Holey radiator

This old radiator reminds me of several things:

1) An overgrown wasps’ nest with several breaches in the cells. Visitors beware!

2) What I’ve considered doing to several rather lemony cars I’ve owned — not to put them out of their misery, but to put me out of mine!

3) Jon BonJovi’s song Shot through the Heart, covered by Demi Lovato. My lyrics reflect No. 2:

“An angel’s smile is what you sell;
You promised me heaven, but we’ve been through hell.
Tow truck’s coming to drag you away.
I’m sick of walking; you are going to pay!

I’ve got a loaded gun;
You’ve got nowhere to run.
No one can save you,
The damage is done.

(You’ve been)
Shot through the heart
And you’re to blame.
You give cars a bad name (bad name)
(Since) You won’t start,
I’m gonna end your game.
You give cars a bad name;
You give cars a bad name!

Dead Car Rover

I’m looking over this dead car, Rover, With its parts scattered all over the yard It’s hood is missing, the chassis is gone,

The pickup bed is somewhere else on the lawn.

No need explaining that there’s no seat remaining And the steering wheel will turn no more

I’m looking over my old car, Rover, Which is deader than any door!

He's got her, babe!

I have attended and been a part of so many weddings, but I doubt I’ve ever been to one that was so sweet and fun. (Well, our own excepted.)

In the “Who gives this woman” part of the wedding, Pastor Mike told Jake to say “I will” if he assented to the questions. Jake got rather ahead of schedule and said “I will!”

Pastor: “Not now, Jake!”

Pastor Mike also had to remind Leslie to hug her dad as he gave her away.

Once through the giving away part, the couple, pastor and attendants stepped up onto the platform, then the couple addressed the crowd. They asked us to honor the chief invited guest, Jesus Christ. Jake cited Matt. 18:20, “For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them” and we applauded the unseen Honored Guest.

The recessional was decidedly nontraditional: Sonny and Cher singing I Got You, Babe, a song that hit the charts before they were even born. They danced their way out of the church. It was so fun and so them!

Because Leslie is a sheriff’s deputy, she and Jake received a police escort to their reception, with a detour down Main Street. What a fun beginning to their married life!

Only Fools Rush In

We attended Leslie and Jake’s wedding Saturday. At the Bible study we all attend, I sang Going to the Chapel and Marilyn joined in, harmonizing around me. Leslie said she wanted us to sing that at her reception, so I printed off two copies of the lyrics. I like being prepared!

As Marilyn, Wendy and I were visiting, I told them that I had Only Fools Rush In stuck in my head and I could not push it out! So we started to sing the Elvis classic.

The wedding party was seated close enough to us that they could hear us singing, but not what we were singing.

“Are you singing?” Leslie asked. When told we were, she told us to get up and share! We first sang Going to the Chapel, then segued into Only Fools Rush In. I couldn’t believe that I was singing classic oldies with two of my friends in front of a crowd with almost no practice, but we apparently sounded pretty good. Whether we did or not, it surely was fun and a dream come true!

The pastor that married Jake and Leslie is leaving, so their church held a going-away party for him last night. They were there and we learned the rest of the story.

They liked Only Fools Rush In so much that they had considered using it in their ceremony. When we sang that, Jake asked Leslie, “Did you ask them to sing that?

”No,” she replied.

They were totally delighted. She told us, “[Your song] was truly a blessing and a God thing!”

God is truly interested in the details.

I thank Amy Fenner Photography for taking the picture and allowing me to use it. Amy is truly gifted. Check her out.

Madam Ruth

The fax machine rang this morning. I told Hubby, “I just know it’s an offer for a trip to Cancun.”

Sure enough.

He said, “You were psychic. Are you going to set yourself up as Madam Roxie?”

“No, Madam Ruth, the black-haired gypsy with the gold-capped tooth!”

He asked, “Are you going to get a gold-capped tooth?’

“Uh, no.”

The lyric in Love Potion No. 9 is actually “Madam Rue, you know, that gypsy with the gold-capped tooth?”

