A nod to nature. I adore creatures in camouflage that sneak up and surprise me. 

What was this creature? 

A flicker of lime green lured me to see it. I stared at the insect with its leaf-shaped wings the size of my thumb. The leaf bug as its known also had a patch of brown in between its wings, which made it almost invisible resting among the leafy bushes where I’d spot him or his cousin later.

Whether walking in the woods, down the the path, or strolling in my backyard, I have seen creatures camouflaged and admired their covert living.      

·         Toads imitated the bumpy brown tree bark. Only their eyes gave them away.      

·         Praying mantis perched on top of the canopy of leaves.

·         Hawks hidden in the crook of tree branches.

·         Ouch! The black ant that pinched me while pretending to be a tiny speck of nothing.

·         Slimy slugs poised as sticks.

·       Moths whose molted brown and orange looked like a dead leaves.

·         A weed that impersonated a flower to avoid being yanked out of my garden.

When I smiled at the knee-high weed, I’m signaling not only my disgust but also my wonder at how that wily weed evaded me.

 

A Musical Memoir: Notes on Past Performances  

My music mantra has been: Some of the best concerts in life are free. In memory of Casey Kasem, the legendary music maven who hosted the Top 40 Countdown on the radio.    

My girlfriend Leigh Ann and I whiled away our teenage life listening to Casey Kasem’s weekend countdown program. I lounged on her swishy beanbag chair, and she perched on her canopy bed. We drank Diet Coke and snacked on Chez-its.

Not old enough to attend concerts, my girlfriend and I relied on the radio, records, and Soul Train on Saturday mornings. The coolest laid back Don Cornelis hosted Sooooul Train, which showcased the best artists of soul and funk, the latest dances, and fashion trends.

Back then, the Bee Gees, Elton John, the Eagles, and Donna Summer dominated the charts. These performers had extraordinary showmanship—choreographed dances, harmonized singing and dazzling costumes. Lip synced? I doubted it.

Those old-school songs like “Car Wash” by Rose Royce or “Rich Girl,” by Hall and Oates are made for singing, dancing, lifting you up.

Kasem’s mashup on the Top 40 included funk, soft rock, and country. Oh My! But he played into listeners' hearts when he read letters and played dedicated songs for fans around the world.  

Today, a favorite song might transport me to that crowded club dance floor, the church balcony on Christmas Eve, or a concert under the stars on a warm autumn night. Jazz piano, classical violin, country, and good old rock ‘n roll (and more) have all earned a place of honor on my list.   

My musical medley countdown of free concerts over the years: 

The short list starts with the Chicago Blues Festival held in Grant Park, Chicago. Two friends and I drove from Kansas City to Chicago and stayed at my cousin’s place in Hyde Park. She treated us to Chicago style pizza whose thick, soft crust with sweet red sauce changed our pizza mindset forever.   

My cousin could not attend the festival because she was working. We explored the windy city on our own. Most of our nights were spent outside in the hot summer breeze listening to soulful blues and jazz. For me, Gerry Mulligan, a talented baritone sax player and arranger, was the most memorable act. Mulligan played with many greats, including Dave Brubeck’s band—just not that night, though.

Jazz pianist Dave Brubeck, somewhere in a Kansas City park. I felt like the jazz genie had granted me a remarkable wish as Brubeck played, “Take Five” famous for its unorthodox meter (5/4) time signature.

The crowd went wild after the first three notes of his signature song, then quieted (unlike blues fans) because they wanted to hear the intricate rhythms of their aging idol. Every note was played in a dizzying fashion. Brubeck and his piano silhouetted against the setting sun in what were thought to be his sunset years was etched in my mind. He lived to be 91, and continued to play around the world, even as his health deteriorated.

Garth Brooks at the American Royal in Kansas City, MO. Brooks invited his loyal fans to "Come on down!" to the stage. We scrambled from the stands onto the sawdust arena where bucking broncos and bulls were moments ago. As Brooks played, we sang and swayed. The sweet smell of sawdust and sounds of heart-thumping guitar music made me long to become a real cowgirl. But at least I had my boots. Whenever I hear: “Friends in Low Places,” I am back at the American Royal sitting on the cold metal seats cheering for the rodeo heroes, smelling the spilled beer, and feeling the warm crush by country music fans kicking up the sawdust at his concert. 

