Purple Rain

"Are those blueberries?" inquired Mr. Ginley, peering out the kitchen window.

attribution below

"I'm not sure what they are," I replied. "But they are not blueberries. Just another weed in the jungle."

But, of course, it didn't end there. The questions kept coming, and I was compelled to contact my expert on the topic (aka, my sister, Diane). I went out and took a few snaps and texted her the best one (which, sadly, wasn't good enough to use here.)

Her reply was quick. Of course, she knew what it was. 

"Pokeweed," she replied. "Critters like it. Definitely an acquired taste. Will spread if happy. Yours looks mighty happy. Could end up with purple poop."

I was momentarily puzzled by the ending, until she continued a minute later.

"Droppings, that is...the critters, not you."

And so I was not surprised when I observed purple splotches on the ground outside the back door. 

As I've said before, I'm trying to be kind to birds, bees, and bunnies. (Thankfully, "woodchuck" doesn't start with a "b".) In return, I'm getting thanked with colorful driveway markers.

Of course, there are other perks. I get to watch squirrel antics in the tree over the fence. I've seen a few monarch butterflies. And fireflies. I've heard mourning doves and cardinals. Cicadas and crickets. 

The only downside this year has been the invasion of lantern flies. I've killed hundreds of the ghastly beasts. Thankfully, with the cooler weather, they are dying out or laying low. Either way, I'm glad their numbers seem to be receding. 

Soon, I'll have to go out and start chopping away at the now-denuded blackberry bushes, the dried up weeds, and yes, the pokeweed (once the berries are finished). 

For now, I'm going to enjoy the last remnants of summer, the cooler weather, and the crickets, which are still creating a lovely evening soundtrack.

Heaven knows, I won't be ready to shovel snow anytime soon.

Photo attribution: Cbaile19, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

School Faze

In my youth, Labor Day was a time of mourning. Because the next day, we had to return to school.

Mom cut my bangs.

Who will my teacher be? Will I get lost searching for a classroom (high school). Or, once uniforms were out of the picture, will my wardrobe pass muster or will I be humiliated by my peers? Who will I sit next to on the school bus? Will that cute guy I've had a crush on since last year be in any of my classes?

To this day, I occasionally have nightmares about roaming the halls of my high school trying to find my locker, then forgetting the combination and missing class. Sometimes I find myself half-dressed, running to catch the bus. Other times, I'm trying to take a test but I can't suss out any of the answers.

These things come to mind when people talk about the carefree school days of their youth. Surely I wasn't the only child who was anxiety-ridden, worried about whether I would be able to make friends, if my teachers would be nice, or if I'd get good grades. 

Nope, "school days" and "carefree" are two phrases that definitely do not go together.

I suppose if I weren't such a misfit toy, I'd have had an easier time in school, and maybe I would have carried a few good memories into adulthood.

Mr. and I were talking about the milestone class reunion coming up in two years and whether we'd attend.

I am honestly interested in what happened to some of the kids in my class. But I really don't need to talk to them in person. A "Who's Who From the Class of 1977" would be nice.

All the info, none of the social interaction. 

What I call a win-win.

Sailing on the Ruby Yacht of Omar Khayyam

Long before there was South Park, Rocky and Bullwinkle ruled the airwaves with their unique blend of bad puns, satire, and general hilarity. 

Kids loved the show for the goofy gags and silly but engaging plots. Adults enjoyed the sly references to current and past events and the clever wordplay that went over the heads of most children.

The cool thing is, Rocky and Bullwinkle never get old. Watching them today, I still giggle when the faux college football team Wossamotta U takes on Watchmakers Technical Institute (aka "Tick Tock Tech"). 

If you want to give yourself a chuckle, google "Ruby Yacht of Omar Khayyam." The AI assistant says, "The phrase 'ruby yacht of Omar Khayyam' is a reference to the Rubaiyat, a collection of Persian quatrains (four-line poems) translated by Edward FitzGerald in 1859. The phrase originates from a famous line in the Rubaiyat that reads, 'With old Khayyam the ruby vintage drink' and became widely known for its pun in the animated television show Rocky and Bullwinkle." 

Somewhere there's an ancient Persian either spinning in their grave or enjoying the word play.

But I digress.

Part of what makes Rocky and Bullwinkle topical is that they got into hot water with governments near and far with their political satire. It may have been wrapped up in a kids' cartoon, but there was no mistaking the digs at Russian leaders, the U.S. government, and other prominent figures of the time. Although it often targeted the Cold War, I'm sure I'm not the only one who can see the resemblance between Fearless Leader and our current dictator-in-chief.

And, lest we forget, the ensemble cast wasn't too shabby, either. Peabody & Sherman, Fractured Fairy Tales, Aesop and Son, and Dudley Do-Right, to name a few. 

Hokey smokes! I think it's a good time to re-watch the show that created so much silliness and static on the airwaves. 

"Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat." 

"Again?"

Fun Facts: The middle initial "J." for both characters is a sneaky homage to their creator, "Jay" Ward. And Bullwinkle was named for a Ford dealership in Oakland, California. (The writers thought the name sounded funny.)