Precious Memories

Precious memories, how they linger How they ever flood my soul In the stillness of the midnight Precious sacred scenes unfold Precious father, loving mother Fly across the lonely years And old home scenes of my childhood In fond memory appear
– Precious Memories	Mom, Dad, Kevin and me in August 1985.

I woke up at 10 p.m. Thursday night with intestinal flu. About 2 a.m., I moved to the bathroom floor. I was spending far more time in bathroom than in bed anyway.

Even under blankets, I shivered.

As I huddled under those covers, trying, with little success, for whatever comfort I could find, my mind flashed back to August 1986.

Dad’s boss had a cabin at Lake of the Ozarks, Mo. We were vacationing there before I went back to college. My bedroom and the master suite were connected by a bathroom. Even though master suite had its own bathroom, a door opened to this bathroom as well.

I woke up in the middle of the night with an intestinal flu bug, complete with high fever. I wanted to disturb no one, so tried to be very quiet. Worshiping the porcelain god is not a quiet activity, no matter how a person tries to muffle the sound. And my mother had acute hearing.

She found me sitting in the tub with sweat pouring off me. Tub was within leaning distance of the toilet, so was quite convenient. If I made a mess, I could just wash it down the drain. Besides, tub was the only place I could get cooler.

I tried to convince her to return to bed. I was a big girl and could take care of myself. But, about this time, I started shivering uncontrollably. What misery! So much for convincing her to leave me.

All night long, she was up with me, warming me when the shivers took control, cooling me when the heat returned, and cleaning up the inevitable mess.

Now on my own bathroom floor, I longed for my mother to come help me. Hubby was at work and knew nothing of my predicament. Mr. Kitty did his best to comfort Mistress, but no pet is the same as a loving hand on my forehead.

When Hubby came home, he cleaned up the mess I’d left. What a wonderful husband!

Still, I would have loved to feel my mother’s loving touch in the night.

Hubby the German

We recently hosted a polka band concert for the local performing arts organization. When Hubby learned that this group was coming, he decided that he wanted a German getup for this show. After all, much of his heritage is German.

He already had a hat he had purchased in Switzerland when he was in high school. This hat has its own story. After he bought the hat and its buck and feathers decoration, his tour group went to a Schloss Hellbrunn, a Salzburg, Austria, palace with numerous trick fountains. Hat got wet. Day was hot and humid, so Hubby took off his hat. In consequence, it shrunk badly, becoming unwearable. It sat unworn in his European trip souvenirs for years. From our friends Kevin and Cheri, we learned about Hatman Jack’s in Wichita. Kevin had the hat stretched as a gift to us. It’s still a bit small, but wearable.

Around Christmastime, Hubby took hat and those embroidered green braces to the local embroiderer. (Note the buttons on his braces. They celebrate another big chunk of his heritage, Irish.) Embroider had the stock deer art and created his crosspiece. It attaches with Velcro. Hatband looked pretty shabby, so the staff wove this beautiful braid and attached his deer pin. We were delighted with results. One of the band members had purchased actual lederhosen. They were used and cost $200. New would have been $400. Our improvisation didn’t cost nearly so much. From the (partial) Irishman in the house: Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Guitar Hero wannabe

Well, we were just another band out of Boston
On the road to try to make ends meet
Playin’ all the bars, sleepin’ in our cars
And we practiced right on out in the street
No, we didn’t have much money
We barely made enough to survive
But when we got up on stage and got ready to play
People came alive.
- Rock and Roll Band by Boston

Playing guitar (or any instrument) for a genuine band is not in my future. But I play a mean air guitar, making an “instrument” from whatever object I can find to “strum”.

Such was the case at Saturday night’s Endowment Banquet for Marilyn’s employer.

The final event on the night’s schedule was a dance. I started to help clean up, but could not resist the lure of the music. I picked up the palm tree table topper and started to “play”.

I hadn’t touched an air guitar in public for years. I felt the years fall away as I picked and grinned, a grin of pure, exquisite happiness. Too bad the picture does not show that big grin. It was there.

Piano Man

We stopped at an old schoolhouse Saturday. This building was solid, made from poured cement. Interior looked pretty sad, but the exterior, other than broken windows, was still in good shape. Jacqui crawled halfway into a basement window to see what was down there. I nearly had heart failure. What if she fell in? Then what would we do? Cell service was poor to nonexistent.

