Of all Barnes and Noble’s CDs, I chose Song Cycle by Van Dyke Parks— partly because song cycles trip my trigger, and partly [...]]]> When I was 16, I spent hundreds of my hard-earned pennies on a CD. Not a ‘Greatest Hits’ or ‘Top Ten Songs of 1967′ compilation, as was my custom, but something completely unfamiliar.

Of all Barnes and Noble’s CDs, I chose Song Cycle by Van Dyke Parks— partly because song cycles trip my trigger, and partly because Van Dyke Parks looked so much like “Aardvark”…  who had recently dumped me.

Additionally, I was impressed by the naming of tracks 6 and 7:

6. “Van Dyke Parks” – Public Domain
7. “Public Domain” – Van Dyke Parks

At 16, this struck me as the height of wit.

Song Cycle begins with the Randy Newman song Vine Street:

I can’t TELL you how I loathed the first 50 seconds of Vine Street. I’d paid full price for questionable bluegrass? What if all 12 tracks were about about blackjack?!

Before I could die of remorse, the bluegrass faded and Van Dyke Parks sang:

“That’s a tape that we made
but I’m sad to say it never made the grade.
That was me; third guitar
I wonder where the others are.”

My worries ended.



Like the singer remembering Vine Street , “I sold the guitar today. I never did play much, anyway.”

My Celebrity and its hard case only fetched $70. It felt like selling a friend, but we can’t always afford to be sentimental.

All week long, I’ve been selling my furniture. Packing. Scrubbing, then scrubbing again.

Mr. Jaunty and I moved out of our apartment today, our first home together. Next Saturday, we begin driving from New Mexico to Pennsylvania. Our combined estates won’t possibly fit in Mr. Jaunty’s pickup truck, so we’re having a yard sale tomorrow morning.

Yes, I’m excited about the future and yes, I’m grateful that Mr. Jaunty’s father is taking us in. But I’ve spent six years in New Mexico and it’s hard leaving so much behind.

Again, I am taking a risk by choosing something completely unfamiliar. This time, I’m gambling more than pennies.



My only guitar is gone, my body aches, and I’m sad all the way to my bones.

Last week, my Mom and sister sent me a queen-size package full of candy, clothes, music, toys, beauty samples, novelties, a [...]]]> When reading old British novels, I’m sometimes jealous of characters who receive “hampers“. The Little Princess got them, I know, as did James Herriot…. did Harry Potter ever get a hamper? Anybody?

Last week, my Mom and sister sent me a queen-size package full of candy, clothes, music, toys, beauty samples, novelties, a book, etc..  As I opened it, cooing and gushing, I realized, “Hey, this is the American equivalent of a hamper! ” I guess ‘hamper’ sounds exciting because it’s foreign, like siestas and autobahns.

This massive care package/hamper also contained a 14 oz. bag of…

…multi colored tapioca pearls! Way to go, Thailand!

Tuesday I made a double-batch of vegan tapioca using this recipe, which might benefit from clearer directions. The pudding was fine, if a little heavy. Mr. Jaunty loved it. Alas, the pearls lost their color while cooking, giving the pudding a slightly gray cast. Dingy pudding.

Next time, I’ll try this recipe.

Of course, you can’t have tapioca without James Fox:

Did you see the way he choreographed a room full of strangers in FIVE MINUTES? Somebody get this man a hamper.

Is it safe to say that everyone prefers Small House of Uncle Thomas? [...]]]> Back when I was young and ambitious, I read Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Now that I’m only semi-young and even less ambitious, I greatly prefer Small House of Uncle Thomas:

Is it safe to say that everyone prefers Small House of Uncle Thomas?

Eventually, I broke down and called Jean of The Reinvention Project.

As I sang the melody to Jean, she sang along, piecing in the words. [...]]]> When last we met, I was battling a stubborn earworm.  Feeling stubborn myself, I spent eight long days humming those same four bars and racking my brain. What was that melody? Why did it feel so familiar?

Eventually, I broke down and called Jean of The Reinvention Project.

As I sang the melody to Jean, she sang along, piecing in the words. I googled the lyrics, and voila! THAT TUNE WAS NAMED.

Enough suspense; that infamous melody turned out to be “I Will Wait for You” from The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (Les Parapluies de Cherbourg, for you French-speakers).

