Er. Uh. More Music.

Perhaps, Reader Dear, you've had enough of the  music.  Maybe music is not your thing.
It's possible, I suppose, you don't care for laughter or sunshine, either!
Nor green verdant meadows and rushing streams,
A cup of hot chocolate on a snowy morn.
Dear Reader, perhaps you don't bother looking for rainbows when they're painting the sky.
And, it's conceivable, I guess, on star-spangled nights your focus is downward.
Maybe when you're offered the velvety wine,
there's a shake of your head rather than a nod.

If so, I am sorry.
This is the music from yesterday evening's concert in the park.
 (I am sighing for lack of ability to post a longer [and more lovely] sampling of music.  Alas, misbehaving computers are not my thing [er, I mean I wish they weren't!)

MUSIC

I know, Reader Dear,  it seems as though all I've got to say of late involves music.  Here's more.

"We should go into the city, " The Yard Man suggested yesterday as we ate supper.  It  was such a fine summer evening, he proposed we stroll around the big Summer Celebration that was in progress.  "There are lots of different bands playing, and food trucks. There'll be fireworks.  It should be good," he said.

And so we did.  And we hadn't done more than ten minutes of strolling when  The Yard Man was suddenly asked to give an account of why he was there! 

He made the same presentation that he'd made to me.   "And, uh, it seems like a great way to spend a summer evening!" he concluded.

The reporter seemed pleased.  "Very good," he said. "Watch the local news at eleven!"

 And then, sure enough, there were lots of bands playing.

There were food trucks galore.

And when it got dark, there were fireworks.
It was all good!

It was a great way to spend a summer evening, just as 

The Yard Man had predicted!*

…….

*Turns out, there were crimes and a fire to report on the late-night news (Uh, you know, what one might call  Real News).  You, Viewer Dear, get exclusive viewing of The Yard Man's interview!

VERY-VERY-NEARLY

INTO VERY-VERY-EARLY
SUMMER:

The Little Actor pined for a chance to climb on the boxes during our very-very-nearly-summer visit to the Costco store.  "But the Costco office is right there," I said.  "They will see you!  They will not like to see someone climbing on the boxes!"
But, Reader Dear, here's what I was thinking--Why quash the small dream of this small child? What would be the harm?

Of course, the dream expanded into more than one foray into the depths of the boxes.  Naturally, the Little Actor was discovered by the office staff, as he clambered around atop their merchandise.   They, yes, indeed, frowned upon such an activity. Thus it ended.  Happily, however,  the dream had been realized, and without harm.
 ......

Next, chronologically, in the very-very-nearly section of this olio, came a small excursion of the hop-aboard-a-bus-from-the-mall-to-the-market sort. Two friends and I rode the bus into center city and visited a farmers' market that has been in continual operation for one-hundred and twenty-five years (give or take a few months). 

It was a delightful excursion on the final day of spring.

 

 ......


Then very-early-summer arrived.
I welcomed the season by concocting Very-Late-Night Bean Salad, which I carried to a potluck meal at church on the very first early-summer morning of the year.

3 Cups black beans
2 Cups corn kernels (frozen)
1 Cup chopped red bell pepper
1/2 Cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/2 Cup chopped fresh parsley
1/2 Cup purple onion, minced
1/2 tsp. red chili pepper (if desired, if brave)
3 cloves of garlic, crushed, minced
1/2 Cup lime juice
1/2 Cup oil (flaxseed or olive)
1 tsp. sea salt

I squeezed the limes, mixed the lime juice and oil in my little food processor,
then added the chopped garlic.  I was too chicken to add chili pepper.  All other ingredients I variously chopped, minced, diced, measured and mixed together.

Next I went out onto the porch and listened to the neighbors as they caroused.  They handily carried that  tenth birthday party for the twins across the midnight divide.  Sadly, I missed seeing the fireworks, busy as I was chopping garlic; but let me tell you, Reader Dear, those pyrotechnics were loud enough to wake the living dead (or at least the snoring Yard Man)!

My final step was to pour the dressing over the salad and gently mix everything together.  Then the Very Late-Night Bean Salad rested for a few hours in the fridge while next door the drumming and loud laughter wound down.  

                                                                   

......

There were three other dishes of bean salad at the potluck meal.  The Yard Man and I ate some of the left-over Late-Night variety for supper before heading to the very first very-early-summer concert in the park.

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LATELY, TIME HAS AGAIN

been clip-clopping away faster than I can blog-process it, Reader Dear!  Meanwhile, two more weekends of ecstasy-inducing weather have come and gone.  Two more rides behind the Yard Man's horses! 

And just look at that corn, Viewer Dear!
"Knee-high by the fourth of July?" I mused out loud.  "It's waist or armpits already, and that's on a tall person!"
......

JUNE'S " FIRST FRIDAY"

(the calendar will tell you it was last weekend) found the Yard Man and I frolicking forth to take in the event, being so fortunate as to be favored by fabulous weather!  (And please don't roll your eyes at my alliteration, Reader Dear.  You well know my affinity for it [my Any-And-All-Alliteration-Affinity, one might call it])

  

 I've (also) got a real affinity for warm spring evenings spent with my favorite yard man, with my favorite one-man band and accompanying dancers performing on the sidewalk, and other groups of musicians popping up here and there.

 

 My affinity extended to a small group performing in the nether regions of a small cafe.  I was not even very nonplussed when they started singing about too much of the, uh, crappy stuff.  Er, you know what I mean, Dear Reader.  Sh*t.  Uh-huh, I hate to say it, but they sang that word like it was love or candy.  Again and again, they sang that word while folks munched on their pastries.  While they swayed to the beat.

