of the setting sun like the Land of Oz, and the four wizards were there waiting to play just for us. Well, us and approximately 56,000 crying, screaming, hyperventilating fans.

We found our seats and finally had our first real chance to look around. Our eyes widened in awe; surely this was even more spectacular, more jaw-dropping than The Colosseum in Rome which we had visited just one month earlier. Finally, after waiting for what seemed a lifetime, television host Ed Sullivan appeared on stage and tried to speak over the roaring mass of adoring fans. These were the words he spoke that night: “Now, ladies and gentlemen, honored by their country, decorated by their Queen, and loved here in America, here are The Beatles!”

Pandemonium, a mania the likes of which was never witnessed before broke out as the most beloved musical group of all time ran onto the stage.

My sister and I grabbed our binoculars and raced to the bottom of our tier for a closer look. Hearing anything over the cacophony of the audience was almost impossible and we screamed and cried right along with everyone there. At one point I looked back, stunned to see my mother laughing and singing and dancing in the aisle! Whatthefuckedness?!

That night my world was changed; my greatest dream came true. I had reached Mecca, climbed Everest and walked on the moon. Being there was beyond surreal. It was the most electrifying and exhilarating experience of my life. That night remains etched in my mind and on my heart for all eternity. 

Well done, Mother. Well done. 

NAR © 2023

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BIG BLUE

The Sicilian Storyteller

“Well, hello there. I’m Big Blue. And you? Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Reader. Please have a seat, get comfortable and let me tell you a little about myself. 

My family and I were purchased in 1964 by Nancy’s parents, Vito and Connie Schembre, for their home in the Bronx. Oh, we didn’t look anything like I do now! No, our upholstery was a green and gold velvet paisley which looked very elegant with the marble coffee table and white rug in the formal living room on the first floor. The only time The Schembres used the upstairs dining and living rooms was when special company came by.

Connie kept a beautiful house, immaculately clean from top to bottom. Like most Italian households, the basement was where the family really lived; it was fully furnished with a kitchen, dining area, bathroom and tv section. Connie had a nice sewing room where she spent many hours making costumes for school plays, clothes for her daughters and custom order dresses for a small clientele of local upper class women. And Vito had a workshop in the back where he’d make homemade wine and tinker with things that needed fixing which somehow never got fixed.

My parents were joined at the hip and formed one expansive sofa; my big sister was a loveseat and my twin brother and I recliners. Connie liked the fact that my brother and I were called “wall huggers” which meant our back stayed close to the wall and we didn’t sprawl out all over the place when in the reclining position. Why, we didn’t even look like your typical recliner.

The four of us together were just too much furniture for the formal living room so it was decided that I would join the more casual furniture downstairs in the tv section. When Connie wasn’t sewing at her old factory Singer, she enjoyed knitting in her rocking chair while Vito liked a good doze in his overstuffed armchair. Seventeen-year-old Rosemarie loved her bean bag chair (a hideous thing!) and I got to be 13-year-old Nancy’s chair! I couldn’t have been happier and neither could she; it was a big step up from a bunch of pillows tossed on the floor! 

From my vantage point I could see everything that happened in the basement – Vito listening to opera, Connie frying her tantalizing meatballs every Sunday morning, the girls doing their homework at the kitchen table. I had a front row seat for every tv show the family watched. In fact, the only time Nancy didn’t sit on me with her legs comfortably stretched out was the time she sat on the floor five inches from the tv to watch the Beatles live on the Ed Sullivan Show. 

Oh, the memories! I snuck a peek when Rosemarie made out with her first boyfriend Billy Mack. I held back tears of pain when Connie meticulously stitched my torn seam. And I was the only one in the basement that morning when Nancy sat at the kitchen table one hour before her wedding in her gown dunking Oreos into a tall glass of milk! How I wish I had a picture of that! 

Then in 1977 the day came when the Schembres decided to move to a smaller house upstate. As a set, my parents, sister, brother and I were much too large for the new house and were placed on the curb for either someone to take home or to be picked up by the trash collectors. It was terrifying for me; the thought of going to strangers or being picked up for the trash was unbearable. At the last minute Nancy’s husband Bill picked me up and put me in their van. I was overjoyed to be going to live at Nancy’s house! I also overheard that one of Connie’s friends took the rest of my family for her son who had just gotten married and needed furniture. What could have been the worst day of my life turned into the best!

Now I have a really cool coat of soft blue leather and reside very comfortably in Nancy’s Beatles room. And Nancy spends hours sitting on me with her legs comfortably stretched out writing her stories. I tell you, dear Reader, things couldn’t be better! I’m so happy and I feel fine!

