The Bee Gees

Top - Australian Bee Gees (Tribute Band)

Below - THE Bee Gees

When I was 14, Saturday Night Fever came out and disco music became my guilty pleasure.  At the time I listened to rock music, as did my friends and we were rebelling against the twangy country music that our parents were listening too.  I soon learned that disco music was reviled just as much as some of that country music by many die-hard rock fans, but for me there was just something about that disco music and the glitter and glitz and dancing and well, yes, Tony Manero, that made my heart beat a little faster. I loved the songs from that soundtrack, "Stayin' Alive", "How Deep is Your Love", "More Than a Woman" and my favorite "If I Can't Have You".  The Bee Gees were at the top of the charts and I loved them as much as I dared, since my friends would have disowned me had they known my private listening habits.  I thought this "new" band was fantastic and couldn't wait to hear more.  It was not until two years later that I was at my friend, Susan's house when she asked if I wanted to listen to the Bee Gee's?  Heck yeah!!  I settled in to listen to all that glorious disco music when I heard something completely different coming out of the speakers.  The voices sounded the same, but the music, the tempo, the beat, was completely different.  I just sat there and as I listened to "Holiday", "I've Gotta Get a Message to You", "Words" and "I Started a Joke" I fell in love with them all over again in a different way.  I found out that in 1977 they had not been new band, but had been making great music since the early 1960's.  It was a learning experience.  

Recently we were in Las Vegas and went to see "The Australian Bee Gees" at the Luxor Hotel.  They look and sound very much like the original group.  During the band's covers of those long ago disco songs, they encouraged the audience to sing and dance along and as I looked around at everyone doing just that I realized that we no longer need to be closet disco fans----that was some great music!

Work in Progress....

I am still trying to figure out this blog thing!  I'm trying to customize my template (although that very phrase is still bouncing around in my head), and I just can't get all the parts and pieces to work at the same time (wait...that sounds like ME every morning).  Just when I think I have figured out how to change the font on my blog title to something marginally cool, I notice that my post titles are now miniscule!  Why are they sometimes gray and sometimes pink?  Why when I click on the post titles themselves does their font change and my blog title grows smaller?  Honestly, all I'm trying to do is make this thing look pretty.  Oh wow, did I just italicize "pretty" and make it hot pink?  I've hacked around within the design and settings options but it seems that every time I log in, something else looks different.  I'm afraid of clicking too many times and just deleting something all together, never to be seen again.  Maybe one of my kids will come by to help at some point in the near future.  Heck, at this point I'd welcome my 9 year old (soon to be 10 as she reminded me --- because that's TWO WHOLE NUMBERS) granddaughter.  I'm sure she could figure this thing out in her sleep.......

15 High Schools

I went to 15 high schools between 9th and 12th grades.  When I tell this to someone in person, they do a double take.  It's kind of a fun ice breaker and it leads to a lot of questions, but it's not really that complicated----my step-father was a welder and he followed the work.  He just happened to have a wife and 4 kids who were involved in all the moves that entailed, so there you have it.  Sometimes the jobs lasted 3 months, sometimes (as in Kemmerer, Wyoming) they lasted 3 weeks.  I went to four high schools in 9th grade, six high schools in 10th grade, four high schools in the 11th grade and finally, ONE high school for my senior year.  That was almost derailed when my family moved to Abilene about 2 months before I graduated.  I begged and pleaded and was finally allowed to stay with friends for that final few months. Although it was an adventure, I was very determined to graduate despite the rocky road I had to take to get there. When you move from state to state you find that, as expected, there are different requirements for graduation and for advancing to the next grade. If I started the school year in Oklahoma with an Oklahoma History class (which was required) what was I supposed to take when I moved to California mid-semester?  In California U.S. History was a freshman class and World History was a junior class, but in Texas it was just the opposite, so when I moved back and forth between those two states (which happened more than once) I was often the only freshmen amongst juniors or the lone junior in with the freshmen.  It was pretty confusing.  Once, when enrolling in 10th grade in Anaheim, CA from Hennessey, OK the counselor just did not know what to do.  She could not match up my classes adequately.  She would find a spot to put me and have to pull me out because the class was already overcrowded.  She finally handed me my schedule:  

1st period:  Attendance Office Aide

2nd period:  Counselor Office Aide

3rd period:  Attendance Office Aide

4th period:  Math

5th period:  P.E.