“I see a piano,” she said.

A piano?

“Yes, a broken piano.”

That was interesting.

I have safety rules for junking. Rule No. 1: DO NOT walk down stairs. Who knows what might be in the basement/cellar/crawl space. I might find some dead creature or live ones that I’d prefer not to encounter. And who knows what condition those steps are in? I have no desire to take a bad fall.

But our nightly lows have fallen well below freezing. Snakes and skunks should be hibernating. She shined the flashlight around the room and saw nothing other than broken chairs and plaster. And the rest of building was in amazingly-good condition. Perhaps steps would be safe?

Staircase was partially covered by a wooden door, which looked intact. Steps were covered with fallen plaster, but maybe they were passable. When I pushed up the door, I saw a dead creature on top of it, mostly noticing a set of bared teeth. Jacqui followed me. I told her to push the door tightly against the rail unless she wanted to see the set of teeth.

Piano was in horrible condition. Keyboard was entirely gone. Hammers were broken. Front of piano had disappeared. But it still maintained a certain dignity. Someone had pride in its construction, even the places that would normally be invisible.

Apparently, the local people had used this basement for entertainment. Piano sat on a little platform. Remnants of theater seating were scattered around the rest of room.

I started singing, “…Son, can you play me a memory; I’m not really sure how it goes. But it’s sad and it’s sweet and I knew it complete when I wore a younger man’s clothes … Sing us a song; you’re the Piano Man. Sing us a song tonight! ‘Cause we’re all in the mood for a melody and you’ve got us feeling all right.…”

Singing in that forlorn basement was bittersweet. Acoustics were great, but seeing the remnants of what had been a vibrant community was very sad.

God Bless the USA!

Recently, we were privileged to enjoy the United States Army Field Band & Soldiers’ Chorus in concert. Anyone who watches those soldiers perform without feeling a surge of patriotism and gratitude toward those who serve us in the armed forces has a heart of rock and should be ashamed.

Concert opened with The Star-Spangled Banner. Chorus and band led audience in the national anthem. I love to sing our national song, but could hardly get the initial words out of my tightened throat. I thought of my friends and family who are currently serving or have family members currently serving. The Land of the Free would not be free without the service of the brave. Thank you so much!

As is customary with military bands, they closed the program with Armed Forces Salute, a medley of the military branches’ songs. Often, the conductor invites veterans of that service to stand during their branch music. This time, Conductor Col. Thomas Palmatier invited veterans and their families to stand during their branch music. Hubby had to leave for work before this selection, so I was very proud to stand for both Navy, my father-in-law’s branch, and and Air Force, my father’s branch. Being able to honor their service means a great deal to me.

The band’s encore was God Bless the USA. The crowd cheered and sang along. “… I’ll gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today, ‘cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land. God bless the USA!”

Don't Fear the Reaper

We were walking last Saturday evening when this gentleman started yelling, “Rescue me! Get me away from the Reaper!”

Since he was only half there, we figured he was a goner already. A person has to know which battles to fight! Anyone who’s in that bad of shape can’t be patched up very well.

Blue Öyster Cult may not fear the Grim Reaper, but I’d rather avoid him for as long as possible.

Eastern Hotel California

Years ago, my penchant for scary voices resulted in a permanent mark on my right hand.

In my first college semester, an acquaintance heard me do an impression of the Wicked Witch of the West. Her friend was looking for people to staff a haunted house for a night. Was I interested?

I was very interested.

The man in charge, Dave, had found an abandoned house in a valley. House was surrounded by creepy overgrown trees and weeds, a perfect setting for the night’s adventure. Some of the rooms were unsafe for entry, so no one was allowed to move without a guide carrying a flashlight.

I portrayed a demented prisoner who had escaped and been recaptured. A guard, armed with a (thankfully unloaded) shotgun, was posted to see that I would not escape. I was made up to look as if I had sustained a terrible beating during my recapture and I was wearing manacles and shackles. A belly chain was the only costume piece missing.

First two groups came through our room without incident. In between the second and third groups, I decided that clawing the wall would look very scary and demented. So I tried it.

