And now for something you'll REALLY like...

I'm in a community choir called the Conchords. Following are two parodies I wrote, based on tunes the choir has been singing for its spring '08 season. There are some inside jokes (based on rehearsal bloopers) within the first. Just so's you know.

To be sung to the tune of "Get Me To The Church on Time"

I am a member of the Conchords!
Ding dong the notes are gonna chime!
Pull out the stopper --
Don't lose the whopper!
And get me to the show on time.

I've gotta be there in the evening
Spruced up and looking in my prime!
Folks come and kiss me --
Don't dare to diss me --
Just get me to the gig on time!

If I am working, call up my boss...
If I am dahncing, woot, my ahss is grahss!

Oh, I am a member of the Conchords --
I must speak Cockney well by nine!
Mustn't say "Balzac"
'Cause that leaves a big lack!
So let me read my lines all right!

If I am Tevye, I must not say
That I have married a little girl today!

Oh, I am a member of the Conchords --
I am an actor for tonight!
Moh-tel is Mah-tel, and who knows what aht-all?
Just get me to the show
Get me to the show,
For Don's sake get me to the show...on... time!

And here's the other. I think the choir will sing these spoofs to Don, our great director, at the party after the last performance.

To the tune of The Wells Fargo Wagon (from "The Music Man")

Oh, ho the Conchords are coming to your
Old folks home, are you assisted or placed in AIP?
Oh, yes the Conchords are coming to your
Senior residence, we wish oh wish that you could have us FREE!

We’ve got a letter from the AARP, now.
And twice we got a big “standing ‘O.’”
We hope to hit Miami in August.
Our demographics show the seniors all just love us so!

Oh, ho the Conchords are coming to your
Fav’rite place, you bet, we’re ready for all from A to Z.
Oh, ho the Conchords are coming to your
Aging villa, we just wish that you would be allowed to see:

At Calaroga there was some consternation:
The heat was turned too high for our gals.
The guys agreed the temp was too scalding.
But when we went to Creekside Villa it was hot as…(gasp!)

Oh ho the Conchords are coming to your
“Age in Place,” will you remember that we were ever there?
We could be Matlock or Maude or even Andy Griffith.
Or we could be (yes, you’re right we surely could be)
Something special (something very, very special now)
Your new teeth!

I Love to Sew -- Or Maybe Not

I want, want, want to sew something. Almost anything would do, although if I could craft a garment that would fit me perfectly and make me look like a starlet (even a middle-aged one), that would be the best.

Thing is, I haven't been able to get a project together without a little help from my friend Kathy or my sister Pam.

The Kathy project, a quilt, is on hold, and may remain so indefinitely.

Pam and I managed to make a Barbie dress from a vintage pattern a few months ago. Pam did all the heavy lifting, though.

My lack of sewing accomplishment is embarrassing primarily because I have a pattern store on eBay. Potential customers occasionally ask me sewing-related questions, and I am usually too ignorant to answer them without lots of hemming (har!) and hawing.

This is not because I've never sewn; I used to sew quite a bit. But it's one of those activities that can be hard to pick up again. Ever since we moved in 2000 (resulting in the several-months-long virtual burial of my machine), I have not been able to see a sewing project to completion.

Oh, wait! I did actually sew a pair of boxer shorts. I was going to make my husband and two sons EACH a pair of those OR a pair of pajama pants for Christmas gifts. I had some nifty flannel fabric with ski-lodge graphics (I think it's vintage -- but if not, it definitely has that look; also, Timberline Lodge, an Oregon ski destination, is represented).

However, I made a cutting mistake right off the bat that meant I had to go with the smallest waist size and couldn't make any larger-size shorts or PJ bottoms. So, all I made were the shorts for my younger son. He said they were too big in the waist (despite my accidentally cutting them to the smallest size -- he was quite skinny at the time), so I think what happened is that he gave them to his dad (my husband John).

So, yes. I've finished one garment by myself: A pair of boxer shorts with another mistake in them besides the cutting thing detailed above. I used to be able to do much better.

I think it will boost my confidence to list here what I've sewed in my lifetime. It's not very impressive compared to what most sew-ers accomplish -- but believe you me, if my friends see this, they'll be amazed. Most of them have never known me to thread a needle of any kind.

A-line skirt: I made this for a summer class I took right before 9th grade. Three other girls and I "studied" the Bishop sewing method from a classmate's mother in her kitchen. We were supposed to make an apron, the skirt, and a dress (if not more), but the skirt was the only thing I finished. I bungled the zipper (or at least the hook-and-eye above it in the back), but I loved that skirt. This was mainly because I adored the fabric I had chosen for it -- dark blue, small-wale corduroy with tiny lighter-blue-and-white floral print -- and could hide my sewing imperfections with a simple navy blue pullover that ended lower than the waistband. Sigh. I wish I still had that skirt, just to look at. (It would have ceased to fit for many years now.)

