Halloweak

Looks as though my projector notification idea won’t be needed. The neighborhood at the top of my dead end street came up with a plan for a Halloween parade. Participants are supposed to put individually wrapped pieces of candy on a table at the end of their driveway. I learned about this too late to take part, and it runs from 4-6, so it will all be over before dark anyway. It’s 5:15 now, and so far I’ve seen only two families stop at the driveway tables at the two houses across the street.

Farewell, Mrs. Peel

This is a confession that will surprise none of my friends. I am enamored of certain British women in mid-60’s films, television, and music. Julie Andrews, Petula Clark, Diana Rigg and, of course, my good friend Prue Bury are, for me, the ultimate in class, intelligence, beauty and sex appeal.

Years ago I heard NPR’s Scott Simon interviewing Diana Rigg. Simon was obviously having trouble maintaining his composure, he was so in awe of her. An adolescent dream coming true, and the reality of it turning a grown man into a helpless, quivering mass. Believe me, I know the feeling.