Mellow Like Yellow

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Have You Never Been Mellow?.”

I suppose if I said they call me Mellow Yellow, it might call up that odd New York City time when a mayor recommended when and when not to flush. What? You never heard of that?

Would Donovan ring a bell? It’s what I was getting at anyway. Those were the days. Who worked? Who was still in school? No, it was all standing on the blacktop, thumb out, and making our way across country. It was the time of flowers in our hair, going back to the garden. Woodstock wasn’t a little Peanuts bird; it was that moment, that time out of time, when a nation of people gathered for… well if you can remember the number of days, then you weren’t there, so they say.  But most of all it was music that wafted out across a throng of bodies beneath a Mellow Yellow sun, groovin’ and movin’ and lovin.

Those were the days because when these days get me all in a “Dizzy Miss Lizzie” tizzy, I grab my headphones, plug in my MP3 player and zone out to that “Magical Mystery Tour.” Peace Out.


Who am I and Why am I here

What first came to mind, when I read the “who am I?” part was, “I am I, Don Quixote…” but I’m not, even if I do stand, sword in hand, before the impenetrable monoliths of life, exacting my due from imaginary foes. I can say that I am many things at many times, to many people; okay: one thing, at one time, to one person; the one looking back at me through, what someone dear to me calls ‘The Looking Glass.’ But I’m not going to fall for that; not falling down THAT rabbit hole. Oh no. I’m standing my ground, staking my claim. I am a blogger! There, I’ve said it.

Now about that, “why am I here?” part: It was the new year, different from the last because I had clicked that button. I had not done that last year. I’d stayed on course. But it beckoned to me, like a swarthy Adonis, with that come hither smile that only the word ‘REGISTER’ has. Daring me. So here I am.