music – Page 2 – Life In A Word

Horses on Circular Courses

In 1972, Billy Preston topped the Billboard Hot 100 chart with the catchy “Will It Go Round In Circles”. A year later, The Spinners spent five weeks at #1 on Billboard’s R&B chart with “I’ll Be Around”. More recently, Kacey Musgraves’ debut single “Merry Go ‘Round” won the Grammy Award for Best Country Song. All of which is to say, if I’m asked to celebrate “National Carousel Day” I have a great choice of theme songs for the occasion… played on endless loop, of course.

National Merry-Go-Round Day (I prefer “Carousel”) was this past July 25th, as it has been every year since 2014. Did you skip it like I did? The holiday claims to “celebrate the carousel’s history and joy, particularly marking the first U.S. patent by William Schneider in 1871.” And to celebrate, we’re meant to visit a local carousel, go for a spin, and post pictures of ourselves doing so online. So we drop everything we’re doing on July 25th and climb on a wooden horse? National M-G-R Day doesn’t even rate as a Hallmark holiday (and don’t waste your time trying to find a card to prove me wrong).

Contrary to my opinion about M-G-R Day, I think carousels are charming and a bit of innocent fun (other than those brass rings, which we’ll get to in a second). Carousels inspired memorable scenes in Mary Poppins and Big. Carousel was the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical that Time magazine deemed “the best of the 20th century”. The “Carousel of Progress” was (and still is) one of the more unique attractions at Disneyland. And of course, carousels led to those pipe and metal spinners we all played on at the park when we were kids.

Carousel is derived from the French word for “little battle”, which hints at why we’re riding them at all today. In 17th century Europe, equestrian tournaments included “ring jousting”, where the rider attempts to spear a ring-on-a-string with his joust as he flies by. To practice this sport without wearing out the horses, a clever soul invented the carousel, complete with wooden horses on poles and a real horse to pull the device in circles. Eventually carousels made their way into carnivals, and then to the prominent locations where you find them today.

Now you also understand why early carousels had ring dispensers. They were a nod to ring jousting! The dispensers were filled with iron rings along with a few brass ones. If you were lucky enough to ride an outside horse and grab a brass ring (which is harder than it sounds as your horse goes up and down), you could exchange the ring for a prize or another loop on the carousel. For good reasons – safety being one – ring dispensers have been removed from most carousels today.

The people who came up with National M-G-R Day should’ve probably gone with “International”, because many of the world’s most distinguished carousels spin outside of the United States. The Carousel El Dorado in Tokyo, Japan, built in 1907, is the oldest amusement park ride still in operation in the country. The Lakeside Park Carousel in Ontario, Canada (1905) includes a self-playing organ that uses rolled sheets of music, rewinding one while playing the next. The Letná Carousel in Prague, Czechia (1892!) is one of the oldest in Europe, remodeled in 2022 but still housed in its original wooden pavilion.

America has its share of prominent “gallopers” as well. The Looff Carousel in Santa Cruz, CA is one of the few remaining with a ring dispenser, and entertains with the music of three organs. The Over-The-Jumps Carousel in Little Rock, AR (1924) simulates the natural movement of a horse instead of just going up and down on a pole. And the Flying Horse Carousel in Westerly, Rhode Island (1876!) is exactly as advertised. The horses are attached to the center spindle instead of the wooden platform, creating a better sensation of flying through the air.

Okay, I have a confession. I had the perfect opportunity to celebrate National M-G-R Day just days after it happened this year. My wife and I traveled to San Diego with our children and grandchildren for a beach vacation and found ourselves in Balboa Park, home of the Dorothea Laub Carousel (brass ring dispenser!) If we hadn’t already worn out the little ones on a long walk through the Japanese Friendship Garden we might’ve made it to the wooden horses. But I’m not losing sleep about it. After all, National M-G-R Day will come ’round again next year.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Shark Attack!

Our annual summer vacations in San Diego have become a little more adventurous because of an increase in shark activity off the coast of California. I enjoy body surfing, but the thought of a pair of big, hungry jaws beneath the water’s surface gets my heart a-pounding. So imagine my shock when I really did have an encounter with a baby shark. Er, make those letters capitals. I meant to say “Baby Shark”.