The concert was free thanks to my job. I worked for a small newspaper as a general reporter (the only reporter). One of the few perks of working for ole Scoop was receiving press passes to the American Royal. A pass gave me access to wander around visiting the prized livestock, watching the barrel racing, and rooting for the mutton bustin’ kids. Every night of the Royal featured one show more exciting than the night before.  

Back to Brooks’ lyrics, “I got friends in low places.” I had well-placed friends, well one friend, whose promotional work for a nightclub earned her a small paycheck and free passes the show she promoted. The club was a dive. It was the type of place you didn’t want the lights on. But the top blues and jazz musicians played there.

3. I was thrilled when I got in the back door to hear one of my favorites, Harry Connick Jr., who danced, sang, and pounded on the piano in his trademark New-Orleans style. I credited his album “Blue Light, Red Light” with helping me during my stint as a freelance writer.

2. Dancing to Ziggy Marley in Central Park, New York. A Zen-like feeling came over me when my future husband and I swayed to the hypnotizing sounds of this reggae band. What a glorious summer day when Marley cast his musical spell on me.

1. Tina Turner The Queen of Rock and roll. I saw her perform  (yes, free) on her Break Every Rule tour at Starlight Theater, in Kansas City, MO in 1987. My research showed that Turner donated 30 percent of her fee to Starlight that year to help this venerable venue.

I had a dangerous job dodging and dealing with knuckleheads, disregarding my parking directions. When every latecomer was parked, at about dusk, my work was done. My reward was hearing the talented Turner belt out every song and see her shimmy and slide across the stage—her long legs leading the way.

Standing in the aisle by the paid ticket holders, I had an ideal view. Plus, I had space to dance to this diva’s show who rocked it well into her 80s. Few fans could sit still for this show, anyway.  Nobody did it better.

Although this musical medley mentioned above spanned the decades, I have found free concerts everywhere  -- city subways to city parks. A singer's solo echoed through the subway tunnel on my way to work. The guitarist who strummed away in the gazebo at far end of the farmer’s market.   

And remember, the birds perform in trees near you in the morning, and the crickets take the stage later.  The best concerts in live are free! 

 

Summer Rites

What makes you feel like it’s summer? Hot, humid days? Watching fireflies show off, blinking in a sexy code to lure a mate, at dusk.  Ice cream is in season with fancy flavors like key lime pie. And juicy deep red delicious beefsteak tomatoes replace their pinkish pale tasteless cousins at the supermarket. 

      For me, it's the Fourth of July along with fireworks and parades that signal summertime. (Musical interlude: Summertime and the living is easy.) 

    Although it’s unfair to generalize all small towns, I can count on any small town across America to showcase its community spirit with a good old-fashioned Independence Day parade.  

    Let me set the scene. Morning clouds part and the sun beats down cutting through the dense air an hour before the parade. Small flags stand at attention along the parade route. Townspeople and out-of-towners alike arrive lugging lawn chairs and stake out a seat on the sidewalk along the parade route. 

Heading the parade is the town’s mayor. This official welcomes with a wave and a smile from a convertible, vintage vehicle, or borrowed car from his friend at the dealership.

·             Shriners spin miniature cars in circles; cars that bang, sputter and spew black smoke. These men, wearing a red fez with the black tassel, imagine they are 10 years old again. 

·             Sirens blare from the firetrucks commanding everyone’s attention. But today, the firefighters slow their roll to show off their shiny red machines. 

·             Floats with children singing, dancing, or crying all at the same time, get cheers from the crowd. Why?  The kids and adults are cheering for candy to land at their feet. In recent times, the candy is safely pressed into hands, rather than thrown from a moving vehicle.

·             All the real estate agents, more than the town’s current population, pop up through the parade. At least they have a snazzy car to admire.

·             A human and their pet (dog or cat) wearing matching Uncle Sam costumes (walk or ride). Yes, it’s true. In fact, I watched a woman teeter on her bike with a basket carrying an embarrassed cat with a goofy hat. (Don't worry, felines always get their revenge!) 

·                My favorite part comes next: A marching band playing a toe-tapping medley of American songs. The musicians play even as sweat streams into their eyes, the heavy uniform feels like armor, and the sheet music blows in the wind, they play on. 

