February 15 – Bee Gees in my Brain

The Brothers Gibb hiding in my brain cells

            I am old enough to be certain that there is stuff in my brain that I have no real use for except for doing crossword puzzles  Things like the names of silent film stars, the names of old baseball players, and the letters of the Greek alphabet.  I just have lots of useless (and pointless) knowledge stored in the long term memory folds waiting for retrieval.  What surprised me was how much music from long ago appears to be taking up space.  

            The Bee Gees don’t usually come up in conversation and I haven’t given them much thought or any thought at all probably since college when they were at the height of their popularity.  I spent many nights in discos dancing to “You Should be Dancing.”  But then it all disappeared–disco and the Bee Gees.

            One night, for some reason, my husband played a Bee Gees song in some music mix and I mentioned that I would love to see a “Behind the Music” on The Bee Gees.  They seemed to implode and disappear, and those stories were always the best Behind the Music episodes (please someone bring this show back!).  I turned to the font of all knowledge, Google, to see if such an episode existed.  I discovered that a documentary was going to be released on HBO.  I just had to wait.  

            The documentary finally arrived and my brain exploded.  What shocked me was how many songs I remembered.  We bought the Bee Gees anthology because why not? and suddenly words I did not know I knew were coming out of my mouth as I sang along.  They really wrote some earworms and those worms were dug in deep.  Brain cells that had long gone dormant sparked to life.  I knew the words to Bee Gees songs going back to the 1960s.  The words to “Massachusetts” came flowing out, and I really do not like that song.  But there it was, verses and choruses at the ready.  That poor brain cell has been sitting around waiting and waiting for someone to need it.  And this was the day.  Even weirder, there were some songs I remembered but I had no idea they were Bee Gees songs.  I honestly thought that “Lonely Days” was a Beatles song.  (Just go listen to it.)  

            Then after that mind blast, I picked up an autobiography of Tommy James.  Once again lights went on in parts of my brain I thought were dedicated to more important things like my old home phone number.  But no, there they were bubbling up from the depths– “Mony, Mony,” “Crimson & Clover “and “Crystal Blue Persuasion,” every word and note a longstanding memory.  

            It is becoming a game at this point.  What obscure music can I recall from the days of AM radio when music wasn’t curated for your particular tastes.  You had to take it all in, the good with the annoying.  Soul, rock, folk, pop, and John Denver singing “Thank God I’m a Country Boy.”  There was no way out of it.  And it led to the lurking lyrics in my synapses.  So now I just have to live with the fact that somewhere in the depths of my brain lurks the words to The Candyman.   

February 13 – Curling

            Many years ago, I fell in love with curling.  It was the 2006 Olympics.   It was back in the day when there was no streaming.  To watch curling, you had to watch it in the middle of the might.  I had had shoulder surgery and I was sleeping weird hours and I was on drugs.  When I watch the Olympics I like to watch random events just to see what a sport is all about.  I started to watch curling and I was completely hooked.  It could have been the drugs but whatever it was, I became obsessed.  Anette Norberg was the skip.  She was cool-headed and a really good curler.  I loved that woman.  I would talk about it in the morning.  At first, Matt thought I was nuts.  Curling?  That boring Canadian game?  No.  First it is Scottish in origin and second, it is a chess match.  Once he watched it, well, he too became a fanatic.  

            We wish we could get curling here on ESPN+ or something but that never comes to fruition despite the popularityof the sport during the Olympics.  So we have to wait four years for it to come back to our tv.  We are then glued to the matches.  This year, the Japanese women’s team was our favorite.  Little sprites chattering and laughing.  I swear they lost Gold because they were not having fun.  

February 12 – Walk About and Shopping Carts

            Sometimes on the weekend, Matt and I go on what we call “walk about.”  It is running errands but inevitably, the errands lead us to places we never intended.  This weekend, we went off to the car wash.  

           It turned out I needed a few things from the grocery store.  We were near an Aldi.  Aldi’s is a German company.  I’ve never been to an Aldi, and I thought this would be an opportunity. But I never made it past the front door.  The grocery carts were locked and could be freed only with a deposit of a quarter, which would be refunded to me when I returned the cart.  I can only assume the intention is to prevent people from walking away with the carts.  But would a quarter really stop a cart thief?  Maybe in Germany that works.  But maybe taking that cart and walking off with it is worth a quarter.  I don’t know.  