My adorable two-year old granddaughter is just beginning to take off with her vocabulary. She can say “Mama”, “Dada”, and even “Chop! Chop!” when she wants us to hurry up. She also says “Bayba Shawk”… constantly, because she wants an adult to play the song for the forty-thousandth time. After three weeks on repeat I can’t get the darned thing out of my head. I need brain surgery.

“Baby Shark” is the story of a little family of sharks hunting for fish. The fish get away and… that’s it. It’s not so much a story as an excuse to sing a verse about each family member: Baby, Mommy, Daddy, Grandma, and Grandpa. The first time I heard it (forty thousand time ago) I wondered, Why doesn’t Baby Shark have siblings? Where are his (her?) other grandparents? Aunts? Uncles?

Of course, it’s not really Baby Shark’s family that make the tune so addicting. It’s the “doo’s”… as in doo doo doo-doo doo-doo. You sing those six “doo’s” in every verse and that’s the part that gets into your head. Add in the accompanying up-and-down arm dance (imitating the jaws of a shark) and you somehow have a hit. More like a worldwide phenomenon.

If a children’s sing-song doesn’t get your attention, consider this. “Baby Shark” is the most-watched YouTube video of all time. I said of all time. If your guess would’ve been something by Ed Sheeran or Katy Perry or Maroon 5 you would’ve also landed in the Top Thirty, but nowhere near the top of the list. “Baby Shark” has been viewed over 16 billion times, more than twice the number as the runner-up. And that’s only for the version from South Korea’s Pingfong. The one by Cocomelon (a children’s YouTube channel) lands in twenty-third place with another four billion views.

“Baby Shark” has been around longer than you might think. It showed up somewhere in the late 1990’s in the public domain. Then Pinkfong got ahold of it, created the 2016 video with cute little Korean kids, and the rest continues to be history. Coincidentally, a lawsuit was settled just this month where an American songwriter claimed rights to “Baby Shark”. He lost, but only because the song was still in the public domain when he created his version. You can’t blame him for trying; “Baby Shark” has generated over $150M in revenue in the last ten years.

Of course, all that revenue comes from more than just a YouTube video (hence the “worldwide phenomenon”). “Baby Shark” is showing up in places and with people that seem downright ridiculous. There’s a children’s book and a television series. There’s a video game. It’s part of a tourism promotion for Singapore. It’s used by certain professional baseball players as they walk up to the plate. Or certain politicians as they walk up to the podium. Finally, it’s the subject of a Kellogg’s breakfast cereal, a berry version of Fruit Loops with little marshmallows posing as sharks. “Yum?”

My favorite use of “Baby Shark” comes out of West Palm Beach, FL. Local authorities were desperate to clear a lakeside pavilion of homeless people, so they played the song over and over on loudspeakers until everyone left (running and screaming for the hills, no doubt). If I’m inclined to run and scream myself, I can drive a couple hours north of here to see a production of Baby Shark Live, a 75-minute stage musical. I’m not inclined.

The whole time I’ve been typing this post I’ve had doo doo doo-doo doo-doo on loop in my head. If my hands and arms weren’t busy on the keyboard they’d be doing the Baby Shark Dance instead. It’s maddening, and makes me want to body surf again with hopes I’ll be eaten by a real shark. Instead, I’ll just hope I find another blog topic next week that consumes me more than “Baby Shark”. I leave you with the video. Guard your sanity.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Golden Recall

My wife and I go for massages once a month, which has turned out to be a solid therapeutic routine. As is the case with any spa, the air is diffused with pleasant scents as well as soothing instrumental music. They also overlay a soundtrack of birds, as if to place you in the out of doors. The sensations are designed to relax and they do their job; so well in fact I’d swear I was transported to the shores of a pond. More on that in a minute.

Candidly, it’s not often I notice the background music in a spa. I focus on breathing deep and keeping my eyes closed instead. But I couldn’t ignore the music when “Bring Him Home” from Les Miserables started playing. Whatever playlist the spa chose included a simple rendition of that song; just piano and violin. It was beautiful, and suddenly I was back in the Broadway theater where we saw the show years ago. I would’ve put “Bring Him Home” on “repeat” if I could have.

But we’re not talking about Les Miserables today. We’re talking about a pond. “Bring Him Home” was followed by a nameless instrumental piano piece, and again my mind began to drift. Then I heard the birds. Piano keys. Birds. And there I went… back to “On Golden Pond”.