6th period:  History

Really?  Oh well, it was an easy couple of months.  

Once, in Houston I arrived to enroll and ended up being put in an Advanced Biology class.  I'd never even had a regular biology class and suddenly I was in the equivalent of AP biology lessons.  I had never dissected anything --- earthworm, frog, nada.  My first project was to dissect a pregnant cat and the kittens.  There were always things happening like that because there was just no consistency in my educational journey.

I did have a close call on graduating on time though.  After all those moves and then finally landing at Midland High School for my senior year, someone decided they probably ought to calculate my actual credits.  I'm sure someone drew the short straw on that assignment since it would have all had to have been done by hand.  Maybe that's why it wasn't brought to my attention until some point during my final semester that year and after my family had moved to Abilene, I was called to the Counselor's office and told that it looked like I was going to be 1 credit short for graduation and would have to go to summer school.  After all I had been through I was just not having any of that.  I very tearfully told my story to the counselor.  I had never let it out like that before.  I was a good student, I was very responsible, I was not truant or tardy, I had no control over all the moves that I had made in the past, wasn't there something that could be done?  After much consulting with others there at the school, I was told that I could take two correspondence courses from West Texas State University, but I had to get registered right away.  Thankfully it all worked out and I walked across the stage with the rest of my class in 1981.  

Diane Keaton

I love to read, but don't do it nearly as much as I used to.  When I do I tend to read biographies and true crime.  I recently read Diane Keaton's memoir Then Again.  I can't say that I would recommend  it, but I found it interesting.  She's as quirky a writer as she is an actress and I would say she is an acquired taste.  I loved her in Something's Gotta Give with Jack Nicholson but thought she seemed very out of place as Michael Corleone's wife in The Godfather (one of my favorite films).  I have not seen many other of her movies and probably never will.  Out of everything in the book, what stands out the most is her account of the bulimia she suffered while she was first getting started as an actress in New York and dating Woody Allen.  She said that she would binge every day and that a typical evening meal (AFTER a huge breakfast, brunch and lunch) would consist of an entire bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, several orders of french fries with blue cheese and ketchup, a couple of TV dinners, chocolate-covered almonds, a large bottle of 7Up, a pound of peanut brittle, M&Ms, mango juice, an entire Sara Lee pound cake, and three frozen banana-cream pies.  She would then purge, go to bed, get up the next morning and do it all over again.  I bet I read that paragraph 10 times and still cannot comprehend someone eating all of that in one sitting.  Sitting here reading it over again, it still does not compute.  Sometimes we look at the the lifestyles of these larger than life folks and are green with envy.  When we occasionally get a glimpse behind the scenes we realize that maybe they should feel that way about us.

Party Lines



Did you ever have a party line?  Those were the days!  My first experience with a party line was when I was in 2nd grade and living in Aguanga, CA (pop. 50).  I attended a one room school house just like you see in the movies, with a bell on top and everything.  Of course I did not realize how cool that was in and of itself, I was just fascinated with the black telephone at the back of the school room and the party lines that I eventually found out were connected to it.  Actually I was fascinated with all telephones and I paid particular attention to any that I came in contact with.  This phone in my classroom was no exception.  It was located at the very back of the room near the pencil sharpener.  Our classroom had six rows for grades 1 through 6 that beautiful red-haired Miss Rusk taught.  She would go from row to row giving assignments to each grade and then start again from left to right answering questions from each grade level.  When she was at the 6th grade row, she was about as far away from the pencil sharpener and the phone as she could get and that is when I would decide that all of a sudden my pencil needed sharpening.  I would walk to the back of the room quickly, put my pencil in the sharpener and then slowly and carefully lift the receiver up to my ear and listen...... 

