Tag: blogging

A Pink Bicycle

I might have been five. My parents had taken me shopping at Sears in Lubbock for my first bicycle. There was one I really wanted. It was bright pink and had purple streamers attached to the grips. It was the most beautiful bike I’d ever seen.

My mommy and daddy tried to get me interested in a different bike. I don’t remember what it looked like, only that it had a lack of streamers. I’m sure it was more in line with their meager budget, but at the tender age of five budgets didn’t matter much.

I turned my back on the offensive bike, and I’m sure I stuck out my bottom lip and crossed my arms in protest, striking a petulant pose in the middle of the busy department store. When I turned back around, I was by myself. I thought my parents had left me because I was pouting about the bicycle. Suddenly all my anger evaporated and I began to wail.

A kind woman came and took me to customer service, but I was sobbing too hard to tell anyone my name. When my parents realized I hadn’t followed them out of the bike section they hurried to customer service to find me inconsolable. They hugged and fussed over me and finally I was able to calm down. They’d been “missing” for maybe five minutes. I’m 61 and I remember the separation like it happened yesterday.

So, let’s think about these children being separated from their parents at the border, their cries haunted my dreams last night. Let’s think about the trauma our trump-led government is inflicting on innocent children. Let’s pray that the harm we are doing isn’t permanent.

We will pay for what we are doing. Maybe not now, but we will watch these young people reach adulthood with righteous anger in their hearts. And we will deserve the consequences.

By the way, I got the plain bicycle, but Daddy put streamers on the handlebars and added a squeaky horn and a white wicker basket onto the front. I embraced it. I had a change of heart.

Peace, people.

Moving

It’s been a little over a year since the world lost Chris Cornell. I’ll confess that I only knew of him through my daughter’s sweet sister-in-law Steph, who adored Chris and his music. Since Chris’s death I’ve paid attention to his incredible talent.

Yesterday I was listening to Howard Stern on SiriusXM when they played a song released by Chris’s daughter, Toni, for Father’s Day. I sat in my driveway and sobbed. It’s beautiful and so poignant. Hopefully you’ll be able to utilize the link below to hear what moved me so.

https://youtu.be/6YB9M8aB6b8

Love your people. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.

Peace, people.

Golf on TV

There was a time when I could only groan when forced to watch sports on television. Since we had just one tv until I was a teenager I became resigned to watching one sporting event or another every weekend.

Depending on the season, Daddy had the old black and white RCA tuned to either football, baseball, basketball, or golf. I didn’t mind football as long as I could watch the Dallas Cowboys play, and back in the day the networks showed the bands performing during halftime.

Basketball was okay, as well, but baseball and golf were both good reasons to go outside and play. Occasionally, though, it was just too hot to spend time outdoors under the brutal Texas summer sun, and I’d end up watching the televised snooze fests with Daddy.

By far the worst was golf. The matches droned on and on while the announcers spoke in hushed voices that invited a good nap. I could read an entire book, put together a 750 piece jigsaw puzzle, and start another book in the course of a tournament. I’m sure my sighs conveyed my utter boredom and disgust, but Daddy couldn’t be coerced into switching to another program.

I learned who Arnold Palmer and Lee Trevino were:

So imagine my surprise when I grew to enjoy watching golf on tv. Studly Doright and I spent most of this past weekend watching the U.S. Open, and I was as glued to the coverage as he was. It helps that our big screen television has vibrant color and surround sound making the experience much more satisfying than it was on the old black and white set.

Best of all I learned to enjoy watching the tournaments with my Dad before he passed away, and my years of forced watching with him gave me a knowledge of golf’s history that Studly is lacking. I rub his nose in my superiority occasionally, but mostly I just snuggle next to him on the sofa and we give the golfers tips on reading the greens. Sometimes they listen.

Congrats to Brooks Koepka for his back to back U.S. Open wins. He listened.

Peace, people.

How I Spent Saturday Morning

Studly Doright has successfully slept more than four hours at one time for the past three nights. Hopefully this indicates that his nerve endings might finally be settling down after his back surgery. He woke up practically jumping for joy this morning, and hurried me through my shower and breakfast so I could accompany him on his errands.

His first stop was at a golf shop. Studly hasn’t been released by his surgeon to swing a club yet, but he likes to look. Then we went to a motorcycle shop to buy new grips for a bike he’s working on for the grandkids to ride. Motorcycles are much more fun to look at than golf clubs.

Afterwards I mentioned that I could really use a new pair of sandals. When Studly is in a shopping mood it’s good to put in a request.

The cats like them. They might slightly resemble their scratching post.

Peace, people.

Was it an Upgrade?

Earlier this week a friend on Facebook posted that he believed the new sci-fi film, Upgrade, was better than Solo. “Interesting,” I thought, and decided to do some research.

I’ve seen Solo twice now, so I bought a ticket for Upgrade, along with a gigantic pretzel and a large strawberry lemonade, and settled in for the movie. Counting me, there were six other folks at the 12:30 showing. I was the lone female representative in the place. I see a lot of sci-fi films on my own, so I’m used to carrying the flag for my gender.

