Crime and Punishment

Times were quiet on St. John in '50s and early '60s. There was very little drama. People lived their lives, took care of their families, and enjoyed their friendships. We were a village where everyone knew everyone.

When something did happen it was a big deal. Years before we moved to St. John there had actually been a double murder. The murderer was released from jail not long after we arrived and as children, when we saw him pass, we would hide, afraid of being seen by him. Then there was the time a house burned down and the occupant was killed in the fire. And there was a man who killed himself. These were huge tragedies because all of us knew the people involved, knew their families. These kinds of things were personal and the incident would be talked about for months.

But mostly, St. John was a sleepy place where we kids were free to roam, our parents' only concern being that we might get hurt while scrambling over the rocks like goats or falling out of trees.

We had a collection of characters like Old Mr. Penn, who, no matter how drunk he got could dance with a beer bottle balanced on his head. Or the Russian tenor, John (Ivan) Jadan, or the mystery writer, Richard "Duke" Ellington, or Miss Agnes who had to give you something to eat if you passed by her house, or Trumps the humpback who swept the park.

Then there was Leroy Smalls. He was our resident thief.

Everyone knew Leroy was a thief. Mostly he stole fruit like mangoes, guavas or limes off of Neptune Richard's fruit trees. Then he would try to sell them. When he came around with, say, a bag of limes the question would be, "And where did you get these limes, Leroy?" To which he would adamantly reply he had gotten them off his own tree. But everyone knew he had no lime tree of his own. His thieving was harmless and for the most part tolerated.

But one time he stole a suitcase. Why he would steel a suitcase is beyond me. I doubt seriously he needed it to go somewhere. If he had ever been farther than St. Thomas or Tortola I'd be surprised. But none the less he stole a suitcase, was caught, put in jail, and had a trial.

At the end of the trial Leroy was given a sentence of a few more days in jail where he would be well taken care of and fed three meals a day. But Leroy had other plans. He got up, went to the front of the courtroom, picked up the suitcase (which had been used as evidence) and started to walk out with it.

Our fine and wonderful policeman, Captain Jurgen, said, "Leroy, where you tink you goin' wid dat suitcase?"

And Leroy said, "Well, tis mine. I teef it."

That was the extent of crime and punishment on St. John.

Haiti: Rotary's Unsung Relief Effort

My sister Erva is a member of Rotary. Her club is part of a district that includes Haiti. No where on the news has Rotary, and what they have done, been mentioned. They were the first ones on the ground after the quake, the first ones to begin bringing in supplies. And, as a side note, little Tortola one of the British Virgin Islands, an island smaller than St. Thomas, with a population of about 23,000, raised in one day, $100,000. They are aiming for $200,000. GO ROTARY! Below is an email I got from Erva describing some of what Rotary has been doing. Pleases go to the link and read about Rotary's efforts to relieve the suffering.

There are a lot of unsung heroes - including the Rotary Clubs in District 7020 (and Haiti has 17 Clubs and is a member of this District). As of yesterday, we have been responsible for 57 flights filled with medical personnel and (55,000 pounds of) medical supplies, plus we have, through the Clubs in Haiti, coordinated the ground efforts to get the stuff distributed where it needs to go.

Red Cross makes the news. Rotary doesn't. If you'd like to know more about what we've already done - and we're going to be doing a lot more, check out www.clubrunner.ca/7020. This site serves as a link to all of the Clubs in the District and to Rotary International as well. Through this site, you can see what's been happening internationally, too. However, since the Haiti Clubs are literally our sisters, District 7020 has really jumped on this one...and NO ONE knows about it!

We'll probably do more for the re-building of Haiti than just about anyone. We need to watch and see. Rotary has just about wiped out Polio.

Yeah - I'm a bit passionate about this one. Am doing my thing to make sure that our efforts are part of my Club's weekly radio program.

Want to make a donation? Send it to our Rotary District and we'll see to it that another plane lands where there are no airstrips!

Hope for Haiti

So, did anyone watch the Hope for Haiti benefit concert last night? In my humble opinion all the performances were stellar. I think it was the best musical fund-raiser I've ever seen. George Clooney did a most excellent job.

Hubby really liked the song "Stranded (Haiti Mon Amour)," that Rihanna, Jay-Z and Bono (with The Edge) did together. He particularly liked how Rihanna sang the chorus.

