I don't play by ear, I have to use my hands

I wasn’t sure what I was going to blog about until I decided to read PaintingChef’s site. She has a really funny post about piano lessons. Go read it, you’ll enjoy it.

My mother is a very good pianist. She also can play the pipe organ. Okay, you guys, remember I’m talking about my mother here! She was the head organist (I’m warning you) at the church we attended when we lived in Kentucky. She also gave piano lessons when she was first married.

Of course, she expected us to learn to play piano. I do thank her for this. All kids should take some kind of music lessons. You might have gathered from Bucky’s stories that our mother was not too strict on us by that day’s standards. She figured we’d never practice for her the way we would for a nun.

The Catholic school we went to had very inexpensive piano lessons for the students who were also members of the church. That made sense with the big Catholic families. The nuns didn’t need to do much more than cover the music supplies.

I started taking my piano lessons from Sr. Marguerite when I was in third grade. She was strict but she wasn’t a knuckle-beater. My mother had already taught me the treble and bass clefs so I had a bit of a head start. What I had to learn really wasn’t that difficult and I only ended up taking lessons for three years. That was when we moved to Michigan and there were no inexpensive teachers around.

It was kind of nice, to not have to practice anymore. But there was one thing I regretted. In sixth grade was when you learned to play the pipe organ. Learning would have been fun, but it also meant being conscripted into playing early morning Mass during the week.
I still read music and have fun playing. I’m not that good, I just have fun with it. I can’t play by ear and I’m not anywhere near the level of Bucky’s playing. But I’m not going to stop playing until my hands won’t let me anymore.

Happy Birthday, Bucky!

I remember it like it was yesterday. My father came home from the hospital and announced, “It’s a girl.”

Man, I was so thrilled! I’d wanted a sister for my entire life. A sister! I had three brothers at that point. It was about time there was another girl in the family.

Well, most of you know Bucky. No matter how many dresses my mother put on her she was not going to act girlie. She always seemed to have the drive to want to keep up with the guys.

Bucky usually was the ringleader of her friends, too. When they played some kind of make-believe game she always assigned their parts to them. She was pretty creative and inventive about it.

Girlie toys weren’t for her, either. I had gotten a lovely little plastic vanity when I was younger. Of course, it went to her. It had a flip-up lid with a mirror and open section for makeup, brushes, etc. Well, Bucky, with her “office supplies” obsession turned it into her desk.

She was also precocious. She and I were in a play together when she was about seven. When anybody flubbed or forgot a line, she knew what it was supposed to be. Getting up on stage in front of people never was difficult for her. No big surprise, huh?

There are so many stories that could be told. I suppose I should check with her before I tell them, though. I don’t mean that she’d be embarrassed by them. It’s just that she might want to do the telling herself. I’m not going to incur the wrath of Bucky. Rum cake only goes so far.

Bucky, I’ve gotta tell you that I love you. And I’m still glad, forty years later, that I finally got a sister.

What was that, a mosquita?

Time for a change of pace in my stories. This one comes from a bar where I worked many years ago. This is also the place where the guy wanted pickled bologna.

There was this guy was in the bar. He was much older than the rest of the crowd. He was very shabbily dressed and wasn't with anyone. Seemed odd, but who am I to judge.

Later on I saw him staggering from table to table with a straw. When people were up dancing he was dipping into their drinks like an alcoholic mosquito.

I was busy and didn't call the bouncers. Probably should have, but, I didn't.

The next part I didn't see but heard about. After all those drinks (never mix your drinks) he couldn't hold it any longer. He found himself a corner where he threw up all over the shag carpeting. I'm guessing that's when someone got a bouncer.

I didn't clean it up.

Yup, she's home now.

I would like to say that I had a wonderful, witty post last night but Blogger was being a poop. I would be half right. Yeah, Blogger was being a poop. Didn't have anything wonderful or witty, though.

Bucky already told everyone about our event-filled weekend. Thanks for your kind words, wishes and prayers for our Mom. Mom says thank you, too. She sounds much like herself now and we're really, really glad.

Mom always had our best interest at heart. Even when she made us go to bed before nine o'clock when we were in ninth grade. But she has never been the mean, shrewish type like I hear and read about so much.