NAR © 2023

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I’ll be waiting for you!
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ONE FOR THE ROAD

The Sicilian Storyteller

We were driving down iconic Route 66 in our convertible Volkswagen Jetta on our way from Chicago to Santa Monica, California, everything we owned being towed in a small rented U-Haul. In the backseat on the floor behind us, sleeping in his carrying case, was our bulldog puppy, Ringo. 

We’d been on the same stretch of road without seeing another soul for what seemed like an eternity – nothing but miles of tall corn and wheat fields swaying in the breeze. We talked about everything, especially opening our new veterinary practice – a huge step in our professional lives but one we were ready for. Our real estate agent sent us photos of our new office with the name boldly printed in black lettering on a light grey awning: Peterson’s Planned PetHood. 🐈‍⬛

Rummaging through the glove box looking for a snack bar, I came across The Beatles White Album. “Hey, look what I found” I said, showing the CD to my husband, Doc. 

“Excellent! Put it on, Babe.”

Opening the case, I discovered a long-forgotten joint, crushed but still viable. “Whoa! Check it out. This CD comes with a bonus track!”  

We lit up, the stale weed snapping and popping as it burned. Even the smallest of tokes resulted in fits of coughing but we still got a decent buzz on. The CD was an incredible find; with each mile down the road we got a little bit higher and a little bit louder singing along to the tunes.

And then there it was – the unmistakable intro of funky get-down guitar slaps and drum beats leading into ‘Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?’. We were grooving in our seats, thumping on the car doors, digging the hell out of that song.

Doc pulled the car over onto the shoulder. Lowering his sunglasses down his nose, he looked at me seductively and started singing “No one will be watching us, why don’t we do it in the road?”  

“Have you lost your mind? What are you … some horny teenager?” 

“Well, you’re half right, I’ll give ya that. Here we sit … a hot banging Beatles song playing, my incredibly sexy wife in a miniskirt and plenty of road. Listen. Paul’s practically begging us to get out of this car and do it IN THE ROAD!”

“Your know, we can get plenty cozy right here IN the car” I suggested, slowly stretching my legs on the dashboard. 

Doc laughed and leaned over to kiss me, whispering “We’ve done it IN the car … a lot. C’mon, Becca!  Let’s get down [*kiss*] and dirty [*kiss*] and do it in the road [*long hot kiss*]. 

It didn’t take much for me and doc to turn each other on. Pushing the ‘REPEAT’ button on the CD player, he grabbed a blanket from the back seat and we ran to the rear of the car. Laughing, I wriggled out of my panties and wrapped my legs around Doc’s waist as we eased ourselves to the ground. 

Just as Paul let loose with the high note, we heard an “Ahem” and froze. Glancing sideways, we saw the shiniest pair of black boots standing two feet from our car. A man’s voice said ”Pardon me, folks. Trooper Matthew Blake, Oklahoma Highway Patrol. Just as soon as you’re finished checking that tow hitch, I suggest you best be on your way.” And he walked back to his patrol car humming “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?”.

As he drove by our car, Trooper Blake gave us two short beeps of his horn. We sheepishly got back into our car and continued our journey to Santa Monica. What a lovely little rest stop that had been!

After a few months living in our new digs, doing some online research and making a few calls, I finally discovered the address for the Oklahoma Highway Patrol location of Trooper Matthew Blake. I prepared a small mailing box with a shiny new pair of Ray-Bans and a mini photo of our infant son. A small card read:

“One For the Road”
Gratefully ~ Doc, Becca and Matthew Blake Peterson
🕶️

I smiled imagining what that trooper’s reaction would be when he read our son’s name.

NAR © 2023

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There will be music!
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STARGAZING

The Sicilian Storyteller

Breathing new life into a story from 2021 for Jim’s “Space” challenge.

Marcy Grey was sixteen, neither a kid nor a woman. She was one of those unpopular girls, just her unlucky lot in life for which there was no explanation. A wisp of a thing, she had a constant look of sadness in her eyes. Having no friends she’d spend most of her time alone, often on the roof of her apartment building gazing at the stars, dreaming of space travel and listening to her parents Beatles CDs. Their music and message resonated with her more than anything else in the world and it was the only time she didn’t feel lost and scared. 

Her parents worried about her, as parents are wont to do, and they encouraged her to pursue activities in school or join a club of some sort. Marcy half-heartedly tried a few times but never felt accepted or welcome and eventually gave up. School was almost over for summer break and while others were chit-chatting about going to camp or planning a family vacation, Marcy knew the long days of July and August would be no different for her than any other day in her life. Her parents worked hard, barely making ends meet; there was no time or money for recreation. 

