It's November now

It's November now - Fall, the season where we celebrate the Autumn of humanity, where Adam and Eve, disAbled raised Cain. Enoch already they flooded, Aunty Deluvianne, arc de triomphefetted their babble, and ur-Urian unmenschenables adequate sacrifices of gout, frankenstein and merv. It came about in those days, along the river Euphrates, **** said "lights" and divided the lithe from the awkwardly moving amphibious landing goal tendering tofu wabohuites of Kenosha, Wisk Cosine. Sines and nomine worked wonders and all the saints weened hollow days and pumped full knights, rooked and bishop pricked fungible goods and evens, getting. And then arose a pharaoh that knew not where the remote was, not the remotest idea, and **** spoke to Moscowitz burning brush saying, "go tell that that that that that that," and so it was, and came to pass, and happened, that from that day till this and even till this day, that wherever that that that that is that-ed, that those that that that that even till this day and a day and half a day hoist a moist frothy two and a half eight and a quarter before half and a hilt halter top topped unter den linden and through the hills to grossmutter's hause wir knock dame treffen hen arf!
And then arose Shamgard who killed six full days of time with a hang nail.
Deb, the Canaan knischites bee, hailed Jael time and her trepanatorish arts, pegged barracks heading home.
Judge for yourself and they did as each did what was left of their own time and righted themselves acquitted. What the ex-honor ate.

Last Spring at Six Flags

Last Spring at Six Flags, Jami won a large Tweety Bird for her niece, Hattie. We kept it at our house for a few months, until we drove up to Nashville. While Tweety was in our house, Louise made friends with it.
I originally went to this file of pictures for a roller coaster picture. I didn't take any. I was hoping to use the caption "roller coaster of love" a song from the 70s. Jami was singing it the other day. When she was a young girl, she apparently memorized the lyrics to the top 40 playlist. It amazes me.
I have a bad memory for lyrics. I listen more for melody, probably resulting from my years as a trumpet player. I remember thinking, in certain pieces of music, "I wish these people would quit singing so we could play some real music." In some music it's just nearly impossible to tell what the lyrics are. Certainly when I'm listening to Puccinni's La Boheme I'm not brought to tears by the lyrics, which are in Italian, but by the rise and progression of certain arias.
The very first time I heard it, I thought Elton John was singing, "she's got electric boobs." I can hear why people think Hendrix is singing, "skews me while I kiss this guy." In many ways it's a more interesting visual picture than his potential "touching the sky." And I, and Jami, who actually knows most lyrics, think that Nicks is singing "like a one winged dove": a more visually interesting picture than the actual lyrics.
When I hear the lyric "one winged dove," I am reminded of an etching by Paul Klee, done early in his career, of a one winged hero. I think of this etching often. Sometimes, when I've indicated an arm on a figure, I toy with adding a wing. I will sometimes leave a figure with one eye. I do this I suppose because I have only one good eye. I am like the cyclops. I am sympathetic to the plight of Polyphemus in the Odyssey: eye-gouged blinded hurling boulders toward the sea and the fading taunts of Wiley Odysseus, crying to his concerned neighbors that his grave wound was inflicted by no-man. The Polyphemus episode is probably the historical genesis of the joke we see on the Simpson's where Moe, the bartender, is holding the phone and calling out, "Is there an Amanda here? I need Amanda Holden-Kiss." You may need to say that name fast: Amanda Holden-kiss.
And that reminds me of one of Jami's favorite jokes. Termite goes into a bar and asks, "is the bar tender here." That beautiful woman holding the Tweety bird with her niece, Hattie, comes up with jokes like this. She might have you believe that she leaves the field of bad puns as a place solely for me to romp in, that she is untainted by frivolous word-play of the groaning variety - but she more than willingly joins me there. She comes up with very bad puns and she laughs about it while maintaining an air of mock-dignity.
I love her.