I had accidentally learned of the party line when I was laying on my mat during recess one day.  I must not have felt well, so Miss Rusk allowed me to lay down inside and she then split her time between checking on me and checking on the kids outside.  During one of Miss Rusk's absences I decided I needed to call home to tell my mom to come get me.  I don't even think I knew my phone number but when I picked up the phone there was already a conversation going on.  I interrupted and asked them to please get my mom.  I guess I thought this conversation must being going on at my house, or that these ladies must know my mom.  One of them said, "Young lady you get off this party line right now!" and about that time Miss Rusk returned and I had some 'splainin' to do.  I remember thinking that the phone was connected to a party and I needed to know more about it, thus began my all too often treks back and forth to that pencil sharpener.  I'm really not sure that if someone had taken the time to explain the party line concept to me that it would have changed my behavior.

During the year or so that I attended that school, I had the sharpest pencils in the room.  At least once or twice a day I would wander back to the pencil sharpener (aka phone) and stealthily lift the receiver to my ear to listen to any conversation that might be going on.  Sometimes there was just a dial tone.  Often I was accompanied by another girl or two, but usually Miss Rusk broke up that plan by announcing that "only one person can sharpen their pencil at a time".  I don't remember a thing that was said in the conversations that I overhead, I don't even think I was really listening, I just knew I was getting away with something.  Most times one of the people on the line would know that it was a kid from the school on the phone and they would yell at us to hang up. 

Nowadays I would venture to say that some 7 and 8 year olds have their own phone.  They probably could not concieve of a party line but I'm sure they could text me and tell me how to set up three-way calling (STILL can't figure that one out).  To try to tell a teenager that they would have to actually wait until a total stranger finished on the phone before they could use it would produce outrage I am sure!  But back in the day it sure provided fairly innocent entertainment for a fascinated 2nd grade girl!

Driving Lesson

This picture may conjure up good memories for a lot of people but as for me, I am reminded  of my first driving lesson.  It also reminds me of my family in the 1970's and our seemingly endless treks back and forth across the southwestern part of the United States in search of the all mighty dollar.  We used to travel (A LOT) when I was younger.  Not for fun or vacation, although sometimes those things found their way to us, but for work.  My stepfather, Sonny, was a welder and he followed the money and we followed him.  

 

On one of these moves we were in  the middle of the desert in Arizona driving from Texas to California in our typical formation:  Sonny driving a U-Haul truck packed with our belongings with my little brother beside him and the rest of us following in the family car and trying to keep up.  At the time, the family car  was an old Pontiac station wagon with  my mom driving and me in the passenger seat and my two younger sisters in the back AND it just so happened that on this trip we were pulling a 13 foot travel trailer packed floor to ceiling with the stuff that would not fit in the U-Haul.  All of a sudden my mom started getting sick to her stomach....I mean REALLY sick.  We were driving along about 60 mph and trying to keep up with Sonny and my mom was swerving back and forth trying not to toss her cookies.  We did not know exactly where we were going, and we were losing sight of Sonny as Mom slowed down trying to keep the swaying trailer under control and trying to calm my crying 8 & 9 year old sisters.  This was the mid 70's, way before cell phones and we were not going to be able to catch up to Sonny and we did not know when he might look back to see if we were still there, so my mom made an executive decision.  "Here", she said, "Take the wheel".  Say what??  I was 13 and had never driven a car in my life.  "Take the wheel!!" she repeated.  So I took it and while pulling that trailer and with two little girls (3 if you include me) scared out of their wits and in the middle of the desert, trying to catch up with a speeding U-Haul, I slid over as my mother scrambled for the passenger seat and a McDonald's bag to throw up into.  We managed to make it to the next rest stop where Sonny had pulled over to wait for us after realizing we were not behind him.  Actually, I was quite excited to share the story now that I had a few miles under my belt.  That was the end of my driving, at least on that trip, and after we rested for a while and my mom felt well enough to take back control of the car we went on our way.  After that day Mom said that she did not worry about teaching me to drive because she knew if I could keep that car on the road under such crazy conditions, I could probably drive in normal conditions without batting an eye. 