            Well, it did not matter.  I did not have a quarter.  In fact, I wondered who in this day carries around change of any kind.  I searched in vain for a hand basket or something to carry around the few items I needed.  Nothing.  I decided I did not care enough and if Aldi really needed my quarter to enable to me to use a cart, then they were not for me.  

            We continued on our walk about.  

February 10 – Burtonsville

            Why do I live in Burtonsville?  Honestly, I have no clue except it was an inexpensive place to live, we got a lot of house and land for the money, and there was no homeowners association, a requirement for us.  

            Burtonsville is named after some person I assume.  I have no idea who and I am not sure I care.  They have a parade every year for Burtonsville Day.  This puzzles me.  I have never been to the parade since it takes place on a Saturday morning, and I am not getting up for it.  But what is it for?  There is nothing here that makes Burtonsville worthy of a parade as far as I can tell.  I’d like to say it has its charms but honestly, there is nothing charming about it.  There is barely a town.  It is just a strip of restaurants and businesses along a highway and then houses, some in subdivisions, some not  

            When we lived in Wheaton, which had its charms, Burtonsville seemed like it was a million miles away.  It is on the very northern border of the county, midway between D.C. and Baltimore.  From that perspective it is the center of the universe.  Although it is only about 15 miles from downtown D.C. it takes a good hour to get there given traffic.  Virginia is reachable, but we never really go there.  

            Burtonsville used to be known for its Dutch Country Farmer’s Market where you could buy Amish food and crafts.  But developers came along and forced the Market to move.  The store it occupied had to be torn down and replaced with a new strip mall anchored by a Giant Food.  Why would we ever put up with Amish folk, the one charming thing about the place, when we could have a Giant?  

             My plumber grew up here.  The farmhouse he grew up in is just up the street from our house.  He now lives in West Virginia and commutes here every day.  I guess that gives you an idea of the attraction of Burtonsville.  He tells me that when he lived here there were mostly farms.  It was country, not the suburbs.  You can still see old farmhouses along the roads today.  But we are now an outer suburb and the farm fields have long since been turned into housing.

            A long, long time ago, when I was in my first job, I worked with a guy who lived in Burtonsville.  His wife worked in Baltimore and this was the best place for them to commute.  He was actually ashamed of that fact and tried to hide it.  I remember being puzzled about the town.  I did not know where it was but he did not like to talk about it.  As I look back, I think that was a little harsh.  This place is nothing to be ashamed of.  It is just no place to write home about.  

             Don’t get me wrong.  I love where my house is located from a flora and fauna perspective.  We have land, lots of trees and wildlife, it is quiet and peaceful.  It is great fun watching hawks and foxes. There is a forest preserve next to us that prevents development and there is a lake not too far away.  But I have no relationship to the town itself to the extent there actually is one.  

February 9 – Matt plays trombone

            There is a band from New Zealand who we love without limits—Fat Freddy’s Drop.   They are a reggae, jazz, funk R&B band to kind of summarize it.  Every record is a little different.  We learned about them when we went to New Zealand in 2005. We have loved them ever since. We are even going to Europe to see them this summer.

The most important part of this band is the horn section.  Tremendous horns.  Here is Matt playing along with Fat Freddy on his Trombone.

February 8 – JoJo eats a string

            Having JoJo is like having a toddler.  I need to JoJo proof everything because he is so curious.   He will poke his nose into closets and spaces he does not belong.  He has to check out everything he comes across with a sniff and examination.   But worst of all, JoJo does not have a discerning palate.  He will eat or try to eat most anything he comes across.  He will sniff it and then bite into it.  Right now he is very busy chewing apart a kicker toy tearing a hole in the cloth cover and pulling out the stuffing.  He tries to chew it then spits it out realizing it does not taste right.  Then he moves on to the fallen leaf, the crumb from last night’s dinner or a random spider.  Chomp, chew and swallow.  A couple of bites and it is gone.

            But this one was alarming.  I was playing with JoJo with a teaser toy.  A teaser toy is a stick with a string attached and then a toy attached to the string.  Cats will chase them for hours if you are willing to waste your time amusing a cat. 

            I put the toy down and turned my back for a minute, when I turned back, I found the stick with nothing but a stub of string.   The toy that had been attached to the string was also loose seeming to have been chewed off from the string.  Missing was the string itself.   I searched everywhere.  I could not find it.

