The Magic Flutists Wore Braces On Their Teeth

RDP Thursday: FLUTE

When I think of flutes I think of Valerie and Shelly, they lived next door to me when I was about 12 years old.

I don’t remember how old they were, but I do remember they were learning to drive so they were in high school.

During the Summer and into the school year Valerie and Shelly would sit cross legged in Shelley’s front yard- their long straight hair parted in the middle, clad in bell bottom jeans and wearing their floral headbands and they would stare intently at each other and play their flutes.

I was intrigued for two reasons.

First of all they both wore braces on their teeth – and back then we didn’t have fun braces. Oh no. If you wore braces in the 70’s you had some serious hardware in your mouth. So I wondered what that felt like.

The next thing I was curious about were the boys who would show up and listen to them play.

These were the same boys who wouldn’t know Mozart or Claude Debussy were even if those great composers literally ran them down in a horse drawn carriage and guess what these guys didn’t care who Mozart and Debussy  were. They liked bands like Kiss and Earth Wind and Fire or Foghat.

But they liked Shelly and Valerie and I’m here to tell you I learned  in Shelly’s front yard that not only was love was blind  it was deaf too  before I ever even kissed a boy.

My Grandfather loved classical music and I did like it and I actually listened to it on  my own and I knew for a fact that if Mozart heard what Shelly and Valerie were doing to his work he would have vomited all over Valerie and Shelly’s front yard concerts.

But it was a learning experience and I suppose I took it for what it was:

On one hand I watched these girls slaughter some beautiful music and on the other hand I watched a bunch of boys sit there looking like this was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.

It was a year or so later that I finally understood what was going one- but to tell you the truth my ears still do bleed a little when I remember those warm evenings when Shelly and Valerie played their flutes and I grew up, just a bit.

Jazzin’ For Blue Jean

For MLMM Music Challenge #1 I’ve chosen a song by David Bowie:

There are things that we wish we could say, but can’t

and sometimes there’s a person inside of us that would like to come out but sadly

it doesn’t always happen.

I think that’s what this song says and when you watch the video and go over the lyrics

at the same time you get the complete story instead of just a great tune to dance to or

sing along with ( as I have done many times ).

I hope you enjoy my selection for today’s prompt.

Anita

Blue Jean, I just met me a girl named Blue Jean
Blue Jean, she got a camouflaged face and no money
Remember they always let you down when you need ’em
Oh, Blue Jean, is heaven any sweeter than Blue Jean

She got a police bike
She got a turned up nose

Sometimes I feel like
(Oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin’ for Blue Jean
(Oh, and when my Blue Jean’s blue)
Blue Jean can send me
(Oh, somebody send me)
Somebody send me
(Oh, somebody send me)

One day I’m gonna write a poem in a letter
One day I’m gonna get that faculty together
Remember like everybody has to wait in line
Oh, Blue Jean, look out world, oh you know I’ve got mine

She got Latin roots
She got everything

Sometimes I feel like
(Oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin’ for Blue Jean
(Oh, and when my Blue Jean’s blue)
Blue Jean can tempt me
(Oh, somebody send me)
Somebody sent me
(Oh, somebody send me)

Sometimes I feel like
(Oh, the whole human race)
Jazzin’ for Blue Jean
(Oh, and when my Blue Jean’s blue)
Blue Jean can tempt me
(Oh, somebody send me)
Somebody sent me
(Oh, somebody send me)

Somebody, somebody
(Oh, somebody send me)
Somebody send me
(Oh, somebody send me)

Playing Chicken

RDP Friday: PALTROON

I see people play chicken with the trains almost everyday.

They run across the tracks when the train pulls in and they don’t want to miss it,  ignoring the fact that another train can be racing down the other track out of their view.

Those encounters don’t always end in victory- the sprinter doesn’t always make their train at the last minute, they don’t always end up in their seats laughing about how close that was.

Some people run for it when it’s raining or icy and it’s easy to slip and fall and sometimes meet your end because nobody saw you go down, the train starts to move  and as the staff from the medical examiners walk up and down the tracks and look under the train for your body parts,  you might be tagged a suicide.

Every once and awhile I see something puzzling that doesn’t involve a game of chicken like-

I saw a few strands of crime scene tape on a light post a little ways down from the tracks and  didn’t put much thought into it because they were only a view strands of yellow tape, so I kept walking and as I walked I heard something under my feet go crunchy, crunchy, crunch and I assumed it was salt or grit because it had iced over a few days before.

As I walked closer to the tracks I saw the ground was glittering with shards of light blue glass and then I saw small chunks of metal and plastic.

I crossed the tracks and on the other side of the tracks I saw  larger chunks of metal and realized the chunks of metal were the decorative scrolls from the light posts and they are not light my friends. One was a little bigger then my hand and it had some weight to it.

Somebody had painted circles around the chunks of metal and sure I wondered why.

I suppose I could ask around and find out what happened and it’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that sometimes I see things and file them away in my head.

They’re little puzzles for me to go over on those long train rides home and there are no games of chicken for me to watch.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso