Haven’t shared any Fave Tunes lately, so check out this totally cool 11th century Hurdy-Gurdy being played in this YouTube video of an old song about the Great Mississippi Flood of 1927.

This is Black History month, so you might want to take a minute to read about that flood. Google if you don’t like to click links. I read that and thought oh my… the living conditions in the tent cities set up for black victims of the flood was so inhumane that it is beyond comprehension.

Make America Great Again? Pick a year! Wake up people. When, pray tell, was it actually great for all Americans? Certainly not 1927. Can you find ANY era of peace, prosperity, and justice for all? The history of racist bull in this country is so horrid that I cringe if I to have to check a box next to the word “white” on anything because I don’t want to be lumped into the same category with paranoid MAGA hat wearing white supremacist types. I’ve been tempted to click the “other” box. What if we all clicked other? Black, white… those are Crayola colors. If we are going to label diverse groups of people into generic colors to simplify discrimination, why not use the whole box of 8? Trump’s orange; the main purpose for his wall is to keep brown people out. Any blue Smurfs out there?

Yeah, I hear people say, “I voted for Trump, but I’m not racist.”

I’m curious, if you bought that MAGA nonsense hook, line, and sinker. Tell me when and why. What year, time period, or era does the “again” in MAGA imply? Why do you romanticize that particular time? Then google it… do your homework, learn a little history. Was it really so great?

Sorry, I got side tracked on a soapbox.

“When the Levee Breaks” was written by Kansas Joe McCoy. If you want to hear the original sung by McCoy and his wife, Memphis Minnie, you can find it on YouTube.

The levee in the song holds back flood waters, but the first time I heard Led Zeppelin’s version, I was “going down, going down now” in my first major battle with my arch nemesis, depression. I was 14 and suicidal, too locked inside myself to ask for help. I’m still prone to depressions; learned how to recognize the symptoms so I can usually keep that bee at bay.

Cryin’ won’t help you, prayin’ won’t do you no good, when that levee breaks, mama, you got to move.

Today, it strikes a different chord. I’m keeping an eye on a levee. If it ever breaks, I’ve got to move. Now I don’t mean pack up all my stuff and throw it in a U-haul to go live someplace else. The “levee” is a situation and “move” is to take swift positive action. What that will be, I don’t know yet. I’m trying to prepare myself. I want to be able to act instead of react.

Thanks for reading.



A little birdie told me to set my last couple posts to “private” because I feel better now. Some things are more important to write than they are to be read. Baring my soul, pouring my heart out, pounding out anger on a keyboard… it’s all words to the wind anyway.

We were sitting at the kitchen table yesterday. I was sipping a shot of brandy topped with a splash of Rumple Minze in a sherry glass, smiling to myself while he just kept digging himself into a deeper hole by talking. He was telling me about a woman we both know who’s ex keeps coming around, concluding with, “She’s stupid.”

Oh yes, just like you think I am.

As you know, hints of whatever I’m thinking has a way of showing up on my face and that man tries to read it. He must have thought that I was drawing parallels between her story and our own. I was. I didn’t say anything, but he started back-peddling real quick. “It’s not like she doesn’t know… she knows that he’s been messing with that girl… ” and on and on, how and why. She saw it with her own eyes. “She knows! It’s not like someone just told her and she don’t really know… she knows!”

Oh baby, keep on digging… dig it on down.

Ysbryd walked up the driveway into the pavilion beside the garage. The movement drew the vet’s attention to the window. “There’s that cat,” he said, to totally change the topic. He wondered if it was KiKi. I told him no, that’s the ghost. They’re both big, solid black cats. KiKi has thick, double fur. Her face and tail are bushier. She’s not afraid of people, comes right to the door, likes to be petted now and then. She also likes to bump noses with Max, the house kitten. Ysbryd is elusive, rarely seen. He avoids humans. I’m pretty sure he comes to eat, but I have never seen him at the dish.

We watched the ghost cross the yard and disappear under the back fence. I’ve seen KiKi take that exact same path, even when there was no snow to mark his prints, so he may one of the reasons that she hates being confined to a house.

It was about time to feed them, so I filled a water pitcher while the vet was gathering his things to leave. I like to wait till dusk because the crows come in daylight. I don’t mind if they eat leftovers, but they don’t save anything for the cats. Those birds will pluck freshly filled dog-size dishes clean.

KiKi startled the vet when he opened the door.

Awe, the poor man… he hates cats in general and black cats in particular. Within minutes, he’s seen two… front and back, flanked by black cats.

And… a third.

Yes, a third black cat showed up today. This one has a bit of white, a bib line that you can barely see in this photo. It was in the pavilion, checking out KiKi’s outdoor shelter, saw me looking out the window and just sat there looking at me for awhile. Then it suddenly brisked and backed up, then froze, staring off towards something coming up the driveway. As soon as KiKi walked into view, it took off… ran straight down Ysbryd’s path to the same spot in the back fence. The calico took the same path, too. There must be a colony over there somewhere. Who knows how many I feed?

When I met the vet, I had an old black cat… Ysbryd looks exactly like him, so much so that it freaked him out when Ysbryd stared him down. KiKi freaks him out, too. Should I tell him about black cat #3?

Nah… he’s been having a rough go lately and I don’t want him blaming his luck on the cats. That’s another reason for setting those posts to private. My heart is softening a bit.

Perhaps “softening” is the wrong word; “saddening” is more appropriate.

It saddens me. But, he brought it on himself and there is not a damn thing I can do, even if I wanted to, and who am I anyway? Just some old bee who feeds stray cats and crows.

Thanks for reading.