One night Marcy overheard her mother talking on the phone with her sister, Marcy’s Aunt Rita; from the snippets of conversation she knew they were talking about her. “She really needs a diversion … We’re worried … She’s so sullen … Well, that sounds wonderful – are you sure? … I have no idea how she’ll feel about it, though … Yes, I’ll talk to her and call you back.” 

Not surprisingly a few minutes later Marcy’s mother knocked on her bedroom door. “Aunt Rita bought a little beach café in Atlantic City and wants to know if you would like to spend the summer with her. Rita would love the company and could use some help at the new place.” 

Marcy frowned and told her mother she’d think about it; at least that wasn’t a flat rejection. And she did think about it, weighing her options. The pros: she really liked Aunt Rita; Marcy had never gone anywhere, ever; she was stuck in a small apartment with her parents; she could look at the wide-open sky at night and the stars dancing off the ocean; she might actually have fun. The cons: leaving her rooftop comfort zone. The next morning she shocked her parents by announcing she would spend the summer in Atlantic City with Aunt Rita. 

Marcy was met at the bus depot by Rita all decked out in her bright pink sundress, straw hat, Ray Bans and sandals, giddy and happy as a clam. As she drove to her house Rita talked non-stop about her fabulous new beach café, The Pink Flamingo. Even Marcy found her aunt’s enthusiasm contagious and couldn’t help smiling. 

There were seven other teenagers waiting tables at the café; all of them were nice and greeted Marcy warmly. Work wasn’t easy and it took Marcy about a week to get accustomed to her new life but she found she actually liked it. Surprisingly Marcy enjoyed being with her co-workers and meeting new customers every day. But the best part was climbing the dunes at night, sitting on a blanket and gazing at the stars while listening to “Rubber Soul”. 

One night on the beach Marcy saw someone approaching. She got nervous until she realized it was Adam, one of the guys she worked with. He asked if he could join her and Marcy said yes. Adam had an MP3 player, as did Marcy, and she asked him what he was listening to. He smiled shyly and answered “Revolver. I was raised on the Beatles”. Marcy grinned and handed Adam her earbuds. Music wasn’t the only thing they had in common; Adam spent most nights back home gazing at the stars. He was a loner with no real friends and this was his first time away. And to their complete amazement they discovered they both lived in Queens, NY. 

Marcy and Adam met at the beach every night after work and talked about everything. The end of summer was drawing near and their time together in Atlantic City was almost over. They rode the same bus back to Queens, exchanged phone numbers and gave each other a quick hug before going their separate ways. 

Late that night as Marcy sat on the roof of her apartment building she got a text. It read “Hey, Stargazer. Dream sweet dreams for me”.

Smiling, she quickly wrote back “Dream sweet dreams for you”. 

Stars aligning? Time to make a wish. 

NAR © 2023

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2023/04/28/space/
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TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS

The Sicilian Storyteller

A little step back in time as I recount
a true story of events experienced by me
in the hospital after hip replacement surgery.
The hallucinations were as real as my 2008 accident
and I remember even the minutest of details.
Originally published in 2021.

 

“Use the call button on the side panel of your bed if you need a nurse. My shift is almost over. Can I get you anything before I leave?”

It took me a few seconds to remember where I was as I stared at the friendly face of the nurse standing over me.

“Pain meds would be lovely” I answered, grimacing.

“You’re hooked up to a morphine drip; you should begin to feel much more comfortable very soon. Until then, try to get some rest” the nurse suggested.

I had been in an accident a day or two earlier, falling off a three-foot-high deck and landing on my left side with tremendous impact. As I lay stunned on the hard ground, my face resting on my outstretched left arm, I felt absolutely nothing. I thought I had survived the fall unscathed. Then I realized I could not move my feet or wiggle my toes. When the emergency medical teams arrived, they tried to gently and ever so slowly shift my body in order to slide a stretcher under me. That’s when it hit. Moving even a millimeter caused the most excruciating pain I had ever experienced in my life. It shot all the way down my motionless leg to my unmoving Apple Green painted toenails.

My hip was not broken; it was demolished.

I’m a firm believer that copious amounts of pain medication should be dispensed frequently to patients in need. I smiled wanly at the nurse and asked for my iPhone; while I waited for the morphine to take me to another dimension, I would lose myself in my playlist.

If you’re sick or injured, a hospital is the last place you want to be. Trying to rest is next to impossible. Patients pleading, buzzers buzzing, machines murmuring, carts careening, elevators elevating, doctors discussing, nurses needling. Even the mourning doves who kept watch on my windowsill were cooing ceaselessly.

I slipped in my earbuds and cued up The Beatles “Helter Skelter“. No matter how horrendous I may be feeling at any given moment, listening to that masterpiece makes life perfect for 4 minutes and 29 seconds.