Several instrumental movie soundtracks will reside in my brain forever. Whenever their signature melodies play I’m immediately returned to the film itself. I’m not talking about the bold, orchestral works of John Williams (think Star Wars or Jurassic Park) but rather the simpler repetitive tunes that still somehow define the story on the screen. Chariots of Fire is a good example. Cast Away is another. Leap Year was a so-so movie but the soundtrack is wonderfully catchy. And the music of A Little Romance – Diane Lane’s debut film – was so well done it won 1979’s Oscar for Best Original Score.

So you see, this is how a massage becomes a trip back to On Golden Pond, a movie from almost fifty years ago. The piano plays. The birds sing (even if they aren’t loons). And there it is, that simple poignant story playing out in front of my closed eyes as if I’d just seen the film last week.

Was I ever a fan of Jane Fonda? Not really. I remember her more for her workout videos than her movies. But On Golden Pond was the exception because she’s on screen with Henry Fonda, her father in real life and her father in the movie. The movie is about the struggles of their father-daughter relationship, which surely echoed real life. Add in Katherine Hepburn as the mother character and the bar is raised well beyond the movie itself. The story is good enough, but who from my generation wouldn’t watch Henry Fonda and Katherine Hepburn in anything together?

Henry Fonda died less than a year after the filming of On Golden Pond. Katherine Hepburn made a few more movies but this was pretty much the conclusion of her career as well. So On Golden Pond is something of a swan song for both. If you have any recollection of the film, try this: Ask Alexa for instrumental piano music. Ask Siri for a soundtrack of birds at the same time. Then close your eyes and relax. You may be transported back to a golden pond. It’s pretty cool.

Some content sourced from IMDB, the “Internet Movie Database, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

There’s Something About Mary

Now that I have young granddaughters, the songs and nursery rhymes of my own toddling days bubble up from the long forgotten frontiers of my brain. Humpty Dumpty is together again and back up on his wall. The sky is unstable if Chicken Little is to be believed. And the debate rages anew whether “pease porridge” is hot or cold (even if it is forever nine days old). The list goes on and on but none of these tiny tales holds a candle to the one bizarre question asked of Mary. So let’s ask her again, shall we?

I wouldn’t have remembered Mary were it not for the daily online puzzles of the New York Times. Two weeks ago they devoted an entire word search to the sentences of this odd nursery rhyme. Which got me to thinking, just who was Mary, why was she “contrary” (other than a convenient rhyme), and what the heck was going on in her garden?

As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for. As Google goes, be careful what you search for. Jack and Jill really did go up a hill. Old MacDonald had a farm. There’s at least one itsy bitsy spider on the water spout. But Mary and her garden? She doesn’t belong anywhere near your grandchildren.

The first interpretation of “Mary, Mary” I came across was completely sanitized from the original. It claims Mary is the Mary (as in, Jesus’ mother). Mary’s garden is the growing Catholic church. Silver bells are the same jinglers used in the church service to recognize miracles with “a joyful noise”. Cockle shells refer to faithful pilgrims, as in the badges worn by those completing the Way of St. James. And pretty maids are nuns, lined up for a life of devotion.

If we stopped right there, Mary would be heartily embraced by the rest of the kid-friendly characters in my granddaughters’ nursery rhymes. But more likely we’re singing about “Mary I”, Queen of England in the 1500’s. This Mary was no saint. In her brief five-year reign she cleansed her country of heretics… by burning hundreds of them at the stake. “Bloody Mary” – her apt nickname – somehow became a drink at the bar (which I will never order) and the subject of a child’s nursery rhyme.

Mary I was at odds with her father King Henry VIII’s agenda; hence she was “quite contrary”. Okay that’s fine, but I wish the rhyme stopped right there. Her garden was likely a reference to a graveyard. The silver bells and cockle shells describe torture devices of the time (and I won’t be using a Google search to learn more about those). The maids were innocent women lined up for execution.

