Elvis Doesn't Live Here Anymore, But He Visits

I’ve been in Blog Fog for a while, but a recent episode I’ve written about on Facebook I will now expound upon for this outlet.

Husband Paul got tickets for the Elvis Birthday Tribute Artist Spectacular for my Christmas present. I had heard nothing of this event and had no idea what to expect. it was on January 16th, 8 days after what would have been Elvis’ 76th birthday. I was surprised as we entered the Brown Theater in Louisville to see folks of every age, gender and color. The place was packed. I was well armed with lots of just-in-case stuff for a woman of my age and condition; lots of tissues, gum, mints, money, toothpicks, safety pins, cell phone, makeup, mirror, and a big bottle of water among other things. It was all in the bottomless blackness of my Johnny Depp bag; a plastic, waterproof carryall that carried all I needed and gave me and others something nice to look at since Johnny's face covered its side. It was when Paul dropped me off in front of the theater that I realized the one thing I forgot. (It is mandatory to forget one thing that you will need after packing every possible thing that you might need). Just as I entered the lobby someone to my left caught my eye. A cocked hat, scarf hanging over lapels, large banded watch and dark thin mustache moved through a crowd of people just entering. I quickly turned and instantly reached inside my Johnny Depp bag to grab my camera to snap a picture of ???? …..Almost Johnny Depp (a celebrity lookalike)! That’s when I realized I had forgotten my camera! Curses! Of all the things to forget, how could I have forgotten my camera?? I had been a reporter for goodness sakes! I was going to see Almost Elvis, for goodness sake! I could have left the deodorant at home, or the extra socks and gloves. I could have left the bottle of hand sanitizer because I had a big container of pop up antibacterial wipes. The extra underwear, toothbrush, dental floss, nausea, diarrhea (maybe not those), headache, foot pain, back spasm, heartburn, cough and sneezing pills might have been mislaid. But how could I have forgotten my camera?? Almost Elvis and Almost Johnny Depp in one place! Good grief, what if there had been an Almost Paul Newman??? There I was and there was Almost Johnny, standing three feet from me, (and about a foot too short) and me with no camera!

I had to face the entire upcoming show knowing I wouldn’t have a camera. But I told myself, it probably wouldn’t ‘matter anyway. Likely there would be a bunch of guys like my gas station guy. He wore over sized sunglasses day and night, a jet black toupee and fake sideburns. He was about 5’6” and weighed about 200 lbs and mumbled, “I’m a hunk a, hunk a burnin love, ooo, a hunk a hunk a burnin love ooo...” as he pumped (or passed) gas. Bless his heart, he tried.
We had decent seats 12 rows back near the aisle. Right up till the lights dimmed and the band hit their first notes, no one sat in front of me. Experience told me this would change. Of course experience knows best. A young miss with long wide hair (think Rosanne Rosanna Danna) and her tall wide haired young man (think Art Garfunkle) sat in the two seats in front of me leaving me a V shaped viewing space about the size of the largest A on an eye chart. I accepted that and sat back for whatever it was I was going to see.

What I saw was nothing akin to what I expected. My gas station guy only appeared in several audience members. On the stage appeared a young, slender, full voiced, high cheeked smiling 19 year old Elvis Aaron Presley. He spoke sweetly, danced across the stage with legs, hips and guitar fully engaged. He talked to the ladies down front who screamed and reached for him. He took their hands and let them kiss his cheek. He sang the hits of the 50s and did his performances on The Ed Sullivan Show perfectly. He told of Mr. Sullivan intervening with the producer so Elvis could keep a promise he made to his mother to sing her favorite sacred song. Then he sang “Peace In The Valley” with Elvis’ sincerity and quality of voice that brought a standing ovation and tears to my eyes. This young man spoke right to my heart as he portrayed Elvis through his Army years. I had just one problem during this time. Rosanne and Art obviously had come to the wrong place. This wasn’t a drive in. Nor was it their basement couch, motel room or science lab. My viewing space was constantly being closed as they were overcome with curiosity and just had to explore each others lips, tongues, ears, noses, necks and eyeballs. While this went on I had to strain my neck to get my head in a position where my eyeballs could do what they were there to do. Needless to say, near the end of the first Elvis’s act, I was about to let my mouth do a little experiment of its own. But, young Elvis announced he would perform a favorite of Elvis’ at that time which was “America The Beautiful”. With no prompting, the audience stood for the song, everyone that is but Art and Roseanne. They were either oblivious to anything going on around them, unpatriotic or anti Elvis. Somehow they had misplaced themselves. It took me a little longer to stand because I was holding my coat and my Johnny Depp bag. So when I finally got myself in a position to stand, I forgot to grasp my armload to keep Johnny from swinging out from my body. Ooops…. It gave a little tap, possibly a whap, to the back of Art’s head, which would have been way too high had Art been standing. Had that been the case, the tap would have barely grazed Art’s coat. Oh well, these things happen in crowded theaters.