            Automatically, I begin clapping and cheering for this band. I can count on a swell of emotion. A tear trickles from my eye. A large lump sits in my throat. I feel lighter from my daily worries. That's my summer rite of passage when happiness mixes with nostalgia.

 

 



Whether you seek out pop-up gardens, pop-up messages from nature, or smile recalling when someone special popped the question -- this musing has it all. 

Pop-up Gifts 

Doesn’t “pop-up” sound like a pleasant surprise?

Do you hear the whack of a baseball bouncing high off the bat? Or did cool drops from a sprinkler kiss your body on your well-timed walk? Perhaps a tiny burst of color peeking through a crack in the sidewalk makes you stop. These are pop-up moments. Pop-up, a fun-to-say-word, is traceable to the mid-15 century, according to etymonline.com.

My recent favorite pop-up moments:

• A handsome box turtle popped out from his shell to say, “Hello there!” I am a fan of tortoises, that’s why I give him a lift across the street. His shell is hard but without deep, rough ridges and cracks. He retreats inside his shell as I carry him to a cool grassy spot by an opening in the fence. I hope his home is in the marshy place down the hill.  
• The blur of a brilliant flame-orange male Baltimore oriole that flies in front of me. No time to stop!
•  An impromptu conversation with our neighbor by our trash one evening. We talk and laugh. Despite living next door, seeing her outside is almost as rare as seeing a Baltimore oriole. She’s a homebody.
•  At the farmer’s market, one vendor and I marvel over the beauty of beets. She uses the vegetable as a natural sweetener in her delicious granola. She also eats them raw and roasts them. Golden beets are popular now but it’s red beets that please my tastebuds. Cooked, please. My dad grew beets and they are the best beets ever. So many beets taste like old dirt! Not his.
• It’s been so hot and dry, I wonder why there’s a mushroom in our yard? A yellow disc-shaped ‘shroom shows up near our breakfast nook (two chairs and an umbrella) where my husband and I sip strong Cuban coffee in the cool shade each morning.

My husband and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary this weekend. Did you know that to pop the question dates back to 1725? Nearly 22 years ago, my husband asks me to marry him on a sunny, cold winter day in our favorite Henry Moore sculpture garden. It is the first of many surprises we share in our marriage.

May you delight in pop-ups wherever you find them!

Huge High Five! for All the Dads

Dr. Ralph V. Wimp 

   

 Dad and I emailed each other daily about current news or past historic events, family and friends, and ordinary things. My dad’s signature sign-off was your earthly father, which made me smile. If his computer wasn’t working, he’d call me because he didn’t want me to worry about him. After he died, I kept writing to him—my earthly father who now lives in heaven.

    He showed me what humor sounded like. At my retirement party, my manager said she learned to appreciate my quirky sense of humor. I considered her comment a compliment. Thanks Dad.

    Dad also showed me what happiness felt like— freedom to map out my life.

“You can be anything you want when you grow up,” he said.

    I was probably 11 or 12 years old, but realized he believed in me. My career was my choice, with unlimited possibilities.

    Dad showed a genuine interest in my work. He was curious about how I was getting along. When I shared my stories of challenging co-workers, bad bosses, or temperamental team members, he shared how he coped with similar situations. One piece of his advice I followed: write my feelings about a particular person, then tear up the piece of paper. Just let it go!

    He was such ann easy-going, not the person who held grudges, called in debts, or wanted to get even. I wanted to model his behavior for he was kind and generous to everyone. I appreciated his patience. (He taught me how to drive!) 

My first driving lesson! 

    A soft-spoken man who rarely raised his voice. His calm demeanor instilled confidence in his patients. Dad left his thriving family medical practice to work at the State Hospital. The position allowed him regular hours and more time at home.

    “He didn’t want to miss seeing you and your brother grow up,” Mom said.

    In his long-standing career as a doctor at the State Hospital, I don’t remember him calling out sick. He was immune to illness; I supposed. He enjoyed working and tried and failed to retire three times. He officially retired at age 68, but worked another 14 years as a consultant.

    Before leaving for work, he’d give me a high five. Thwack! He slapped his palm against mine. “I’m off to save lives and stamp out disease!” He left before 8 a.m., came home on his lunch break, and returned home after 5 p.m.