Boy's Tank Top and Shorts: That's right, I didn't sew again until I was out of college, married, and the mother of a toddler. I happened to see a vintage Singer Slant-O-Matic in some store, and...well, it wouldn't be quite accurate to say I fell in love with it. I'm guessing I thought it was a bargain, and it must have sparked within me an interest in taking up sewing again (not that I'd ever really taken it up before). The first thing I made was an extremely '70s outfit for my then 2-1/2-year-old son. I was very bad at choosing fabrics (and have not improved much since). Hence, I made his little shorts and tank top from light blue terrycloth with royal blue ribbon trim around the armholes, neck, and scalloped leg edges. You remember the basketball uniforms of the late '70s? That's what this was patterned after. Of course, Danny didn't care what he wore then -- it was before his phase, one summer, of wanting to wear jeans, socks and tennis shoes with no shirt at all, day after day. That was when he started to care what he wore (but his taste improved over time). Luckily, when his mom sewed him this very questionable shorts-and-tank ensemble he wore it without a care -- and we shortly thereafter moved, so he never had to suffer any humiliation as a result of it.

Boy's Pajamas: Danny was again the victim of my sewing endeavors, and still didn't mind humoring me by wearing the results of my labors. This number was a set of pajamas made with woven fabric, not knit. The top was a standard snap-front, shirt-style top, and the pull-on pants had slightly flared legs. I made it out of a vintage (i.e., pre-1981) length of flannel material (grayish-blue with a small diam0nd print). Dan's preschool had a pajama party, and I was desperate to finish his swank PJs so he wouldn't have to wear his worn polyester duds. Luckily, my sister Pam was in town, and was able to do the hammer-snap thing that I was afraid to attempt. Voila -- the pajama top was close-able and the outfit was finished! Danny attended the soiree in style.

Witch's Costume, etc.: While Dan was in the same cooperative preschool, I agreed to make some dress-up clothes for the kids. This wasn't my idea for a contribution (the director asked me), but for reasons I've forgotten, I made no attempt to change my assignment. The result was that I got better at sewing, due to the pressure to perform. I remember making a witch costume, but I'm not sure what else I accomplished. However, I do know I fulfilled my duties.

Clown and Pirate Costumes: By this time my younger son, Joel, was in preschool and Danny was in grade school. I made a clown costume for Joel and a pirate costume for Dan (which Joel received as a hand-me-down later), and together these efforts represented the height of my sewing achievement. The clown thing was actually kind of challenging -- and I did very well with it. The pirate get-up was easier, but again, it turned out great. I chose the fabrics wisely, and the pirate thing even looked like the picture on the front of the pattern envelope. Neither child was embarrassed (not that Joel remembers the occasion), and both received plenty of candy and were not taunted. Of course, at their then-ages they were accompanied by one or both parents, so that wasn't likely to happen anyway.

Charlie Chaplin "Tramp" Costume: Actually, I didn't finish this costume, which was to have been for grade-school-aged Joel. I got partway finished with the jacket and noticed I'd been constructing it inside-out. I handed it over to my mother-in-law, hoping she'd just fix it. She had worked in men's alterations for years, and could have done it easily. What I didn't know was that her job turned her off sewing in her free time. She set the tramp jacket aside and returned it to me a few years later, unchanged.

Hawaiian Shirt: Unfortunately not the rayon type that's so popular now, but an all-cotton version -- red, with tropical-type flowers, like maybe hibiscus. I gave this to my brother, then wore it myself later after he either got tired of it or got tired of pretending to wear it. (He has since told me he won't wear flowers; I think if the fabric had shown surfboards or woodies it would have been fine.)

Men's Necktie: This turned out pretty great. I gave one to my brother-in-law Bill (Pam's husband) for his birthday. I gave one (less great, probably my first attempt) to my husband. Someone had given me tags that read "Handmade by Bonnie," and I think I stitched these onto the back of the narrower end of the ties, where you'd normally find a manufacturer's tag. Or at least I did that with one of them. The fabric was in a cornflower blue with a paisley pattern (the paisley things had muted reds and yellows in them, I think).

