I May Be Drunk. Sorry If This Post Is All Fukked Up. I May Fix It Later, But Do Not Set Yer Watch… Kinda, Sorta, Maybe, Updated, Expanded, Or Not….More Janis! (Native Texan Gal!) “I Got Dem Ol’ Time Turtle Blues Again Mama!” (Apologies to Janis Joplin)

Janis Joplin / Big Brother and the Holding Company –

“Combination of the Two”

Kozmic Blues

I Love Her!

I Love Her!

I Love Her!

“Freedom’s Just Another Word For Nothin’ Left To Lose—

I’d Trade All My Tomorrows For A Single Yesterday”

I Love Her!

I Love HER!

I Fucking LOVE Her!

I Love Her!

*****

****************

Yet another bit gleaned from my longer post of 29 Jan 2014. 

“‘The Time Has Come,’ The Walrus Said, ‘To Talk of Many Things:

Of Murdered Birds, Of Turtles Green, and Hippies Sellin’ Rings.’”

My mother was probably

“The Original Hippy Chick.”

When Haight-Ashbury was in full bloom, she would not shut up about it until we ventured there.

(Just the two of us. By Ourselves. Mother and Child–You could do that in ’67–No Worries. Don’t try it today. Please Don’t try it today.)

I knew a little of the ‘Hippy Culture’ back then, yet had no desire to experience it ‘up close an’ personal.’

Mom did.

I MISS HER.
I Miss My Mother
I MISS HER FREE SPIRIT

So one bright sunny Saturday morning we packed up the Ol’ Rusty Rambler and headed off to ‘Frisco and Haight-Ashbury.

Okay. Not Really Our ACTUAL Car

But close. Damn close.

To say that trip opened my eyes would be an understatement bordering on felonious.  I was shocked, awed, amazed, bothered, bewildered, enlightened, enchanted, enthralled, and all at the same time.

The whole day was a ‘Whirling Dervish’ of attacks on my senses and emotions. I remember clearly all the people with their long hair, colorful clothing, love beads, head bands, peace signs, guitars, laughter, and smoke coming from everywhere and not smelling at all like the smoke from the cigarettes my mother used to light up.

But most of all, I remember

The Music 

Music was ubiquitous and oh how I did love the music.

We walked up and down those streets for hours and I do believe my mother stopped and purchased some trinket from every single hippy-trinket-seller she visited, which by my estimation, would have been all of two hundred of them.

Not really being a trinkets-man myself, I purchased a pair of small green turtles that I wanted to rescue from a hippy life I was certain they were not well suited for. 

I actually remember telling the turtles during the ride home not to worry; that they were safe now, and also apologizing to them if I had left any of their family members behind due to the fact that my meager allowance did not afford me the luxury of benevolence to purchase freedom for the whole lot of them–Even though I did beg mom for an advance to do just that.

The turtles ended up having a fine long Turtle – Life and were probably the only two green turtles to ever migrate from 

California

 

to

Texas

Texas suited them and me, better. Much better.

Author’s Note: I am a NATIVE Texan. Born in Ladonia, 1957

(Wasn’t MY fault I was forced to live in California for too many years.)

***

As Always, Thank you for visiting and reading. All comments are welcomed.

Wishing Happy Days Ahead to all My Friends.

***

Bonus Added

Added Bonus:

“But you know I’m very well protected –

I know this goddamn life too well.”

***

“Yeah, but I’m gonna take good care of

(Insert your name here)

Yeah,

Honey, ain’t no one gonna dog me down.

Alright, yeah.”

Video Credit:

https://www.youtube.com/user/pridden76

I am Having Too Many Rimen-Misses! “Being The Sad Story and Lamentable Fate of the Good and Gracious Mister Peabody: A Turkey”

I’ve had a few requests to pull this passage out of the longer post: 

I suppose it can best be described as

“The Peabody Affair”

which occurred sometime in 1963. For those of you who may not have read the original, which I know is a bit longish; perhaps this will pique your interest.

Thanks for reading

***

Those were happy times for the most part, and we lived in a very small garage apartment owned by some friends of my grandparents. My mother had a beautiful voice and would sing a cappella constantly while cooking, doing dishes, or just mucking about the apartment.