I really liked the Neil Young/Dave Matthews collaboration on "Alone and Forsaken." Niel looked SOOOOOOO intense, much more so than usual. The grandfather of grunge is looking kind of old, but his voice is still the same. A-Maze-Ing.

And here's a link to Hope for Haiti Now where you can donate. Although the focus is mostly on the city of Port Au Prince, there are towns and cities that have yet to see, eleven days later, any kind of relief or media coverage. And who knows how many small villages have been destroyed.

Miss Lucy

Lucy Smith-Prince, known to all as Miss Lucy or Mama, was, to the best of my knowledge, born on St. John while the islands were still under Danish rule and was perhaps a year or two old when they became an American possession in 1917. She knew a great deal about the history and loved telling stories of growing up on the island.

She was the first female taxi driver on St. John. I wouldn't be surprised if she started driving tourists and people around as soon as the first jeeps arrived after the first roads were bulldozed in, sometime in the early 1950's. Her jeep was the first to have a one-of-a-kind hood ornament; a pair of ram's horns which she stuffed with fresh hibiscus, oleander and/or bougainvillea each day. Every morning she and her jeep could be seen in Cruz Bay down at the dock waiting for the ferry to come it. Tourists who got her as their guide were for sure going to get a good tour and go home with many memorable stories.

When she laughed, her whole face and head took part in the action. Her eyes would crinkle up to into tiny slits which made you wonder how she could see. And she had this thing she did with her chin. It would sort of move towards her neck, and like her eyes, almost disappear.

Whenever my best friend and I were hiking between the beaches, if Miss Lucy happened to pass us on the road and she had room, she always stopped and gave us a lift. This always provided an opportunity to gossip and pass on news.

Miss Lucy was, like Miss Meada and Roy Sewer, a person my mother knew from her childhood, someone she loved and respected. That love and respect was passed on to me and my sister.

In her later years, she opened a restaurant at her home in Estate Friis, a rocky beach on the south side of St. John, past Coral Bay and on the way to Salt Pond. She was an excellent cook and her cuisine was local; fish and fungi, pigeon peas and rice, fried plantain and coconut tart. Below is a video I found taken by visitors to her Sunday Brunch. (You can hear live jazz being played in the back-ground.) It mostly shows the beautiful view from the beach. A view of Coral Bay, and the point of land called East End. When it pans to the right, the British island of Tortola can be seen in the background. But it also shows where people sit at tables outside, under a huge old seagrape tree.

Miss Lucy died at the age of 91 in 2007. One more piece of the past gone from us. I for one am glad/happy/honored beyond measure that I knew her personally.

As of February 2009, her restaurant was still open.

The Blue Room

As a teenager, my room was my sanctuary. Lucky for me I had tolerant parents. My mother, in particular, felt that every person deserved and needed his or her own space that was pretty near inviolate.

This is a tour.

A sign for my bedroom door read, "You are now approaching the Blue Room."

Three walls were painted a pale, powder blue. The fourth was papered. Bright blue, purple and lime-green psychedelic flowers cavorted madly over a silver-blue metallic background.

My bed had blue sheets with a checkered blue spread and pillow sham. A deep royal blue, sinfully plush, bed-side rug greeted my feet in the morning with a wake-up massage.

Instead of curtains, the glass louvers of my windows had the same paper on them as the wall. When closed, my room became an igloo, an ice cube, an underwater cave of cool blue.

I had a white vanity table, with skirts that matched the spread, a long white dresser and a white bedside table. On one wall was a set of floor to ceiling metal shelves that were covered with the same paper as the wall and the louvers.

Have you got a nice image?

Okay, shift gears.

Every available square inch of flat space was cluttered with stuff.

The vanity was loaded with make-up I never used, brushes, combs, fragrant perfumes I never wore, gooey lotions and smelly acne medications that never worked. Various pieces of jewelry were tangled together in a Gordian Knot only Alexander could have hacked apart.

School books, binders, paper, pens, pencils, coloring books, crayons, paints and stationary were haphazardly stacked on my dresser. The metal shelves were stuffed with my stuffed animals -- everything from a three-foot Snoopy to a one inch lady bug -- and my library -- everything from Alice in Wonderland to Thus Spake Zarathustra.