It is a yearning, aching love theme, and I saw the film last Fall. But if Jean hadn’t known the song, would I have been stuck humming it for the next ten years?
Sing it, Johnny!

As I remember, it sounded like a love theme. The yearning, aching kind. The radio arrangement was string-heavy and quite pretty. It was familiar; either it’s part of [...]]]> As I was folding clothes at the laundromat last night, I heard a tune on the radio. It’s been stuck in my head ever since. Yep, an earworm.

As I remember, it sounded like a love theme. The yearning, aching kind. The radio arrangement was string-heavy and quite pretty. It was familiar; either it’s part of a film score or opera I saw recently, or… or…. GAAHHHHH! I DON”T KNOW!

Ten years ago, I’d have hummed the tune for everyone I knew, waiting for someone to recognize the piece…. …. but as an Ace Detective, I now have NewFangled Technology© on my side.

Behold my patented Six Step Earworm Eliminator:

1. Visit Wikipedia to research likely films and/or composers. I’ve [basically] ruled out The Remains of the Day, The Go-Between, Eugene Onegin, and Doctor Zhivago —- I knew it wasn’t Lara’s Theme, but thought maybe Dr. Z had another famous theme or two

2. Search YouTube for likely source videos. Try not to be distracted by laughing quadruplets

3.  Find an online interactive flash keyboard where I can plunk out the melody before I forget it. Again.

4.  Attempt to notate melody using Adobe Illustrator CS4

5. Ask Mr. Jaunty for help

6. Ask Interweb friends to name that tune

Ah, better living through NewFangled Technology©.

Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.

I was honored. What gave him the idea? My waistcoat and brown top hat? Perhaps his mother doesn’t dress that way.

“If you want to view paradise Simply look around and view it Anything [...]]]> Today, a third grade boy paid me the compliment of a lifetime; he said, “You look like Willy Wonka… … ’s wife!”

I was honored. What gave him the idea? My waistcoat and brown top hat? Perhaps his mother doesn’t dress that way.

“If you want to view paradise
Simply look around and view it
Anything you want to, do it
Want to change the world?
There’s nothing to it…”

It was me! MEEEEEEE! Ms. Rebekah R. Jaunty! It wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had— I’m not a Singer, so performing publicly for thirty minutes was… ~cough cough~ ~AHEM~ challenging. Still, I survived. I could have skipped town or faked my own death, but [...]]]> Guess who gave her [mandatory] Senior Recital yesterday?

It was me! MEEEEEEE! Ms. Rebekah R. Jaunty! It wasn’t the most fun I’ve ever had— I’m not a Singer, so performing publicly for thirty minutes was… ~cough cough~ ~AHEM~ challenging. Still, I survived. I could have skipped town or faked my own death, but I stayed put, stayed alive, and plowed through. I’m proud of myself.

Now that THAT’s taken care of, guess who may have time in the near future for reading, pondering, exercise, and The Finer Things in Life? Who may even resume blogging faithfully?

Lucky guess; it’s me again!



Guess who is now $300 poorer?

Ohhhhhhhhhh. Also me.



Psst! Click to enlarge the photos, folks.

My [...]]]> As I was walking last summer, I ran into an old church friend . We stood squinting in the desert sun and caught up on old times. She asked probing questions, and we philosophized together. As we parted ways, she said “My husband and I came to your last concert! The devil music!”

My brow furrowed. “Simon and Garfunkel??”

“No, the scary devil music.”

“Uh…. The Raven?”

“Who wrote that?”

“Justin Raines.”

“No no no, not that, it was… hmm……… ”

After much pondering, I realized she was referring to Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana:

She didn’t fool me; everyone knows the devil prefers elevator music.

I passed my [final] Final exam — possibly the last Final of my undergraduate degree. I’ve been college for centuries now, slogging through countless lectures, deadlines, research papers, outrageously overpriced textbooks, performances, meltdowns, and therapists…but the end is in sight.

I feel a song coming on. Take it away, Motel [...]]]> Today’s feat of derring-do:

I passed my [final] Final exam — possibly the last Final of my undergraduate degree. I’ve been college for centuries now, slogging through countless lectures, deadlines, research papers, outrageously overpriced textbooks, performances, meltdowns, and therapists…but the end is in sight.

I feel a song coming on. Take it away, Motel Kamzoil!

‘When Jaunty passed her last exam/that was a miracle, too.’

This calls for ginger ale.

Any wonders in your corner of the world?