After approximately 9 trillion trailers for upcoming films the feature attraction began. Right off the bat the movie caught my attention when the opening credits were spoken instead of projected onto the screen. Cool, eh?

The initial scenes are pleasant. The almost handsome protagonist, played by Logan Marshall-Green, is a throwback to an earlier era relative to the film’s setting. His character’s wife, portrayed by Melanie Vallejo, works for a firm specializing in cyborg-type prosthetics for wounded veterans. He’s old school, she’s new-fangled.

For once, the future doesn’t look like an apocalyptic nightmare. Cars are self-driving, homes are voice-controlled, and everyone seems well adjusted. I felt pleasantly surprised and eager for lots of upbeat future fun.

And then all hell breaks loose. There’s a bunch of slicing and dicing of human bodies with a boatload of blood to boot. I was NOT amused. I felt hoodwinked.

Now I know how Studly Doright felt when many years ago we tricked him into seeing Alien by telling him it was a lot like Star Wars. Hoodwinked, that’s how he felt. There’s no way in hell that Upgrade is a better film than Solo.

If I’d known in advance that the Australian director, Leigh Whannell, best known for his work on the first three Saw movies, also directed Upgrade I might have been better prepared for the gratuitous gore. As it was, I just felt ill, and as I’ve said before, hoodwinked.

Don’t see this:

See this:

Trust me.

Peace, people.

Ahh, The Beach

When Studly Doright came to me one chilly spring day in Illinois and told me he’d been tagged for a position in Florida, I was elated. We’d lived in Melbourne, FL, for four years before the company transferred us to Illinois, and I’d fallen in love with the white sand beaches that were only ten minutes from our Florida home.

It wasn’t until I started searching online for homes in or near Studly’s new office in Tallahassee that I realized we weren’t going to be very close to a beach. I was a bit dismayed.

Studly was already in Florida living in an extended stay hotel when I called him from Champaign, Illinois, to ask, “Where the heck is the nearest beach?”

He hemmed and hawed a bit and finally admitted that he wasn’t sure. Certainly if our positions had been reversed locating the nearest beach would have been at the top of my list of priorities. Alas, Studly isn’t a beach person. The only sand he cares about is in the traps he tries to avoid on the golf course.

Once our home sold in Illinois and I joined my husband in Florida I had two urgent tasks: find a home and find the beach. It took me awhile to find Doright Manor, but just a week to discover the beach at St. George Island. And while it’s an hour and a half drive from our house, it is a lovely place.

Yesterday I drove down through the towns of Crawfordville and Sopchoppy, Lenark Village and Carabelle. I turned left in Eastpoint and over the bridge to paradise.

St. George Island’s residents don’t allow big chains to operate on their turf, so the hotels and restaurants are mom and pop businesses.

I enjoyed a lunch of grilled mahi mahi tacos at the Blue Parrot overlooking the beach.

Then I changed into my bathing suit and set up a spot on the beach just short of the lapping waves.

The heat of the June sun was intense on my super pale body, but every now and then the clouds provided some relief. And when things got too hot, hot, hot, I waded out into the water to cool off.

I took a horrible selfie. I had on my dark sunglasses and couldn’t actually see what the picture looked like until I returned home and began editing my photos. Is it just me or is my face crooked? Also, I need cheekbones.

We’ll call this one “I Think Chipmunk Cheeks Needs a Bigger Hat.”

The photo below is my favorite of the day. I really needed an umbrella like the one pictured.

I didn’t stay too long on the beach for fear I’d get a sunburn even with SPF 50 slathered on my lily white limbs, but my brief visit to the sand and the sea restored me. I returned to Doright Manor feeling better for having made the drive. I guess it’s not all that far away after all.

Peace, people.

A Good Day

Yesterday Studly Doright was working out of town. I knew he wouldn’t be home until late, so with a long expanse of time to fill I decided to get out of the house and find stuff to do.

My initial thought was to drive to St. George Island for a beach day, but a quick glance at the weather forecast showed rain showers for much of the afternoon. I’ll wait for a sunshiny day to head to the gulf.

Instead I went to see The Book Club, starring the fabulous four: Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen, Mary Steenburgen, and Diane Keaton. Even on a Tuesday morning the theater was almost full, and all but two of the seats were occupied by women. The movie is a treat, especially for women my age and older. I laughed harder than I have in ages.

Afterwards I had lunch at Zöe’s, and then strolled around Whole Foods. Exciting stuff, right? But I hadn’t felt as good as I did yesterday since the beginning of May, so for me it was exciting stuff indeed.

A rumble of thunder and a darkening sky hastened me on my way to my car, but I wasn’t ready to return to Doright Manor quite yet. I drove to Governor’s Square Mall, parked in the parking garage, and then wandered aimlessly for awhile. Then the Great American Cookie Company in the food court started calling my name. For awhile I was able to tune it out, but then it got really obnoxious and I had to have a chewy pecan supreme cookie to quiet the voices. I hate it when that happens.

Of course then I had to walk more to work off the cookie calories. I decided I needed an ottoman for our patio. Even knowing that none of the stores in the mall was likely to have such an item, I looked anyway. That’s how I tricked myself into walking for another hour. I’m easy like that.

