Category: Joy

Song Lyric Sunday 8/28/16

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THIS WEEK, Our theme for Song Lyric Sunday is to post a song about sex.  It can be as subtle or as blatant as you’d like, just make sure to post warnings just in case there are sensitive eyes out there.

I knew immediately which song because for YEARS, I had to sit in the audience and watch my sexy guy and his band play a cover of this song. He was never finished working until 1:45 AM and by the time we finally got home at 3 or so, we were usually too tired to…uh, you know. So I worked out my “energy” when they played the song “Rebel Yell”. (We met in Natchez, Mississippi in high school so, even though the words are weird, this song seemed appropriate.)

As soon as the band started this song, James would come down off the stage, base guitar and all, and summon me to the dance floor to rock out with him while they played. It was delightfully embarrassing and all the girls thought it was cool that I got to dance with a Band Member. Hopefully, we weren’t too obscene in our public substitute for sex!

As for the “warnings for sensitive eyes out there”, EVERYONE, sensitive eyes or not, needs to prepare themselves visually for any Billy Idol video. What in the world were we thinking back then!!?

As usual, this song best if the volume is pumped up!!

 

Rebel Yell by Billy Idol

Lyrics by Google Play

Last night a little dancer came dancin’ to my door
Last night a little angel Came pumpin cross my floor
She said “Come on baby I got a license for love
And if it expires pray help from above”

In the midnight hour she cried more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
In the midnight hour babe more, more, more
With a rebel yell more, more, more
More, more, more

She don’t like slavery, she won’t sit and beg
But when I’m tired and lonely she sees me to bed
What set you free and brought you to be me babe
What set you free I need you hear by me
Because

In the midnight hour she cried more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
In the midnight hour babe more, more, more
With a rebel yell more, more, more

He lives in his own heaven
Collects it to go from the seven eleven
Well he’s out all night to collect a fare
Just so long, just so long it don’t mess up his hair

I walked the ward with you, babe
A thousand miles with you
I dried your tears of pain, babe
A million times for you

I’d sell my soul for you babe
For money to burn with you
I’d give you all, and have none, babe
Just, just, justa, justa to have you here by me
Because

In the midnight hour she cried more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
In the midnight hour babe more, more, more
With a rebel yell she cried more, more, more
More, more, more

Oh yeah little baby
She want more
More, more, more, more, more

Oh yeah little baby
She want more
More, more, more, more

Written by Billy Idol, Steve Stevens, William Broad • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc
PS Just so you don’t judge too harshly, these Gigs would always end with a slow song. Like
“Oh Darlin’ “, by the Beatles, so that I could go up on stage and wrap my arms around James from behind…and dance/sway with him as he played. 

Warning! You may have to be a cat lover to appreciate this one…

We are a two cat household. That’s it. Just 2 cats. No dogs. No fish. No birds. And they have to be indoor cats as we are inundated in our blissfully country-like neighborhood, with kitty cat predators. Mostly urban coyotes, but also eagles and owls! (Well, I do have those bugs, but seriously, we are a TWO CAT house.)

Until last summer when Lucy delightfully intruded into our lives.

I won’t tell you the whole story of each cat…that could be a whole coffee table book…just a tidbit about each.

There’s the King, 16 year old “Zorro, the Grey Blade”, the Sean Connery of cats, named for his slashing ability! (He is my animal Soul Mate.)

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Next comes “Phineas, the terrorist”, named for his ability to wreak havoc with anything susceptible to gravity or that involves water! I have not had a vase of flowers for six years now. Nothing is safe really; plants, art hanging on the walls, the toilet, and anything my hands touch. This keyboard I’m using is his bed! (I just know he knows I am allergic to him!)

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And last, along comes Lucy, the princess. We found her in the woodpile at 4 weeks old and there was just no getting rid of her!

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(read her story at  https://chosenperspectives.com/2016/01/08/warning-cuteness-overload/ )

I asked my grandsons to come up with a powerful girl-name for this kitten. I knew she’d need to be strong with two such feisty (and alpha) older brother cats. The boys had seen previews for the movie “Lucy” (Scarlett Johansson) so that’s the name they chose.

But here’s the deal, Lucy has not turned out to be super-hero material. She is tiny, delicate, gentle and both plays with and gives clawless affection. I’m not saying she is perfect. She has destroyed her share of plants and she tends to eat things she shouldn’t (camera strap, phone cord, etc.) but man is she ever sweet. And I have to say, polite. You only have to tell her “no” about something once or twice and she remembers.