Not only did clawing the wall look demented, it was demented. I scratched off some wallpaper one time before I caught my palm on a nail. I jerked it off and continued my act, although I avoided any more contact with the wall.

Once that group was gone, I sat down in the dark and gingerly assessed my injury. I could feel a big hunk of hand protruding out the hole and a trickle of blood oozing out of it.

I told the “guard” that she had better get some help. She panicked, but at last got word to someone to help us.

When Dave showed up, he shone flashlight on my hand. I am not particularly queasy, but the sight of that big protrusion unsettled my stomach. Dave was quite unsettled as well.

We had to climb over a barbed-wire fence to reach his van and, of course, my pant leg got caught. We had an awful time getting me unhooked. Since I only had use of one hand, I was little help in extricating myself.

He was near panic by the time he got me into his van.

Once we arrived hospital, Dave left and returned to haunted house.

The town was very small and the hospital had no doctor present. My makeup was too convincing. While I waited, the nurse kept trying to treat my facial cuts and bruises. I kept repeating that my hand was injured, not my face. She would not believe me; she seemed to think that I was delirious. She said I had to have been in a motorcycle accident. I must have suffered a head injury, because I obviously didn’t know what I was talking about.

By this time, my hand was seriously throbbing and hurting. Nurse insisted upon washing off my makeup, but did nothing to treat my hand. No painkillers, no cleaning of the wound, nothing. Once the makeup was removed, she stopped insisting that I was a motorcycle accident victim. At least we were making some progress.

Finally, the doctor showed up. He looked at my hand and shook his head. “What did you do that for?” he asked.

How was I supposed to answer that?

“We’ve got to stitch this,” he said. “A couple stitches is no big deal; you don’t need any painkiller for this.”

Obviously he wasn’t working on his own hand.

The stitches weren’t particularly painful, but the feeling of thread going through flesh was indescribably disgusting. At least I didn’t look so much like a freak with the blob now reduced to relative smoothness.

He ordered the nurse to give me a tetanus shot, then left. I think Nurse missed the nursing school lesson on how to give shots. I asked her to inject my injured right arm. I wanted to have just one hurting arm instead of two. She refused. “Our protocol says we must inject the left arm.”

I said, “I’ll never tell if you inject my right arm!”

She gave me a very dirty look, then proceeded to stick me several times with the same needle in my left deltoid. She didn’t even swab injection site with alcohol. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t just get it over with. Instead, she poked me repeatedly before finally driving home the needle.

A few minutes later, the rest of the haunted house staff arrived. We were 1½ hours from home and were all quite ready to leave. Unfortunately, I had no way to heat the injection site or cool the nail print site. Hospital gave me no painkillers or antibiotics.

By the time we arrived home, after one of the longest trips of my life, I was feverish and had little use of either arm. Both my right hand and my left shoulder were inflamed and infected. I couldn’t lift my left arm or close my right hand without extreme pain. I spent the next two days on my back in the campus infirmary while they pumped antibiotics into my system and tried to reduce the inflammation.

That haunted house continues to haunt me. Nearly 30 years later, the scar I received there still aches, usually for no apparent reason.

Apparently, that building was an eastern version of The Hotel California, where “you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

Survival of the '70s

A few days ago, some of my students came to class in Kiss and Led Zeppelin T-shirts. I could not believe my eyes. Another one showed up Wednesday wearing an Alice Cooper T-shirt.

Kiss? Led Zeppelin? Alice Cooper?

I was never much for metal, but my friend Cathy was a big metalhead, as were my best friend Jean’s brothers. Kiss and Led Zeppelin were high on their list of favorites, although they never cracked mine. Metal was never my choice of music. “Beth” was the only Kiss song I ever liked. Alice Cooper grossed out all my friends.

I can’t imagine wearing Pat Boone T-shirts when I was a high school kid. Maybe an Elvis shirt, but nothing else from any time period other than the 1970s. Those oldies were total has beens.

Recently I heard a music professor on the radio. He said that music stopped improving in 1974, that nothing good had been published since then. That position is a bit extreme for me. I like/d disco. I thought it was fun music and I still do.