Two Dresses: ...that I never finished.One would be considered so ugly today, even for '80s nostalgics, that I'd disavow any involvement in its creation (beige, sack-like, and so on). The other was just an exercise in...well, sewing. I made it from some vintage scraps of pattern pieces, I think, with vintage scraps of blue and white polka dot fabric. I knew it wouldn't fit me. I gave it to my niece Sara, not as a gift but just for a dress-up item she could keep in a box with any tiaras, tutus, and high heels she had around. Not that it would have been any fun to dress up in.

I seem to become a worse seamstress over time. This makes no sense. I need to get back in the saddle with this, but am not sure how to start. Ah, well. Maybe I can lure Pam back up here, and do more of my share of doll-dress sewing next time. Sounds like a good plan to me.

My Childhood Toys

Turn back, turn back, o time in your flight! Make me a child again, just for tonight.

I'm not sure I quoted that correctly; I don't even know who said it. But I do know that I'd love to own every toy and book I ever had as a kid.

What a wonderful thing it is to live during the age of eBay! Thanks to this modern miracle, I have found several of my childhood toys there. And trust me, searching the 'bay is a lot more reliable than visiting antique stores. I can't imagine what the odds would be that I'd find a set of Roy Rogers (or were they Dale Evans?) dishes in some random antique emporium -- but, without great difficulty, I found and bought a set on eBay. (And what are these dishes doing now? Languishing in a glass display case, that's what. But at least I can look at them whenever I want.)

Similarly, I used eBay to find a puzzle called "Raining Cats and Dogs." There are other, newer puzzles with this name -- but I wanted the old frame tray version that shows a boy and girl playing in a sandbox as poodles, greyhounds and tiger-stripe kitties fall from the sky.

I have replaced most of the Little Golden Books and Wonder Books I had in childhood -- those are easier to find, sometimes even for low prices. There are few thrills that compare to what I experience when I open one of those inexpensively produced books and see an illustration I hadn't known I remembered -- and hadn't seen since maybe age 4. Best LGB author for raising such goosebumps: the late and indisputably great Garth Williams.

I'd love to get a pristine Mystery Date game, or a complete Suzy Smart (fully dressed, including smart black beret, and with her desk and blackboard), even though those were technically my sister's toys. (She was kind enough to share them with me; she couldn't exactly play Mystery Date by herself, could she? One fond reminiscence we share about that game is debating the merits of the various "dates"; I always thought the dud was the cutest, and that the so-called dreamy guys looked like frat boys -- not that I knew what a frat boy was).

Perhaps if my sister had been the last Martin child, I'd have most of my original dolls, paperdolls, books, games and other toys. But there were two boys born after Pam, and they were not easy on anything. (And neither were my parents. I once found my father had propped up one leg of my brother's bed with "Now We Are Six" and another A.A. Milne book; these would both be fairly valuable, albeit their '60s provenance, sans the huge dents in their middles).

On the other hand, I probably deserved to lose my childhood possessions. My sister and I both played with our cousin's old Nancy Ann Storybook dolls, repairing their leg-hip joints by fashioning electrician's tape underwear, and otherwise contributing to their degradation. We also gave Jane's old Renwal dollhouse furniture a good working over. That was during interludes between all the time we spent dressing up in the fancy 1930s clothes in our grandparents' upstairs closet, and over-wound the Victrola as we played the thick, old Thomas Edison recordings of "The Laughing Record" and "Bebe" (or whatever they were called) over and over. Those were indeed the days. The days that taught me to guard every possession from current nieces and nephews and future grandchildren.

Thanks to eBay, someday I may have enough of this old stuff to open a museum (and then I can hire a curator to keep stuff really safe). Meanwhile, I have to save up enough to beat all the other baby boomers who want Mystery Date and Suzy Smart.

Guide to old family sewing meals

I have given this endeavor a dumb, keyword-spamming kind of title. However, I will change it when I figure out what this blog will really address. Right now, I'm guessing no one will find this oddity unless I send him/her to it, so I'm keeping my stream-of-semiconsciousness name for now. Anyway, here goes...

I went to bed a while ago and was about to read, but was suddenly inspired to create this blog about my aunt Maxine, how much I adore her, and about today's visit with her. Well, actually, I guess only today's entry will be about that. I can't write indefinitely about one visit with my aunt, no matter how much I love her (and that, as you will see, is a lot).

Most Tuesdays, I meet Maxine in the tiny Treasure Chest, a thrift store nestled in the bowels of her retirement place (which is much nicer than the word "bowels" would suggest). After we purchase our knick-knacks, toys, books or vintage blouses (just to give you an idea of what's available; we don't really normally buy stuff like that), we take the freight elevator to her 6th floor apartment, however long that may take -- and sometimes it takes many, many minutes -- and have a visit.