This is the stuff of nursery rhymes? I’m trying to picture little girls back then, sitting around in a circle and coming up with short songs from what they see right in front of them. Like Rosie and her ring, if some interpretations are to be believed. As for Ms. Contrary, I think I’ll go with a garden similar to the one shown here. But since the origins of her rhyme continue to be debated, I’m steering my granddaughters clear of her. Instead, we’ll sing about the other Mary, the one with the little lamb.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Pride, Pomp, and Circumstance

I managed to get through high school literature class without having to wrestle with Shakespeare, not even once. To me, Romeo and Juliet are simply characters from a movie I’ve never seen. Hamlet is another name for a small village. Othello is a board game I played as a teenager. But hey, maybe I should be a fan of Shakespeare. After all, he gets the credit for penning the phrase “pomp and circumstance”.

It’s true – “Pride, pomp, and circumstance (of glorious war!)” is a line from Shakespeare’s play Othello, written way back in 1603. Somewhere in the hundreds of years since, “Pomp and circumstance” became the name of the musical march we all associate with graduation ceremonies. But for today’s purposes, pomp and circumstance (or “P&C” if you will) means “formal and impressive ceremonies or activities”. And Monday’s presidential inauguration ceremony was the perfect example of that.

I am a big fan of American P&C. Without it the inauguration ceremony would’ve been nothing but mundane repeat-after-me oaths. With it you get your heart fill-er-upped with pride. Monday’s ceremony was replete with red, white, and blue decor. American flags were everywhere. The guests of honor were escorted to their seats by men and women in splendid uniforms. The cannons nearby boomed over and over when the oaths were completed. And for my American dollars, nothing says pomp and circumstance like those patriotic anthems.

Having spent most of my years in Colorado Springs, “America the Beautiful” is close to my heart because its lyrics were born from the top of nearby Pikes Peak. All credit to Carrie Underwood for her performance of its first verse on Monday, enduring technical difficulties to sing a cappella. Then there was the charismatic Rev. Lorenzo Sewell, embellishing his prayer of gratitude with the opening lines of “My Country Tis of Thee”. And you’d be forgiven for shedding a tear during the soaring “Battle Hymn of the Republic”, belted out by the men and women of the U.S. Naval Academy Glee Club (and earning a standing ovation).

But I’m forgetting one more anthem. Or should I say, I can’t forget the one more. Yes, Christopher Dean Macchio (“America’s tenor”) sang “The Star Spangled Banner” to close out the inauguration ceremony, but he also performed another anthem to kick things off and I’m still humming it today. Why, I ask myself, have I never heard “O, America” before?

“O, America” – go figure – was written by an Irishman. Brendan Graham penned the lyrics into a big hit for the group “Celtic Woman”. You’d think the words would be from the perspective of someone overseas but “O, America” is clearly about someone here… and someone now. Have a listen and I think you’ll agree. In the words of Othello, “O, America” is all about “pride, pomp, and circumstance”. This week I am filled with all three.

LEGO Notre-Dame de Paris – Update #2

(read about the start of this “church service” in Highest Chair)

I’m glad I remembered my antiperspirant today. Bags 2 and 3 – of 34 bags of pieces – encouraged sweat, tested patience, and made me realize my fingers are anything but nimble. My hands are still shaking after the hour and change it took to build this section.

We started by tiling the cathedral floor. Look closely – those black and white pieces aren’t all the same shape or orientation. I installed one wrong and almost needed pliers to get it back out. Imagine if you made the same mistake on the floor of the real Notre-Dame. You’d get fired for wasting priceless marble!

Having said that, the floor was just a warm up for the colonnade that now rises up around the altar. It is made from tiny, tiny pieces! I think LEGO should invent special gloves that a) allow you to easily grasp these little guys while b) protecting your fingers from their sharp edges. Pressing them into place again and again can be painful! Those beige column supports you see on the tile floor left little round dents in my fingertips.

Finally, notice the repetitive structure of the colonnade, like a circle of rocket ships ready to launch. LEGO shows you how to build one of these vertical elements (each one is about twenty pieces) and then goes, “Okay Dave, do that fourteen more times”. The Grand Piano was also tough but I wouldn’t say it was repetitive. Notre-Dame de Paris has found a new way to test my patience.

Running build time: 1 hour 37 min.

Total leftover pieces: 5

Some content sourced from the Irish Central article, “Irishman’s song ‘O America’ performed at Trump’s inauguration”, and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Let Freedom Ring

In an Election Week – especially one as consequential as this year’s – it’s only fitting I can’t seem to focus on blogging. After all, my country and its prospective leaders demand (and deserve) my undivided attention. Any topic I choose to write about here pales in comparison.

