Sour grapes: Random thoughts from Magdefrau

So now my definition of being a weekly columnist is still writing a column, but not every week. Or month. Or even year.

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But. Let’s get into it.

My office bounces between my office at home and Tara Hills. My job there is small talk with visitors as I do my web updates.

One guest said he was from Wayland, and that opened the whole Magdefrau story, and the REAL Jim Magdefrau. The friendly Wayland Barber. “Real” Jim had a relative who was mayor of that community.

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In the 20s, the Klan wanted to have a meeting in Wayland. Mayor Magdefrau said no. There was no rally. And he fined them. And they had to pay the fine.

Here’s to the mayor.

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In my nursing home music tour notes, one resident covered his ears and yelled, “Make it stop!” Another resident asked for “Bad to the Bone.”

In Williamsburg I sat back and let the residents sing “Your are my Sunshine” and “In the Garden” as I picked along. It all evens out.

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A friend uptown had a cool hat. “I like dogs and maybe 3 people.”

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I’m looking into lazy yoga. Without the yoga. I’m a black belt in lazy.

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As we come up on my dad’s birthday, I am honored to be called “Don” when I’m out taking pictures. I don’t even correct them.

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I heard a consistent beeping sound the other day. I concluded it’s a bird, the start of “Echoes” by Pink Floyd, or the smoke alarm.

So I biked uptown to get a battery, and the pharmacist said I’d get $1 if I could guess who was singing on the radio. “Whiter Shade of Pale” by Procol Harum.

I gave the back story on the song and how it was a special song for Paul and Linda McCartney. He shrugged and grinned, “I don’t know. Here’s your dollar.”

Do I get a dollar now each time I name the singer? I’ll be back.

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As I changed the battery on the alarm, I looked to my right and saw the doorbell and was reminded that I once took that apart, thinking it was the smoke alarm.

Getting this figured out. And I have $1.