Mom

My ‘musical talents’ have obviously come from my father’s side.

***

The elderly couple who owned the apartment and the very large house and yard surrounding it were called The Benbows. They were very nice people and apparently very, very good friends of my grandmother; hence our living there for what I now must assume was cheap rent. 

I liked them well enough I suppose. They had a ranch somewhere close to Fremont and I do remember going there at least once for the ‘roundup.’ There were horses, cows, dogs, cats, varmints, barbecue, (Not barbecued varmints!) and a nice creek to go skinny dipping in.

All right there in the Bay Area. Amazing to me now, but that was many years ago…

What I didn’t like about the arrangement was the fact that Mrs. Benbow had a pet Tom Turkey, named ‘Mr. Peabody.’

This bird hated little boys. And he was passionate about it. Mom would give me a cookie and tell me, “Now, go play outside and let me finish cleaning the house.”

I feared the outside while holding cookies. Mr. Peabody would lie in wait for me, and as soon as he saw me with cookies or anything resembling cookies, he would launch his attack.

With a strongly developed sense of self-preservation even at that tender age, I would drop the cookies and flee (Read: Run Like Hell) back to mom, complaining about this evil bird.

She would laugh and tell me to get over it, or “Why don’t you just play somewhere else?” 

Easily said Mom.

Impossibly done.

 “Remember?  I’m not allowed to cross the street???”

Grrrr…. This was not the proper response from someone who was supposed to love me above and beyond all things on Earth.

One day as I was warily munching a cookie, I saw Mr. Peabody circling, sizing me up for the attack that was certain to follow, but that day I did not flee. Something had come over me and instead of running for the apartment I ran for a large stick I had noticed on the ground just outside the door.

Someone, or Some Thing had put that stick there for a reason and I was quite certain I knew what the reason was. I grabbed the stick and confronted Mr. Peabody.

Now most of the turkeys I have known are not terribly bright and Mr. Peabody being no exception kept charging me with his wings flapping, his beak squawking, and his talons kicking up dust as if he expected this to be just another easy victory for him in the never ending Cookie Wars.

Au contraire.

I smacked him full force right in the side, “dusting him off” so to speak and releasing a small cloud of turkey feathers from him and a large “Whoop!” from me. This shocked him for an instant, but then he rejoined the battle in earnest and came at me again complaining even louder than before.

With new found courage and drunk from the power that only MWTD, Massive Weapons of Turkey Destruction can provide, I stood my ground and let him have it again. This time he grew some intelligence and ran from me.

He actually ran from me!

I couldn’t believe it!

Of course I had to chase him now.

Memories of all the times of torment suffered, all the skinned knees, and all the hurt pride and of all the cookies lost flooded my mind.

I was going to have my satisfaction. I chased that poor bird all around the yard, giddy with my newly found manhood and laughing manically the whole time.

Mr. Peabody ended up running into the entrance to the stairwell leading to our apartment and promptly got stuck behind the water heater. As much as I hated that turkey I did not want him to die stuck behind that appliance in that awful way. I tried in vain to poke him out, but had to give up when called in to supper.

Panic had started growing in my mind at that point, as I knew I would be blamed for the untimely end of The Gracious and Good Mr. Peabody even though I am certain there had been no witnesses.

Well, the damn bird did end up dying there and horribly so I am sure, and at the time I was somewhat remorseful, but as I look back on that experience, no longer am.

May he rot in Hell! 

And even though relentlessly interrogated and upon more than one occasion, I never confessed to the murder of the Beloved Mr. Peabody–Until this day.

And I am optimistically confident I can trust you not to drop a dime…

Being The Sad Story and Lamentable Fate of the Good and Gracious Mister Peabody: A Turkey

I’ve had a few requests to pull this passage out of the longer post: 

I suppose it can best be described as

“The Peabody Affair”

which occurred sometime in 1963. For those of you who may not have read the original, which I know is a bit longish; perhaps this will pique your interest.

Thanks for reading

***

Those were happy times for the most part, and we lived in a very small garage apartment owned by some friends of my grandparents. My mother had a beautiful voice and would sing a cappella constantly while cooking, doing dishes, or just mucking about the apartment.