I enjoyed a lot of the ’80s music as well, but, looking back, it had a sameness to it that ’70s music didn’t have. Hubby heard a program several years ago where the DJ played numerous ’80s tunes to the same beat. And they all fit.

’90s music and the new stuff the students play today seem like a vast wasteland. Is there nothing original?

The appearance of classic metal bands seems to validate my opinion.

What's Love Got to Do with It?

When I was in college, my social life was pretty lame. I had lots of “brothers”, but hardly any boyfriends. I had some men ask me out, but they were not generally men I wanted to date. I worked in sports information and spent most of my weekends on the sideline at some game. I didn’t enjoy the privilege of going out with some good-looking man afterward. No guy stood at the press box door waiting for me.

My friend Laura shared the same problem, except she didn’t have games to occupy her weekends. One day, we were bemoaning our single, dateless state when she began talking about what her wedding would be like.

“If I ever get married,” she said, “I think I’ll walk down the aisle to Tina Turner singing, ‘What’s Love Got to Do with It?’ I think I’ll dress in black, too. After all, it seems that I’ll have to pay someone to marry me!”

“That would be funny,” I said. “Let’s do it! That would be better than walking down the aisle to the traditional ‘Wedding March’. I have no desire to have everyone in church thinking ‘Here comes the bride, big, fat and wide. Where is the groom? Hiding in a room!’”

I lost touch with Laura after she graduated and have no idea if she ever married or not.

During our engagement, I told Hubby this story. “What do you think of this idea?” I asked. He wouldn’t let me use Tina Turner’s song, but I didn’t walk down the aisle to the traditional wedding march, either.

After all, when I married him, love had everything to do with it.

Rockin' Robin

“Rockin’ Robin” was a golden oldie when I was in high school oh, so many years ago.

Friday morning I taught junior high vocal music. I popped in a performance CD of “Rockin’ Robin” and my mind went back to my high school days.

We didn’t sing “Rockin’ Robin” in choir, but the pep band often played it at games. In those not-so-far-off days, we had no CD player. Eight-track tapes, then cassette tapes, were in vogue when I sat where those kids were sitting. I don’t think we’d ever heard of performance tracks in those days.

How technology has changed.

Unlike technology, great music never dies.

A girl named Robin with flaming red hair was in the class ahead of me. As the students sang “Rockin’ Robin”, I could see her in my mind’s eye. When our band would play “Rockin’ Robin”, she’d get up and dance. She was our personal “Rockin’ Robin” and did she ever rock.

“Go, ‘Rockin’ Robin’, ‘cause we’re really gonna rock tonight!”

Sunflowers at sunrise

No light is better than that shining at sunrise. No crop is more beautiful than sunflowers. Put them together for wonderful pictures.

I arose early Monday morning, even though it was a holiday, to take sunflower pictures. I marveled at the glory and provision of God to make these beautiful creations to feed his creatures and for the wisdom He has granted us to improve their yield.

I thought of the song “When Morning Gilds the Skies”.

When morning gilds the skies my heart awaking cries:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Alike at work and prayer, to Jesus I repair:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

When you begin the day, O never fail to say,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
And at your work rejoice, to sing with heart and voice,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

To God, the Word, on high, the host of angels cry,
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Let mortals, too, upraise their voice in hymns of praise,
May Jesus Christ be praised!

The night becomes as day when from the heart we say:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
The powers of darkness fear when this sweet chant they hear:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Be this, while life is mine, my canticle divine:
May Jesus Christ be praised!
Sing this eternal song through all the ages long:
May Jesus Christ be praised!

Sweet Home Alabama

I didn’t truly discover Southern rock until after I was out of high school. Bands like CCR and Lynyrd Skynryrd were not in my music collection, although I could certainly sing many of the lyrics.

“Sweet Home Alabama” is a highly topical song with dated references to Alabama Gov. George Wallace, a noted segregationist, and Watergate, as well as mystifying references to musician Neil Young. But the song is still very popular.