Someone wheels in my dinner cart. Lifting the lid I see a salad, a medium-rare hamburger, a beverage and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Not feeling hungry just yet, I go through my collection of albums trying to decide which one to play. Ah, “Revolver”. You can never go wrong with that beauty. I close my eyes and revel in the brilliance of “Tomorrow Never Knows”.

I’m suddenly aware of a rush of air and find I am now outside floating uptown over the streets of Manhattan, my hospital gown flapping like laundry on a clothesline. I hear the old Klaxon car horn sound of “AHOOGA!” behind me and swivel round to see a flying ice cream truck being driven by none other than John Lennon. Somehow, as bizarre as it all is, it seems perfectly normal.

“You getting in? We don’t want to be late” John says.

“Late for what?” I ask.

“For whatever comes next” John replies with a grin and I slide onto the seat beside him. “It’s very rude to be late, isn’t it?” and we zoom off.

“AHOOGA!!“

“What’s on your bucket list, me darlin’?” John asks me and I answer without hesitation “To go to Liverpool!”

“Ah, lovely Liverpool. I won’t be going back there again, I’m afraid. Next stop: The Dakota!” John calls out and we swoosh away.

“No, John. You mustn’t!” I beg him and I start to cry.

“Oh, but I must! Now dry those green eyes. It is my destiny and we can’t change that.“

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought, then he spoke very quietly to me:

“Nancy girl, listen to what I’m going to say. Aim for the stars. Love with your whole heart. Work hard. Be the best person you can be but never ever forget to have fun. Time is fleeting and tomorrow never knows so always eat dessert first. Got it? Good! Now, let’s be on our way.”

As I nod in agreement I can hear the faint words “Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream.”

And in a flash John and his flying ice cream truck are gone.

I open my eyes and gingerly prop myself up on my hospital bed pillow. Dinner is still there, right where I left it, and I find I’m suddenly starving. Ignoring everything else on my tray, I go directly to the Ben & Jerry’s, pop open the container of ice cream and dig in.

And in that moment I realize nothing in my life ever tasted so delicious.

NAR © 2023

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THE GIRL WITH KALEIDOSCOPE EYES

The Sicilian Storyteller

Reprising a little fantasy I wrote for my granddaughter in 2019.

“When I tap my hat with this magic wand and say the secret words you will instantly turn into a Blackbird!” declared my brother, Jude. “Are you ready, Lucy?”

“Sure, Captain Marvel” I replied with about as much enthusiasm as a piece of Norwegian Wood. 

“Ok, here goes. Ob-La-Da!” ZAP! And nothing happened. “Hey, what’s going on? Don’t Let Me Down, hat” wailed Jude, truly stumped. 

“Hey Jude! Here’s a wild guess: maybe you got the words wrong,” I suggested. “Take a look at this”, and I produced my cherished copy of the White Album. “See, you got it wrong.” 

“Oh yeah! Ok, let’s try again. Ready?” Jude ceremoniously whirled his wand and said “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da!” ZAP! 

And the next thing I knew I was Flying through the sky, gliding Across the Universe. I gazed in amazement Here, There and Everywhere at all the clouds, the water, the tree tops, Abbey Road, Penny Lane and Strawberry Fields. I spotted a row of houses below and swooped down, perching on a windowsill. Hopping inside I landed right on top of a bathtub.

“Well, hello little Girl! What have we here? A tiny housebreaker?” exclaimed a voice behind me.

“No, silly! I’m a blackbird. I Came In Through the Bathroom Window” I said and turned around to see the one and only George Harrison! 

“Welcome, blackbird!” George said, not at all surprised to find a tiny talking bird sitting on his bathtub. “You remind me of a little ditty John and Paul wrote. Would you like to come with me to visit the lads?” 

“You mean John, Paul and Ringo?” I warbled with excitement. 

“Well, actually just Paul and John. Ringo had a bit of an accident and he’s in the hospital. But do try to Act Naturally. Ringo doesn’t always have the most confidence and at the moment is moaning ‘I’m A Loser‘! Poor fellow!”

“Oh no! Now I’m Down! What happened to Ringo?” I asked in Misery. 

 George whispered “Do You Want To Know a Secret? Ringo was following the Fool On the Hill and he couldn’t Slow Down. He fell head first, he did, crashing right into a pen with a bunch of Piggies who started nipping poor Ringo all over!” 

“Oh, my goodness! Wasn’t there anyone to Help?” I asked tearfully. 