Mommy Skills

One day back about 20 plus years ago I took my son to McDonald's.  He was probably 3, maybe a little younger and just the cutest thing.  At the time I had taken a break from work and was fortunate enough to be able to stay at home full time with him.  I was brushing up on my mommy skills and pretty confident that I was really doing well in that department.  The McDonald's that we went to was the one closest to our house and it had just installed one of those huge ball pits with the slides and tunnels and rope bridges so we headed that way.  What a great mom I was to think of this very cool activity!  After his Happy Meal he toddled off to have his fun and I kept a close eye him, or so I thought.  I clapped and cheered as he accomplished fabulous feats within that contraption.  He started a routine where he would climb in, go through the tunnels (sometimes backwards just to show off --- he was an advanced child), crawl across the rope bridge and slide into the ball pit and climb out winding his way around the tables in the play room and then off to the tunnels to start over again.  At some point I noticed that he was chewing on something and called him over.  I wondered if he had stuck some French Fries in his pocket and was eating on the run.  When he got to me I asked what he was chewing on and he proudly opened his mouth and showed me, "Gum!" he said.  Gum?  I didn't let my 3 year old chew gum.  That would put a serious dent in my mommy skills.  I asked, "Where did you get gum?" and he said, "Come here" and he took me over to those earlier mentioned tables that he was using as part of his obstacle course.  He pulled me down to look under the table and proclaimed, "See Mommy, there's lots of gum!" and sure enough there was.  Chewed up, dried up gum that had been stuck to the bottom of the table when its chewers were through with it.  To my very small 3 year old, the bottoms of the tables were about at eye level and I guess that treasure trove of gum caught his eye easily.  GAG!!  I could not get that gum out of his mouth fast enough and he could not believe I had taken his treat from him.  I didn't know what to do as I thought about all the diseases that he was going to have to battle in the coming days.  I wiped out his mouth with napkins, had him drink water and then wiped out his mouth some more.  It probably crossed my mind to dial the poison control center but I don't  remember actually going that far.  I thought to myself, "What a horrible Mom I am."  But, here we are 20 plus years later and my baby boy is a healthy, happy, thriving young man.   I guess his immune system battled and won out against all those terrible afflictions I was so worried about.  I have noticed that he doesn't chew gum much though. 

Pappy

 Me and Pappy in 1997

I was a police officer in west Texas for 7 years in the 1980's.  I went to work for the PD out of high school at age 18 as a police cadet and 13 months later I received a call from my Deputy Chief asking if I wanted to go to the police academy.  I was all of 19 years old.  OF COURSE I wanted to go to the academy!!  What a great idea!!  Never mind the fact that I was two years too young to legally purchase a gun or bullets (that's a subject for future posts)--- by golly the law said that I was old enough to carry them and I was darned excited about it too! 