Lucy, resisting the beads and buttons I make jewelry with.

When Lucy and Zorro met it was mutual Love at first Sight.

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I know it’s probably some “honor the alpha” behavior but she loves to clean the big cat’s ears.

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She has never been afraid of him and treats him like her personal teddy bear.

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So all that is the background to tell you what I witnessed last night.

We’re in bed, our two-cat family (with three cats) gathered around with us as usual. Lucy spots her very favorite toy (or what’s left of it after playing it to pieces) but it is underneath Zorro, who is asleep. She wants that toy…bad. She quietly circles the Big “Z” but can’t figure out how to get her toy without disturbing him. So here’s what she does.

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I’m not kidding. She ever so gently, lays her paw on his head, and then taps, twice. “Uh, excuse me but you are on my toy?” 

Zorro is still old cat-snoring and doesn’t budge. So Lucy does this.

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This time she holds her paw there for maybe 20 seconds, taps his head a couple more times, and then holds her paw there again for…like forever.

She finally gives up and quietly assumes a waiting position next to Zorro and her toy.

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Can you see the piece of clear plastic cord that Zorro’s body has anchored underneath him?

Don’t give me that whole Anthropomorphism argument. I know what I saw.

And if you had been there the day that both litter boxes had accidentally been blocked from the cats’ access, so one of them left a single pristine turd right on James’ side of the bed (he is the cat box maintainer), you’d be a believer too!

Morning from ChosenPerspectives

Morning

Our task this week from the WordPress Photo Challenge was to post photographs showing Morning. I knew my ongoing favorite Morning place right away. Once a year we get to house, farm and animal sit for my “sister” and her husband who live in arguably the most beautiful place on the planet. Not that I have been to them all, but a visit to Friday Harbor, in the San Juan Islands will definitely have it competing for first place with your other top favorites!

We immerse ourselves in the non-tourist version of the Island lifestyle and spend our time writing, visiting various beaches, watching for whales, or gathering the day’s food from the garden.

The above shots are walking from the front door (top picture) around to side overlooking the pond.

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The deck where we sit to watch the sunrise every morning…

This is what we see looking out from our perfect spot on the porch.

and this……….

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We take care of the animals and water the Wild Bird Bamboo farm   ( http://www.wildbirdbamboo.com/ )

as well as vegetable and flower gardens so lush and gorgeous, they are on an international Garden Tour!

 

 

MORNING Heaven!

Agnostic Angels

This is a love letter to my Dad, and a Thank You to the amazing, brave pilots who make up the Blue Angels.

It’s Seafair in Seattle and the Blue Angels are here!!!

When I was growing up, Angels were a surprising but recurring theme with my fairly agnostic father. He was one of the least religious and more unconsciously spiritual people I have ever known. Angels seemed to be everywhere in the things he did, where he took us and in what he showed us.

From San Diego, where we grew up, we went on many trips north to Los Angeles, the “City of Angels”, to ride the “Angels Flight”.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Angels_Flight

He told us many stories of the “Guardian Angels” he had as a kid who helped him survive his completely unsupervised childhood. Apparently he had many bizarre accidents and adventures…like tumbling off a mountain and landing halfway down on the only possible 11 inch ledge that could break his death-fall.

When he died, it was really no surprise that we received gracious help from the Hell’s Angel’s on the day of his Memorial.

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We bungee-corded my Dad’s ashes to the back of his lifelong Dream-Harley. (He didn’t get it until he was in his eighties.) Our caravan of family cars followed Lee on the bike out into the mountains East of San Diego to my Dad’s favorite little town called Julian. We celebrated his life and when we got ready to leave, I spotted a couple of real Harley riders, mounting up. I told them my Dad’s story, and pointed out the box of ashes on the back of my Dad’s bright red, flame-painted Sportster (with matching helmet). Much to my delight (and the chagrin of some of my religious relatives) we were escorted down the mountain by the two guys I talked to AND their friends. FIFTY Hells Angels followed my Dad (and us) back down that mountain, lights on, in two perfect parallel lines!

The Blue Angels entered my life very young!

