Imagine

It's wonderful to be here
It's certainly a thrill
You're such a lovely audience
We'd like to take you home with us
We'd love to take you home

--John Lennon and Paul McCartney

From Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band

At 8 o’clock on February 9th, 1964, 73 million people gathered in front their TV sets to watch The Ed Sullivan Show.

I was one.

That was the night the Beatles appeared on television in the U.S.

Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

-- John Lennon

I watched the movie presently in the theater,  Eight Days a Week, a documentary by Robert Redford last week and watched and listened to the Beatles again. The mania that ran rampant was incredible, and then because of an off-handed remark by John Lennon, much of the world turned against them.  His remark was not meant to be insulting, nor was it in any way against religion. He was only stating facts. They were more popular than Jesus.

Jesus probably laughed. The people didn’t.

From Imagine to Help where John Lennon poured out his soul with his discouragement:

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round
Help me, get my feet back on the ground
Won't you please, please help me.

—John Lennon

When I heard them sing Help, however, the sound was so upbeat, that it didn’t seem like a cry for help until I looked up the lyrics.

I understand how a person doing their art, loving what they do, wanting to be successful, practicing their hearts out, and then not really understanding the hoopla if they do become successful, especially WILDLY successful as the Beatles were.  Crazed mobs could have crushed them. That’s plain stupid.

They considered not calling themselves The Beatles anymore, and that’s when Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was created.

This was an alter-ego group that would allow the group to experiment musically.

One astounding thing about the Beatles is that they really liked each other, and that releasing any work required the complete agreement of all four.

An effort where the players get along and are happy in their work shows in that work.

I’ll get By with a Little Help From my Friends.

“What would you think if I sang out of tune,

Would you stand up and walk out on me?”

 --John Lennon and Paul McCartney

Wishful Thinking?

I’m sitting off the highway on a gravel road beside a sweet piece of land.

The sun bathes the area that a half hour earlier was washed with rain. There is a humongous oak tree in the center of a cleared, grassy, mowed area of native wetland grass. Behind me, a small river, I didn't know existed, snakes through the farmland. Maybe it’s a drainage ditch, doesn't matter, it's beautiful.  I imagine my house sitting behind that Oak. 

I wonder if I sit here long enough I will imbue my energy into that property and the owner will feel compelled to sell it to me.  No for sale sign. Just wishful thinking.

The road is posted, “No trespassing.” I’m only a car’s length away from the highway.  An hour earlier I drove down the road on the other side of the river, also posted as “No trespassing” but I inched my way along so I could see across the river to this side.  I drove until I could see that a house was situated way back, down the long gravel road ran alongside the river. 

Amazing where Oregonians will plant themselves.

The Oak Tree, that's not mine, but I wish it was.

I know I tend to ignore signs and go where I do not belong. I am very respectful of property, though, and try not to disturb anyone. I suppose I am conditioned from early childhood to go where no child is meant to go. My friends and I rode their horses into areas fenced areas that cut off exquisite destinations children ought to discover.

My hometown of The Dalles Oregon is sitting almost entirely on solid basalt so digging post holes is an arduous task. Farmers would plant a fence post maybe 50 feet apart, and string barbed wire between the planted posts. Between those secure posts, small “floating” posts held the wire strands apart, but the posts dangled above the ground. We kids would find a post that was loose enough to lay on the ground, stand on the wire while someone led the horses over it. Then we would put it back up. Hopefully with none the wiser.

I was lucky to be mentored by a farm girl who let me ride her horse, and who taught me a few things about respecting property, but not fences. I guess it’s like coloring outside the lines.

Earlier in the day on route to another property, this one listed for sale, I drove past a sign that said

“SLOW

CHILDREN

 PETS

 OLD MEN”  with no commas, not telling if the driver ought to go slow, or that the children, pets, and old men were slow. 

I sat in a dry car while rain splattered the windshield and pondered the property. Did I want to live there? 

It was sloping, treed, overgrown with blackberry bushes, shaded, and then the morning sun called me to the valley beyond, and I followed it until I ended up here beside a road dreaming of a house behind a giant oak tree.

I wrote a note for the Oak Tree property’s owner and put it in his mailbox. “I adore your property by the road. Want to sell 1-5 acres—buildable of course?” Name, phone, email."

Wishful thinking?

That night I drove with my husband out to show him the property, and there was a rope across the entrance.

Guess that’s my answer.

P.S. To see my 92-year-old friend June’s exquisite paintings check out www.joyceslandingpage.com. And the story of a painting I loved and lost.