I had a record player my father made for me that lived on my bedside table. The shelf below it held my growing collection of albums. Whether it was the Allman Brothers or Frank Zappa, what I chose to play was played loudly.

The walls of The Blue Room were covered with posters. The Beatles, The Doors, The Who, and Bob Dylan had eyes only for me.

My guitar sat in a corner next to stack of song books.

I burned incense. The odor of rose, patchouli, cinnamon and jasmine mingled together into a mysterious unidentifiable soup. Anything made of fabric was permeated and carried traces of the scent. The air could almost be tasted. And there was incense ash scattered about like sacred offerings.

Cups and glasses that once held tea or milk, plates and bowls that once harbored PB&J, dill pickles, or chocolate ice cream kept forgetting to return themselves to the kitchen. They pushed aside books and papers on the dresser, hid under my bed and peeked out from under the piles of clothes that had been hung on the floor.

There was no room, in my room, for more stuff. But it was there in boxes under my bed, stacked in my closet...ten pounds of stuff crammed into a one pound can. It was everywhere, all over the place, all of the time.

Below the sign on my door that read, "You are now approaching the Blue Room," my father posted another.

It read, "Danger! Disaster Area! Three Feet Deep!"

So when you were a teenager, what was your bedroom like? Neat or messy? Cluttered or austere? Eclectic or co-ordinated? Inquiring minds want to know.

It's a Happy Thing

Tricia, at Talespinning, has honored me by passing on this award. Thank you Tricia!

His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama says this about happiness:

"I believe that the very purpose of our life is to seek happiness. That is clear. Whether one believes in religion or not, whether one believes in this religion or that religion, we all are seeking something better in life. So, I think, the very motion of our life is towards happiness…"

Although technically nothing outside of myself can "make" me happy (as I am responsible for my own emotions/actions etc.) in receiving this award I am to reveal ten things about myself that "make" me happy. So here I go, in no particular order. Enjoy.

1. The ocean, water.

2. Sunlight

3. Breathing

4. My family, my friends

5. This blogging community and those who have chosen to read my random thoughts

6. The earth and it's drive to produce an abundance of life

7. My dog, Ursa

8. Being able to read and write

9. Food

10. Having my five senses

and I have to add...

11. Laughter and music

Now, I am to pass on this little bit of happiness, which I'm going to do regardless of whether or not you do awards. :O As always, it's a hard choice.

Brenda at Hazel's Crock Pot Kitchen because I love food

Anne Spollen's Author Blog for her delightful and humorous insights into her kids and family

Angela at The Bookshelf Muse for her continued and wonderful effort to help all of us become better writers

Mary at ResidentAlien for sharing stories about her life in "foreign" lands

Kelly at Kelly Polark for introducing me to music I would otherwise never know about

Tabitha at Writer Musings for introducing me to new books and for being so honest in her opinions about the books she reviews

And

Vijaya at Reading, Writing, Ruminating for being my first cyber friend and becoming my mentor

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Just down the road in San Antonio, Texas, something happens every year on Martin Luther King Day that doesn't happen anywhere else. As many as 100,000 adults and children gather to march for education, for "The Dream," and to honor Martin Luther King, Jr. It's the largest march of its kind in the United States. And it's not just about marching. There are many educational and inspirational events that take place during the day across the city.

Check it out here.

Go forth and educate. Go forth and inspire.

The Doors

I grew up listening to my father's music which was mostly jazz and music from the Big Band Era. I can still sing along with or hum the tunes to a ton of the old standards. My love for the music of the '30s and '40s, led to my singing (if only for a short time) in a jazz trio. So when the Beatles arrived on the scene, I didn't get it. I didn't understand all the hoop-la about rock 'n' roll.

Then came the summer of 1967. The Summer of Looooooove.There was a tremendous amount of stuff happening musically; the Beatles came out with Sgt. Peppers and Magical Mystery Tour and there were hits by, Jefferson Airplane, Pink Floyd, Small Faces, Cream, Procol Harum, the Rolling Stones, the Velvet Underground, the Who and Jimi Hendrix, just to name a few.

But I still didn't get...

...until the Doors snuck into my room, invading my eardrums with "Light My Fire." They just sounded so different from other bands, no base...it was electric keyboard, guitar, drums and jeese, that guy Jim Morrison singing. I liked their songs. Their lyrics were so... so different and Morrison was so...you know...hot. They didn't have the aura of being light and fun-loving like the Beatles nor did they have the bad-boy image of the Rolling Stones. They were something other, they were moody, dark and mysterious. They appealed to my dark, moody, mysterious teen-aged self.

