Tag: writing

Song Lyric Sunday – Record/Jukebox/DJ/Radio

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My contribution to this week’s Song Lyric Sunday (prompt: Record/Jukebox/DJ/Radio).

 

At the age of 17, I discovered Joni Mitchell when I first dropped the needle on her album Blue. Thanks to new friends at my summer job. One of those friends and I were lucky enough to see her in concert together. Three years later. The Music Hall in Boston. High up in the balcony.

Joni Mitchell is a Canadian singer/songwriter. The winner of 9 Grammy awards. Music that ranges from folk to pop to rock to jazz. Lyrics that reach out and grab you tight…especially when you’re 17.

You Turn Me On I’m A Radio was Mitchell’s first Top 40 hit as an artist in America. Lighter and brighter than her more serious musings on Blue, it was released in 1972 on the For the Roses album (her 5th). Written from the point of view of a radio station, it moved more towards the pop genre.

I now get a kick out of the references to dials and transistors…as I remember my first radio. A gift from my grandparents when I was in the 5th grade. A black Sony transistor radio (with a case!). And a dial…which picked up my favorite AM station: 77WABC

I’ll bet Joni Mitchell performed this song that night in Boston…

 

 

 

You Turn Me On I’m a Radio

by Joni Mitchell

If you’re driving into town
With a dark cloud above you
Dial in the number
Who’s bound to love you
Oh honey you turn me on
I’m a radio
I’m a country station
I’m a little bit corny
I’m a wildwood flower
Waving for you
I’m a broadcasting tower
Waving for you
And I’m sending you out
This signal here
I hope you can pick it up
Loud and clear
I know you don’t like weak women
You get bored so quick
And you don’t like strong women
‘Cause they’re hip to your tricks
It’s been dirty for dirty
Down the line
But you know I come when you whistle
When you’re loving and kind
But if you’ve got too many doubts
If there’s no good reception for me
Then tune me out, ’cause honey
Who needs the static
It hurts the head
And you wind up cracking
And the day goes dismal
From “Breakfast Barney”
To the sign-off prayer
What a sorry face you get to wear
I’m going to tell you again now
If you’re still listening there
If you’re driving into town
With a dark cloud above you
Dial in the number
Who’s bound to love you
If you’re lying on the beach
With the transistor going
Kick off the sandflies honey
The love’s still flowing
If your head says forget it
But your heart’s still smoking
Call me at the station
The lines are open

 

 

 

 

Photo a Week – Ducks in a Row

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Nancy Merrill is hosting a photo challenge. The theme this week – Ducks in a Row

IN A NEW POST CREATED FOR THIS CHALLENGE, SHARE A PHOTO OR TWO (OR MORE) OF SUBJECTS IN A LINE OR ROW.

Several years ago I was honored to attend my niece’s wedding. A beautiful lavish event. Complete with a live band and spacious dance floor. My favorite part of the reception.

I wandered around taking photos from different vantage points. I caught this line of revelers about to start kicking in a unison dance. The bride, groom, aunt, siblings and grandmother.

So much joy!

 

wedding line

 

 

Tuesday Photo Challenge – Rock

~ oneletterup ~ 9 Comments

This post inspired by Frank at Dutch goes the Photo

 

Can we go out to the mica mine?

…said my husband to his mother when he was a little boy.

My husband’s mom grew up across the road from an abandoned mica mine. That just happened to be on her parents’ property. In the mountains of rural New Hampshire in the 1920s. After my husband’s grandparents died, his aunt and uncle built a house on that land – the mica mine way in the back. Partially hidden by overgrown vegetation.

Family visits often included that little boy begging to hike up the mountain to search. For shiny slivers of mica…to slip into his pockets.

At some point two large chunks of mica made their way out of the mica mine. Down the mountain…and ended up nestled in the gardens at my in-laws’ home.

Many years later we rescued them before selling their house.

The traveling mica rocks spent the next 15 years at home in our yard. Tucked in with lilies of the valley. Also transplanted from my in-laws’ carefully tended yard.

Mica
Until we downsized a couple of years ago.
And the mica rocks were on the move again…

Now safe and sound…
In their new yard.
At the home of a very good friend.