The story that I will tell here occurred about a year after I graduated the academy and was working on my own on patrol.  I was on the evening shift (my favorite), working 2:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m.  I loved this shift because it was the busiest and when you are 19 you think that is a GOOD thing.  If calls were not coming in then you could easily find plenty to do working traffic and the shift passed quickly.  At the end of the shift I pulled into the sallyport to turn my car over to the next officer.  It was pretty much the same thing every night:  I turned Unit #1165 over to Officer Wilson, went in for debriefing and then went home.  That night I was probably in bed by midnight.  I know for sure that I was sleeping soundly at 6:30 a.m. the next morning because I was awakened from that sleep by my my sergeant calling me to ask me about what I had done with my patrol car the night before.  In my haze I answered that I had turned it over to Officer Wilson just as I always did and Sarge said, "Oh, okay" and hung up.  I laid back down, but about a minute later I bolted upright and grabbed the phone to call him back, "Sarge" I said, "I didn't turn the car over to Wilson, he's on vacation.  I parked it on 3rd Street near the other units."  "I know", he replied, "It's still there, running, with the keys locked inside."  By this time I was wide awake and scrambling to get dressed because I knew what was coming next.  He said, "I guess you better come down and figure this out."  I was probably halfway to the station before he hung up the phone.  Once I walked in I headed to the sergeant's office and unfortunately the day shift lieutenant was there with him.  They pointed to the back door without saying a word.  Before I started my walk of shame I headed to the equipment room.  Lieutenant said, "Where ya going?" and I answered, "Just going to grab the lockjock" (a lockjock is a slim, flexible metal device with a hooked end that slides down between the window and door frame enabling you to pop the door lock).  Lieutenant said, "Did you use the lockjock to lock your keys in your car?"  (((WHAT??)))  "No sir", I meekly replied, walking out the door empty handed.  Standing outside the back door, in the cold, uphill both ways (oh wait, that's for a different story) I could see Unit #1165 parked and still running.  It was cold enough that the exhaust was visible and more than 8 hours after I had parked the car, it was still going strong.  I walked over to the car and stood there.  What was I supposed to do?  I guess I was being taught a lesson.  I was trying not to cry, standing there freezing next to that running squad car.  I looked back and could see the lieutenant out on the back landing watching me.  Just watching. 

As I stood there I noticed another patrol car in the alley near where I stood.  Out of sight of the lieutenant, but waiting there.  I could not see who it was but I figured it was the district officer wanting to watch the show.  I stood there, hoping the lesson would not last too much longer, but I think the Lieutenant was enjoying this too much.  Finally I checked again over my shoulder and he had gone back inside.  About that time that patrol car in the alley eased out and came around behind me.  I saw that it was Pappy.  Pappy was a legend.  What a guy....respected by those on both sides of the law, he had been around a long time and worked on the south side, the "other side of the tracks" and often handled things on his own without needing backup.  Pappy pulled up close and said, "Rookie (which is what he called us all) what's the problem here?"  That's all it took.  The tears started flowing and I started blubbering about what was going on.  I know he did not expect that, but he took it in stride.  He leaned down within his car and came up with his own lockjock, handed it through the open window and I was able to unlock the door to my car.  I got in, turned the car off, got the keys, relocked the car and handed the tool back to Pappy.  My tears were now tears of relief as I tried to thank him but he just smiled and winked and drove on down the road.

If anyone was looking out the back door, they would have seen all this but no one ever said a word about it.  I put the keys away and went to let the sergeant and lieutenant know, wondering all the time what I would say if I was asked how I managed to get the keys out.  Thankfully no one was around so I slunk out of the station and went home.   Over the next few days I completed some paperwork and learned that no permanent damage appeared to have been done to the car and I prepared myself for the joking that I was sure to come my way.

To this day I don't remember anyone ever saying anything to me about it.  I was privileged to work more closely with Pappy about 8 years later when he was the bailiff in Municipal Court and approaching retirement.  We worked together there for 6 years before I moved to the Metroplex. He always acted as if he did not remember what I was talking about when I would try to talk to him and thank him for what he did for me years earlier, but I saw the twinkle in his eye.  He remembered, he just didn't want me making a big fuss over it.  When I left Municipal Court in 1997 they had a going away party for me.  The picture above is one that was taken that day.  Pappy retired the following year and passed away in 2004.  I sure hope he knows how much I admired and appreciated him.  I hope he knows I never forgot what he did for a rookie that day.     

Steven Tyler

OK I admit it. I have a celebrity crush on Steven Tyler, the lead singer of Aerosmith. From the time I became aware of him during my 8th grade year at Lakeside Junior High School in Norwalk, CA, he has fascinated me.  The "theme" of our 8th grade graduation was "Walk This Way" and I thought that was perfect.  My mom had signed me up for Columbia House (remember 12 albums for a penny?) and I talked her into letting me choose Aerosmith's Toys in the Attic and paying a little extra since it was not on the "free" list (of course it wasn't---people were paying good money for that album in the record stores---they didn't need to give it away for 1/12 of a cent!).  I played Walk This Way over and over again until I knew every word --- at least MY version of every word.  I just knew they would play it at some point during the graduation ceremony and I would be so cool singing along with Steven!  Well, they didn't play it and since then I have learned the real words and I understand why.

