Time for jumping down from the shelf

For no good reason the song "Georgy Girl" started playing in my head. When I was around eight, the local AM station WRAW played it over and over. Plus, I would call several times a day to request it. The DJs finally told me to stop calling.

I vaguely remember the movie Georgy Girl, but I think it had an ugly duckling makeover type theme. I put it in my Netflix Q.

Whenever I hear songs from that time - the mid to late sixties - whether in my head or on the radio at the gym - I get a feeling like the feeling I had back then. Especially songs that played on the radio over the loud speaker at the pool. I call them pool songs and they evoke the summer smells, tastes, sounds, and feelings whenever I hear them today. Chlorine and Coppertone. Frozen Milky Ways and giant pretzel sticks that cost only two cents. The screams, laughter, and splashes that combined into one big pool sound. The fear of my fuzzy hair drying naturally in the sun and then the humiliation when it did.

You had to be member of the pool to get in. Or a guest. It was white only. I remember someone trying to bring a black kid in as a guest and the guy at the desk said, "We don't allow [n-word]s." The pool didn't seem as cool after that, even with songs like "Young Girl" and "Crimson and Clover."

In the garden today

Lots of dead stuff and long green grass. A bed of onions that surprised me. (I was sure the little Texas grano plants were too old and dry but I gave them a chance.) A few habaneros soldiering on through the cold. A beautiful bouquet of parsley. Little gifts among the decay.

Re-reading my post from one year ago, I realize that every year I think my garden is in the worst shape ever in December. But it really is in the exact same shape this time of year, every year. And every year I get it back into shape and it ends up better the than the year before.