 

 

 

Polished

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polish heart

 

Express Lane 12 Items or Less:
I emptied my basket onto the conveyor belt.
Milk, orange juice, salad, tomatoes, bananas.
A quick trip to the grocery store.
Or so I thought.

The cashier, a woman probably about my age, dragged the juice carton past the scanner, paused…looked at me and asked:
Do you have children?

My purse open, digging for my wallet, I looked up.
Yes I do.

How old are they?

Still searching for a ten dollar bill, I mumbled….
Umm…37…31….

She began filling my blue canvas bag.
You don’t look old enough to have children that age!

Okay well I don’t know about…

As she weighed the bananas…
You must have had them young.

Ummm…no not really…

She took my cash…turned towards the register and added…
I was 40 when I had my son. I didn’t think I was going to be able to have any children.

As she handed me my change, I offered…
Wow that’s hard to have a baby at 40.

She smiled.
Yes it is!…Have a nice day!

I had never seen her before in my life.

This happens often. Random, sometimes personal, conversations initiated by complete strangers in the grocery store. I wonder why. Do I look smart? I’m not that smart. I really don’t know why detergent pods can leave holes in your laundry. But apparently I can commiserate as to why Proctor & Gamble won’t make it right.

Back to the cashier…and how “young” I looked…

Is there really an age-appropriate way to look…after raising 2 “old” adult children?

Let’s face it – the story of motherhood is unique to every woman. How much we all age – or appear to age – is the sum total of many experiences (…never mind genetics and health).

Not just motherhood.

However, that being said…
Motherhood does jump start the process. From day one…when you may stumble around bow-legged like you’ve ridden a horse for too long…after birthing an almost 10 pound first child. Swearing there will be no more. Until you change your mind.

I will admit…motherhood carves out a chunk of your heart and holds it forever. It also forces you to grow up. For real. The shock – to your entire system – of a love so epic. Slamming into a whole new reality: It’s not all about you anymore.

The Rite of Passage to end all others.

Before parenthood, your self…still rough around the edges.
Still young.

There is real pain along the way.
The birthing. The sleepless nights. Sleepless days.
Endless decisions and acts of faith.
Stretching…reaching deep down…for patience…
You didn’t know you had.

Embracing the joy. The fun.
Taming the worry.
Searching for answers. Finding courage.
Hoping you know what the hell you are doing.
Because you love them so damn much.
Even when they cut away and move on.

You’re stronger for it.
Much stronger than you ever dreamed.
Braver…
And, yes, older.
Rough edges smoothed…
Polished.

More than ready…if you’re lucky…for the next level.

Grandparenthood.

 

books

 

This post inspired by V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #41: Polish

 

Cee’s Black & White Photo Challenge – Looks Like a Face

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This post inspired by Cee’s B&W Photo Challenge. The topic this week: Looks Like a Face

 

A grill with a sense of humor?

Back in the days of home ownership, we left our gas grill out on the side deck all year. Covered up. It was too big and cumbersome to lug down 4 stairs en route to storage in the garage.

So, why not use it year round?

Winter arrived. Every year…bringing snow and more snow. Burying the deck. Including the grill.

Just needed to shovel a path. Clear away the snow. Bundle up. Grab a flashlight. Move fast. Hope the gas hadn’t run out. Grilling hamburgers one New Year’s eve comes to mind. Much to the surprise of our visiting guests.

Only steps from the kitchen door, the grill was also my route to avoid using the broiler pan. And the resulting greasy, crusty mess. Including scrubbing out all those slats. Never a popular chore…especially for my teenage son who was often recruited for the task.

One snowy January day, this is what greeted me when I opened the side door…

snow face 2005
…either mocking me…or offering a friendly greeting.

I could never decide which.

Photo a Week – Shimmer

~ oneletterup ~ 7 Comments

Nancy Merrill is hosting a photo challenge. The theme this week – Shimmer

IN A NEW POST CREATED FOR THIS CHALLENGE, SHARE A PHOTO OR TWO (OR MORE) THAT SHIMMER.