I loved and had no idea what "Horse Latitudes" meant. I still love it and still don't know what the heck, if anything, it means.

When the still sea conspires an armor
And her sullen and aborted
Currents breed tiny monsters
True sailing is dead
Awkward instant
And the first animal is jettisoned
Legs furiously pumping
Their stiff green gallop
And heads bob up
Poise
Delicate
Pause
Consent
In mute nostril agony
Carefully refined
And sealed over

(Don't ask me why but I laugh every time I hear/read the line, "In mute nostril agony.")

Was there a first group, a first kind of music, that inspired, or moved you along your path in life? I give FULL credit to the Doors for leading me into the mansion called Rock 'n' Roll, but it was the Beatles who eventually won first place in my heart, and in whose room within the mansion, I spent/spend the most time.

Haiti

Poor Haiti!

Here we have one of the poorest nations in the world, hit by a totally devastating earthquake. Who knows how many have been killed, but millions are now homeless.

Columbus established his first colony in the New World here in 1492 after his ship was grounded and he had to leave 39 men behind. It didn't survive. However his second colony did.

In 1797 a genius slave by the name of François-Dominique Toussaint L'ouverture rallied his countrymen, fought France, and won freedom for all the slaves by 1804. A children's book by Katherine Scherman, called The Slave Who Freed Haiti, was the first biography I can remember reading.

Since the first day of independence, Haiti has struggled. The hillsides have been stripped of trees to make charcoal, which in turn has caused severe erosion of soil, making farming nearly impossible.

Here is a link to some fast facts about this island nation. If you have the ability to help, click here.

My Cousin Vince

The Denham-Miller, side of my family has some musical talent. My father's mother was a concert pianist. She passed on her musical ability to several of us. But only one of her descendants has taken his talent all the way.

My cousin, Vince Denham, has been playing sax since he was like 8 or 9 years old. He also plays flute and keyboard. He's played and/or recorded with the likes of Vince Guaraldi, Loggins and Messina, (and Loggins after the two broke up) John Tesh, Elton John, and Don Ellis (who wrote a song for him called..."Invincible") to name just a few. But the person he plays with most often, and who is a personal friend (you know like their families get together and have bar-b-ques in each others back yard, that kind of personal friend) is Michael McDonald.

I don't know how long the two have been playing together, but it's been a while. Not long ago the band played at the Reichhold Center on the campus of the University of the Virgin Islands in St. Thomas. Cousin Vince called up my sister Erva and made sure she had tickets to see the show.

I like being able to brag that I have a cousin who is a professional musician, who has been playing all his life, and who has played with so many well known artists. All of us Denhams, whether we have the music gene or not, get to live vicariously through him.

So, I thought I'd share him with all of you. Below is a video with Michael McDonald from a few years ago. Cousin Vince opens and closes the song.

Big Book Giveaway

Tabitha over at Writer Musings is having a book giveaway. She is offering three books, THE SECRET YEAR, by Jennifer Hubbard, CHASING BROOKLYN, by Lisa Schroeder and the ARC, NUMBERS, by Rachel Ward. Get on over there before the end of January and sign up!

Well, don't stand around here gawking, put your little arrow on that underlined part and get whisked away! (All I ask is that you come back here every once in awhile.)

Happy Birthday Scott McKenzie

Today is Scott McKenzie's birthday.

After many years of working hard to make the big time, Scott McKenzie became an “over night” sensation with the song, “If You’re Going to San Francisco (Be Sure to Wear a Flower in Your Hair)”.

Sudden fame brought with it a certain amount of stress and he realized he needed a break. He chose to escape to St. Thomas where, even if he were recognized, he wouldn’t be hounded. What was special/weird/neato/keen/far-out man is that he stayed with some friends of his who just happened to be my high school psychology teacher and her husband, my art teacher.

Scott spent many months in the islands between 1968 and ’69. Sometimes he came to our psych class and sang us a few songs.

He also came to our Junior/Senior prom which is when he gave me the post card pictured above. He was, by that time, such a fixture, it never occurred to me to ask him to autograph it. The coffee stain ring happened that night.

