DEAD SKUNK

SWMBO came home from running an errand awhile ago and casually mentioned that she had seen a dead skunk on the road coming into our development.

Which, of course, brought back this earworm from 1972.

The writer and performer of that jaunty tune is Loudon Wainwright III.

He is the son of a Life Magazine columnist and editor who exposed him to the music of Tom Lehrer and Stan Freberg, who the younger Wainwright cited as influences on his style.

Loudon III was married for a time to the late folk singer Kate McGarrigle, which produced two children who both became singers and writers, Rufus and Martha Wainwright.

A relationship with singer Suzzy Roche resulted in another daughter, Lucy Wainwright Roche, also a singer.

Loudon III has written and recorded many songs, won a Grammy, and acted in movies and television shows.

But I'll always think of him as the guy who introduced me to the "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road."

WEEKEND BATH

I know you've seen this before but wothehell . . .

The Spotted Towhee was back at it again this morning, using our birdbath for his daily cleanup.

He splashes merrily in the water, then moves his upper wings at near-Hummingbird speed to shake the sloshing off.

In between dousings, he keeps his orange eye peeled on me watching him but it's a defiant glare as if to say "Yeah? Are you lookin' at me?"

Yes, I am.

IS THIS AN OMEN?

While on my daily perambulation (to the mailbox and back) the other day, I spied an early indication of the changing of the seasons.

A tiny leaf fallen from the Red Maple in our front yard.

Now this is August and the mercury is still climbing to nearly 100 degrees on an almost daily basis.

So it seems a bit early for the leaves to be changing color from their summertime green to the autumnal red.

I am no arborist but I'm thinking if one leaf came loose in a gusty wind and blew free from its mooring, perhaps in it's death throes it may turn from nile to scarlet.

I don't know if that is correct or not but I picked up the leaf and brought it inside to photograph anyway.

I like the red leaves and, though I dread the icy days of winter, I must admit I look forward to the entire tree turning carmine.

Wouldn't you?

FRIDAY FUNNIES

Ooooooohhhhh, it's Friday again, already.

Let us begin then by paying tribute to what's really important in all of our lives.

The Olympics.

But enough hilarity, Gentle Readers.

Go ye out unto the huddled masses and have a fahn-tahs-tic weekend and always remember to keep on laughing, inside and out.

Of your body as well as your house.

Here kitty-kitty . . .

(Oh, no, she's hooked up with that dog again!)

THROWBACK THURSDAY

Back in 1969, a friend of mine had gone to work at a radio station in Indianapolis, Indiana.

The legendary Orly Knutson called me at the station I was working at in Bismarck, North Dakota and said the Indy station was looking for a newsman and I should apply.

I didn't know about that.

I was a corporate news director, responsible for three television stations and a couple of radio stations, and a television anchorman and, frankly, kind of a big frog in a small pond.

Plus, I'd never worked outside of the Dakotas and this was in a city of a million people or so.

I didn't know if I was good enough.

But Orly kept pushing, saying if it didn't work out I would still have the station on my resume and could go back to probably anywhere in the Dakotas or Minnesota.

So I took a flyer and this guy hired me.

His name was Fred Heckman and he was a legend in Indianapolis, having been there for decades.

He scared me a little at first with his demeanor but once I got to know him I found him to be a kind man and a good friend.

Another guy I worked with at that station was, for those of you who grew up listening to the radio broadcast of the Indy 500 auto race, another legend.

This was the witty, sardonic Lou Palmer, who lived all year for the month of May, in which he spent his whole month at the track, chumming around with people like A.J. Foyt and Mario Andretti.

Also on the staff was the "Voice of the 500", Sid Collins.

Well, suffice it to say that I had a mostly wonderful three years at WIBC.

I met my lifelong pal, Tom Cochrun and his lovely wife, and I met and married Judy, aka SWMBO.

Fred, Lou and Sid are all gone now but I have memories of them that are as clear as day.

And Tom, who retired to California and writes the blog Light Breezes, has been here to visit several times and we keep in touch.

Orly retired outside Indianapolis after a 50 YEAR CAREER as a disc jockey and I hear from him occasionally.

Oh, and Judy?

Amazingly, she's still with me.

Indy was very, very good to me.

EVER MORE

We have ravens.

Lots and lots of ravens.

Usually there are a couple sitting on rooftops, crowing and cackling with their very loud voices.

But I heard a lot of todo and saw a couple of low-level swoops this morning so I went to the window to check on them.

What I saw was a veritable cloister of ravens.

A quick count revealed at least nine of them in my front yard and across the street.

They were all on the ground, strutting around and talking raven talk.

A check with the Almighty Google leads me to believe most, if not all, were young ones who hadn't picked out a mate as yet.

As the Google noted they were picking up sticks and twigs and leaves and then discarding them, apparently to determine which were useful.

I eased the front door open to get a better look but I haven't greased the hinges yet and the sound scared them all off.

A short time later, I spotted a trio sitting for a long time on a neighbor's wall, cackling along in their chuck-a-whuck-a-cack-a way of communicating, no doubt comparing notes on their morning's adventure.

I know some people will say these are crows.

They're not.

They're ravens.

And, yes, referring back to the title of this post, I know the word in the Poe poem is "Nevermore."

RUGGED MANIACS AND . . . BRASIL!

To those of you among my Gentle Readers who may have read my post about Timmer in Rio last week, I offer a couple of other intrepid souls from his family.

They are his youngest daughter, Brigid, and his wife Jeanne, known hither and yon as the legendary Beaner.

They are sporting THEIR medals after competing in Denver's version of the Olympics: The Rugged Maniac.

You can Google it, as I did, and learn that it is a race and obstacle course that involves a lot of mud.

Jeanne has long been a runner, competing in races in the Denver area, and it appears Brigid is following in her footsteps.

By the way, don't you think they look like sisters in the above picture?

Well, just to make sure you don't forget about the Olympics, here is a fantastic piece by Pink Martini, featuring the singer Storm Large.

It's "Brasil"!