 

Once again I am able to share a photo from my favorite beach. Taken during a solo vacation many years ago. Where I enjoyed warm weather, sunshine and long walks along the water’s edge. No schedule except for one of my choosing…including photo opportunities I couldn’t resist.
Sparkly sand. Sun. Water. Waves.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Coronado Beach, CA

 

A more recent walk…not so warm. Early Spring in New England.
A local pond still holding a partial sheet of ice.
The late afternoon sun still doing its amazing thing…

pond shimmer
New England pond

 

 

Song Lyric Sunday – Minutes/Hours/Days/Weeks/Months

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My contribution to this week’s Song Lyric Sunday (prompt: Minutes/Hours/Days/Weeks/Months)

 

At the age of 17, I discovered Carole King – a prolific American singer-songwriter – via her Tapestry album.
She was not, however, a one-hit wonder for me.

I collected her albums over the years, their dust jackets now worn and faded. I devoured each and every one…most likely wearing out the phonograph needle in the process.

Carole King’s 4th album Rhymes & Reasons was released in 1972. It climbed to the No. 2 spot on the Billboard 200 chart.

One of the songs on this album – Gotta Get Through Another Day – still resonates all these years later…although from an entirely different perspective….

 

 

Gotta Get Through Another Day

 

by Carole King

It’s a gray, gray gloomy day
A strange and moody blues day
Gotta get through, gotta get through another day

Corn yellow silk and golden sunlight I remember
As we walked together, you and I
Love like a sweet flaming glow inside
Now has been denied
And I’ve cried till I can’t remember why

I gotta get through, gotta get through some way
Gotta get through, gotta get through another day

Will Tuesday be “good news” day
Or another “paying dues” day
It’s a strange and moody blues day
Anyway

Some say that time brings a better understanding
Of the rhyme and reason to it all
Still the flame keeps burning through the lonely night
It’s just not all right
And I wonder if I’ll make it till you call

I gotta get through, gotta get through some way
It’s a gray, gray gloomy day
A strange and moody blues day
Gotta get through, gotta get through another day
I gotta get through another day.

 

 

 

 

