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Sunday, February 2, 2014

Of Superbowls, Pete Seeger, Wings, and Sundry Thoughts

Pete Seeger died this week. A loss to the music world, and to certain political affiliates, for sure. But, he was a loss to me. Two days before the anniversary of my mother's death, he left us, and is Joe Hill said on Twitter, he is now organizing the angels in heaven, the United Angels Untied. He followed me on Twitter on my Dr. E's Doll Museum account, and I was honored. Honored as a Twitter fan, as a musician, strictly amateur, as a former folk singer, as a lover of the whole folk era. I loved Peter, Paul and Mary and Puff the Magic Dragon because my youngest uncle, George, loved them. Puff was my anthem; all ridiculous rubbish on drug cultures aside. I will miss him,, and we at The Museum were honored. 50 years ago this Friday the Beatles invaded, and began a journey that has taken them through several generations and lifetimes of their own. I saw them when I was a toddler, with my Uncle George, on Ed Sullivan. He was a very young uncle, about 19, but I shared his interests, and became a very old soul. I was way past Itsy Bitsy Spider at age 5, my thing was Petula Clark, and PPM, and at age six, Johnny Cash and Folsom Prison Blues. It is of course, Super Bowl Sunday. It was an institution to watch when I was a bout 10. My mom would iron in the back of the living room, watching TV, or, 'the little balls' as she called it. Her brother Tom, and artist, and my dad, watched the game intently. We didn't have sbowl parties like today. We had a little popcorn, snacks and cheese and crackers, and coke and Shasta Colas, no beer or alcohol. No one painted faces or wore jerseys. We were all young, and tired from work and school, and glad to be together. I read books and watch, and got into the Miami Dolphins one year, or made dolls and crafts. We weren't the Waltons or the Huxtables, but we were happy, in a nice setting, during winter that didn't seem so bad or so cold as it does now. In 1986, the Challenger Disaster no. 1 hit the day after the Sbowl. The Bears had won the day before, and Walter Payton doing The Super Bowl Shuffle was hot. It was a mind numbing, tragic week, brought home now more than over. A friend and colleague was in the Coast Guard recovery after Challenger crashed. It is a small world, and we are connected in ways we don't know. My mother used to make Buffalo wings, but not on sbowl Sunday. They were popular when I was in school, so she would fry wings and pack them with all the accoutrements, and bring them when they visited me. My friends and I feasted for days. It was better than nay holiday to a group of poor hungry lit students who were destined to become poor hungry lit teachers. The cold is relentless, and the snow, and it is hard to pull on boots and drag one's self out. It is bad asthma/sinus weather, and house pets are restless. Not even dogs want to go out. Currier and Ives, or even Thomas Kinkade, it isn't. My kittens take it well. One brought me his little box of catnip, and dropped it on my pillow to wake me up. I'm not sure if it was a gift, request to open it, or an invitation to partake together. More writing, housework, light, my pulled shoulder muscle is death to deal with. Tonight, Chinese New Year, a tradition with the Chinese American Society. We survived with parental health scares, work confusion, bitter cold, and general sadness, along with self-imposed pecuniary last week. May this week be better for all, and may The Groundhog not see his shadow!

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