In June of 1969, I invited my teachers and Scott to my 19th birthday party, a week-end affair held at our guest house on St. John at Lille Maho. The invitation was accepted. Scott arrived with guitar in tow. We all had a grand time. At one point he asked my sister and me for advice on a song he was working on. Did it need something more, an extra verse or two perhaps? After he sang it to us, we assured him it was beautiful just as it was. I like to think he took our advice, for when he returned to the states the song became the title track of his second album, “Stained Glass Morning,” and he had left it just as he had sung it to us.

But the true highlight of the evening came when he gave me his birthday present. He sat me down, then sat in front of me and sang a song by Donovan called, “Celeste.” The world disappeared as he looked directly at me and no one else, his clear and beautiful tenor caressing my ears. Never before, and never since, have I been so intimately serenaded.

Below is a video of Donovan singing his song, "Celeste."


Thanks, Scott, for giving me one such a wonderful memory, truly a gift that keeps on giving. And Happy Birthday, here’s hoping this day finds you well and that you are content.

Scott singing his big hit.

Arctic Blast of January 2010

It's cold here this morning in south-central Texas. 11 degrees. As far as my husband and I can tell from our weather records (we've been keeping them since like 1989) it's the coldest we've ever seen. We stepped outside to experience it.

And saw...

...that stars had fallen on our lawn in the night. Or maybe the sparkles are diamonds, scattered by the winter fairies.

Whatever they are, the glittering lights on the brown grass are beautiful. However, I'm content to look at the lovely light-show from our kitchen window.

I hope all of you are snug and warm. Care to join me for a cup of hot tea? Or hot cocoa?

Grammy

My mother's mother was born on this day in 1895, in Ada, Ohio. Her name was Erva Love Hartwell. The middle name of Love was dropped when she got married, at which point she became known as Erva Hartwell Boulon.

At around the age of two or three, she was chosen to be the face for Mellin's Food, a brand of baby food. This is the original ad, not a copy.

Here she is with her dolls when she was about six or seven.

At around nine or so, she and her family moved to Key West, Florida because her father, Frank Hartwell, was a weatherman for the newly formed Federal Weather Bureau. The Bureau now bares the name of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Below is Erva Love in Key West.

In 1909 Frank Hartwell was transfered to the weather station in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico. Erva Love was about 14. She graduated from Central High School in San Jaun. This beautiful building is now an art school.

Erva Love Hartwell at 19.

She was fun-loving.

This is my favorite picture of her. Imagine how long her hair was when it was unbraided! I don't know how old she was when it was taken, but I estimate somewhere between 18 and 20.

She married Paul Alfred Boulon in Puerto Rico and had four children, my mother being the oldest.

In 1928 they bought Trunk Bay on St. John. In the years that followed the family build a summer home there. I'm not sure if that's her in this picture or our dear family friend Charlotte.

After World War II Grammy ran Trunk Bay as a guest house. She did it without electricity, cooking three meals a day for her guests. John Dos Passos, Dr. Robert Oppenheimer and his wife were among some of her more well-known guests. She gained the reputation for being a superior hostess and an excellent cook. Using local foods, she learned how to prepare them in ways that would please American taste buds. An article was written about her in the cooking section of the New York Times and she wrote a cook-book call My Island Kitchen. I loved having breakfast at her table because she would toast your bread on a charcoal pot set on a small table next to her chair. Below is a postcard of her kitchen.

Here she is on horse-back about 1945 going into Cruz Bay to pick up the mail. There were no vehicles on the island at that time. Everyone rode or walked.

Grammy had a wonderfully loud, uninhibited cackling laugh. Her hair turned silver by the time she was in her forties. She wore it a single braid on the top of her head and dressed up her do with hibiscus. She liked large, avant-garde jewelry. She was a pioneer.

She died on December 27, 1972. We all still miss her.

Among those who share a birthday with her: Henry V, king of England. William Wilkie Collins, writer. Jose Ferrer, actor. Bill Graham, rock promoter (Fillmores East and West who stayed at our guest house at Lille Maho.) Elvis Presley and David Bowie.

Honest Scrap Award

Victoria.S. has passed on to me the Honest Scrap Award. Thanks Victoria! If you haven't visited her blog, please do so. She has lovely insights into the writing process and posts the most beautiful pictures! This is the second time I have received it. Rena gave it to me the first time.