When she was in the hospital this weekend one of the nurses described her as precious. I agree. She's the only refined one in the family, and we've even cut through some of that, poor thing. But her sense of humor never leaves her. Good thing, she would have had to divorce her whole family years ago otherwise.

Guess I'm just rambling here, but this has been on my mind a lot the last few days. Again, thank you everyone here in blogland. You don't know how much your love and humor helped us this weekend. And I'm so glad our Mom is still here.

Bucky, you may commence with the rude comments. :-)

Here's the rum. Where's the Coca-Cola?

Well, Susie asked me to post the recipe for this rum cake that Bucky and I are always talking about. Since I just had some a couple of hours ago I guess this would be the appropriate time to post it. It's simple and delicious. If you don't like it to taste/smell quite as strong then you can use less rum and more water. Enjoy!

RUM CAKE

1 Yellow Cake Mix
1 Small Instant Vanilla Pudding
4 Eggs
1/2 Cup Water
1/2 Cup Light Rum

Combine and beat 10 minutes on medium speed. Grease and flour tube pan. Bake 1 hour at 325. Cool slightly, remove from pan.

Sauce

1 Stick Butter
1 Cup Sugar
1/4 Cup Water

Bring to boil. Boil 1 minute. Remove from heat. Add 2 ounces rum. Poke holes in top of cake with fork. Spoon sauce over cake while warm.

Okay, three things

Here's the tag from Sierrabella that I mentioned in my last post. I don't know if these are my best answers and will probably want to change them as soon as I post, but here goes nothing...

Three names you go by:
Squirl
The Squirl
Da Squirl
Three screen names you have had:
Squirl
Squirl
and that's all.
Three physical things you like about yourself:
Voice
Breasteses
Hands
Three parts of your heritage:
Irish
Swiss
German
Three things that scare you:
Nightmares where I can’t turn on the lights
Getting lost while driving someplace I don’t know
Being maimed
Three things you're wearing now:
Sweater
Jeans
Birkenstocks
Three of your favorite bands or musical artist:
Barbra Streisand
Beethoven (I’m listening to Beethoven piano sonatas on Opera’s site while I write)
Earth Wind & Fire (Sorry, Sierrabella, not really stealing from you. I love EWF)
Three of your favorite songs:
Daydream Believer by the Monkees
Reasons by EWF
Don’t Rain on My Parade from Funny Girl
Three things you want in a relationship:
Laughter
Love
Good conversations
Two truths and a lie (which one is a lie?)
I’m a blogger
I’m a blog reader
I'm Bucky’s younger sister
Three physical things about the preferred sex that appeals to you:
Nice ass
Genuine smile
A big, well-working brain so we can have conversations
Three of your favorite hobbies:
Reading
Singing
Blogging
Three things you want to do badly right now:
Finish making the rum cake
Be done with work for the week and be on vacation
See my family this weekend
Three careers you're considering:
(These are things I’ve thought about in the past. Not planning to change now)
Editor
Teacher
Head-shrinker
Three places you want to go on vacation:
Boston, Mass
The Blue Ridge Highway area
Sedona, Arizona
Three kids names you like:
Elizabeth
Brian
Danielle
Three things you want to do before you die:
Retire
I’ve done a lot of things. Can’t think of anything to add
Three ways that you are stereotypically a girl:
I always “do” my hair
I don’t like “icky” bugs
I don’t fix cars
Three celebrity crushes:
(This is over my lifetime)
Davy Jones
Harrison Ford
Keanu Reeves
Three people who have to take this quiz now:
I hate to tag people, but the following people can do it if they choose:
Susie, Jessica Rabbit, Kitty

Coming soon to a blog near you...

I haven't had much blogging time lately. But I was tagged by Sierrabella with a Three Things quiz. As soon as I have time I will post it.

I don't believe I'm blogging about this....

Okay, this one is embarrassing, but Kitty insisted that I blog it. Yeah, I could use stand losing a few pounds. I'm not terribly overweight, but could still stand to lose a few pounds.

This what is euphemistically called "that time of the month" which always adds some bloat around the middle area of the body. I was sitting at work this morning when, all of a sudden, my too-tight pants weren't too tight anymore. Crap, my zipper broke.

