Old Stewball was a racehoooorrrrse.... I am belting, which is not always something you want to be around. And I wish he were miiiiiine...
Jeff gives me an odd look. “Doo-Ball? Whose horse is this?”
”Stewball,” I say.
”Ok, Too-Ball?” he says. He is clearly trying to make sense of whatever it is I’m trying to communicate.
”No, STEW-ball,” I say. “Stewball. It’s a Peter, Paul, and Mary song.”
”Paul and Mary,” says Jeff. “What did the horse do?”
”He won the race,” I say. “And that’s all, as far as I know.”
”Huh...” says Jeff. “I don’t remember that song. Well, I learned something new today.”
Then I stop singing about Stewball.
Instead, I finally remember to look up the species of a tree which grows in large numbers along our usual beach-circuit dog walk. I have lived here for 24 years and have never remembered to look up that tree’s identity, except while passing by. And at those moments I have no internet connection. 5 different online flow charts...well, not charts, because you click. I guess they’re flow programs...but anyway, 5 take me to dead ends. One gets it bang on. (I don’t know what’s wrong with the others.) It’s a Northern Catalpa, recognizable by its very large heart-shaped leaves, and its lengthy bean pods. It is sometimes called an “Indian Bean Tree,” and usually they’re found in Ohio or the Mississippi River Valley. Someone apparently brought them here for ornamental purposes, and they appear to like it very much.
This afternoon, the weather was far too fine to take a nap on the couch, so that’s exactly what I did. Which means I’ll be up past Jeff’s bedtime, watching The Tudors if I can get a crack at the tv...or possibly whatever Olivia and her bf Brian select, provided it’s not a rerun of last night’s “Hooters Girls” pageant. Although Olivia and I did have somewhat of an interesting time making a critical analysis of real vs. not-real, anatomically speaking.
4 comments:
I missed the Hooters' Girls Pageant? AAARGH!
I hate to admit it, but the daughter with whom I was watching thinks that a stint waitressing at Hooters between semesters would be a fine idea. shrug. Well, she does have, by the grace of God, all the right...ahem...qualifications. Her two hippie sisters would have no interest. Seeing as how I have a cousin who once served as a playboy bunny on a double-decker bus to Atlantic City, I guess the exhibitionist gene squeaked in there somewhere. Luckily, I think she'll outgrow it.
I once studied American counter-culture in the 60's, and one of ways I did it was by listening to the music (Dylan,PPM, Creedence, Mamas and Papas, Sonny and Cher, Jefferson Airplane, etc).
I NEVER understood the Stewball song. I don't think it is merely a language problem for me. I think that the song just doesn't make sense. (Perhaps proof of the extensiveness of the drug culture).
If you understand the song, I'd appreciate your take on it.
It may help to keep in mind that "Stewball" was brought to us by the same minds from which sprang "Puff the Magic Dragon"
On the other hand, I just found this: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skewball#Recordings
According to this Wikipedia article, the theme and some lyrics date back to 18th C. Ireland, and an actual horse. So P, P, and M's version is the descendant of a long line of likely adaptations and mutations, so perhaps they can't be entirely blamed for the whimsy of it.
I suspect though, that--as far as the drug culture goes--nonsense holds great appeal maybe, under the influence of psychotropics.
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