When I was seven our choir was selected for the State championships at a place called Hona Lea.
We had rehearsed a really cool song to sing, by a guy named John Lennon. It was called “Let It Be.” Two days before the trials the principal ran in and said that “Mother Mary comes to me” meant marijuana, and we were not allowed to sing it.
We rehearsed Panis Angelicus and came out in second place. A teeny school in a big state. Bravo! I remembered the exact spot that I stood and sat there whenever I could, audience or none, as that was my memory and my family made a home there.
I was a kid in the 60’s and had never heard of marijuana or Mary Jane or anything. I could have sung John Lennon’s Let It Be until the cows came home. Administration scared us into being afraid of music.
Similar was Puff (The Magic Dragon) by Peter Yarrow and Leonard Lipton as sung by Peter, Paul and Mary. I thought John Lennon had a poem to sing, just as did PPM. They were about life stories, and I loved the dragon. They were not about drugs, at least to me.
This admistrivia taught me about drugs very young, something I would have never known if adults hadn’t put their skinny tie and suit stamp on something we were unable to read or sing. No, I never did drugs (Ok I inhaled once or twice late in college but didn’t like it so demurred) but have always cherished the First Amendment.
Rebellion is in my nature. Administrivia stunting my growth made it come along later in life. If there is a cause I believe in, I’ll take it. I got a crosswalk in our neighborhood with curb cuts between a bad relationship with city and county on either side of the street. No-one stops at it. It took six months. Every year I have to call and have them paint the lines.
Puff was a magic dragon to me, a phantasm that only ephemeral creatures can inhabit, along with unicorns and perhaps many others such as elf lords and Hobbits. I took up guitar at age 50 and will do so again. Puff was probably the fifth song I ever learned. Now I get a kick from cooking veg popsicles for teething babies (not mine) and their mothers and singing a song. I’m certain Ms. M will not mind my bad guitar, guitar good, my bad chords, singing Puff to her six month-old. Luckily baby G loves my guitar and voice. Score one for Aunt Dee! Dee
And he still can’t stop his leg. My parents took us to see him in the early 70’s when he was doing much of his fifties stuff. They were stories of being a kid. The kid who dropped the flag and kissed the tassels, the homogenized milk where he saw the word “homo” and wondered what was going on.
Mr. Klein, comic, actor, rocked my world when I was still a kid, in Washington D.C. He was opening for Ms. “Delta Dawn” and I could google her name but he was all I remember. We got an album and my sister and l laughed with him for years.
We must have missed many “adult” references at the time but parents telling kids when they could swim? Thirty minutes. Jello. Ten minutes. Franks and beans, you’re going down to Davey Jones’ locker. Those are his thoughts, not his words.
He taught me, along with Dad, that I could be the smart kid. Later in life I could write legislation that affected 34 million people. As I aged I could write about experiences, food and opinions. I no longer sat in the back of the class being shy. Now I’ve a blog and let my opinions be known, at least when my husband can get my new computer. monitor, printer and keyboard to play well together in the sandbox. I take care of everything else. He’s a physicist/software engineer so takes care of electronics.
Thank you, Mr. Klein, for opening my eyes to opportunities. To Dad for opening my mind to simple things like learning to lick an ice cream cone, fair play with neighbors in two-base baseball where we carried babies and they purposely fumbled the ball, he died over the holidays. He introduced me to the wild wacky world of yours and I am able to tell stories. Cheers! Dee
I know, nothing is fair. Love and life, war, strife. Having a meal or not being able to find one.
We are about to choose the leader of the nation based on political attacks.
I have made my choice. Bob Newhart will be President. VP will be Whoopie Goldberg as I always wanted a VP named Whoopie. Sorry, VP Goldberg as you’ll have to go to a lot of funerals.
Secretary of State is Robert Klein. UN Ambassador is Meryl Streep as she speaks all the languages and is a consummate actor.
Chief of staff is up for grabs. Go for it. Dee
ps. It’s not up for grabs, Chief of Staff is Bob Dylan. Joan Baez is head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff of the military.
pps Jane Fonda is head of the Afghanistan project but that’s CIA so you know, and whoops, did I say CIA?
ppps Jimmy Buffett is head of the Manatee Program, sorry CIA, I blew it again. I’ll stop now. No, I can’t.
Cheech and Chong are doing everything that has anything to do with TSA.
The people who become famous for becoming famous, the Kardashians, are in charge of busting anyone who wants to have tv shows as bad as their shows. They are the new J Edgar Hoover. OK I’ll ‘splain it to you, it’s the FBI. You’re in charge of reality TV shows.
Who is the CIA? Can you help me with this? It is anyone who went to prep school, any Ivy League school. Secret societies. All I can guess is that you play tennis and golf because you’ve never worked a day in your life, just sail to get away from the life you do not live. D