Saturday Afternoon at the Cemetery

A couple flirted, giggled, and kissed on a blanket under the cemetery pines while a woman sat on a towel, eating an apple and reading, in a splash of sunshine twenty yards away. Dozens of grave markers from them, a trio of fawns bucked and gamboled. A pair of does ate while a grave majestic buck chewed in thought. A gray squirrel, egged on by cawing crows and jeering jays, chased another squirrel around and up trees and over headstones as a flock of wild turkeys tsked, sighed, and tutted.

It was a lively place to be, in the cemetery that day.

Fast and Furious

To borrow from the movie franchise that stole the phrase from popular culture, today’s writing session went fast and furious. Hard keeping pace with the muses as they turned up with generous inputs. It fast became one of those writing-like-crazy sessions where I sat down, swallowed a big gulp of hot coffee, and then started typing. When I next was aware of tasting the coffee, it was cold to the lips, and the coffee shop was empty except for me and the barista.

Exciting time. Loved it. Hate for it to end, but they’re shutting up for the day, as they close at noon on Sundays. It was great while I was here, though, the sort of session writers always hope to experience, where the story comes alive, and the words thunder out as if the faucet’s been fully opened and will never close.


Exfloofsive (floofinition) – An area, period, or activity established or reserved for animal use.

In use: “She hadn’t planned it, but Caramel made every evening at eight PM his exfloofsive time, fetching his brush without being told, bringing it to her, and sitting down before her, waiting to be brushed, with his bright eyes telling her, “You know what you must do.” Resistance wasn’t even considered.”

Sunday’s Theme Music

We went to a spotlight performance the other night. As an elderly community of retired professionals in their sixties to nineties thrive around here, performances are often geared toward their preferences and memories. The spotlight performances are among those, featuring music from 1960s era “girl-bands”, the Motown sound, the Eagles, and the current offering focusing on the Mamas and Papas. They’re a lot of fun but they fire up neurons from that era, as more of that period’s music flooded my stream this morning.

“Eve of Destruction” by Barry McGuire was playing as irritation with our current government sent me into new spasms of frustration. Then along came a song by a group called Thunderclap Newman has been on loop. I always liked the name, Thunderclap Newman. Goes right up there with Moby Grape, Psychedelic Furs and Strawberry Alarm Clock.

Thunderclap Newman’s song, “Something in the Air” is streaming in my head. Word association started it. First, “Eve of Destruction” lyrics bobbed along the stream:

Yeah, my blood’s so mad, feels like coagulatin’
I’m sittin’ here just contemplatin’
I can’t twist the truth, it knows no regulation
Handful of Senators don’t pass legislation

And marches alone can’t bring integration
When human respect is disintegratin’
This whole crazy world is just too frustratin’

Read more: Barry Mcguire – Eve Of Destruction Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Ah, the rhyming. But the song’s sentiment plays as true for 2019 as it did for 1965 regarding governments’ ineptitude, human respect, frustration at the pace of change, and constant war. We stay on the eve of destruction, don’t we?

Lock up the streets and houses
Because there’s something in the air
We’ve got to get together sooner or later
Because the revolution’s here,

h/t to

I always enjoyed Newman’s piano solo in this song. I have a vivid memory of smoking hash and listening to this song again and again when I was sixteen and my Dad was away.

So, that’s my Sunday theme music, Thunderclap’s 1969 song, “Something in the Air”.


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