Next came the Elvis of 1968 and the TV special where he wore the black leather suit and looked like a Greek God. This young version was too short and too muscular. I wasn’t going to like him because Elvis looked soooo great in that special, tall and slender, which I’d seen many times. But then the new guy sat down on a stool just like Elvis and took a guitar from a band member, just like Elvis, and just like Elvis began playing it and singing, “Lawdy, lawdy, lawdy Miss Claudie, you sure look good to me…. “ His head, his body movements, his playing, his voice were right on the mark. He chuckled and grinned that lifted lip grin, adjusted the guitar and in less than two minutes it didn’t matter how short he was, he was Elvis. A guy behind me was in Elvis Heaven. He sang along and said every uh, hu, ah, yeah, eh, er, huh, that came from the stage. And the women moved forward in droves. They handed short Elvis their scarves so he could wipe them over his chest and hand them back. Without the guitar he moved across the stage like a prowling tiger, a thing of rhythm, muscle, and soul as he delivered Elvis’ voice perfectly. He sang the gospel songs Elvis loved with tenderness and purity. For the second time, I was wondering, why am I shedding tears?

The final Elvis took him through his Los Vegas and touring days. He was tall and lean, and beautiful, and, unbelievably even better than the first two young men. The music and lights built the anticipation ala Vegas. Star Wars trumpeted. Timpanis thundered. And finally, the tempo reached leg-shaking speed and there he was, in his light reflecting sequined blue, high collared jump suit. “Traaaaain, traaain. Sixteen coaches long…boomp boom, boom…. Traiin, traiiin, sixteen coaches long, booomp, boom boom… “ eeeeee! We were on the Elvis train and riding fast. His leg shaking constantly, he went through that song with grit and soul raising the energy in that theater to roof lifting levels. Feverish females filled the aisles, some hopping, some hoping. Some were shuffling their walkers down the aisle in time with the music, suddenly diverting directions toward the restroom signs. Others, possibly previous patrons were better prepared. They wore Depends (a little tidbit I picked up waiting in line after the show). Young women were lining up at the stage adjusting their proudly displayed trophy bosoms. Older women were adjusting their teeth to assure a kiss wouldn’t dislodge them and leave The King with his most unique souvenir. He and Tom Jones did trade stories after all. At least that’s what he said.

This young man was like Elvis cloned. I can’t imagine anyone other than Elvis himself doing this part of the show any better. Every aspect of Elvis’ talent was represented beautifully. He sang country. He sang blues. He covered songs from Willie Nelson to Chuck Berry, Bobby Darin to Hank Williams and Barbra Streisand to Ray Charles. And once again, he sang the music that meant the most to him. He sang gospel. When he sang Amazing Grace, the silence was reverent, broken only by sniffling here and there throughout the audience. This young man spoke of his own admiration for Elvis and his enormous talent. And it was evident he had studied every aspect of Elvis’ shows. It was not difficult to believe it was 1974 or 75 and I was watching a very alive Elvis at his best.

Fortunately, the misplaced couple up and left when Elvis sang “An American Trilogy”. I think by then the clue bird had landed and they realized they needed to be at another location. Funny, we were all standing and applauding when they left. If by chance they read this, be assured young folk, the applause was for the song.