Mellowing Out

The local rag expanded the number of advice columns it covers, so now I'm able to read about lots of other people's problems.

The album cover

Just the other day, I was reading about a woman who lamented the fact that her boyfriend went out one or two nights a week to spend time with the guys. Her reaction was to whine and complain to him (and the columnist). 

"Is she nuts?," was my first thought. Several hours of having the house to myself sounded like a little slice of heaven.

Now, don't look into this too deeply. Mr. and I are not having serious problems or anything. I just enjoy my own company. Maybe it's working from home and being around each other 24/7, but I relish time to myself.

Yesterday, for example, I dropped Mr. Ginley off at the Rapid station. He went downtown to do some research at the library. For most of that time, I was working, but when my day was done, I was able to squeeze out an hour or so of me-time.

So, what kind of hell does this alter cocker raise when left to her own devices?

I got out an album. An LP. The thing that spins around on a turntable and plays music. 

Well, y'all know I'm a relic from another time, and yes, I still have a turntable that works. Mr. and I share some music, but much of what I like is beyond his tolerance.

It was serendipity. I reached into my collection (yes, I still have a record collection, how 1970s) and pulled out an LP at random.

It was Donovan, a concert album, recorded in Anaheim, California, that I listened to frequently back in the day. There wasn't a copyright date on the cover or the record itself, but I discovered it was from 1968. Obviously, I bought it MUCH later than that. (Just to clarify.)

For any youngsters reading this, Donovan was a hippie-dippy artist who went through a lot of genres, and who continues to record music (as recently as 2022). The Scottish musician started off with folk (he was smitten by Bob Dylan's music), experimented with jazz and pop, and did the whole psychedelic scene for awhile.

The album I played had an interesting combination of each type. Some of you may remember "Mellow Yellow," but "Sunshine Superman," a 1966 chart topper, is conspicuously absent. As is "Hurdy Gurdy Man." 

Donovan turned 79 this year. Yikes, we're getting awfully old. (By "we" I mean "he," and come to think of it, 79 isn't all that aged. There are so many rockers in their 80s now.)

Winding my way back to my original theme...yes, I enjoyed listening to Donovan the way it was originally intended. My albums, by and large, are in very good condition. I've taken care of them over the years, and they've been played only on my original Philips turntable. (Thanks Gary and Tokyo Shapiro.) 

I imagine a lot of you have checked out by now. If you're still here, I invite you to pull out some old tunes from past (distant or recent), open the windows, and give it a blast.

You won't be sorry.

Backward Glance

Mr. Ginley has been spending a lot of time on YouTube lately, and one of the things he really enjoys is tripping down memory lane.

Having a snort with Jesus

There are several folks who've put together nostalgic images and made a slide show out of them. They have goofy captions like, "Lovin' the groovy summer 70s vibes with friends."

Some are clearly from a different era other than the 1970s, some are AI generated, and others are obviously ads from that era. But most seem to be authentic, featuring blurred photos and average-looking youngsters having the time of their lives.

"Would you go back to the 70s if you could?" Mr. Ginley has asked me.

What I remember of that decade was how poor my social skills were. I was awkward and silent, and sat in the back of the classroom whenever I could, avoiding eye contact with the teacher so I wouldn't be called on to participate in class. 

As for summers in high school, I remember plenty of boredom, hot afternoons, and walking up to the library or McDonald's or the shopping center just to pass the time. Sitting in my room, burning candles, listening to albums on my headphones, and being sad.

I had one friend in junior high school, Carolyn, who I spent a fair amount of time with. We walked to school together and played ping pong in her basement in the summer. In high school, I hung out with Linda, swimming in her pool, sitting on her front porch, and ogling any guys of the appropriate age and body build. (Oh, Richie Pohana, you were soooo hot.)

The summer before my senior year, I worked in the print shop in high school and hung out with Peggy, who was two years older than me. That was my wild child period. 

Considering Mr. Ginley's question, I answered, "No, I wouldn't want to go back. I mean, sure, I'd love to have my 1970s body back, but that's about it. I wasn't a fully formed person, I thought getting married was the big goal in life, and I was mostly lost."

He landed on another video, this one a Beatles concert from 1964 in Washington, DC. I don't know what made me tear up watching the Fab Four sing. Young lads in their 20s, taking the world by storm and having a ball. Shadows of the past. 

Admittedly, I would love to go back just for a bit, and experience them again the first time around. 

But the 70s? Not so much.

Living the Monochronic Life

Normally, I would not put much credence in a label that had been created by some random personality pundit. But perhaps I need to rethink my position.

Bunny!*

Permit me to clarify. 

I get the New York Times newsletter every day. On the weekends, they take a break from the psychotic mayhem in our nation's capital to focus on more personal topics. Today, the writer referenced an article by Emily Laber-Warren, who has conveniently divided our society into two groups and labeled them "monochronic" and "polychronic."

This is where the eyerolling would typically begin, but today I put on my magnanimous hat and decided to bully through the piece.