Mom

My ‘musical talents’ have obviously come from my father’s side.

***

The elderly couple who owned the apartment and the very large house and yard surrounding it were called The Benbows. They were very nice people and apparently very, very good friends of my grandmother; hence our living there for what I now must assume was cheap rent. 

I liked them well enough I suppose. They had a ranch somewhere close to Fremont and I do remember going there at least once for the ‘roundup.’ There were horses, cows, dogs, cats, varmints, barbecue, (Not barbecued varmints!) and a nice creek to go skinny dipping in.

All right there in the Bay Area. Amazing to me now, but that was many years ago…

What I didn’t like about the arrangement was the fact that Mrs. Benbow had a pet Tom Turkey, named ‘Mr. Peabody.’

This bird hated little boys. And he was passionate about it. Mom would give me a cookie and tell me, “Now, go play outside and let me finish cleaning the house.”

I feared the outside while holding cookies. Mr. Peabody would lie in wait for me, and as soon as he saw me with cookies or anything resembling cookies, he would launch his attack.

With a strongly developed sense of self-preservation even at that tender age, I would drop the cookies and flee (Read: Run Like Hell) back to mom, complaining about this evil bird.

She would laugh and tell me to get over it, or “Why don’t you just play somewhere else?” 

Easily said Mom.

Impossibly done.

 “Remember?  I’m not allowed to cross the street???”

Grrrr…. This was not the proper response from someone who was supposed to love me above and beyond all things on Earth.

One day as I was warily munching a cookie, I saw Mr. Peabody circling, sizing me up for the attack that was certain to follow, but that day I did not flee. Something had come over me and instead of running for the apartment I ran for a large stick I had noticed on the ground just outside the door.

Someone, or Some Thing had put that stick there for a reason and I was quite certain I knew what the reason was. I grabbed the stick and confronted Mr. Peabody.

Now most of the turkeys I have known are not terribly bright and Mr. Peabody being no exception kept charging me with his wings flapping, his beak squawking, and his talons kicking up dust as if he expected this to be just another easy victory for him in the never ending Cookie Wars.

Au contraire.

I smacked him full force right in the side, “dusting him off” so to speak and releasing a small cloud of turkey feathers from him and a large “Whoop!” from me. This shocked him for an instant, but then he rejoined the battle in earnest and came at me again complaining even louder than before.

With new found courage and drunk from the power that only MWTD, Massive Weapons of Turkey Destruction can provide, I stood my ground and let him have it again. This time he grew some intelligence and ran from me.

He actually ran from me!

I couldn’t believe it!

Of course I had to chase him now.

Memories of all the times of torment suffered, all the skinned knees, and all the hurt pride and of all the cookies lost flooded my mind.

I was going to have my satisfaction. I chased that poor bird all around the yard, giddy with my newly found manhood and laughing manically the whole time.

Mr. Peabody ended up running into the entrance to the stairwell leading to our apartment and promptly got stuck behind the water heater. As much as I hated that turkey I did not want him to die stuck behind that appliance in that awful way. I tried in vain to poke him out, but had to give up when called in to supper.

Panic had started growing in my mind at that point, as I knew I would be blamed for the untimely end of The Gracious and Good Mr. Peabody even though I am certain there had been no witnesses.

Well, the damn bird did end up dying there and horribly so I am sure, and at the time I was somewhat remorseful, but as I look back on that experience, no longer am.

May he rot in Hell! 

And even though relentlessly interrogated and upon more than one occasion, I never confessed to the murder of the Beloved Mr. Peabody–Until this day.

And I am optimistically confident I can trust you not to drop a dime…

Kinda, Sorta, Maybe, Updated, Expanded, Or Not….More Janis! “I Got Dem Ol’ Time Turtle Blues Again Mama!” (Apologies to Janis Joplin)

Janis Joplin / Big Brother and the Holding Company –

“Combination of the Two”

Yet another bit gleaned from my longer post of 29 Jan 2014. 

“‘The Time Has Come,’ The Walrus Said, ‘To Talk of Many Things:

Of Murdered Birds, Of Turtles Green, and Hippies Sellin’ Rings.’”

My mother was probably

“The Original Hippy Chick.”