I love Maxine more than I can express. It's not just because she was nice to me and my siblings when we were kids -- although she was indeed very, very nice.

Her husband Earl, who died last summer, was very kind to us, too. Case in point: He accompanied me to the funeral home after my mother died in 1984. I was a slip of a 31-year-old, and would have chosen some sort of pine box for my mom if Earl hadn't intervened. (I think I was influenced by The American Way of Death, if that's the title -- not that I'd read it), but Earl prevailed and had me choose a nicer coffin than I would otherwise have done. Heck, I was barely older than my elder son is now -- what did I know about choosing caskets? The responsibility for arrangements fell to me, as my dad was so...devastated? enfeebled?...by my mother's passing that he couldn't do much of anything, including visit my mom during her last days -- which she spent in a coma, so who knows if it even mattered.

Anyway, while my mom was alive -- and maybe after, although things changed a whole lot after that -- Maxine used to visit my parents' house once a week, faithfully. She'd sit in the kitchen and smoke a couple cigarettes, drink several cups of Mr. Coffee coffee, catch up on stuff with my mom and whoever else was around. My mother, usually still in her house dress, would drink coffee and smoke with her -- and I would, too, if I was visiting from college and my dad was away (for some reason I was afraid to smoke in front of him, even though he puffed cigs too, albeit not heavily, for several years). If he was present, I'd just drink coffee and enjoy the chat.

Maxine has always kept in touch with me and all the relatives I ever knew of, before and since she and Earl moved to the retirement place in my town. She used to recap highlights of her week ("I washed all the windows today -- what a chore"; or "Earl has a cold and is just disgusted with himself") on 5" x 7" blank postcards, dated only with the day and month, and signed "Maxine and E.T." (my uncle). She still writes to all the out-of-towners who are still alive. That includes my dad and his wife, although my dad's wife doesn't write much to anyone these days; I suspect she can't get a pen and paper together in the same room.

Maxine has always doted on my dad, who is 10 years her junior. I love my dad more than life itself, but I'm not sure he deserves her.

At the age of 91, Maxine's best trait (among many great ones) is her avid interest in her loved ones, her friends, and even the assisted-living employees who give her a shower, empty the garbage, clean her apartment, do her laundry, bring her mail -- and their life histories. She yearns to know what I and my siblings are up to, right down to what I'm going to cook for dinner Tuesday after I leave her place. (Speaking of which: She didn't like cooking very much herself, but loves talking about food -- especially food other people are going to prepare. And no, she's not overweight and never has been.)

Maxine is not your father's 91. True, she has abundant health problems; some condition she already has will probably get her in the end. But modern medicine has so far kept her alive and feeling pretty good most of the time, despite her need for a walker and lots of pills.

God knows, I will be devastated when she's gone -- and really, how much longer can I reasonably expect to have her around? I've read that a human's lifespan can't exceed about 120 years. (Have YOU ever known anyone that old?)

A secret to my aunt's longevity, I suspect, is that she never lets sad events or minor illnesses set her back for long. This is key.

When you reside in an assisted living place, sad things happen frequently. Plus, of course, my aunt has lost her husband -- albeit not under tragic or unforeseen circumstances; he was older than she, a bit further into his 90s). In some ways, she's had it easier than others. In other ways, some have had it easier than she.

Today, an ambulance and a fire truck were just leaving the place when I arrived for our semi-regular Tuesday visit. I mentioned this to Maxine as we were heading to her apartment. She said she hoped it was nothing serious -- or at any rate, nothing serious happening to anyone she knew -- but she told me a visit by fire and medical was almost a daily occurence.

At 54, I try to imagine being at an age where I would think, "This may be my last day/week/year/decade." So far -- even though any of us could go tomorrow -- I haven't thought that way. I tell myself I'm only halfway through my life. Some friends laugh at that -- so, you're going to live to 108? they sneer. The idea does seem silly, especially given my cholesterol level, my blood pressure, my fondness for martinis and Manhattans, and my sedentary life.

But hey. Maxine has made it this far, and she and I share or have shared bad genes, bad habits -- and cockeyed optimism. I try every day of my life to live up to her example of staying interested. It's easy enough to do that now; at 75 or 88, maybe it won't be. But even if it gets harder and harder, it's a lesson I'm going to try to hang on to.

Maxine is my role model for senior citizenicity. Best case scenario (only in my dreams, I know): Thirty years from now I'll creep through the bowels of Maxine's retirement place next to her, our walkers bumping along the hallway. And she'll ask me what I'm going to cook when I get home.