“Just the Two Of Us!” exclaimed triumphant voices in unison. George and I turned to see Paul and John had joined us. “We arrived just in time to drag Ringo out from the pigpen but he had sustained quite a few little bites” continued John.

“You’ll be happy to know we got Ringo to Doctor Robert straight away and he’ll be right as Rain very soon. He had a Hard Day’s Night but he’s Getting Better All the Time” added Paul.

“So tell us, Little Child. Do you have a name?” asked John. 

Paul spoke before I could answer. “Something tells me, Johnny, her name is Mother Superior. Can’t you see this little Baby’s In Black, just like a nun’s beautiful habit? Oh! Darling, am I right about you?” inquired Paul. 

“No, my name is nothing quite as impressive as that Because I’m just plain Lucy”. 

“Just plain Lucy!? Rubbish! Let’s see – I’m sure your name is much more modern than Eleanor Rigby, definitely easier to pronounce than Semolina Pilchard but every bit as pretty as Dear Prudence!” exclaimed John. 

George reached into his pocket and took out a teeny pair of pink glasses. He delicately balanced them on my little beak. “Perfect! The Girl With Kaleidoscope Eyes! Let’s go introduce you to Ringo and we can’t forget to bring the Honey Pie! Ringo loves it so!”

And off we went to catch the One After 909, singing Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds. And A Splendid Time Is Guaranteed For All!”

Suddenly I was in my bed and I wasn’t a blackbird at all. The Lads weren’t here either. Yesterday was over and it had all been a wonderful dream. I knew I had to carry on and Let It Be.

But when I looked over at my nightstand I couldn’t believe my eyes; there sat a teeny pair of pink glasses. Imagine that!

NAR © 2023

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#9 DREAM

The Sicilian Storyteller

Head resting gently on his shoulder, her ever-so-slightly parted lips barely grazing his neck, he inhaled the intoxicating aroma of gardenias in her hair and traced her perfect ear with his mouth. Her arms caressed his upper back while his hands slid down hers and he pulled her closer. They swayed across the dance floor to the smooth rhythm of John Lennon’s “#9 Dream” – their first dance together as husband and wife. 

Twenty seven years ago their mothers were best friends – army wives and neighbors, sharing morning coffee, exchanging recipes and sometimes a handkerchief to wipe away tears. Their babies napped  in the same playpen…..he a dark-haired, brown-eyed, sweet-faced charmer and she a fair-skinned  blonde little goddess with eyes as green as dewy grass. 

When they were four she surprised him with a worm and he plucked a dandelion for her that made her giggle. As time went on and days turned into years, they remained  inseparable – climbing trees to see if they could touch the clouds, catching lightning bugs and making a wish before setting them free, sitting in her room sharing their dreams, listening to their parents Beatles CDs while stretched out in his dad’s station wagon, kissing for the first time and a second and a hundredth. 

They “went steady” in high school and became lovers in college. They found an apartment above a shuttered café in Brooklyn. They talked about taking a chance on the old place and bringing it back to life. They worked together and finally celebrated the grand opening of “The Glass Onion Café”. 

It poured like cats and dogs on their wedding day – the old adage of a long and happy marriage.  Could this be reality, their happily-ever-after? Dreams shared in a teenage girl’s bedroom come true? 

Something old: her grandmother’s pearl necklace. Something new: the minuscule miracle of life growing inside her. Something borrowed: her mother’s “army wife handkerchief”. Something blue: her sapphire engagement ring. 

The Master of Ceremonies made the introduction of the new Mr. & Mrs. to the guests and invited everyone to join them on the dance floor. The photographer snapped shot after shot of the stunning couple – she in her exquisite gown of Scottish lace and he in a fitted, perfectly tailored tuxedo. 

It was the magical night everyone intrinsically knew was meant to be; their #9 dream come true. 

NAR © 2023

#9 Dream serigraph by John Lennon
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SOMETHING: A Fictional Interview with George Harrison, November 2001

The Sicilian Storyteller

Today is George Harrison’s birthday.
In his honor, I am reposting a story from 2021.

Interviewer:  How did you get into music?

George: Ever since I was a small boy all I wanted was to be a musician – or a gardener (laugh). I remember the first time I heard Elvis on the radio. I didn’t know who he was at the time. This incredible voice was coming from someone’s window as I rode by on my bike and I had to find out who he was. Making music wasn’t about being famous; that was just a bonus. It was a way for me to express my soul. All I wanted was to make music and be in a band like John and Paul.

Interviewer: How are you and Paul getting on?

