Friday, March 29, 2019

Music, Oh Their Music

Lyrics, quotes, and music image

The irony of being our age is that now we can afford to go to concerts of our favorite singers and they are our age:

They have given their last concerts. Some have retired, some have health problems, and some have died.

Oh, they all were so very much the part of our youth, our parenting days, our middle age years.  When we hear a vinyl classic on radio, we sing along loud and smile.

We did see Willie Nelson, Neil Diamond, Bob Dylan, and Ricky Nelson.  Good memories. Ricky is gone tragically and Neil Diamond retired with Parkinson's. Dylan is still performing, at age 77.

Gladly, Willie Nelson is still with us, still performing at age 86.

Official video, Just Breathe

In 2017 at Harrah's in Valley Center, California, Willie and his son Lucas Nelson performed. I gave (expensive) tickets to my husband for his birthday and we sat in good seats and they were worth it.

Lucas Nelson started the performance with his own incredible voice like his father's and his amazing guitar skills. He was part of A Star Is Born by Bradley Cooper's request.

Then his father walked out on the stage and the air was electric with us fans shouting, clapping.  

It was obvious that Willie was ill, coughing and having difficulty breathing. He sang and played some of his classics, Lucas and brother Micah with their father's voice. For that all too brief time, it was a gift.

When Willie left the stage, he tossed out his battered straw cowboy hat like always. We clapped until our hands were numb. Then Lucas picked up where Willie left and gave us a concert I will always remember. (Willie had pneumonia, had to cancel the next few concerts.)

You know, someday he'll hand his battered guitar to Lucas. A talent like Willie Nelson's will continue even when he steps off the stage and walks on ahead alone. 

I wonder what he will be singing?

This is a chat about their lives, affect of his music
about 3 to 4 minutes

Tuesday, March 26, 2019

The Truth about Fairies

working with fairies
Being a fairy is no easy job, I tell you.  I know the truth. I have been one for years, and hated every moment. Every. Single. Stinking. Moment.

Oh, sure. Some fairies paint flowers, some water lovely green plants. Their primary job is to care for the planet, keeping all plants healthy. 

They flutter around with gossamer wings, whatever gossamer is.

Their soft skin shimmers with a fluorescent glow, their clothing is even cross-stitched with spider webs, and their boots are soft butterfly cocoons. 

They even have great hair. Damn them.

My job? My job??  I am the fairy in charge of slugs and carnivorous bugs.  

In fact, I am President of Chapter 207 Union of Scavenger Bugs. One assassin bug attacked me, put me in fairy hospital for a week.  Best week of my miserable life, the only best week.

If there were even one thing about my job that I loved, that would be wonderful.  But as it stands now, I live in fairy mud hell.

This a re-post-rewritten-upgraded from a "Wednesday Words" challenge for writers to see what they could do with the underlined words back in 2016.

I love taking an old post and changing it.  Also, it shows me where I was as a writer then.

Saturday, March 23, 2019

Old Men in Caps

Canes, walkers, wheelchairs

Old men.

Navy WW II
Army Air Corp

Korean War
Vietnam war
Now, war in places unknown.

US Navy air craft carriers sending planes to fly off
Army Air Corp, carrying food, supplies,
and bombs—

Women who served,

but hidden.

Men and Women,

not on the front lines,
But at home, making survival

Gold embroidered
On black.
Proud to wear their caps.

Old men in caps.
Walking away,

Walking on ahead.

Oldest veteran of WW 2, Richard Overton, died at age 112 In December 2018

Lately, I see very few WW 2 veterans, as most are in their nineties. When I do, I shake their hands and thank them for what they and their comrades did.

Now, the Korean vets are the old fellers. They still walk straight and tall. Shake their hands and thank them for their valor.

The Vietnam veterans are from my era. I thank them and ask how they are doing after their unappreciated service. We talk a while, share our memories of friends and families. 

My small county with the rural towns had many men who headed to Vietnam. Some returned, some returned but with scarred memories, and too many found their ways home in caskets.