My favorite of the Angel Activities as a kid was this. My little sisters were too young, so Dad would take just me to Miramar Naval Air Base early on Sunday mornings, to watch the Blue Angels practice their soon to become famous stunts. He was very proud of being able to get on the Base and to show off what he claimed to be the planes that “he had built”. (My Dad was an aeronautical engineer who moved from Kansas to San Diego to work in his industry.) I would ride on his shoulders for the “show” and he would duck down when they flew over, as if they were actually flying low enough to be dangerous to this lone man with a squealing little girl on his shoulders. What an absolute thrill it was and my memories to this day are so clear, so physical!

Though I struggled sometimes with the dichotomy of a Hippie Peacenik Flowerchild being in love with fighter pilot jets, I have watched The Blue Angels through so many stages of my life. In my 20’s and 30’s, before the trees grew up around us, the huge deck off my house was the favorite viewing place of all the single Mom’s in the neighborhood. We’d put on our bikini’s and pose on the deck, debating the safety of doing that…as if the pilots were actually going to look down at us each time they flew over! Then, there were the years I worked lunches in a fancy restaurant in the tallest building in Bellevue…sharing the panoramic viewing experience with my wealthy customers. One of my favorite memories was when my small son and I watched them while we were zipping around Lake Washington on a friend’s Jet Ski right under them. What a high that was!!

Famous Move

And for almost 40 of these years, we kept the Blue Angels alive in our conversations during the rest of year. My best friend’s father, Colonel Louis Ford, was like a second Dad to me. He was a fighter pilot in 3 wars. And though he was respectful of the “Angels”, he clearly had a bias! Made for some lively discussions, Air Force vs Navy pilots, between him and my Dad, who built jets for the Navy! Colonel Ford taught me about the concepts of Hangar Flying (the time spent in the hangar, processing mistakes and accidents) as well as “The Hole in the Sky” (an opening in the clouds) that a pilot sometimes had to find in order to survive.

Boys got me autographs on my Blue Angel’s birthday t-shirt!

Now, I have 2 Grandsons, 9 and 11, and their Mom and my son have taken them to see the Blue Angels every year of their lives. This has been a great setting to share stories of my Dad, the wonderful Great Grandfather they never got to meet, a man who had a life filled with “Angels” and he passed them all onto us….

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For many years I went by myself to a tiny (and progressively less secret) park on Mercer Island shore, the Thursday and Friday prior to the big Seafair Air Show. On Thursday, from this little park on the water, you can watch the scouting the Blue Angels do each year to get the lay of the land. And on Fridays, you can watch a full rehearsal of the big show they will perform on Saturday and Sunday. You can’t be at this little park for the actual show as it becomes an emergency Aid Station on those days.

My ritual was always to go there early, get settled and then call my Dad….so I could be on the cell phone with him as the Angels arrived. That first fly over is an indescribable thrill! In that park, they fly in low and from behind you. Their approach is muted by the hillside and thick trees, almost silent until suddenly, they thunder over your head. It is kind of like walking up the path next to the massive, rolling Niagara Falls; totally quiet until you get past a certain point and then instantly it becomes a deafening roar of falling water.

Anyway, I would hold the phone up in the air and scream at the top of my lungs as my Dad’s Angels buzzed our shared location.

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No matter when or where I see them, I am instantly five years old again, sitting way up high on my Daddy’s shoulders when those beautiful Blue Angels scream by.

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my only shot this year from my deck. they fly directly over me. could not get camera working in time

I sure hope Dad witnessed that generous and spontaneous Hell’s Angel Memorial procession, and that he sees us watching the Blue Angels every year, from somewhere up there through the “hole in the sky”.

Heaven Bound

 

 

More Curves from ChosenPerspectives

Curve

Driving from Spokane to Seattle yesterday, the sky put on a dramatic show for most of the trip! Stunning. With equipment other than my phone (Samsung Galaxy S4) and my trusty little Nikon, I could have had some amazing photos.

Oh, and if I had not been driving 70 MPH!

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Along with the Sun Halo were these cloud rainbows! I have never seen anything like this before!

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It was like the Northern Lights in the middle of the day!!

I really must wash my windshield!

Happy Father’s Day to my Son

 

The Reward

“You can’t trust kids; they’ll grow up while your back is turned.”    Teresa Bloomingdale
Ever witness something so beautiful, it hurts. Ever come across a scene that freezes you in your tracks and makes you wish fervently that you had a camera with you, or the talent of a poet so you could really convey what you are seeing to others.

Ever see or hear something you are desperate to share with others only to realize that it might actually be happening just for you.