George: Paul’s a genius and he’ll be the first to say so! Listen, we love each other like brothers and always will but we have our fall outs, just like all families. We can really get on each others nerves but you just don’t stop loving somebody for that. The thing about Paul is his relentless need for mental stimulation and public adulation. He craves attention, being the center of the universe. He thinks he’s right all the time and won’t give up on something until he gets his way. That’s his personality, not mine. I’m an easy going guy and he treated me like a mariachi band guitar player at times. You think that didn’t hurt? He can be damn manipulative but from the day we met I felt he was truly great. It’s been my privilege all these years to make music with him.

Interviewer: Care to comment on the “Paul is dead” story?

George: Not really.

Interviewer: You’ve got to admit there’s some compelling evidence out there.

George: Conspiracy theories abound! Anything is believable if presented the right way. We all decided not to make a big deal out of the story. If we came out fiercely denying it, well that would have just drawn more attention to it. We felt it best to leave it alone and stay out of it. You can make up your own mind, man. I’m not going there.

Interviewer: Fair enough. How was your relationship with John?

George: John was brilliant, incredibly creative and spontaneous. People saw him cutting up and joking around but he was surprisingly insecure and withdrawn. John’s brain never stopped and he had a wickedly funny sense of humor. He could be a saint or a bastard but he was always honest and I loved him. And no matter what anyone felt – myself included – John was one with Yoko. They had an amazing bond; they loved each other deeply and just wanted to be in each other’s company all the time. They couldn’t help it and they didn’t care how people felt about it. That’s why Yoko was always a presence and I applaud John for that. After the group split our paths rarely crossed. Then that psycho shot him. This man of peace … killed so violently … the very thing he vehemently opposed. I like to think I’m a forgiving man but that is the one thing I will never forgive. (George stares off into the distance; we’re quiet for a moment)

Interviewer: What about Ringo?

George: Ha! Ringo! I smile just saying that name. He’s a really great drummer but he took a lot of shit from John and Paul, as did I. Ritchie was an easy target but he was thrilled just being in the band. He’s one of the happiest people I know. What you see is what you get with him. No airs about him at all. We were really good mates until I mucked it all up and had an affair with Maureen. That was a grave error in judgement on my part. Ritchie forgave me because that’s how he is but we lost that tight closeness we had. Listen, let’s be honest – we all had our share of infidelities. That doesn’t excuse what I did. Ritchie is all about peace and love. He’ll do anything for his friends. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t like Ritchie.

Interviewer: Let’s talk about Eric Clapton.

George: (Big sigh) Eric. Well, what can I say? He’s my brother, you know. We have a connection – as close as the fine strings on a guitar.

Interviewer: What about his affair with your wife?

George: Well, it wasn’t exactly a stellar period for any of us. Eric was obsessed with Pattie for a long time. She was such a free spirit, luscious, impossible to resist! Pattie loved us both passionately but I had my flings and she chose to be with Eric. I don’t blame her. I was disappointed with them, sure, but how could I judge them when my behavior was just as bad? We all just moved on.

Interviewer: Which of your songs do you consider the best?

George: You probably think I’m going to say “Something”, right? Well, you’re correct because I always knew I was capable of writing a song like that but neither John nor Paul believed I could do it. Even George Martin had his doubts. They certainly didn’t give me much of a chance. Do you know Frank Sinatra said it was the greatest love song in the last 50 years? Well, I guess I showed them, didn’t I? (laughing loudly, coughing). But right up there with “Something” is “My Sweet Lord”, my first solo number one release. Both those songs are on the album for Bangladesh which I honestly believe is my best work. It wasn’t about just writing songs; I had something important to say, a message to get across to people. It was a very fulfilling time in my life.

Interviewer: After the split, did you think The Beatles would ever reunite?

George: No. We four guys – we came together to make music. We created something special and ended up making history. In a short period we lived a lot of lifetimes and as a group we were burned out, ready to have a go as solo artists. I had all the material things one person could ever want. What I needed was spiritual fulfillment, to be the best person I could be. I’m dying, you know. Cancer. My days are numbered. Those years with the Lads – they were brilliant. I’ll never forget a moment.

Dedicated to George Harrison on the anniversary of his death, November 29, 2001.

NAR © 2021

https://youtu.be/UelDrZ1aFeY

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CHEER DOWN

The Sicilian Storyteller

STARTING TODAY AND CONTINUING THROUGH THE MONTH OF DECEMBER, I WILL TAKE A BREAK FROM WRITING NEW POSTS. I WILL, INSTEAD, REPOST SOME OF MY EARLY STORIES, MANY OF WHICH MY NEWER READERS HAVE NEVER SEEN. IN THE MEANTIME I WILL BE DOING SOME WORK ON A COUPLE OF NEW PROJECTS AND WILL BE BACK TELLING STORIES IN 2023. I HOPE YOU ENJOY THE MONTH AHEAD READING MY HOLIDAY-THEMED POSTS!