It was adifficult decision, but I would now like to pass this on to...drum roll please:

MG Higgins

Anne Spollen's Author Blog

Christina at Chocolate for Inspiration

The Sears Garage, 50 Years Later

Around 1959 my parents decided to open a gas station in Cruz Bay. My father, being an ace mechanic would also repair vehicles. The first thing we had to do was build the building. A Sears pre-fab was chosen, ordered and shipped to us from who knows where. The only thing we didn't do was dig out the foundation and pour the concrete slab. As for the rest of it, the four us built the two door garage entirely by ourselves. By 1960 we were open for business, selling Mobil gas. We also had the dealership for Jeep and Land Rover. This is Erva and me on opening day. Dad is just visible to the right. Erva was a tall lanky 14 year old, I was a tiny 10. For years people thought I was a lot younger because I was so small compared to her.

The picture below shows part of the pre-fab and the Mobil sign on the slab where the gas pump was. The siding on the garage was a pale pastel mint-green, pleasing and easy on the eye. See the block "cistern" to the left?

That's were the metal tank was that held the gas. The gas came in 55 gallon barrels that had to be pumped/dumped into the tank. Mom, Dad, Erva, me, and my cousins Frances and John, who were visiting from Puerto Rico, made a chain and hauled every single one of those concrete blocks from the place they were off-loaded to the site. The trailer in front of the cistern was also a Sear purchase and hauled everything from our boat the FDO, to rocks and furniture.

This is a picture of the concrete slab where the gas pump was. There was a rack next to it that held cans of oil.

Erva and I were the attendants. Erva handled the pump while I checked the water in the radiator and battery or washed wind shields. We also checked the oil and air in the tires. We were, as far as I know, the first and only female gas pump attendants ever on the island of St. John. Erva and I worked the pumps, whenever we weren't in school, for two years. When the power went out we could pump gas by hand. We were also grease monkeys. We washed parts and tools (in gasoline), sorted transistors, screws, nuts and bolts, and slapped undercoating (a tar-like substance) on the new Jeeps and Land Rovers when they arrived. We would wash ourselves off with kerosene or diesel fuel.

This is the Willies station wagon Dad painted. It was also our advertising. White roof, red above the chrome, blue below with a red Pegasus decal on the door.

That's me in the door, standing in front of Dad's motorcycle, the All State, yet another Sears purchase. All of us Virgin Islanders depended on Sears. They were reliable and trusted. The name Sears was gold.

In 1962 we closed the business and moved to St. Thomas. My father was physically exhausted and got a less physically demanding job as the chief engineer for the only TV station in the islands.

The Sears building evolved into other businesses. For many years it was a gift shop and restaurant called Islandia. I sold a lot of my shell and seed work there. The interior has been changed and altered but 50 years later the building still stands and is still in use. It has survived floods and hurricanes.The aluminum siding has never been repair or replaced, only painted various shades of yellow.

The roof is the same roof too.

Technically, at 50 years old, this Sear pre-fab could be considered an historic building. Certainly to our family it is. What's really nice is that we still own it. I wonder how many of these pre-fabs are still out there, and how many have been in continuous use since they were built? And how many of them are in the Caribbean? I would bet ours is the only one in the Virgin Islands. Do you think Sears would be interested in paying us to do an ad, you know like those Toyota truck owners whose trucks have gone like 400,000 miles? Do you think I should find an email address and send them a link to my blog so they can read this? 50 years! That's a lot of very loyal service.

Today in History

Isaac Asimov was born on this day in Russia. He was a prolific writer, writing some 5oo books! And lots of it was non-fiction. Some the first science fiction I ever read was his Foundation series.

A favorite quote of his is:
You must keep sending work out: you must never let a manuscript do nothing but eat its heart off in a drawer. You send that work out again and again, while you're working on another one. If you have talent, you will receive some measure of success - but only if you persist.

This is also the day in 1938 that Simon and Schuster was founded.

Ring Out the Old, Ring in the New

It's 2010 HAPPY NEW YEAR!

All right folks, we're in our twosies now, and officially tweeners, a golden age for sure.

And here, to teach you how to be a tweener is George Harrison, who, as this video shows, had a great sense of humor and knew (new) how to have fun.



Ring out the old, ring in the new!