Sounds of the Season

Tossing and turning, Sunday morning at 9am, I reached over to Madelene’s side to realize she wasn't there. I was still too exhausted from having back pain all night. I struggled to pull myself up. Rubbing my dry eyes so I can see what’s in front of me, I begin to hear something really strange; almost bazaar-like. What is this noise? I walk out into the hallway, and into the living room to realize the TV was blaring polka music.

“What the? Who the? Huh? Oh no no no no no!” I said, running over to the remote controls to quickly change this awful sound. I then forgot that Madelene loves “Sounds of the Season” satellite station, on the music channel. Usually, she puts this on during the holiday season. Fine. I can handle a little Jingle Bell Rock, what I can’t handle is polka accordion music being blasted throughout the entire house when I first wake up. She must have had some huge crack pipe dangling out of her mouth that morning. I wasn’t having it.

“Good morning sweetie! I made you breakfast!” Madelene says, as she walks into the living room. I just sat there, and gave her a blank stare.
“Polka music, Mad? POLKA???” I said, in a jokingly way.
“Ah, I just love this time of year! I thought I’d wake you up with some ‘happy music.’”
“Happy music? I wanted to slit my wrists when I walked in here!”
I said in a cynical tone.

She was way too happy this morning. She’s usually euphoric-like on her days off. I want to see her reaction when I start playing the same music loudly when she is getting ready for work. I don’t think it’ll make her happy that day for some odd reason. It’s quite a blessing that she wakes up so cheerful. I sometimes wake up without saying one word, until after my first cup of coffee. You can say it—I’m a big grouch.

We sat outside on our deck to have breakfast. To those who know me will disagree with that sentence right there. Yes, I did sit outside, because it was cool out. No bees. I’m deathly afraid of bees. I detest them. They’re mean, they’ll sting you for no reason. Don’t tell me, “Oh well if you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you." Wrong! These little suckers will attack at any given time. Now they are trying to nest, and sometimes they will just zap you because you’re simply ‘alive’ and it irritates them.

Madelene and I sat out there talking for hours. We realized it was noon, and jumped in the shower. Well, one at a time. Get your minds out of the gutter. We got ready not knowing what we were going to do. As I waited for Madelene to get ready, I decided to go see my mother downstairs and see what she was doing. I invited her out to lunch to this outdoor bar & grill to watch the Yankees and Red Sox. Did I forget cocktails? Of course they were included!

“You dirty hairy beast! Ugh!” Madelene says at the TV screen above the bar, as they show a shot of Johnny Damon.
“You know, Johnny Damon is a very good looking man, in spite of his hair growth problem. So what he looks like a caveman---did you get a good look at his wife though? Wow!” I said, finishing off the last remains of my beer.
“He’s disgusting. Don’t you remember when they showed him clipping his toenails while playing in the World Series last year? He’s gross Deb! I don’t know how you would think he’s good looking! Queer Eye for the Straight Guy gave him a make over once, and he looked 'halfway' decent…but not good looking!”

My mother sat there listening to her lesbian daughter and her partner arguing over if a ‘man’ is good looking. Maybe she thought there’s hope for me after all? As I said in previous posts, I can admire the beauty of a man. I think men are beautiful when they take pride in their appearance. I look at men, but not in a sexual way. I look at them like a piece of art; not a piece of @ss. When I go to Provincetown, Massachusetts, the gay men are to be awed at. The drag queens are to be envied! I could only dream to look even remotely as good as those beauties.

We left the bar & grill to head home. We continued our cocktail hour out on the patio. A ton of crows were on my lawn having a rally. The leader of the pack ‘caaw’d’ several times, then stopped; then the rest of the pack started caaw’in in unison as if they were protesting something.

“What the?” Look at them Mad! It’s like a mini Hitler and his gang. I’ve never seen such a show being displayed out on the lawn before!"
“That’s a sign. This means something.”
Mom says, getting her psychic hat on.
“Ma, it’s not going to rain—it’s not in the forecast.”
“No, something is wrong, I can feel it, this is a sign.”

“I don’t know.” Mom replies.
I shake my head, looking at Madelene.

“Debbie!” My father calls from within the house.
“What dad?”
“Go inside my gun cabinet and get ma’crow cawla!”
“Dad, they’re already here, why would you want them any closer?”

“Watch ya stupidja! You’ll get more crows. I used to use dis’when I went hunting all da’time. You don’t wanna believe me doe’.” He says, all frustrated with my disbelief.
“Fine dad, I’ll get it.”

I rush inside to open his gun cabinet. I’ve never opened this cabinet before. I never knew I would have a need to do this. I felt awkward. I opened the glass door, blew the dust off the tapes that were sitting there. They were discolored and faded out from age.
“Ugh, I’m probably gonna get some weird & nasty disease just by touching these old cruddy tapes!” I said to myself, surprised they weren’t eight tracks.

I walk back outside to put the tape in the cassette player and blasted this puppy. Oh my poor neighbors!

After each caaw’ there were a bunch of eagle calls on it as well. I didn’t understand why there were more than one bird on here.

“Dad, what’s that other sound?”
“It’s an eagle attacking a nest of crows.”
He says, as he watched the lawn, expecting more crows than we already had.

Each and every crow that were parked on my lawn flew away in fear. Of course they would flee, why wouldn’t they? An eagle was at large! No wonder my father never caught anything hunting. The most alarming question in mind was, why was he hunting for crows in the first place? (Scratching head)

The sounds of my neighbor’s dogs viscously barking non-stop was now giving me a migraine more than the crow calls were. I turned this awful noise off. I’d rather listen to polka.

My friend Lisa and I always laugh when we see a crow. She is from New Jersey, near the city almost. She rarely hears birds over there. The first evening she spent the night at our house, she was awakened by a loud "caaw". A crow was outside her window. She poked fun saying that I lived in the jungle. She heard birds that sounded as though she was in the deep jungles of Africa. They were probably sparrows she never heard.

I even went out to buy her a puppet crow that actually had a loud “caaw” sound. She still has it. She was hysterical when I gave it to her. Now she can have the luxury of listening to a crow anytime she wants.

I called her up to show her the crow tape. She laughs, but not as hard as I thought she would.
“Deb, I just got home from the hospital. I had an allergic reaction to something, I can’t figure out what it’s from.”
“Did you eat shrimp or anything of that nature?”
I asked, knowing she loves her shrimp.
“Yeah, I did actually, but I think it may be my shower curtain.”
“Your shower curtain?”
“Yeah. I need to change it.”
She said, seriously thinking that a shower curtain would make her rush off to the hospital in need of steroids and Benedryl.
“You may want to get checked for allergies by your doctor.” I suggested.
“Yeah, I should. My girlfriend is making me shrimp scampi right now, so I am going to eat, and sleep the rest of this stuff off.”
“What? She's making shrimp?”
I said, almost in shock!
“Lisa---my sister Cathy always ate shrimp and shellfish. Then one day, she became allergic to it. Don’t you think it may be the shrimp, if anything?”
“Naw, I’ll be okay, I’ve been eating this stuff forever.”
She says, in a calm voice.

Now that I have brought up Lisa, I need to go call her to check up on this poor soul. I feel bad that she had an allergic reaction, but for the love of God---why would you eat something that may have given you an allergic reaction?...