            I asked him, did you eat the string?  He did not answer.  If he ate the string, he sure did not show any distress.  The bigger worry was that it could become lodged in his intestines and cause a blockage.  That would kill him.  The only way to know would be a trip to the emergency vet.  So off we went.  

            JoJo howls like a banshee when he is in the car.  He sits in his carrier and cries.  After a while he starts to claw the bottom hoping to escape by digging his way out.  The emergency vet is 45 minutes away in rush hour.  I had to listen to him howl the whole way.  He was showing no signs of being sick.  

            The vet did an exam and took x-rays.  She could not see anything.  She tried to induce vomiting. He did not vomit.  Finally, we agreed we would wait until he either passed the string or he started to show signs of distress.  Six hundred dollars later we went home.  I still have not found that string, he has not passed it and he seems just fine.  Who knows what happened?

February 7 – I Believe in Science

History through t-shirts

            I have boxes and boxes of old t-shirts that I keep as mementos.  As I look back, I am dismayed at how things have gotten so out of hand.  I have two shirts in particular that just amaze me.  One says “I Believe in Science” and the other says  “March for Science.”  How dumb and how absurd is it that we marched to say we support scientists? We actually had to march in the streets to argue that science was valid.  We had to stand up for science in this warped world where no-nothings think they can find all the answers in some rabbit hole on the internet.  At the time the protests were about Trump and the GOP talking down climate change and rejecting scientific predictions.  But it was also about the effort by Trump to weaken environmental laws by adopting regulations that would discount “scientific theory.”  

Sadly, marching makes no difference in today’s world. It is cathartic. I love to march and have my voice heard. Unfortunately, it is only heard by the like minded people around me. Politicians have learned to just ignore it or spin it away as nothing more than radical extremists blah blah blah. So I have concluded that protesting and marching does not really move the needle in relation to the people who you want desperately to listen. I am not against protesting. It feels good. I just know that in the end, it is pointless.

We marched for science and they went ahead and did whatever they wanted–revoked and decimated environmental laws, ignored climate change, and rejected scientific evidence when it suited them. Little did we know at the time that the war on science was only starting and that COVID would make those days look serene. 

            Jesus, we are so fucked up.

February 6 – Green House

            Matt often knows what I want before I do.  As a present for my being a caregiver, he bought me a small greenhouse.  He paid for two guys to come and put it together.  He knew I would try myself if he did not get someone to come by.  I am glad he did.  The cussing factor on this thing was pretty high judging by what I saw these two guys wrestle with.  But by golly, they got it done.  

            Over the summer it sat empty since all of my plants sit on the patio. But usually in winter,  I bring the plants indoors and try to find places near the windows.  It gets pretty tight.  I also now have the added fun of a cat that likes to eat plants.  This year, instead of bringing them into the house, I am keeping them in their own warm and cozy house with a heater. Outside it is 20 degrees inside it is a nice 40 degrees. Just enough warmth to keep them happy. Added bonus – JoJo can’t eat them.  

Here is a look:

Happy Geraniums
Bay leaf bush.

February 4 –  Every Day is Exactly the Same.


 “I believe I can see the future
‘Cause I repeat the same routine”

(Trent always knows how to put his finger on it.) 

            Gosh, this is boring. I do feel like I am in a routine rut. Is it because I am just getting older and there are things that have to be done? Like cleaning or taking out the trash. Day after day after day. It never ever stops. I exercise everyday. Don’t get me wrong. I love to exercise. But I have been doing it for a very long time and I need to break up the routine of it.

One reason is that the activities that break things up are not possible right now. Matt and I do a few things—we go to plays, we go to concerts, we travel, and we go out to restaurants.  In the summer we add in trips to the pick your own farm where we revel in nature.  Medical issues, winter, and COVID have pretty much stopped these activities.  Plays have been cancelled,  Travel has had to stop because of our various medical issues, and we continue to be wary of restaurants because they have all gone back to “normal.”  

            We went to a concert and it was pretty weird.  Proof of vaccination or negative test required but alas, most of the crowd was drinking or holding glasses and pretending to be drinking so they did not have to wear a mask. From there is was shouting to talk and singing without masks.  I do not think that I am paranoid but when you have nearly a million people dead, I just don’t think it is asking too much for people to exercise some consideration for their fellow man. 