BUT BEFORE THAT GETS UNDERWAY, I’D LIKE TO START WITH SOMETHING NEAR AND DEAR TO MY HEART. AS YOU ALL KNOW BY NOW, I AM A GREAT LOVER OF THE BEATLES, IN PARTICULAR GEORGE HARRISON. TODAY I’M SHARING A STORY I WROTE ONLY TWO YEARS AGO. IT’S MY TRIBUTE TO GEORGE WHO PASSED AWAY ON THIS DATE IN 2001. UNLIKE JOHN, GEORGE SLIPPED PEACEFULLY INTO THE NIGHT, DYING THE WAY HE LIVED – WITH HUMILITY, FAITH, PEACE AND ACCEPTANCE. HIS PASSING WAS A GREAT LOSS AND A SOMBER DAY FOR HIS FANS.

I WAS 13 YEARS OLD WHEN THE BEATLES CAME INTO MY LIFE AND I’VE TRIED TO LISTEN TO THEIR SONGS EVERY DAY SINCE THEN. THANK GOODNESS FOR THEM AND THEIR MAGICAL MUSIC! A WORLD WITHOUT THEIR SONGS WOULD BE A MISERABLE PLACE. HERE IS “FOUR-HEADED MONSTER”.

“Famous? Fame was not the goal. Money was not the goal. To be able to know how to get peace of mind, how to be happy, is something you don’t just stumble across. You’ve got to search for it.”

So said George Harrison when the Beatles split up after only eight years – an incredibly short time when you think what a phenomenon they were. As John Lennon once sang: “So Captain Marvel zapped us right between the eyes!”, their music zapped us between the eyes and amazed us. It was like no other.

The Fab Four, The Lads, The Mop Tops, The Four-Headed Monster; those were just a few of the names given to the group. They skyrocketed to fame in the U.S. after appearing on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 and the following year performed before 56,000 screaming Beatlemaniacs in Shea Stadium. I was there and that awesome day remains one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. In 1970 John Lennon recalled the show as a career highlight: “At Shea Stadium, I saw the top of the mountain.”

Sadly, George and John are no longer with us. Today marks the 19th anniversary of George’s death – stricken by a cancer that ravaged his once healthy and supple body. And in 1980, John, the peace-loving, anti-war, anti-violence activist, was senselessly gunned down by a madman whose name will never cross my lips.

There are no words that can express how deeply the Beatles touched our hearts and souls. We embraced them and their music changed us forever. In all the world there is only one group with the word ‘mania’ attached to its name: the greatest band ever – the Beatles! 

ZAP!!

NAR © 2020

NB: A note to my friends and readers – There seems to be a little bit of confusion. Just because I won’t be posting new stories during December doesn’t mean I won’t be here on WordPress. I’ll be around, reading your posts, commenting, participating in writing challenges, etc. I’m not benched permanently; I’ll just be on the sidelines.  🐘


“I tell you, Larry, there is no other band, there will never be any band like them ever, for eternity. They are the best. I say to you Larry, here in 1965, that the children of 2000 will be listening to the Beatles. And I sincerely mean that.” – Manager of the Beatles, Brian Epstein, talking to Larry Kane, a journalist starting his career at the Top 40 music station WFUN Miami.

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FOUR-HEADED MONSTER

The Sicilian Storyteller

“Famous? Fame was not the goal. Money was not the goal. To be able to know how to get peace of mind, how to be happy, is something you don’t just stumble across. You’ve got to search for it.”

So said George Harrison when The Beatles split up after only eight years – an incredibly short time when you think what a phenomenon they were. As John Lennon once sang: “So Captain Marvel zapped us right between the eyes!”, their music amazed us. It was like no other.

The Fab Four, The Lads, The Mop Tops, The Four-Headed Monster; those were just a few of the nicknames given to the group. They skyrocketed to fame in the U.S. after appearing on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 and the following year performed before 56,000 screaming Beatlemaniacs in Shea Stadium. I was there and that awesome day remains one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.

Sadly, George and John are no longer with us. Today marks the 19th anniversary of George’s death – stricken by a cancer that ravaged his once healthy and supple body. And John, the peace-loving, anti-war, anti-violence activist, was senselessly gunned down in 1980 by a madman whose name will never cross my lips.

There are no words that can express how deeply The Beatles touched our hearts and souls. We embraced them and their music changed our lives forever. In all the world there is only one group with the word ‘mania’ attached to its name: the greatest band ever – The Beatles!

ZAP!!