If you appreciate Elvis Presley’s music and would like to experience a great evening, I recommend you go to elvisbirthdaytribute.com. There you can find more information about the show. I believe they will be back next year. Hopefully I’ll be there, with my camera.

My Christmas Eve

You Never Know

We split the shopping duties
to better gain our quest
Husband Paul went east
I pushed the baskcart west

Four days lay between us
and our deadline: Christmas Day
we were highly optimistic
we could reach our goal this way

Determined to be focused
I'd memorized my list
and mumbled to my self
I need this and this and this

Once, twice a third time
Paul called me on my cell
asking me if this was right
or would that one do as well

With each call and decision
I lost my train of thought
was that wallet on my list
or was it already bought?

No matter what temptation
from above or below
I was going to be cheerful
so much that all would know

It was a little crowded
as I knew it would be
but I worked to stay composed
most ardently

A quite serious test
I managed to pass
when a woman rammed my ankle
with her baskcart when she passed

She gouged it with a vengence
like it had no earthly right
to be in the popcorn aisle
at six o'clock that night

It took my breath away
and I looked into her face
and saw an expression
I'd seen before someplace

It was de'ja'vu
Oh goodness could it be
the phantom baskcart woman
back to de-ankle me?

In the days of long ago
in a store not far from here
I was pushing a baskcart
shopping, in good cheer

Then suddenly a gasp
filled up my lungs
when pain struck my ankle
causing me to speak in tongues

The driver of that cart
gave me an angry look
dissolving my anger
as dismay overtook

And here she is again!
What could her problem be?
And why in the world
does she have to baskcart me?

Hobbling along
trying to smile through the pain
I grab a few items
that still float in my brain

Then off to meet Paul
at the checkout line
he shows me his items
I show him mine

When I show him my ankle
imagine my surprise
when he laughes out loud
and says, "I can't believe my eyes!"

He recalls the first account
of the baskcart ankle attack
I had published it years ago
and gotten great feedback

We both had the same question
what made this lady so mad
had life done something to her
or was it a condition she had?

The woman before us in line
began checking out
while Paul watched her process
I fiddled about

I heard the cashier and Paul
talking and turned to see
the woman who had just checked out
was the one who had baskcarted me!

They were discussing her demeanor
she looked so mad and dour
she was silent but her mouth was pursed
like she was eating something sour

I said, "That's her!
She's the ankle hater!"
"At least she hates mine
that's an indicator."

"I don't know", said Paul
"She didn't attack mine.
But, she was very rude
while going through this line."

"Yes", agreed the cashier.
She didn't speak a word.
That's highly unusual.
In fact, its absurd."

"What would cause someone," I asked
"to be so doggone rude?'
And pointing to my ankle added,
"and dangerous and crude?"

Troubles, health, or just plain mean
the causes were debated
Was the baskcart lady angry?
or really constipated?














Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Written on 2010-12-22 at 08:05

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by Phyllis J. Rhodes

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Preparations

(cristes maesse)

I've seen the movies
shopped the mall
baked the cookies
watched snow fall
trimmed the tree
plugged in the lights
wrapped many gifts
late into the nights
listened to music
of peace and joy
heard ads for every
gadget and toy

I've bought the food
thawed the turkey
conquered meringue
which is always quirky
I've dispatched dust
and banished dirt
scented the air
with a warm dessert
my table is set
my house is clean
its decorated
in red and green

The mood is festive
the details fulfilled
everyone coming
is sure to be thrilled
I've walked through each room
noted all I've done
with great care to forget
no thing or no one

Now I glance a last time
at the gifts piled high
beneath the bright tree
and wearily sigh

The meal is ready
everyone has arrived
we eat with gusto
we won't be deprived

Now we head for the tree
presents are passed
paper is flying
there are giggles and gasps

Stuffed toys are snuggled
a doll laughs and cries
a football is passed
a remote plane flys
earrings sparkle
a new robe is warm
electronics are everywhere
there's a cute wooden farm

Music's a big hit
with drums and guitar
I pods and CDs
will make a rock star
shirts, ties and socks
normal Dad things
gloves for the mothers
and yes, powders and creams