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Ever feel that tidal wave of gratitude when you realize you are finally being rewarded for your endless, sometimes heartbreaking work all those years as a parent?

I have.

After my precious two year old grandson, JuJu, had been terribly sick for days, his parents asked me if I could come and sit with him while they went to an afternoon movie for a much needed break.

I spit out an unqualified YES before they finished verbalizing the request.

My grandson Julius and I are seriously bonded. I would do anything for him. I am fueled by a shameless, unconditional love over which I am completely powerless. I consider my life exceptional in the sheer number of opportunities I have been given to love deeply but no one could have prepared me for the quality and quantity of this affection and protection I feel toward him.

 

I am not that grandparent who enjoys spoiling the grand kids but am relieved to send them home. (This might be a little bit about being a mom who had to raise a son alone, riddled with guilt while working three jobs and going to school, but getting a second chance to “do it right” with her grandsons.)

Because of proximity, I have been given the profound honor of participating in the lives of my grandsons daily. Like an old-fashioned extended family tradition, (at the time of this writing) they live directly across the street.

Reactions to our family’s living circumstance range from dismay at the imagined expectation of responsibility, to blatant and petulant jealousy at my fortunate nearness to my grandchildren….this latter being primarily (and naturally) from Julius and Luca’s other grandparents.

For us, it just plain works. We all seem to love it and benefit from it. I was raised myself, without any extended family in the picture, but in what might be described as the forerunner to the 1960’s commune type of life. Created Family. My Mom adopted stray kids right and left like others adopt cats.  And, after some of my teens and early twenties were spent in actual communes, I continued a form of that tradition with my son, always sharing our uniquely configured house, with at least two or three people, often other single parents struggling to raise children of various ages. Over the years, we would start out calling them “renters” but before long each new group became like family.

I have always believed “It takes a Village”….

Anyway, on this particular day, an extremely ill JuJu had awakened from his third or fourth nap of the day, but this time he was pulled from the relief of sleep because he had one of those sick-kid, diarrhea blowouts that required not only a diaper change but an entire load of laundry to clean up. After taking him into the shower to remove his clothes and to, in essence, hose him down, Michael had dressed Julius in fresh PJs and was drying his hair with a towel. Julius had been the kind of sick that has you achy all over, writhing and stretching for some kind, any kind of relief. Poor baby had not been able to lie still or stop whimpering for days, except during his frequent, fevered naps.

So, unnoticed by either of them I enter the bedroom and see the following scene. Michael and Julius are on the bed with Juju’s tiny limp legs draped over his father’s so that they are two overlapping bodies. This Dad is leaning close to his boy and whispering something over and over that I can’t make out. All the while Dad is ever so slowly and gently rubbing, fluffing and massaging Julius’s long and curly wet hair with a big fluffy towel. He does this well after JuJu’s hair is dry. It is obvious that Michael is continuing because Julius is finally quiet, so relaxed, completely mesmerized by this gentle, nurturing gesture from his “DaDa”.

Julius, already a gorgeous child, has the lovely, peaceful face of an angel. He never takes his eyes from his Daddy’s.

I can remember the exact sensation of a dangerously hot-faced little boy’s cheek next to my own. I know, in the muscle-memory of my arms, if I were to pick up this tiny boy right now he would be a noodle…like sleeping-baby dead weight. He is so tranquil and blissfully pain free for the first time in days.

This father/son love scene continues for a very, very long time…..until Julius drifts off to sleep again. I take over so his Mom and Dad can get out for a bit. It’s been a long week.

Skip ahead to later that evening. I go back across the street to check on Michael and the patient. Juju’s fever has broken and he is on the mend.

As I am leaving, though I don’t want to intrude or embarrass my son, I tell him what I saw earlier in the day. I tell him how beautiful it was to spy on such profound father/son love. I apologize to him for my part in his never having had a father to do this for him when he was a child. I thank Michael for being the Dad I always knew he would be but that no one else would have ever believed.

He gently took me by the shoulders, looked into my eyes and said (with that slightly impatient tone of his that says duhhh), “Mom. I’m just doing for my boy exactly what you used to do for me.”

wow.

safe nap

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(excerpt from a chapter of my book)

*A minor disclaimer about the top photo. Those are not scars on Michael’s face or holes in his t-shirt. My scanner was down so I had to photograph an old photo that was wrinkled and full of pinholes.