I don't know what it is, but there is just something about the guy that is very attractive to me.  I have read books about the band, been to their concerts and sat mesmerized as he judged contestants on American Idol.  I really didn't think this admiration was that far out there for a female who grew up in the 1970's, but most of the time when I mention my obsession with who I consider to be the greatest front man of all time, I am met with horrified surprise.  Maybe when I was 13 and hanging around other 13 year olds AND Mr. Tyler was 35 plus years younger, this worship was more common.  It hasn't stopped me though, and when I recently got three reminders from three different friends to watch Steven's interview with Oprah on Oprah's Next Chapter I knew that my secret was out.  That's ok, when American Idol starts its new season on January 18, I'll be sitting and watching, front and center, and possibly drooling just a little.

Handfeet

Back in the 1980's when my son was a toddler, we used to read this Dr. Seuss book Hand, Hand, Fingers, Thumb.  Oh how we loved that book.  One time he looked at one of the pictures in the book and said, "Momma, those monkeys have handfeet!"  That always stuck with me.  Handfeet.  Interesting.  Many years later I was telling my husband about this cute observation and he said, "Baby, that's what you have----handfeet!"  All of a sudden, my little boy's cute comment took on a different meaning.  Yes, I do wear a size 9 shoe, sometimes 9 1/2 and on the rare occasion I will choose a size 10, but that's beside the point.  It's my TOES he is talking about.  I guess when you grow up always looking down at your own feet, that's what is normal to you and anything different seems odd.  Now as I look around maybe I'm the "unique" one.  So I did what any self-respecting handfooted (feeted?) person would do.  I Googled.  I found that long toes, particularly having a 2nd toe longer than the big toe (as I do), was considered a sign of intelligence and beauty.  This trait was also associated with royalty. Heck, I even found out that the Statue of Liberty has toes like mine, or more correctly I have toes like her.  I think this proves my main point:  You can find plenty of information to support your point of view if you Google long enough.  Man I love Google.

Firstborn

"Firstborns are natural leaders. They also tend to be reliable, conscientious and perfectionists who don't like surprises. Often they are placed in a care-providing and protective role for the younger siblings and therefore may tend to be more responsible in their lives in general. This can result in a desire to control the people and situations around them. Oldest children usually follow the rules and set the examples for younger children. Positive traits that are typically associated with oldest children include their leadership abilities and ambition."

Over the years I have read several books about being a firstborn child.  The above information comes from one of those books.  I am a firstborn, and while not all of these traits apply to all  firstborns, some of them do apply to me.  I was often called upon to care for my three younger siblings; I am reliable (AND punctual, though not mentioned above); I prefer to be in control; and I typically follow the rules. In other words I tend to be bossy, nosy, aggressive and inflexible!  I think my friends and family know that my intentions are good and perhaps they forgive me for my short-comings, but it's good to remember that there are always things I can work on.  This is a reminder to myself to slow down, listen and to sometimes let others steer the ship!

Tambourine Betty

I've been toying with starting a blog for quite some time.  I follow several friends and enjoy reading their posts so much I thought "I can do this!". Turns out it was not that easy (at least for me).  I struggled with just naming the blog, so I wondered if I could really keep up with actually posting semi-interesting (and I use that term loosely) content on a semi-regular basis.  I  considered several different names and themes and I read articles on how to name my blog, but in the end Tambourine Betty won out.  Actually, once I thought of the name I really didn't have to rethink it at all.  Betty is Betty Cooper from The Archies and the tambourine is what she played.  I fell in love with that cartoon back when I was in elementary school and I used to dream of actually being Betty and playing that tambourine. It turns out that a few decades later I am still kind of attached to that image.  I confessed this dream to my husband and he bought me not one but TWO tambourines for my birthday one year!  In addition to this he actually encouraged me to play them, although on occasion when I show up on the patio with tambourine(s) in hand, I think he wonders about the monster he has created!