The paper is torn
the ribbons are broken
the bows are tossed
the boxes are opened
The pile is high
a trash bag is needed
Christmas is over
my check list completed

Goodbys are said
with kisses and hugs
and I turn from the door
to straighten the rugs
fatigue overcomes me
and I struggle to rise
when a flash of red
catches my eyes
Another package?
I think with doubt
as I stretch my arm
to pull it out

Down on all fours
I have to go
to reach the back boughs
hanging low
mostly hidden
behind the tree
I pull out a box
marked 1953
The cardboard is peeling
the corners are worn
tape has been pulled off
retaped and torn

Crumpled newspaper
from when I was just five
wrap small figurines
that had looked so alive
back in those days
when I stared in awe
at the tiny babe
lying on straw
with cows and sheep
and his Momma and Joseph
watching him sleep

I sing an old carol
and set up the scene
how could I have forgotten
what all of this means
A baby, the angels
some shepherds, the star
young Mary, good Joseph
wisemen afar

I close my eyes
I bow my head
I say a prayer
I go to bed
In my dreams
I hope to see
the truth of Christ
God's "maesse" for me




Poetry by Phyllis J. Rhodes
Written on 2010-12-20 at 06:20
More of my poems can be found on Poetbay.com

Phlegming In Public Pools

A cold is an evil little bug that has no peers when it comes to nasty. It has to be the meanest, rottenest, vilest creature on earth. I give it that title because since mankind began, no effort from all humanity has succeeded in ridding the world of this costly and destructive pest. Consider what mankind has achieved. People have walked on the face of the moon. We’ve probed outer, outer space and can see what is out there. We’ve found the cure to many deadly diseases. We’ve cloned animals. We’ve spanned vast bodies of water with bridges. We’ve explored miles into the earth and oceans. We’ve made machines that fly and perform tasks like human beings. We talk to each other, and see each other from thousands of miles away. We transplant hearts and hands. We’re pretty smart beings. But that danged little bug has us in its control.
My husband Paul and I have been dealing with colds for over three weeks now. He has a week’s head start on me. Since the bug moved into our lives I estimate we have spent $10 on tissues, $6 on extra toilet paper (we use it when tissues aren’t right at hand), $68 on over the counter meds (antihistamines, decongestants, sore throat lozenges, cough meds, achy muscles, etc), $12 vitamin C, $13 juices, $5 anti germ gel. That’s $114, a conservative estimate and we are still not well.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS YUKKY. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

Let me just say upfront, in my opinion, phlegm is as gross or grosser than anything that can exit from the human body. It is why I hate going out in public with a cold. It isn’t something that’s going to kill me but it is an embarrassing condition. Like gas, its expressions are so rude. Hearing myself blow my nose makes me cringe. Hearing someone else blow their nose makes me wince more. However, much worse than that is hearing someone (usually a child) sniff a loaded nose up instead of blowing it out. That gives me a stomach churn. Next on the list of cold gross outs is hearing someone cough up some phlegm. That gives me a double churn. If they don’t take out a tissue or hanky and put it to their mouth after such a cough, I know they have swallowed what they coughed up. That puts my stomach in complete rebellion and ready to reject something of its own. The absolute worse cold gross out is hearing someone go after a deep pool of thick nasty phlegm with every ounce of hack strength they can gather, then wait for their choice of disposal. Oh, mercy me, my stomach is now totally grossed out. Nothing is worse than this, EXCEPT, when I have a chest and head full of phlegm to deal with.
Just what is the etiquette for dealing with cold issues? As nice as it would be for everyone to be able to stay home until a cold is completely over, it just isn’t reality. So what do we do with our sneezing, coughing, spitting selves when in public? I pack a gazillion tissues in my purse. When I sneeze one goes to my nose and mouth to wipe every bit of expulsion. Often it takes two. When I cough I do the same thing. What’s difficult is when a cough brings up “material” only part way into the throat. I cannot stand to swallow it back down and I cannot bear to make the sound that would bring it all the way up into my tissue. I’m stuck with coughing small coughs while fighting the natural impulse to swallow. If the swallowing mechanism wins, I am in danger of really gagging without control. That is a terrible expression of sight and sound in public. Ugh, what to do, what to do.
What do people like Hillary Clinton and Michelle O’Bama do when they have colds? What does someone like Prince Philip or his wife do if they cough up phlegm in public? Do they have people at hand to wipe their noses for them? Are they allowed to spit the nasty stuff up? Can they hock it up into a tissue if they stick their pinkies out? They probably don’t use tissues. They probably have a dozen royal hankies at hand at all times. I’m sure it is one use only per hanky. What about Angelina Jolie? Can you see her spitting out phlegm? There are some people I’d love to give a cold to. Can you see Bin Laden with a cold? I’ll bet he uses his beard as a hanky. It probably gets stiff from a runny nose. You might think its ice, but it snot. Tee hee.