Now veterans from this era come home and are welcomed by a grateful nation.  Too many come home with prosthetics and horrible scars. If you meet one, shake their hands, thank them for what they and their comrades sacrificed. 

Try not to cry.

 This was originally a re-post from 2013, now re-written.

My appreciation and understanding have grown. I have shaken many hands.
We live near Camp Pendleton.

Hugging the kids

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Road Rage Gone Wrong

Sometimes, no written words are needed. Indeed, no photos are needed at all, just the voice.

Pay attention to rules of the road. 
And, also, be sure to watch out for little old ladies.

Saturday, March 16, 2019

Hoist a Pint

A stained glass image of Saint Patrick at Immaculate Conception Catholic Church in Port Clinton, Ohio. (Credit: ‘Nheyob’, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons)
What St. Patrick can teach us.

Saint Patrick's Day: At (King) David’s Pub and Winery

(Scene opens in Heaven, at the Pub.  Seamus and Patrick are sitting at the bar.  Patrick is asleep, with his head on the bar counter.)

Seamus (St. James):  Say, Paddy, now.  Wake up, you idjit. (Slaps him on the back.)

Padraig (St. Patrick)/Paddy:  Ah, Seamus.  Can ye not leave a good saint ta a daecent sleep? (Wipes some drool from his cheek.)

Seamus:  It’s yer people there, Paddy.  They’re at it again.  (Leaning over his pint, looking down on the velvet green) Sláinte.

Paddy:  Oh, Mother of God, is it that day already? (Shaking his head.)

Maire (Mary):  Paddy, was it ye who called?  Oh.  (She looks down on Dublin.)  So.  Yer Irishmen are up and celebratin’ yer Holy Day.  (Seamus and Paddy stand up and pull out the chair by a gold-gilded table.) The day ye up and died down there. (Maire settles into the chair.) I'll be havin' ta usual, Dave.

David:  Here you go, Maire. (He places a Waterford Crystal Rosslare sherry glass filled with Harvey's Bristol Cream Sherry) 'Tis only ta best for ya, love. (She smiles and smooths her blue gown.)

Paddy:  (Looking down) So it ‘tis, Maire.  And would ye look—Chicago dumped green into ta rivers again!  As if that meant a ting, Lord help us.

The Lord God: (enters with angels singing and clouds billowing)  Was it ye, Paddy, that called m’name?  (Seamus and Paddy vacate their pub stools immediately.)    David, here, be a good man, and pour me a glass of cider.

King David:  Ta', My Lord.  The best Yer Hands ever made, here Ye go.  Have at it. (David pushes the glass over to God, who has settled down on a stool.)

The Lord God:  So, Paddy, what’s troublin’ ye, up here in heaven?

Paddy:  Oh, it’s the Irish people agin.  They’re after celebratin’ my holy day with all sorts of carryin’ ons.  And it bein’ Lent, ‘tis a sad ting ta behold.

The Lord God:  (quaffing a satisfying amount of apple cider) Well, ye know, Paddy,  People ha’ forgotten jest what I did for them, sendin’ ye to Ireland.  They were a terrible mean group, worshippin’ trees and such, ‘fore ye taught ‘em about the Trinity. Those seamro'g . Set them for ye.

Seamus:  Yer right, My Lord God.  An’ Paddy drove out dem dere serpents, and done all them miracles.  Ye did right good work, there.  (Seamus pats Paddy on the shoulder, who nods and perks up a bit.  Maire rises, holding her sherry, and stands next to The Lord God.)

The Lord God:    ‘Tis my desire that ye shake the Irish up a wee bit.  Paddy, ye go down to yer holy wells—there’s one down near Clonmel I’m partial to.  Stir the waters up a bit when ye see group there.  And, Maire, go ta some of yer holy grottoes, and send some tears down the cheeks of yer precious image.  That’ll make the Irish think a bit.  I bet ye’ll see more pious Irish at Mass come Good Friday.