The song has a lot more to it than it first appears. Wikipedia says:

“Sweet Home Alabama” was written as an answer to two songs, “Southern Man” and “Alabama” by Neil Young, which dealt with themes of racism and slavery in the American South. “We thought Neil was shooting all the ducks in order to kill one or two,” said [Singer/songwriter] Ronnie Van Zant at the time. Van Zant’s musical response, however, was also controversial, with references to Alabama Gov. George Wallace (a noted supporter of segregation) and the Watergate scandal:

In Birmingham, they love the governor (boo boo boo)
Now we all did what we could do
Now Watergate does not bother me
Does your conscience bother you?
Tell the truth

In 1975, Van Zant said: “The lyrics about the governor of Alabama were misunderstood. The general public didn’t notice the words ’Boo! Boo! Boo!’ after that particular line, and the media picked up only on the reference to the people loving the governor.”

“The line ’We all did what we could do’ is sort of ambiguous,” [Producer Al] Kooper notes. “’We tried to get Wallace out of there’ is how I always thought of it.”

Journalist John Swenson argues that the song is more complex than it is sometimes given credit for, suggesting that it only looks like an endorsement of Wallace.

“Wallace and I have very little in common,” Van Zant himself said, “I don’t like what he says about colored people.”

Oddly enough, none of the band members were originally from Alabama.

Bad Moon Rising

The staying power of classic rock is truly amazing. As I was mowing a few days ago, Finance Director Lori drove in. She was rocking out to some tune. She rolled down the window so I could share what she was enjoying: “Bad Moon Rising”.

I looked up Creedence Clearwater Revival’s discography. Their “Green River” album came out in 1969, the year my brother was born. Lori would have been born around the same time. Even though CCR had been relegated to Golden Oldie status by the time she would have been appreciating music, CCR is still appealing.


I first remember CCR in late-night commercials. At first I thought the last line of the chorus

Don’t go around tonight,
Well, it’s bound to take your life,
There’s a bad moon on the rise.

was “There’s a bathroom on the right.”

Whenever we hear that song, Hubby and I laugh and loudly sing the misheard lyrics.

We were stayin' alive

Monday we visited a new flea market. I thumbed through a large book of CDs and found several of the music I so loved in high school.

Music is amazingly evocative. Listening to “Saturday Night Fever” soundtrack took me straight back to McDonald’s, where I worked when I was a high school junior. The movie had debuted the year before, but its soundtrack was then the biggest-selling album of all time. “Fever” stayed on top of the album charts for six months. And we loved it.

As soon as customers emptied the dining room after closing, we turned off the detested Muzak and plugged in our music into the stereo system, cranking the volume as high as we dared.

Closing time was “Disco Grill” time. We danced while we worked.

We sang:

“Burn, baby, burn!
McDonald’s inferno!
We are on fire
100 stories high…”.

I was often assigned to close “dive”, which meant washing dishes. The combination of a high-pressure hose and disco made for a very enjoyable evening. The hose became my dance partner and I slid and glided across the wet floor, while singing loudly.

The rest of the crew was doing the same at their posts, although the grill cleaner was sliding on grease instead of soapy water.

How we laughed!

“We were a dancin’ crew
And we just couldn’t lose
We knew it’s all right, it’s OK;
The manager looked the other way.
He could surely understand the music’s affect on man.
Yes, we were younger and they sure were older
But we were stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive
We could feel the windows shakin’ as the speakers were breakin’
And we were stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive…

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin’ alive.”

Brian's song

I can never think of or hear Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now” without remembering my friend Brian.

He was in high school and I was in my late 20s when we met. I thought he was one of the funniest people I’d ever met. He made me laugh nearly every time I saw him. He was always doing some antic or saying something that would make me double over with laughter.

And he was so sweet. When I would feel discouraged, he always had some kind word to say.

I loved him and thought of him as a little brother.

I attended his class Project Graduation, an all-night party the night of graduation. Someone starting lip synching (karaoke hadn’t been invented) and others followed suit. I found Brian and “sang” “If You Leave Me Now” to him. Once song was done, I kissed his cheek.

He whooped in delight.

I never saw him again. I moved away shortly thereafter. That fall, 16 years ago, he was killed in a one-car accident. I still miss him.

This is for you, Brian.