Things have been kinda busy this past week at work. I considered driving home to change which would be about an hour or so out of my day. There was also the option of going to a store to buy a new pair of pants. Again, more time out of my work day.

In the end I decided to wait it out. I had three large safety pins in my purse. This was something I could do.

I made it. But, believe me, I couldn't wait to get home. That wasn't until almost 8:00 as I always visit my Mom on Monday nights. I made it about 12 hours with my pants pinned. Gee, I'm tougher than I thought. Thank goodness I'm sitting here now in my sweats, blogging and listening to music on the Opera Chick's site. Bigger pants for the next couple of days.

There are blessings and there are blessings

I've been out driving around this weekend. Saturday I saw four pairs of Sandhill Cranes. I also saw a Great Blue Heron flying. Today Ichabod and I went to the Manistee, MI, area. The plants aren't as far along that far north. But they do have a Sequoia tree up there that keeps growing and is very healthy. For those of you who don't know where Manistee is just picture the back of your left hand that is the shape of the lower peninsula of Michigan. Manistee is just about to the first knuckle up from the hand. It was cold and kinda damp but there was a lot of moss, lots of ferns, and a nice walk.

On the downside, we got stuck going through Baldwin at the end of the Blessing of the Bikes. Motorcyclists from all over go there once a year in May for the blessing. They also appear to like the leather vendors and all the food stands along the way. Wouldn't have been so bad, but like I said, we went through just as it was letting out and we spent a lot of time just sitting in traffic. It was still a lovely weekend.

His grace was amazing

A little over a year and a half ago Ichabod and I were living in the house where I had to tell him to just shut up. It was a colorful, eclectic neighborhood. You never knew who you were going to see there.

One night Ichabod heard something and he looked around outside. We couldn't see anything but we distinctly heard someone playing bagpipes (and I don't mean the kind in Urban Dictionary). And he was playing them well. We didn't hear him all the time but he did play occasionally.

My favorite was midnight on Christmas Eve. This time we actually saw him and was really wearing a kilt. He played Christmas music for a while and then moved on.

We've moved right downtown since then and have never heard him since. I never thought I'd hear myself say this but I miss those bagpipes.

My Old Kentucky Home

This is a story from my childhood when I lived in Kentucky. It includes costuming and role-play and ,believe it or not, Bucky wasn’t involved. I’m thinking I was probably about eight or nine when my brother, Tardist, and I pulled this one off.

Tardist, posted a story about some neighbors. There was Marty, who was probably four years younger than I was. And there was his younger brother, Bobby, who was probably a year and a half younger than Marty.

Since they were younger we figured it would be easy to play a trick on them. I got my hair braided and stuck the braids up under a baseball cap. Then we went down to Marty and Bobby’s and I was introduced as Tardist’s cousin, Tom Ford.

Marty was, perhaps, a bit skeptical. I think Bobby swallowed the thing hook, line, and sinker. I don’t think we did this very many times, but it’s made for some good laughs over the years.

You see, folks, Bucky comes by it naturally. She just takes it to extremes.

Sunday Night

Well, here it is. It's Sunday night with another work week ahead of me. I like to treat myself on Sundays nights to a nice leisurely soak in the tub. I put some bath salts in, maybe light some candles and grab whatever book I happen to be reading at the time.

Right now I'm sitting here in my robe all relaxed from my soak, still reading my book until I came back to blogland. Feeling pretty good right now. I'd like to hear from you folks how you kick back and relax.

A really socky story

A while back I wrote about a neighbor I used to have called Jungle Jane. This was in an old building with four apartments upstairs and one studio-style apartment and storage space downstairs.

The apartment I had shared an old wooden deck with one of the other apartments. This deck was old and splintery. I was never sure if it was all that stable so we never just sat out on it.

The cat I had at that time, Athena, did like to prowl around, though. She could go out on the deck and get fresh air and not be out in traffic, as we were on the second story. Of course, she did go missing once. I was looking all over for her and could hear her little cry. Turns out she’d fallen off the deck and tried to get in through a back door to the upstairs. She was stuck between the screen door and the wooden door. Thank goodness she didn’t suffer anything worse than a small cut in her lower lip.