So I urge you to do the same. Set aside the blogs you read or write, if only for a little while. Watch tonight’s tallies, accept tomorrow’s outcomes, and pray for peace and continued prosperity. As the patriotic “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee” reminds us, we live in a sweet land of liberty.

Let freedom ring.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Do-Re-Mi… Oh My!

Salzburg, Austria, a day-trip destination from our recent Viking River Cruise, is a popular draw for tourists. On most days you’ll find more internationals roaming Salzburg’s Old Town than you’ll find Austrians themselves. The compact city is famous for its historic buildings: churches, palaces, and fortresses dating back 1,000 years or more. Mozart was born here. But try as they might, Austrians will never be able to separate Salzburg from what attracts many to its streets: The Sound of Music.

I can think of only one movie we forced our kids to sit down and watch while they still lived under our roof. Close to Christmas one year (an arbitrary connection because of the lyrics of “My Favorite Things”), the five of us spent three hours together in front of our not-so-big-screen TV watching the somewhat true story of the von Trapp family. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve followed Maria, the Captain, and those seven engaging children as they outwit the Nazis.

For all of the movies I’ve watched in my life (and I’ve watched quite a few), The Sound of Music stands alone. I’d describe it as a jewel you display in an elegant glass box on the shelf, taken down every once in a while to appreciate up close. The Sound of Music is a feel-good story – if not accurate – produced in 1965 at the end of the Hollywood’s Golden Age. It remains the most successful movie musical of all time (adjusted for inflation), but I question whether today’s movie-goers would appreciate it as much as I do.

Most tours of Salzburg include references to buildings and locations included in The Sound of Music. Our own tour – cut well short because of the flooding of the Danube – was a brisk walk around the Old Town, with only an occasional mention of the movie. What surprised me was not how little of The Sound of Music was actually filmed in Salzburg (most was done on sound stages back in the States) but rather the Austrians’ utter disdain for the movie.

Consider, when it was first released The Sound of Music was only twenty years removed from the end of WWII. The Nazi overtones of the film didn’t sit well with citizens of Austria and Germany. Reviews (and box-office receipts) were not favorable in either country. Coupled with the liberties the producers took with the story, you can see why Salzburg residents don’t exactly “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” to claim the movie as their own.

You’ll find endless trivia about The Sound of Music at IMDB.com and elsewhere. Most facts are meant to point out discrepancies between the film and the actual story. Here are fifteen of “My Favorite Things”:

1) Julie Andrews was cast as Maria, of course, but only because Audrey Hepburn declined the part. Hepburn also denied Andrews the opportunity to play Eliza Doolittle in the movie version of My Fair Lady. Each played the opposite role in the original stage adaptations on Broadway.

2) Andrews kept getting knocked off her feet in the famous opening scene where she sings and spins in an Alpine meadow. She couldn’t keep her balance because the hovering helicopter used to film the scene generated too much wind.

3) Andrews’ hair was meant to be worn longer but a bad color job forced the pixie cut, which Andrews kept for most of her acting career

4) Christopher Plummer was not a fan of The Sound of Music. He reluctantly agreed to the part of Captain von Trapp and regretted every moment on set, especially those with the children. He described working with Julie Andrews as “being hit over the head with a big Valentine’s Day card, every day”. He nicknamed the movie The Sound of Mucus. Much later he acknowledged the film’s worldwide success, as well as the Oscar-nominated talent of Andrews.

5) Plummer regularly drowned his acting sorrows in Salzburg bars and restaurants. As a result his outfits needed to be resized towards the end of filming to accommodate his added weight.

The gazebo (moved from its original location). The interior scenes were filmed In a much larger stage set reproduction.

6) The von Trapp children are Rupert, Agathe, Maria, Werner, Hedwig, Johanna, and Martina… not Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, and Gretl. Also, none of the nine leads are Austrian (which certainly didn’t help the appeal of a film based in Salzburg).

7) Auditions for the parts of the von Trapp children included the four eldest Osmond brothers (not Donny), Kurt Russell, and Richard Dreyfuss.