Seamus:  I’ll go along with ‘em, My Lord, jest to keep ‘em company.  (The three saints exit.)

The Lord God:  (watches the saints depart, and laughs softly) Ah, there go some fine saints.  Glad I made ‘em.  (He leaves the pub in a cloud of glory, with angels singing.  David gathers up the glassware, and hums “When the saints go marching in…”  Scene ends.)

If I have offended any, please forgive me.  

This is a re-post of 2011.  

Wednesday, March 13, 2019

You're Home

open hand
Patsy shivered in the new home, despite the heat and the friendliness of the other occupants and the happy sounds, despite the good food waiting for her, despite…everything.

She had never, in her whole life, been in a place where she was welcomed and where nothing was expected of her.

Someone approached her and Patsy reflexively ducked her head and curled up, waiting for the first strike and subsequent kick, over and over again.

Instead Patsy found a kind hand and quiet reassurances that she was home, that this was now her home: love, friendship, food, and a warm bed were hers if she wanted them.

If she wanted them?

Patsy licked the offered hand and gazed into the gentle eyes, with her tail wagging for the first time in a long time.

How to find help organizations worldwide:

"The way we treat our children in the dawn of their lives,
and the way we treat treat our elderly in the twilight of their lives,
is a measure of the quality of  a nation."

Hubert Humphrey

"The greatness of a nation
can be judged
by the way its animals
are treated."

Mahatma Gandi

Saturday, March 9, 2019

The Value of Vicissitude

Hubble Photo
“…the Universe, presupposed  to limitation and thinking that the Universe remained in a state of stasis, astronomers were astounded to discover, that inexplicably, with a smidgen of disbelief, space as we had known it to be, was in fact, in vicissitude…”

Phil’s head now lay in the lap of female physics major beside him as his snore reverberated off the walls of the huge, completely packed lecture hall.  Silence reigned as Phil awoke with a small embarrassed giggle, wiping the drool from his cheek, “I’m in the wrong lecture hall.  So sorry…”
He ran through the doors, throwing his Advanced Physics textbook into the nearest garbage can.  Even though the book was worth $300 used, switching his major to Social Sciences seemed a better choice. 

Vicissitude is applicable in many ways.

Some time ago, I was stumped as to what would be interesting for a blog post. Mind was blank, so I found an old college dictionary and let it fall open:

Vicissitude--I had no idea what it meant. So, this is a stab at what would be a most horrible place for me to be.

Vicissitude struck me as a good choice. I mean, haven't we all found ourselves in a situation where nothing made sense and we had to make a sudden change?

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

Great Expectations

We moved from our home of 27 years to a retirement community. It feels like we live at a time share with elderly people of all generations. We are the age of many residents' children. Living here is a gift.

For scale

part of 70 lbs. in 2016
But, we miss our dwarf orange tree, our 40+ year old tree which produced copious amounts of precious orange globes. It was fabulous. There were so many that the idea of doing anything with them in the kitchen was overwhelming. Juicing them was daunting and lost its novelty darn quick. Instead, I walked around the neighborhood several times and gave them away.

Given that, I insisted we plant a blood orange tree in our new community, knowing it would take At least two years to produce. Huzzah! it did.  Twelve oranges, precious gems all of them.

for scale
It was exciting. I bought jam-making supplies to supplement my 12 blood oranges and make blood orange and berry jam: 1/2 pint jam jars and rings w/lids, extra 5 lb. sugar, 3 lbs. of frozen mixed berries, extra navel oranges, Sure Jell the tune of $30+.

The rest of the dishes are in the dishwasher. 
Followed the directions and it took three hours from start-to-finish, and also cleaning up dishes and kitchen.  These are the results:
Six 1/2 pint jars


Saturday, March 2, 2019

Hey, there!

Could you all do me a favor and check out my other blog, please?  I am trying to expand my writing and encourage people to read it.

The address is:

Going on, Going forward Susan Kane, Writer


Easter Sunday 1960
It was so important to Mom that we were dressed nicely.