When Haight-Ashbury was in full bloom, she would not shut up about it until we ventured there.

(Just the two of us. By Ourselves. Mother and Child–You could do that in ’67–No Worries. Don’t try it today. Please Don’t try it today.)

I knew a little of the ‘Hippy Culture’ back then, yet had no desire to experience it ‘up close an’ personal.’

Mom did.

I MISS HER.
I Miss My Mother
I MISS HER FREE SPIRIT

So one bright sunny Saturday morning we packed up the Ol’ Rusty Rambler and headed off to ‘Frisco and Haight-Ashbury.

Okay. Not Really Our ACTUAL Car

But close. Damn close.

To say that trip opened my eyes would be an understatement bordering on felonious.  I was shocked, awed, amazed, bothered, bewildered, enlightened, enchanted, enthralled, and all at the same time.

The whole day was a ‘Whirling Dervish’ of attacks on my senses and emotions. I remember clearly all the people with their long hair, colorful clothing, love beads, head bands, peace signs, guitars, laughter, and smoke coming from everywhere and not smelling at all like the smoke from the cigarettes my mother used to light up.

But most of all, I remember

The Music 

Music was ubiquitous and oh how I did love the music.

We walked up and down those streets for hours and I do believe my mother stopped and purchased some trinket from every single hippy-trinket-seller she visited, which by my estimation, would have been all of two hundred of them.

Not really being a trinkets-man myself, I purchased a pair of small green turtles that I wanted to rescue from a hippy life I was certain they were not well suited for. 

I actually remember telling the turtles during the ride home not to worry; that they were safe now, and also apologizing to them if I had left any of their family members behind due to the fact that my meager allowance did not afford me the luxury of benevolence to purchase freedom for the whole lot of them–Even though I did beg mom for an advance to do just that.

The turtles ended up having a fine long Turtle – Life and were probably the only two green turtles to ever migrate from 

California

 

to

Texas

Texas suited them and me, better. Much better.

Author’s Note: I am a NATIVE Texan. Born in Ladonia, 1957

(Wasn’t MY fault I was forced to live in California for too many years.)

***

As Always, Thank you for visiting and reading. All comments are welcomed.

Wishing Happy Days Ahead to all My Friends.

***

Bonus Added

Added Bonus:

“But you know I’m very well protected –

I know this goddamn life too well.”

***

“Yeah, but I’m gonna take good care of

(Insert your name here)

Yeah,

Honey, ain’t no one gonna dog me down.

Alright, yeah.”

Video Credit:

https://www.youtube.com/user/pridden76

Being The Sad Story and Lamentable Fate of the Good and Gracious Mister Peabody: A Turkey

I’ve had a few requests to pull this passage out of the longer post: The Time Has Come, The Walrus Said…(29 Jan)  and publish it as stand-alone. I suppose it can best be described as “The Peabody Affair.” which occurred sometime in 1963. For those of you who may not have read the original, which I know is a bit longish, perhaps this will pique your interest.

Thanks for reading

***angry_Turkey

Those were happy times for the most part, and we lived in a very small garage apartment owned by some friends of my grandparents. My mother had a beautiful voice and would sing a cappella constantly while cooking, doing dishes, or just mucking about the apartment. My musical talents have obviously come from my father’s side.

The elderly couple who owned the apartment and the very large house and yard surrounding it were called Benbow. They were very nice people and apparently very, very good friends of my grandmother; hence our living there for what I now must assume was cheap rent.  I liked them well enough I suppose. They had a ranch somewhere close to Fremont and I do remember going there at least once for the ‘roundup.’ There were horses, cows, dog, cats, varmints, barbecue, (Not barbecued varmints!) and a nice creek to go skinny dipping in. All right there in the Bay Area. Amazing to me now, but then, that was many years ago…

What I didn’t like about the arrangement was the fact that Mrs. Benbow had a pet Tom Turkey, named ‘Mr. Peabody.’ This bird hated little boys. And he was passionate about it. Mom would give me a cookie and tell me, “Now, go play outside and let me finish cleaning the house.” I feared the outside while holding cookies. Mr. Peabody would lie in wait for me, and as soon as he saw me with cookies or anything resembling cookies, he would launch his attack. With a strongly developed sense of self-preservation even at that tender age, I would drop the cookies and flee (Read: Run Like Hell) back to mom, complaining about this evil bird. She would just laugh and tell me to get over it, or “Why don’t you just play somewhere else?”  Easily said Mom, but impossibly done. “Remember?  I can’t cross the street???” Grrrr…. This was not the proper response from someone who was supposed to love me above and beyond all things on Earth.