8) Kym Karath, who played Gretl, the youngest of the von Trapp children, created her fair share of challenges. She had a cold during much of the filming. She almost drowned in the scene where the boat overturns in the lake because she didn’t know how to swim. And she ate enough sweets on set to where her weight was too much for Christopher Plummer. As a result, in the final scene walking over the Alps, Plummer is carrying a stand-in actress instead of Karath.

9) Nicholas Hammond, who played Friedrich, was not a natural blonde so his hair was bleached for the movie. The coloring process caused some of his hair to fall out, which is why you see him wearing a “Tyrolean Traditional Alpine” hat when he’s seen singing “Do-Re-Mi”.

10) The day after the real von Trapp family left Austria (by train to Italy and then to the U.S., not on foot over the Alps to Switzerland), the Germans shut down all of Austria’s borders.

Salzburg’s Schloss Leopoldskron, where lakefront and garden scenes were filmed

11) The real Maria von Trapp is on screen at the beginning of the movie.

12) The real Maria also claims, if you can blieve it, her own personality was livelier than Andrews’ on-screen version.

13) The real Maria taught Julie Andrews how to yodel. Watch the lesson here.

14) The film’s production demanded 4,500 extras, including those in the sold-out theater for the music festival. The audience sings “Edelweiss” as if they know the song, but only because they spent time beforehand learning the words.

15) Despite the aforementioned Austrian disdain, The Sound of Music is played nonstop on the televisions of most Salzburg hotels.

Maybe all of this trivia changes your opinion of The Sound of Music. Not mine. There are countless reasons this film includes the tagline, “The Happiest Sound In All The World”. The Sound of Music will always be that jewel in a glass box, waiting patiently to be enjoyed once more. Suffice it to say, I’ll never say “So Long, Farewell” to the adventures of the von Trapp family.

Some content sourced from the Internet Movie Database (IMDb), and Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Season Before the Sun

Every now and then I come across a little fact that makes me feel my age. Fifty years ago this month a one-hit wonder named Terry Jacks released the single “Seasons In The Sun”, which parked at #1 on the music charts for three weeks and burned itself into my twelve-year old brain forever. Any teen from back then will never forget the We had joy, We had fun lyrics. Ironically it wasn’t a happy song (as in …goodbye Papa, it’s hard to die…) but not to worry. Today I want to talk about the season before the sun instead.

Whether you celebrate Easter (this Sunday), the vernal equinox (a week ago Tuesday), or college basketball’s March Madness (on-going), the hints are everywhere: spring is beginning to, uh, spring. For my wife and I, the season means strawberries, when the best of the fruit is available for the next sixty days. For others it means the kids are out of school for a week. But surely there’s no better indication of spring than flowers. The bright bursts put winter’s doldrums behind us while the sun shines more often. Flowers signify new beginnings.

Guys don’t talk about flowers much (unless we’re gardeners) but it doesn’t mean we haven’t had our share of close encounters with them. My first was probably with dandelions (yes, they’re flowers) and the childhood fascination of blowing the blooms into countless flying bits. Growing up in Southern California also meant going to the Rose Parade, where the bigger floats average more than 50,000 flowers. Senior prom was probably the one and only time I bought flowers in high school. Call a wrist corsage awkward if you will, but hey, it beats the terror of pinning flowers on a girl’s dress.

Speaking of awkward, when I first met my wife in college I decided to be coy and send flowers, forcing her to make the next move. But fate played a part when the bouquet was delivered to the wrong dorm, the flowers wilting at the front desk for days. I didn’t hear from her for a while and she didn’t hear from me, and that meant we were thinking nasty thoughts about each other. “Ungrateful” (my end). “Loser” (hers). Another girl finally let her know about the flowers and it’s a good thing she found out. A marriage was saved!

If you’re thinking my spend on flowers is below average, I’m confident I made up for it in a single day: at my daughter’s wedding. Her bouquet, her bridesmaids’ bouquets, down the aisle, around the altar, at the centers of the reception tables, and on and on – the blooms were everywhere. Let’s just say the cost of all that color was probably enough to buy a small car.

I’ve brought home several flower bouquets over the years, whether to my wife or to my mother. What used to be an in-shop, DIY experience is now pretty much Amazon, where you click your way through the colorful screens of 1-800 FLOWERS or FTD to create the perfect arrangement. And as you know, you rarely get the exact look you choose from the photos. The fine print protects the companies by stating something like “depending on availability”.

I like to bake (which is not the same as “to cook”), so when someone says “flower” I’m thinking “flour”. After all, flour is to baking as flowers are to spring. Flowers wouldn’t taste good in my chocolate-chip cookies, but you do find them in other foods. Top your soup with a squash blossom, your tea with chamomile flowers, or your salads with calendulas, pansies, or marigolds. Not for me; no thanks. When it comes to flowers as food additives I might be tempted to say, “the bloom is off the rose”.

Okay, so I went through the lyrics of “Seasons In The Sun” again and noticed …now that the spring is in the air, with the flowers everywhere… , so… what do you know? Terry and I are talking about the same season after all. At least this one lyric brings a little joy and fun to an otherwise depressing song. It’s what this kid born in the 1960s might call “flower power”.

Blogger’s note: “Seasons In The Sun” really was #1 on the music charts exactly fifty years ago this month. My wife and I bought strawberries last weekend, which had me thinking about seasons, which had the song bouncing around in my brain. But the fifty-years thing is an eerie coincidence, don’t you agree? Maybe a higher flower power is at work here.

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.

Roof Rats

My granddaughter has a fancy starter piano with eight colorful keys. A flip of the switch and she can play musical notes, animal sounds, or hear the colors of the rainbow. She’s not even a year old so she pounds more than plays, creating a chorus of owls, frogs, birds, and rabbits. Those four I can handle. But every now and then she throws in a squirrel and the hairs on my neck stand at full attention.

Maybe you agree; it’s a little odd to include a rabbit in keyboard animal sounds (does a rabbit even make a sound?) Admittedly, the little piano trill conjures a furry friend with a twitching nose. On the other hand (paw?) the squirrel sound is a toneless gnawing burst, sounding very similar to the real squirrels who sharpen their teeth on my metal gutters. Whoever created this keyboard is having a good laugh at my expense. “Let’s see; I have the entire animal kingdom at my fingertips and I only need to come up with eight sounds. Let’s go with a squirrel!”

You sense my wrath already (and I’ve only logged a couple of paragraphs). But here’s the thing. I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, typing away, and I can’t claim full concentration because I’m expecting the sound of rodent enamel on metal at any moment. Words fail to describe it. Just imagine the grind of a dull hand saw… back and forth, back and forth on the gutter.

It’s not like the squirrels don’t have other nearby options for hanging out. We have fence lines dividing our pastures; convenient raceways when the squirrels dash to their trees and back. And about those trees: dozens of pines and oaks, with broad branches inviting a squirrel nest or ten. So why is one of them always attracted to the heights of my house?

The battle began last spring. The squirrel scampered happily across the peaks and valleys of my roof, pausing occasionally to gnaw a shingle or a gutter. Eventually he discovered one of my vent pipes tasted pretty good too, and realized with just a bit of mouth work he could open up access to the inside. Now we have a problem. I pictured all kinds of mayhem inside my attic: droppings, nests, stolen insulation, chewed electrical wires. It was time to take action.

My initial defense was a complete failure. The former owner left a full-size plastic owl behind – one of those bobble-head figures that looks remarkably lifelike. So I placed the owl close to the house and watched through the windows. Bobble bobble. The squirrels hesitated from a distance, eventually crawled cautiously closer, then pretty much made friends with my plastic predator. I checked Mr. Hoots recently and noticed his ears had been chewed off.

When yet another squirrel called “dibs” on my roof a few months later I knew it was time to get serious. Looked into my options and dropped a few bucks on a Crosman “American Classic” bolt action pellet pistol, a variable-pump long-barrel that looks more intimidating than it shoots. You drop in the ammo, pump a few times, and the compressed air blasts the pellet to kingdom come.

Now then, here’s why my pellet gun was about as effective as the bobble-head owl. One, my shaky hands have the gun pointing everywhere but directly at an annoying squirrel. Two, I’m old enough to need readers to align the sight at the end of the barrel. And three – and here’s the kicker – the impact of the pellet is nothing more than a gentle nudge. Seriously, these squirrels have so much fur and fat they could probably take a dozen pellets while pawing their little noses at me.