Do I wish it was over? Sure. But we cannot wish it away. Would I like to live with it? Sure. But what does that mean? I don’t think anyone really knows. What I do know is that not enough people are vaccinated, there are a lot of people who are dead and a lot more who became sick and have not fully recovered. Going out to eat is not worth it. And isn’t that what a risk assessment is? Asking yourself, is it worth the risk? Usually the answer is, not really. The other option is being bored. I guess I’ll take it.

COVID is just making it that much more obvious that we are all stuck to some extent. Even if COVID were not around, I cannot help but think that there comes a point in life where you have been doing the same thing for so long, you become numb to it all. I think this is one cause of the great resignation. COVID has made us all more aware of time, its value and how we use it.

I really need to shake things up.

February 1 – The Artist

Great stuff if you like dots and think they make a statement

           The other day my mind wandered back in time to my first years here in DC.  I lived in a group house because I was a poor student.  There were two women living in the house—both ex-wives of artists.  Louise Downing was the wife of Thomas Downing, a member of what is known as the Washington Color School.  Tom Downing was not the most very famous member of the Color School. That privilege went to Morris Louis and Kenneth Noland.  To some extent Downing faded into obscurity.  

            Louise was French-Canadian and she spoke with somewhat of an accent.  She had brown curly hair and wore false teeth.  She favored bare feet and flowing mu-mu type dresses.  She was short and stout, but she had a French way about her.  She was boisterous and demonstrative.  She liked to talk with a cigarette between her fingers and had a deep throaty, cigarette smoke laugh.  She smoked a lot, too much in fact.   She had serious heart issues.  She had a chest zipper, and her voice was gravelly from smoking so much.  She cooked amazing French food, well, French-Canadian food.  

            I think she left her husband because he had become abusive. I was never clear if they had actually divorced.  I do know that she had come to live with us while she worked to get custody of her son.  She had no job and no money. She slept on a couch on our screened-in porch.

            Even though separated, Louise was obsessed with making sure her husband Tom’s work was on the art market.  First, she thought he was brilliant and second, they needed the money. She had a very long story about how the paintings were in storage and she could not get them out until she paid off a debt.  I was never clear exactly who had the lien.  But she could not put her hands on what were very valuable works of art.  

            I loved Louise and we spent hours sitting around talking.  At some point, she became convinced that I should meet her husband and date him.  Louise was very much afraid she was going to die of a heart attack and he would be left without anyone to take care of him and her son.  She focused on me.  I had not one bit of interest in this.  But she insisted that I meet Tom so I agreed to lunch.  

            We spent the day walking around D.C. talking.  He was interesting enough to talk to.  But we had not a thing in common. That it was awkward does not really say enough.  I was 22 at the time.  My interests were not the same as a man in his fifties.  

            At some point, he asked me if I wanted to see his work.  I said, sure, why not.  He took me to a walk-up apartment in Dupont Circle.  What I found there was odd but somehow fitting.  The only furniture was a folding chair and a crate that stood in for a coffee table that held an overflowing ashtray.  That was it.  His dot paintings were lined up along the walls. They were not even hanging.  I think he was sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag.  

            I sat on the chair while he sat on the floor.  He asked me what I thought about his work.  My thought was, um, those are circles.  I am not an abstract expressionist lover.  I am not even an abstract expressionist liker.  They seemed pointless.  But I told him they were quite interesting.  I tried very hard to be enthusiastic.  I am not sure why.  I felt like he needed to impress me.  

            After about an hour I looked at my watch and apologized that it was time for me to go.  I just needed to get out of there.  I had done what Louise asked and that was enough.  

            When I got home, Louise was so excited. She wanted to know every detail.  I talked a bit but I think she realized that her husband was just not for me.  She was fine with that. Not long after Tom moved to Provincetown, I believe, and Louise got custody of her son and they moved to Georgetown.  I would visit her there and watch her cook French meals.  

            One day, I have never understood why, she gave me a pair of earrings and a gold ring.  It was a gold band.  I thought it was her wedding ring.  It sure did look like one.  She was vague about what it was.  It was as if she wanted me to have a memento of our time together.  We soon lost touch.  I think she followed her husband to Massachusetts, and I never saw her again.  Tom Downing died in 1985.  I’ve looked for Louise on the internet but that was almost 40 years ago, and I am sure she too has passed on.  I still have the ring and the earrings. I remember her fondly.  She was a bright spot for me when I first came here.  

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