Where Did I Go While I Was Living

For the past 30 years something strange has been happening. I’ve noticed with each birthday I’ve lost more and more of myself. I’m at the point now that my body has been completely replaced by one someone else must have thrown out. And much of my mind is missing.
I first noticed a change in my body after my second child was born and I wasn’t able to wear my pre pregnancy clothes home from the hospital as I did after my first child was born two years earlier. About 18 months later when I retired my milk factories, they just hung around instead of taking their former places. Also, my body’s baby bed didn’t go all the way back to the wall as it had before. So I had to scoot it back a bit at a time with sit ups. This is about as much fun as hemorrhoids (which can be the result of giving birth then doing sit-ups).
After the torture (only terrorists should experience) of having hemorrhoids removed, one avoids all strenuous pushing. That led to other unpleasant issues which led to…. strenuous pushing. Then, unexpectedly, the baby mechanisms were called back into duty. This time nothing even attempted to return to pre pregnancy form. But, with three kids and a dog to chase and a house to keep I was able to take off the extra pounds and end up with the right weight even if it was redistributed downward.
It was about this time I noticed some new coloring on my skin. Freckles started appearing on my arms, legs, hands and face. Being a sun lover, that wasn’t too surprising. But along with the freckles there were these white, pigment-free spots. It was as though the color from these spots had left there and moved next door to join the pigment there creating bigger darker freckles. As time went on I became a brown and white speckled creature sort of like a baby bird.
Next I noticed white showing up on my head. Mixed in with my brown silky tresses were white course ones. Slowly my head was becoming a dish scrubbing pad. And my eyebrows were turning so long, white and course I needed wire cutters to trim them.
If that weren’t bad enough, hair stopped growing from the outer part of my brow. I was left with brows above just the inner half of my eyes. This means I have to do something I swore I would never do; pencil in fake brows to complete the line. It doesn’t matter how good an artist you are, you aren’t going to fool anyone. No brow pencil is your exact color or three dimensional. I have seen this look on women of a certain age all my life and always shake my head at their futility and bad taste. Now I know why they do it. As ridiculous as it looks, it’s better than being a half-brow. Half-brows can give wrong messages with their facial expressions, kind of like signaling with half the flags or smoke you need. You might be pulling an, “I’m really interested in what you’re saying” look, but with your half-brows it looks like, “If you don’t shut up I’m going to wrap your tongue around you uvula.”
Cruelly, after my brows became half-growers, my chin picked up what my brows dropped! One day I was looking in the mirror sideways and saw a long hair on my chin. I reached up to brush it off believing it to be a stray from my scalp. But it wouldn’t brush. It was attached! Apoplectic, I grabbed my tweezers and yanked that thing like a skunk in church, but, to my dismay, more cropped up over the weeks that followed. Now I must diligently peruse a small patch on my chin and pick any unwanted crop growing there.
As the general downward slide progressed it widened my body and rounded my face. Places that curved inward straightened and some went even further and curved out. I began to think I was melting during the night. I had begun to have night sweats so bad I would launch the covers up and over my husband onto the floor on his side. He would soon be awakened by his own rattling bones and wonder how all the blankets had ended up on the floor. After a few time of this he finally woke up during one of my launches and questioned why I didn’t just quietly pull them off myself. Not being cognizant enough to give an intelligent answer clued me onto the loss of brain cells. Evidently they were leaking out when my wiry hair pushed out my silky hair. I soon became aware of times when I couldn’t remember what had taken place the day before. I couldn’t find anything, including words. I’d have to stop in the middle of a sentence to search of a name or word I knew two moments before. It was like they skittered away and hid just to torment me.
So, I’ve been melting for a long time now. My body looks very much like an often used candle. Wax has run down the sides and left bumpy lumps all around. My brain matter has melted and pooled at the bottom of the candle. I’m no longer tall and tapered and elegant. I’m short, misshaped and bumpy. I’ll soon be able to tie my cheeks under my chin and use them as neck warmers. And if I want to measure myself for a new bra, I’ll have to take my socks off!