Those who are piss-poor at multi-tasking have earned the label of "monochronic." They (aka "me") prioritize obligations over relationships. In other words, "I'm working on this piece for work, and if you interrupt me, I'm going to botch it up." My deep-seated modus operandi is that I need to get my work done first, then I can carpe diem. I can't enjoy myself unless all the chores are done. 

In my defense, and with Mr. Ginley's prodding, I've been working to change this. While I still put tasks first, I take breaks during the day to listen to birdsong, admire the random bloom of wildflowers in my backyard (trying not to think about neglected yard work), and sip my coffee mindfully instead of gulping it down out of habit. The trick is to walk away from work for a few minutes and take notice of the big, wide world out there without thinking about work AT ALL.

Polychronic folks give priority to relationships and experiences that don't coincide with schedules. These people are good at multitasking and shifting things to accommodate others. While Mr. Ginley is very focused when he's working on something, he's also able to postpone chores in favor of pop-up outings. So when I come down from my office and suggest a walk to the library or lunch in the park, he's unlikely to say, "I can't, I have laundry to do." 

Not that it's an excuse for my being monochronic (well, okay, it is), but I believe my tendency to single-minded pursuits was ingrained in my childhood. My Mom was of the stay-at-home variety in my tender years, and she did not deviate from her schedule. There was a day for laundry, one for ironing, two for cleaning (with each day having specific tasks), one for grocery shopping, etc. Dinner was on the table the same time daily. 

Although his mother was the same way, Mr. did not come away with the same work ethic. Sure, when he was working in an office, he was there on time and worked like the dickens. But at home, if it came down to a choice between chores and fun stuff, there's no question which would win most of the time. 

This was beautifully illustrated early in our relationship, shortly after he moved to Virginia to be with me.

I vividly recall how I put on old clothes and gathered a mop, bucket, and other cleaning supplies one Saturday morning.

"What are you doing?" Mr. inquired.

"Cleaning the apartment," I replied, stating the obvious.

"Like hell you are. We're going to catch the Metro and do something fun."

And thus it was that housecleaning was effectively put on mute unless it was too hot/wet/snowy to leave the apartment or we were having someone over.

If and when I'm able to retire, perhaps my priorities will shift, and I'll be more flexible. In the meantime, I'll work on carving out time here and there to enjoy my days and not just slogging through them.

Oh look, there's a bunny in my yard! Gotta go!

*My photo didn't come out this nice, so I leaned on Wikipedia. Attribution: Dori at English Wikipedia, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

So Long, Tom

I guess you can't complain if you make it to the ripe old age of 97, but I gotta say, the world is a sadder place without Tom Lehrer in it.

public domain photo

Lehrer passed away July 26th. But oh, what a legacy he left behind. If you're not familiar with his work, permit me to enlighten you. 

Tom Lehrer was a brilliant satirist with a wicked sense of humor who wrote laser-sharp lyrics and catchy music to dozens of ditties. His largest body of work was penned in the 1950s. Many of his songs remain topical today.

Although his heritage was Jewish, according to Wikipedia, Lehrer and his family "loosely practiced Christianity," attending Sunday school and celebrating Christmas. This no doubt helped him compose the classic, "The Vatican Rag," which was also one that Harry knew all the words to. He and I would sometimes sing it together in his office: 

First you get down on your knees,

Fiddle with your rosaries, 

Bow your head with great respect 

And genuflect, genuflect genuflect.

(If there's a heaven, I hope Tom and Harry are singing it together.)

Lehrer did the table of elements to the tune of Gilbert & Sullivan's Major-General's Song from The Pirates of Penzance. (Could it have been a foreshadowing of his career as a professor after he moved on from his musical appearances?)

Then there's my personal favorite, National Brotherhood Week, which is as topical today as it was when he wrote it:

Oh the rich folks hate the poor folks

And the poor folks hate the rich folks

All of my folks hate all of your folks

It's American as apple pie

But during National Brotherhood Week

It's National Everyone-smile-at-one-another-hood Week. 

Be nice to people who

Are inferior to you.

Then there's the chilling, "Who's Next?" in which Lehrer sings about a popular cold war topic, the atomic bomb:

First we got the bomb and that was good, 

'Cause we love peace and motherhood. 

Then Russia got the bomb, but that's O.K., 

'Cause the balance of power's maintained that way. 

Who's next?

He then goes on to list an assortment of other possible countries with hopes of acquiring one.

How cool was Tom Lehrer? He claims to have invented the Jello shot during his stint in the army in the 1950s. He wrote songs for the PBS children's show, The Electric Company. And in 2020, he relinquished the rights to all his songs. They're currently in the public domain, where anyone can perform them without paying royalties. (He never married or had children, so no squabbles there.)

Many celebrities have credited Lehrer with inspiring their work. Among them are "Weird Al" Yankovic (no surprise there) and Steely Dan. Daniel Radcliffe is also a fan – he performed The Elements song on Graham Norton's show, and as a result, scored the title role in the "Weird Al" movie.

Sadly, there are not a lot of people who remember Tom Lehrer, and I'm not sure future generations will get his dark sarcastic wit.

More's the pity.