Now, as it turned out, those singers were pairing an excess of excrement (so to speak) with  "not enough sunshine."

As it turned out, I was almost giddy over having ENOUGH sunshine!  As it turned out, I was swaying to the beat with the best of 'em!












As it turned out, June's "First Friday" was fittingly fantastic!

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ALONG WITH CONCERTS

at the park, the superb weekend weather has also enhanced the experience of riding in a wagon behind two trotting horses.  I can attest to this, Reader Dear, from actual true-life experience.  You see, the excellent weather has spurred the horse-driving urges of the Yard Man.  And thus, when a week ago, a cousin of mine and his wife and friends showed up from out of town, and were very interested in the big equine, it was all the excuse that Yard Man needed to jump eagerly into action!  These guests were treated to a lengthy clippity-clop. (I can only treat you to a short clip, Viewer Dear. No clop.) 
 

 The very next evening the Yard Man was treated to another opportunity for giving a ride to friends (once again enhanced by wonderful weekend weather [the ride, that is; though perhaps the friends, as well]!)

NO MATTER WHAT THE

weather during the work week, the weekends in my part of the country have been offering up pristine conditions!  You know, Reader Dear, what kind of skies and temperatures I'm talking about here--the perfect kind for any event taking place outdoors!  Including, of course...

Concerts at the Park ! (A short synopsis of this season's Concert Number One follows):

This very first concert of the season, The Yard Man was out of town.  I carried a picnic supper to the park, early, and awaited the arrival of my Little Actor (along with his family entourage).  Little did I know I'd be escorting a super-hero over to the park playground!

At the playground, this super-hero urged me to climb up onto the equipment.  (This was a laborious process, Reader Dear, and he didn't seem amenable to simply whisking me up there with his super powers, as I suggested). However, I did venture up, and finally made it to the most elevated part of the structure.
 "Climb down here with me," he then begged, as he disappeared into a tire-ringed opening cut into the platform.
 "Oh, but I'm an old woman," I objected. "I can't climb down in there!"
A small fellow-playground-player who was standing nearby, awaiting his turn, found fault with my logic.
  "You're a parent!" he exclaimed.  "You can do whatever you want!"
  "What I mean is..." I began, but then I stopped.  
  "You're right, I can!" I said.  And down through that hole I went, feeling very much like a (very foolish) super-hero!

Interestingly enough, Listener Dear, there are no clips of the band in this brief synopsis.
It's just too brief.*
(*You might say.  Or, you might say
I was just too taken with other performances
of the evening to record that band).
...
...

SPRING HAS BEEN

rushing by.  Back when all the Amish farmers were industriously making hay while the sun shone, I was blog-lolling!

I guess I must show you  this video now, Viewer Dear, when any Amish farmer who has not already made his hay (been hay-lolling, so to speak; which is not quite the same thing as lolling in the hay [or rolling in the hay (or, hey, hay-rolling while lolling)]) has made a major mistake; we are getting lots of rain!  

THE NEWS IS STALE

I have to admit.  It was almost three weeks ago when I went to the GMO Protest Rally.  This gathering seemed like a flea trying to irritate an enormous stampede of elephants, but at least the sixty-or-so folks who attended the rally got to express themselves!*

Now, Reader Dear, if you've possibly NOT heard the dirt on GMO's, I'll give a brief explanation.  GMO stands for genetically modified organism**, which is the by-product of splicing genes from one species into the DNA of another.  Multinational biotech companies have manipulated the genes of many foods and own the rights to the seeds (which do not reproduce themselves).  While they would have us believe that these foods are completely safe, and are a good way to prevent starvation in the world, most developed countries have banned their use. (**Read way more than  you may possibly wish to know, Reader Dear, at the above wikipedia site)

In the good old USA, food manufacturers are not even required to make known the use of GMO-containing ingredients in the items manufactured for consumption, a tactic which would allow those opposed to the use of GMOs to do their own personal banning of such.

In regards to yours truly, it makes me nervous to think of humongous corporations controlling more and more of the basic food supply on which we humans (and all the other species on which we depend) depend.

*One of whom (of the sixty-or-so) neglected to equip herself with a sign when she went to the protest rally.  This one, providentially, was offered a sign by a generous fellow-attendee.  "Hell, NO, GMO" read the sign, and it was accompanied by a sketch of a devil (which could have been The Devil; it was difficult to know).  Above-mentioned rally attendee gulped, but gladly accepted above-mentioned sign!
......

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I MAKE FREQUENT TRIPS

to the Re-Uzit Shop (the name, I'm assuming, is self-explanatory; a place to recycle your just-barely-able-to-part-with-and-let-us-hope-desirable-to-others items).  The area for unloading donations is at the back of the store, and to get to the front of the store, one must walk the length of a bricked-in walkway between two buildings.  This area often serves as a gathering spot for young folks just whiling away time. 

  The other day, after I had carted my no-longer-worn shoes, already-read magazines, wooden picture frame, no-longer-needed Tupperware containers, old lamp...[I'm not going to embarrass myself with the whole list, Reader Dear; surely you get the idea]...into the back of the shop, I reminded myself that donating is only half of the equation. After all, if folks were to only donate and never shop, it would be the demise of these charitable organizations! 

As luck would have it, on my way to the front of the store, I chanced to take in a spontaneous dance performance.  At the end of his routine, I asked this not-yet-famous young man if he would give me an encore for the camera.
He obliged.
And, now, Viewer Dear, as a strictly charitable donation, I'm recycling my viewing experience just for you!
...... 
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