She also had a habit of sock-stealing. She would go out our window and into the neighbor’s window. Then she’d come back in with the neighbor’s sock. I would just go knock on the neighbor’s door and give the sock back. She and I both got a chuckle out of it.

Then one day that particular couple moved out. An older woman and her daughter moved in. Didn’t think much of it until I came upon a pair of pantyhose. Now, at that time, I didn’t wear pantyhose. I also didn’t know this new neighbor and she was a lot bigger than I was.
All I could think of was how splintery that deck was and the condition of those pantyhose. I went out on the deck and quickly through them back in her window. After that I got screen for my window and Athena lost her free roaming rights. I still wonder what that woman thought when she checked out her pantyhose that were probably ripped to shreds.

Dog day morning

On Tuesday I was traveling from one worksite to another. One of the streets that I go down used to be residential but is becoming more industrial all the time. The street used to be two lanes and is now three. Of course, that means that the front yards of the residences are down to nothing. The houses are almost on the street.

Well, this particular day I was going down that street and I heard barking. Tiny, furious barking at that. This Toy Poodle was playing Tuff Girl in Town. Seemed cute that she was running down the sidewalk and barking. Then, with the street so close, it was nothing for her to run out in the street. She ran right at my tires. As soon as I stopped she ran back to the yard. Okay, good, I started up again, and again she ran right for my tires. I was inching farther into the middle turn lane, hoping to get away from her. No good, she did it again for the third time. I was so mad/concerned that I was unable to find my four-way flashers. I just got out of the car and started pounding on the nearest door. Dog-mouth was standing there barking her head off at me.

Finally a woman came from around the back and said, "Fifi!" Like that's a surprise, with her barking and my pounding. She kept calling the dog but it wouldn't come to her. I tried to go to the other side of the dog to help corral her, but she kept avoiding both of us. Then, when Fifi made a mad dash to the backyard I made a mad dash to my car. Thank goodness the speed limit is only 30 and people were able to go around me. I don't think the police would've cared that I didn't want to squish that little poodle.

Now it's breakfast cereal

Last night I was playing the beginning of the song Elephant Walk on the piano. It's from the movie Hatari. John Wayne is in it and it's about capturing animals for a zoo.

Ichabod was saying that he thought he liked that movie when he was a little kid. Then he realized the only good John Wayne movies are the ones that shoot-'em-up and have NO comedy. "The rest" in his words, "are just cream of wheat."

What in the punch bowl?

This is a tag that's going around right now. I decided to do my own four line poem before I got tagged. The first and third lines have to be Turd in a punch bowl and the second and fourth must rhyme.

Turd in a punch bowl
Looking forlorn
Turd in a punch bowl
I'm feeling quite torn

It may not be the best, but I put mine in before I got tagged! And, believe me, I know I'm not up for blog poet laureate.

My buddy, Sammy

A lot of people blog about their animals. I don’t have any, haven’t for years. But I used to have pets, mostly cats. And there was one particular cat that stands out amongst the rest.

His name was Sammy. His coat was slightly longer than a short-haired cat’s. It had a sheen to it that went from silver to gray to almost black. He was slightly long in the nose, kinda like a Siamese cat. AND he had personality galore.

He was a stubborn boy. When he was particularly naughty I would stand nose-to-nose with him and we’d have a staredown. When he lost one of those it was done grudgingly.

Like all cats he figured nothing, especially food, was off-limits for him. I know he got a belly-ache the time he ate the bread dough. Never stopped him from trying to get into more, though.

One time my parents were watching him, don’t know if I was on vacation or what. Now breakfast was not a very formal affair at my parents place, especially on the weekend. On Friday they’d go out and buy doughnuts, Twinkies, King Dons, all that kind of stuff. Then they’d leave it in a paper grocery sack on the kitchen floor so everyone could help him or herself.

It just so happened that the box of Twinkies had been opened and one had been eaten. That meant there were eleven left in the box. The first person that got up Saturday morning found the other eleven on the floor. There was one bite out of every one.
It had to be Sammy. He could smell it and it smelled good. But the taste of that plastic wrapping was more than he could handle. I know the family was probably ticked about losing those Twinkies, but the laughs we’ve had over it since then were worth it.