Now that I was on a mission to find an ottoman, I left the mall and drove to the shopping center where Marshall’s and Bed, Bath, & Beyond are located. Surely I could find something to suit me at one of those two stores. Bed, Bath, and Beyond had ottomans more suited for inside use. Marshall’s had a couple that were indoor/outdoor, but they were gaudy. We can’t have gaudy at Doright Manor.

I want one like this:

Just for grins I walked through Michael’s arts and crafts emporium extraordinaire. There I found a crate that I thought I might could turn into a cute ottoman with a coat of paint and a bright pillow. But I got a splinter in my finger when I picked up the crate, putting a damper on that idea. I’m opposed to furniture that physically attacks me.

As I left Michael’s, a glance at my Fitbit told me I was within 1,000 steps of reaching my goal for the day, a goal I haven’t even come close to realizing for over a month. My feet were getting tired, but I buckled down and did a quick walk through of the Old Navy and Ulta stores in the same shopping center before driving home.

I fixed myself a light dinner and drank a tall glass of water. My Fitbit was at 9,900 steps, and I practically had to crawl to bed to finish out the day, but by golly, I reached my goal, and today should be easier. Or I might just have to hibernate and recover. Regardless, yesterday was a good day.

Peace, people.

Here are (some of) the Protest Songs

Yesterday in this space I asked the question, “Where are the Protest Songs?” Is the genre dead and gone or just not in my musical sphere? After all I am in my 60’s. It’s likely I might not be tuned into the hip stuff.

Several of my readers came to the rescue with titles of modern protest songs. I was familiar with a couple of them, but honestly, I didn’t realize they actually WERE protest songs. Too much listening to loud rock and roll in my youth might’ve impacted my ability to hear the lyrics. But now that I’ve been pointed in the right direction, I can hear these songs for what they are.

First, here’s a video clip from the Australian group, Midnight Oil, called Beds are Burning. My blogging friend Barbara at https://balindseyblog.wordpress.com/ brought it to my attention.

https://youtu.be/ejorQVy3m8E

Barbara provided this information: “Beds are Burning is arguably the most resonantly subversive artistic gesture ever made by Australians. Released by the country’s biggest rock group just months before Australia marked, on 26 January 1988, the 200th anniversary of the first fleet’s arrival in Sydney, it ensured that the dominant soundtrack of our bicentennial year would be a song which reminded that the country we were celebrating was founded on pillage and genocide.”

Another blogging friend, Marty at snakesinthegrassblog.com pointed me in the direction of musician Steve Earle’s The Revolution Starts Now, released in 2004.

https://youtu.be/AirdHLCj4MY

Both of these songs fill the protest song bill, and they both remain relevant.

My blogging friend Zoolon at zoolonhub.com is a talented musician who shared one of his original pieces, Sunlight and the Dust. It’s a mighty fine song of the protest genre and deserves a listen. By the way, Zoolon does all the instrumentation as well as the vocals. I told you he was talented.

https://zoolon.bandcamp.com/track/sunlight-and-the-dust

I’m going to continue scouting out more protest songs. If you know of one that speaks to today’s issues please pass it along. We need anthems. We need rallying points. We need righteous anger set to music.

Peace, people.

Where are the Protest Songs?

There is an old Chinese curse, “你可能生活在有趣的时代” (Nǐ kěnéng shēnghuó zài yǒuqù de shídài) that translates to “May you live in interesting times.” It seems as though, since the 2016 election that we are in the throes of that curse.

I’m not naive enough to believe that the times in which we are living are any more or less interesting than any other periods of history. It is easy, though, to fall prey to that mindset when every day we witness so many worrisome events. Trump’s recent bad behavior at the G7 conference adds to the evidence.

In the late 60’s I was a sheltered little girl living in rural Floydada, Texas. I wasn’t completely clueless, though. I knew about the Vietnam War, after all, it came to our television sets direct from the battlefields every night. Also on my tv I watched protesters marching against the war, young men burning their draft cards and seeking asylum in Canada. And, I’d seen television coverage of the Civil Rights movement. The clashes between protesters and police officers were disturbing, but in my little cocoon none of that really touched me.

Then in May of 1970 four college students protesting the Vietnam War were killed by National Guardsmen on the campus of Kent State in Ohio. I was 13, not much younger than the students who lost their lives that day. The desire to make my voice heard began to rise.

I’d love to tell you that I immediately left my home to join in angry protests, but again, I was just 13. I did start paying attention, though, not just to the protests, but to the protest songs.

Like this one from Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young.

https://youtu.be/9GXtQfXBAmM

Lately I’ve begun wondering where are today’s protest songs? Am I so old that I am unable to recognize them as such? Are there artists putting out meaningful lyrics that make young people feel the need to change the world? If you know of any, please pass the knowledge along. We need protest anthems for these interesting times.

Take it Easy

I took today off from blogging, but couldn’t resist sharing this cartoon and the song that inspired it. I’ve loved this Eagles tune since it was released in 1972.

https://g.co/kgs/5uFg7B