The Ed Sullivan Show, 1964
Abbey Road

“I tell you, there is no other band,
there will never be any band like them ever,
for eternity. They are the best.
I say to you here in 1965
that the children of 2000
will be listening to The Beatles.
And I sincerely mean that.” –
Brian Epstein, Manager

NAR © 2020

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JUST AN ORDINARY SUNDAY

The Sicilian Storyteller

“Eavesdropper! Go away, Cathy, and stop being so nosy!” 

“I’m not an eavesdropper, Susan! I was just walking down the hall. Besides, you’re not my boss!” 

“Don’t make me come up there, girls! What’s going on?” shouted Cathy and Susan’s mother Evelyn. 

The girls stomped down the stairs, both yelling at the same time. 

“QUIET!” They took one look at their mother’s face and immediately stopped talking. “That’s better! Now, one at a time tell me what happened. Cathy, you first.” 

“Why does she get to go first?” whined Susan.

“Because I said so” sneered Evelyn. “I’m tired of you girls arguing all the time. Start talking Cathy.” 

“I was on the phone talking to Marcy about Rabelais and I saw Susan listening at my door .. as usual.” 

“About him .. your French boyfriend” teased Susan, making goo-goo eyes and kissing noises. 

“Excuse me?” Evelyn asked sarcastically. “What’s all this about a French boyfriend?” 

“It’s true”, replied Susan. “I heard her talking about him .. how he’s smart and funny, he’s a writer and a doctor. He must be ancient .. like 30 or something!” 

“Nice trap you set for yourself, Susan”, commented Evelyn. “For someone who claims she’s not an eavesdropper, you seem to know an awful lot about your sister’s private conversations.” 

Susan’s face turned bright red in embarrassment and anger and tears welled in her eyes.

“But, mom…..” Susan stammered.

“But nothing, Susan. Be quiet! Cathy, you start explaining just what’s going on and it better be good!” Evelyn demanded. 

“Mom, there’s no boyfriend. And Susan, you’re such a dummy!” snapped Cathy. “Rabelais lived during the French Renaissance! Do you even know how long ago that was? Marcy and I were discussing our book reports about him. Mom, she’s just jealous because you gave me a Princess Phone for Christmas and not her. I am 15, after all.” 

“It’s not fair!” cried Susan. “I’m 14 and all I got was a stupid record player!”

“The very same record player you use every day listening to your beloved Beatles?” interjected their dad peeking over his newspaper. “And if I’m not mistaken, the famous foursome are appearing on the Ed Sullivan Show tonight. Now .. if you think there’s even the slightest chance you’re going to watch that show then you better stop arguing, apologize and help your mother set the table for dinner.”

“We’re sorry!” the girls sang in unison and ran happily together into the dining room. 

“How did you manage that minor miracle?” Evelyn asked her husband.

“Elementary, my dear. It’s called communicating.”

“Is that so? Sounds more like ‘bribery’ to me!”

NAR © 2018

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THE EIGHTH OF DECEMBER

The Sicilian Storyteller

While cradling my year old son in his bed after a bad dream, I sang softly to him my favorite Beatles song, In My Life. He stared up at me, his blue eyes moist with tears. Slowly his breathing became calm and his eyelids began to flutter. At last he was asleep and I kissed his eyes, removing the last traces of salty droplets as I pulled up his covers.

Closing the door gently behind me, I went back downstairs where my husband Bill was watching Monday Night Football. One look at Bill as he sat on the sofa, his head in his hands, told me his team was playing badly. I kidded him about being so serious about a game but he didn’t react. I softly called his name and when he looked up at me there were tears running down his face.

As I sat next to him he turned to me, took my hands and told me that John Lennon was dead, shot on the doorsteps of his home, The Dakota. I stared at him in shock. Why would he say such a horrible thing? Who would ever want to hurt John?

He turned the tv volume back on; the game had been interrupted by the report of an incident involving John. I fell to the floor sobbing as the reporter droned on about ‘rapid gun shots’ .. ‘police/John/hospital’ .. ‘dead on arrival’.

I cried uncontrollably and kept repeating no! no! no! as my husband held me in his arms and I wailed in unimaginable anguish and disbelief. We sat on the floor for a long time, clinging to each other, unable to stop my tears or unhear the words coming from the tv.

At one point my three year old son crept down the stairs, frightened and wondering what was wrong with mommy. My husband quickly scooped him up and returned him to his room, whispering that mommy was very sad about something she saw on tv and she would be ok tomorrow.

But I was not ok the next day. I was not ok the next week. I was never truly ok after that night. No living, loving soul in the world was ever ok again.

These days, almost 38 years later, as I cradle my son’s babies in my arms and rock them to sleep, I sing In My Life and I remember John. 

NAR © 2018