It’s a humble exchange – the squirrels and me. The first time I shot anywhere near one of them, I kid you not – he ducked. He was poised on my roof line staring down at me, wondering what the heck I was about to do, when suddenly BLAM! and my little pellet went whistling harmlessly over his head. Then came the ducking move and the amused stare, as if to say, “Missed me!”

So why do I still fire off a pellet every time a squirrel goes gnawing on my gutter? I think it’s one of those false senses of accomplishment. I take the shot, the shot misses, the squirrel relocates to the other side of the roof, and all goes quiet for another hour or two. Yep, I showed him.

So the battle rages on. There will be future chapters to share in this space, and… and… and right on cue, there goes the hand saw again. Gnaw gnaw gnaw. Time to holster my American Classic and take my best shot again. Oh wait, hold the phone – heh – it’s just my granddaughter playing her little animal sounds over in the living room. I think I’ll go teach her a little something about dentistry and extract a piano key.

First-Name Basis

It’s only Tuesday as I type, but I’ve already cleared my calendar for Friday. After all, I have a very important day ahead of me. So important in fact, I need to organize a parade, raise a flag, and prepare unique dishes for the expected throng of adoring fans. But why am I wasting words on the details? You already know we’re celebrating Saint David’s Day in a few days, don’t you?

They’ll be celebrating in Wales, at least, just as they do every first day of March. You’ll find my cathedral there too, way down in the southwest corner of the country. Well, St Davids Cathedral, I mean. And the funny thing is, he’s not the David you’re thinking of, the one from the Bible who took down Goliath as a boy and became king as a man. This David helped to spread Christianity throughout the UK, united the Welsh people against a warring England, and performed several miracles. David’s a big deal in Wales.

St. Patrick’s an even bigger deal, of course. At least Patrick rates a celebration in the U.S. But admit it, you’re not celebrating Patrick’s spread of Christianity throughout Ireland, nor his miracle of removing all snakes from the land. You’re thinking more about what garment of green to wear, four-leaf clovers, beer, and maybe, just maybe, this is the year you participate in your local St. Paddy’s Day 5k.

This business of saints is interesting to me because, well, it’s not as defined as I was led to believe. The rules and processes to put “Saint” in front a first name are a little vague. Suffice it to say, you need to be a model citizen, as well as a teacher, person of influence, and someone who cares little for the material goods and comforts of this world. I know a lot of people who fill this bill, but add in “wonder worker” or “source of benevolent power” and the list drops to zero.

Saints are also on my mind because I grew up in California and, well, they’re all over the place out there. Francisco to the north. Diego to the south. Barbara somewhere in the middle. My childhood home was right down the street from Monica. My brother lives in Fernando’s valley. 99.9% of the state’s residents think of those as “places”, but firstly they were people. You’ll find “San’s” and “Santa’s” all over the Golden State.

Saints get a little watered down when you consider the Catholic Church’s take on them. More than 10,000 have been recognized over time. Even more to the point, Catholics acknowledge anyone making it to heaven to be a saint. I’d hope that count is way more than 10,000 by now. Maybe it’s the reason we have patron saints: the cream of the crop, the ones regarded as “heavenly advocates of particular nations, families, or people”. My patron saint isn’t David by default, but I sure like his name.

Eat Welsh Rarebit when you celebrate on Friday (grilled cheese on toast, zero rabbit)

Admittedly, my mind wanders somewhere other than historical figures when I think of saints. Our dog is a Saint Bernard, one of those gentle giants you picture with a brandy brandy around the neck. A few years ago we went on a cruise, with a stop in the Baltic Sea port of Saint Petersburg. “St. Elmo’s Fire” is a luminous phenomenon caused by an atmospheric electric field. (also a pretty good movie from the 1980s). And so on.

You can read a bit more about Saint David and his cathedral in one of my very first blog posts: unsung. You’ll discover that his town of Pembrokeshire – the smallest ~~kingdom~~ enclave in the UK – is right across St. George’s Channel from the Irish town of Kildare, where you’ll find St. Brigid’s Cathedral, my wife’s namesake. The blog post is really about Brigid but at least David gets a mention towards the end. Even if you don’t “read a little more”, remember, Friday’s the big day. Parades, flags, and fun food, all for a darned decent guy. Makes me blush anytime somebody says, “Dave, you’re a saint.”

Some content sourced from Wikipedia, “the free encyclopedia”.