Basketball Begins

Skid into the drive while pushing garage door opener. Keep driving as door slowly opens. Whew! Cleared the bottom of the door. Rush in the house. Drop purse on table. Throw open fridge, pantry, cabinets. Gather edibles and utensils. Place on tray. Scurry downstairs. Deposit tray on table in front of couch. Grab remote………remote? Remote! Where’s the remote?? Tense body. Growl and pull hair. Throw cushions off two couches and two chairs. No remote. Look under said pieces of furniture. No remote. Give up search. Walk to TV and push “ON” button. Oh, remote on top of TV. Punch buttons. Dang! Miss punched. Try again. Dang, did it again!! Push again. There! Sit on edge of couch. Fix eyes on TV. And finally, after 8 month wait, IT BEGINS!!

YES!! Swallow cracker. Go, go, go, go, go! Gulp water. Get back! Get back! Pop a grape. What?!! Are you blind?! Foul, foul! Rotate, rotate!! No, no, no, don’t take that shot! Argh! Time out! Call a time out! Yessss! Yesss! Whaa Hooo! Charging? THAT was charging?? If that was a charge I’m a Puke, I mean a Duke fan!! (oooo, I shiver just thinking about that). Whoa! Did you see that move? (No answer from the cat. She obviously didn’t see it.) What’s the deal here? Mugging is now legal? Get some glasses!

Ohhhh, Stop reaching in! Miss, miss, miss! Rebound, rebound! Grab it like its Beyonce’s booty! (Probably shouldn’t have said that. But just the cat heard me.) What a great pass! Now you’re cookin with gas!... Jump up on couch. Punch air. YEA BABY! You got some air time!..... No, no, no, pass it, pass it, you’re out of control. Pull up! Oh, wow! How did you do that? Sorry kid, I was wrong…. Three, three, three! We’re on fire, we’re burning the nets! Three grapes, a piece of cheese and a cracker end up in my mouth at the same time. Choking. Reaching for water. Keeping eyes on TV. Knock water over onto plate of snacks. Still choking. Can’t faint now we need a basket! Bend over. Keep eyes on TV. Give violent heave of air. Mushy food ball splats TV screen obscuring brilliant dunk. Arrgggh! Rush to wipe screen and await replay. BEAUTIFUL!! ………

Standing 2 ft. from the screen pacing. Eighteen point lead down to 9. No fingernails left. Toe nails pealed to the quick. Yanking on hunks of hair. Oh, no. Oh, no. Come on guys, don’t blow it now! Sit down on couch. Pull pillow tight into knotted stomach. Rock back and forth. Chew lip. Liggins at the free throw line. Hold breath. YES!!! Rock some more, chew lip, hold breath. YES!! He hit them both!!

PLAY DEFENSE! HEY REF! THERE’S THE CHARGE!! CHARGE, CHARGE, CHARGE!! MAN THAT WAS A TEDDY ROSEVELT!!! Stand up, pick up exercise elastic band. Pull it as far apart as I can. Relax. Pull apart. Relax. Step on one end of band. Pull up high as possible. OUTLET PASS, DUNK!! WHATAPLAYILIKEYOMAMMA! Forget I'm standing on stretched out elastic. Jump off floor. WHOMP!

Eyes, nose and mouth mule kicked. No mule. Confused. Can’t focus. Buzzer sounding. Game over? Sea of blurry blue arms waving. WE WON!! GO BIG BLUE!! Boy that was fun!
Paaauuullllll, I need an ice pack!