    Lunch was a simple fare. He liked plain food—    soup, cottage cheese, or a sandwich. However, he loved sweets – puddings, pies, or ice cream. His grandkids knew they could count on him stashing chocolate puddings in the cupboard (for them!).

    He was modest in his dress, what he drove, and our home. His car was a big old Buick with an enormous trunk to transport his garden tools and produce. He grew corn, okra, zucchini, beans, cucumbers, cantaloupe, and watermelon. He also raised all kinds of tomatoes, from Romas to heirlooms that were black not red. Most weekends, he wore his old, faded jeans and a flannel shirt. Certainly, he looked like more like a farmer than a physician. 

    Our family admired his amazing memory. He studied history and that included family history too, recalling birthdates, anniversaries, and middle names with natural ease, as if he was stating what the weather was. His own childhood was a painful memory because He was orphaned at age eight. As a boy, his fatherly role models were likely his older brothers and his scout leaders. Those scout badges (especially swimming) and his Eagle Scout were hard earned.

    Last summer, while cleaning out his garage, I found certificates, plaques, and letters he saved, including his high school diploma, US Navy commendation, medical licenses, and volunteer church work. He graduated at the top of his naval academy class in Great Lakes, then served his country from 1951 to 54 during the Korean Conflict. His exam grades from medical school were impressive (scores in the high 90s) with his highest marks in surgery, principles and practice, diagnosis, and toxicology. He also had a rapport with his patients, that I saw firsthand when I accompanied him on house calls. 

    My father’s compassion, strong work ethic, generous spirit, and sense of humor made him special and I treasured my time with him. 

    For Father’s Day, here’s a high five to you Dad and all the fathers on earth and in heaven.

 

Summer-rizing    

What does summer-rizing mean for you?

Summer- rize (To prepare one’s self, home, yard, and attitude for summertime.)

        Ah, summertime. Birdsong before dawn wakes me up and I go for a stroll, swim, bike ride, or game of tennis before the searing heat sets in.

        The pool, cool and shady, invites me to take a dip before the heat arrives. The sun makes me a lazy floater gazing at the clouds. 

        Let me feel the warm nights, hear the crickets chirp, and watch the woods aglow with fireflies.

       Summer produce -- fresh herbs, fruit, and vegetables -- are worth the wait. I anticipate the first ripe peach with its sticky, sweet juice exploding after one bite. The fragrance of my homegrown basil shows off its aroma in only a few weeks after planting.

       Give me long days that call for a tall glass of cold, tart limeade and an engaging book. Bring on the bats in all their frenzy chasing down supper at dusk. 

But the work of summer-rizing comes first. Here’s my short list:

·         Replace or fix everything that’s worn out or missing from last year. 

·         The grill, deck, and chairs all get a bath. The power-washer trades places with the snow blower. 

·         Bikes get a tune up. 

·        The herb garden receives a pep talk. Two new types of tomatoes follow me home from the garden store.

·         Weeding the garden beds, while wary of poison ivy and its relatives.  

·         Hummingbird feeders with homemade sugar water decorate the windows.

·         Memorize the farmers market schedules: Who has the best produce? When should I go? Saturday or Sunday morning?

·         Throw out the outdated sunscreen, and buy new flavors in SPF 30, SPF 50, and SPF 70.  Ah, do I need SPF 100?  

Enjoy the summer season! May your chores be few, and the joys be many.

 

Introduction: Tales from the Trail, is an occasional fictional musing inspired by the nearby trail. A place where I meet and make imaginary friends who are featured in the blog.  

Marilyn's Musings passed the six month fledging mark. I've been publishing my essays, posing questions, sharing music recommendations, and odds and ends since November 2023. Thanks for following the posts and my plan is to "Keep On." 

This weekend's musing was delayed because I was summer-izing my house vs. winterizing, which I'll summarize for you next week. Why isn't summerizing isn't in Merriam-Webster's dictionary?  

Stumbling upon a Star 

Golden star, shinny and bright, 

falling from afar one dark night. 

Golden star, lost and alone, 

grounded here without a home.

Let's be friends, what do you say? 

Twinkle each day and night away. 

Golden star, speed and soar  high, 

fly back to your starry sky. 

My how you glow oh golden star, 

gaze upward and there you are!