Can you please explain this?

In 1970 the song "Band of Gold" by Freda Payne hit the radio waves.

And for the past 36 years I've been trying to find out what the lyrics mean.

Please explain.

No, I won't introduce you to the drug dealers

Yes, I'd be happy to tell you more about my neighbors.

First off, those people in the house with the unkempt lawn probably are NOT drug dealers. I just said that. However, one of them wears dreadlocks which I think is, like, code, for "I smoke pot" and so I guess they are way too busy to mow the lawn or fix the gutters.

Across the street is where Mary and Joseph live. Those aren't their real names but he attends Baptist seminary (I'm pretty sure that SHE is not a seminarian unless she's majoring in "wife" because as we all know women aren't fit for ministry) so that's what Babycakes decided to call them. They hung a large American flag on their porch the day after we hung Tibeten Prayer Flags on ours, because they pray to the American God and we are ... well ... not saved.

Next to us is the HOUSE WITH THE POOL. You might think that we go over there to swim but you'd be wrong. They like to listen to Jimmy Buffet while they swim. And there are hygiene issues. Private pools and private hot tubs are just breeding grounds for all sorts of germy infections that itch. I'm not getting in there. Not with those people.

Then there's "Mr. Man" who we think is retired CIA. Or maybe he was a Navy Seal. We don't know his real name either but we're pretty sure that our phone is tapped and that our house is under constant surveilance. He walks a very ugly English bulldog and owns an old pickup truck and the latest model Ford Mustang convertable. When we put a "Peace is Patriotic" sign in our yard he put TWO "Support Our Troops" signs in his. That showed us, yessiree.

There's a house for sale down the block. Why don't you buy it? We'll give you a nickname ...

Rage against the machines

They started at 9 a.m. Saturday morning. The lawn mowers. The leaf blowers. The weed whackers. The hedge trimmers.

My neighbors are obsessed. Their lawns are immaculate (except that one house where the drug dealers live). Whenever one machine stopped another one began.

All of this activity ruined my plans for the weekend: To sleep late, nap often and spend all of my time on the porch in the hammock.

So now I'm cranky.

Actually, I'm cranky for a lot of reasons, but this was just the icing on the cupcake.

I'm too tired for a real post

Want to know how tired I am? I think I'm seeing things.

Click on this link and stare at the +.

Sushi doesn't suck

  
Babycakes encouraged me to join her and our friends tonight for sushi at Maido.

As many of you know, sushi is not my favorite food. I don't think my polish or anglo-saxon ancestors ate it, so why should I? But I enjoyed some of what we ate tonight (but not the stuff in the middle row of this picture).

Happy Pesach

Last night was the first night of Passover (remember in The Ten Commandments when they had to put the lamb's blood over the doorpost and the sky turned all scary?).

In my family (recovering Jew, Shiksa princess, teen Jew poser and Catholic schoolboy) we celebrate whatever damn holiday we want to. The Matzoh Ball soup from Whole Foods was delicious. Babycakes ate gefilte fish too but the rest of us averted our eyes.

And I had four glasses of wine just because.

Hot! Flashes!

Last night I was among the 800 women (and two men, maybe) who attended the Kentucky Author Forum where we were treated to a conversation between Sue Monk Kidd and Jean Shinoda Bolin.

At the lovely wine and cheese reception I experienced an incredible hot flash -- it started at my knees (just above the cowgirl boots) and crept up my thighs, hips, torso, neck, ears and face. Then two minutes later I felt the unmistakable whoosh of uterine blood following the inevitable path of gravity.

I made it to the ladies room just in time to prevent an embarrassing stain on the lobby carpet (lucky for me I was wearing a long black skirt).

Babycakes suggested that I stay out of women-filled auditoriums again until after menopause is over.