School Uniforms: Times Past

~ oneletterup ~ 12 Comments

Irene Waters’ “Times Past” prompt challenge topic for March is: School Uniforms

For this months times past I thought we would look at school uniforms or lack of them. Do you see a value in wearing a uniform. For those in countries that don’t have uniforms would your prefer to have one. Tell us your memories of what you did with your uniform to make it a little more attractive. Any memories at all.

~~~

As a baby boomer growing up in the USA, I went to public schools. No uniforms. But there were rules about what to wear. Would it have been easier to have worn a uniform? I’m not sure, except perhaps as an equalizer between the haves and the have nots. Or the fashionable and the not so fashionable.

Gym day for girls in grammar school meant I could wear pants (and sneakers!) to school. My favorite day for both reasons: pants plus gym.

High school rules governed skirt length until I was in the 10th grade…and girls were allowed to wear pants. Hallelujah. I will just barely mention the ugly one piece green jumpsuit type “uniforms” we had to wear in high school PE class. I had to sew my last name on the back. I always felt sorry for the girl in my class whose last name was Zitts.

Girl Scouts.
Now that required a uniform.
I started out as a Brownie and worked my way up to Cadette, excelling at cookie sales…not so much at sewing.
I lasted through the 7th grade, at which point all the rules and requirements didn’t appeal to me anymore. I was a questioner. That did not jive with many Girl Scout Laws.

I also pushed the envelope that year during the troop trip to DC. I spotted boys in a hotel room window across the alley from our hotel room. I was 13. Called them, giggled and hung up. A few times with my roommates. I managed to talk my way out of being sent home.

 

Brownie
Brownie salute – age 8

When I was 10 and 11 years old, I went to a Girl Scout overnight camp.

What did I love about it?
Being outside. Hiking. Campfires.
Making Campfire Stew. New friends.
Arts and Crafts.

What did I not like?
Mosquitoes. Latrines.
Eating cold canned Spam on hikes.
Uniforms.

The required uniform: white (yes, white) short sleeved blouse, green belted shorts, green knee socks and a rope lanyard. Not comfortable. And even at that young age, the regimentation of it bothered me. It made no logical sense. Who wears knee socks in the summer? (although I think I skipped those on occasion).

This photo was taken on the first day…while the uniforms were still clean!  The 3 counselors are in the middle front row. I am standing, 6th from the left.

camp012
Girl Scout Camp Group Photo

.

When I was 13, I went to a YWCA overnight camp.
No uniforms and no canned Spam!
I stayed for a month.

Tuesday Photo Challenge – Wonder

~ oneletterup ~ 18 Comments

This post inspired by Frank at Dutch goes the Photo

The prompt: Wonder

The wonders of the world? The wonders of nature?

How about the wonders of the food we eat? The colorful & crunchy vegetables that grow from the ground – if carefully tended and nurtured and harvested.

From the earth we need to take better care of…but that’s another blog post topic all together.

A huge light bulb moment in the 7th grade changed my life. I asked my science teacher Mr. Jackson about potassium. My mother needed to increase her intake and I thought he might know the answer. It was a chemical after all.

His answer? Broccoli. Bananas. He then gave me a list of high potassium foods. It was that simple.

I had no idea until that moment in time that natural foods were that important. And what “healthy” as an adjective in front of “food” could really mean. Eat. Chemical reactions in the body. Feel better.

I went on to study nutrition and dietetics in college. My career resulted. Thanks to Mr. Jackson. Teachers: another wonder.

A true wonder of the world? I believe it starts with vegetables. Broccoli…peppers…carrots….
And then, of course, fruits.

As I used to show my patients, drawing a line down the center of a paper plate (way before the publicized “My Plate” visual), vegetables should take up half your plate.
Not always a popular suggestion.

Vegetables may not be exciting.
But they are still a wonder…

 

broccoli

peppers copy

IMG_8042 copy

 

 

Things my Opa said

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This post inspired by V.J.’s Weekly Challenge #40:
Things my father (or any male of influence growing up) said.

 

 

opa 59
Opa visiting his grandchildren
circa 1959

 

Are we here to eat or play cards?
You haven’t got a ghost of a chance.
Throw one away you won’t have so many.
Don’t bend the tickets!
Punt!
Discharge!! 

 

Card games: May I…Pinochle…Hearts…
Always accompanied by my grandfather’s litany of patter. To keep squirmy card players at attention. Snack crumbs to a minimum. Playing cards unbent. Always with a smile; however small, tugging at the corner of his mouth. The corner not clamped tight on a lit Pall Mall. The smile winning out at the last directive – discharge in lieu of discard – to get a rise out of my mother who was predictably horrified every time. Snickering ensued amongst the rest of us. Every time.

My grandfather – Opa – was a talker. A rabid card player. And so was I.

He did not offer endless pieces of advice…but a few come to mind:


The Ticket

I was 21 and had just started seriously dating the man I eventually married 3 years later. I was home that March on my college spring break…and spent a weekend visiting Opa and Oma. As we shared a booth waiting for pizzas at a local restaurant, he sat directly across from me. Oma was on my right. The conversation shifted from his questions about my nutrition classes…to questions about my romantic boyfriend. Who had sent a dozen yellow roses. To me. At their house…FTD!

What does he do? He’s a musician…
Uh, huh…?  He’s going to be a music teacher when he graduates this year.

Okay that’s good. Opa’s expression at this point relaxed somewhat, but remained neutral. I suspected he was hoping I was in love with someone who would earn lots of money. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen. Never mind what my career would bring…but I was a year away from graduation at that point.

And then he got to it…
Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward. Looked straight at me, his glasses sliding down his nose.

His blue eyes bored into mine.

Honey.
Remember This.
Wait For The Ticket.

Immediately Oma kicked him under the table. Muttered his name in a warning.

Waiting for my reply, he repeated:

Wait For The Ticket.

Never breaking his gaze. Uncharacteristically serious.
I nodded. Not really embarrassed, I kept my reaction as noncommittal as possible.
He didn’t want me to repeat his history.


Breastfeeding Is Best

Opa was beyond excited at the prospect of becoming a great grandfather. When I was expecting my first child, he would check in with me every so often to ask about my health. And plans for the baby. Including what the baby’s diet would be. I told him I was planning to exclusively breastfeed. He was thrilled. Your Oma breastfed your mother for a year!

He was one of the first people I called when my daughter was born. His first words…after congratulating me…were:

If You Breastfeed Her For The First Year Everything Will Be Fine!

And she was.

opa & K 1983008
Opa & his great granddaughter
1983