One day as I was warily munching a cookie, I saw Mr. Peabody circling, sizing me up for the attack that was certain to follow, but this day I did not flee. Something had come over me and instead of running for the apartment I ran for a large stick I had noticed on the ground just outside the door. Someone, or Some Thing had put that stick there for a reason and I was quite certain I knew what the reason was. I grabbed the stick and confronted Mr. Peabody. Now, most of the turkeys I have known are not terribly bright and Mr. Peabody being no exception kept charging me with his wings flapping, his beak squawking, and his talons kicking up dust as if he expected this to be just another easy victory for him in the never ending Cookie Wars.

scared_turkey

Au contraire.

I smacked him full force right in the side, “dusting him off” so to speak and releasing a small cloud of turkey feathers from him and a large “Whoop!” from me. This shocked him for an instant, but then he rejoined the battle in earnest and came at me again complaining even louder than before. With new found courage and drunk from the power that only MWTD, Massive Weapons of Turkey Destruction can provide, I stood my ground and let him have it again. This time he grew some intelligence and ran from me. He actually ran from me! I couldn’t believe it. Of course I had to chase him now. Memories of all the times of torment and of all the cookies lost flooded my mind. I was going to have my satisfaction. I chased that poor bird all around the yard, giddy with my newly found manhood and laughing manically the whole time. Mr. Peabody ended up running into the entrance to the stairwell leading to our apartment and promptly got stuck behind the water heater. As much as I hated that turkey I did not want him to die stuck behind that appliance in that awful way. I tried in vain to poke him out, but had to give up when called in to supper. Panic had started growing in my mind at that point, as I knew I would be blamed for the untimely end of The Gracious and Good Mr. Peabody even though I am certain there had been no witnesses.

Well, the damn bird did end up dying there and horribly so I am sure, and at the time I was somewhat remorseful, but as I look back on that experience, no longer am. May he rot in Hell.  And even though relentlessly interrogated and upon more than one occasion, I never confessed to the murder of the Beloved Mr. Peabody–Until this day. And I am confident I can trust you not to drop a dime…

‘The Time Has Come,’ The Walrus Said, ‘To Talk of Many Things: Of Murdered Birds, Of Turtles Green, and Hippies Sellin’ Rings.’ -With Apologies to Lewis Carroll

peobody

“Nap time!”

That hated time.

That dreaded time.

That feared time.

Why?

Because I did not know my left foot from my right foot.

You see, during “Nap Time” I had to remove my shoes and I could never figure out which shoe went on which foot.

Made no difference to me if I woke up and put the left shoe into the right mouth, but it did seem to matter a great deal to my kindergarten teacher. She would grow livid if one of her charges got the whole shoe business wrong. Well, good for her and bless her heart.

“Your shoes are on the wrong foot. Doesn’t that look funny to you? Doesn’t it feel uncomfortable? Don’t you feel like a fool?”

No. No. And, No.

I cared not.

However, being eager to please and wont to have no drama hurled in my direction, I made an honest effort to figure out the ‘whole shoe business’ just to make my life easier and less complicated.

Since I, until this day, cannot discern right from left, (or find my wayward way about my home town—pop: 1800) I came up with what I thought was a semi-brilliant plan: When nap-time came about, I would remove my shoes and carefully place them on the floor and slide them underneath my cot in exactly the same configuration that they had whilst my feet were wearing them. I surmised that once awakened, I could roll over, sit up, and by placing my feet just the same way as before I had retired, find the shoes exactly as they had been. Good theory, but I was never quite certain if or not, some Evil Shoe Satan had trifled with my shoes whist I was sleeping and therefore, did not know (with absolute certainty) if my shoes were still in the same configuration where I had left them and hence, if they would go back on in that same same configuration I needed.

I hated nap time.

Or, more accurately: the waking up from nap time.

**********************

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