Hay has been around for many years and formed Men At Work back in 1979 in Australia. He was the group's main singer and songwriter. After Men at Work split up, Hay went solo. It was then I found him as I really hadn't heard Men at Work. I guess I lead too sheltered a life.
This cut is from 2000's Going Somewhere.
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Friday, June 30, 2006
My Land is a Good Land: Eric Andersen
Each time I post Eric Andersen I make the same observation. I wonder why he never seems to get the recognition he deserves.
Andersen began playing in the 1960's, migrated to New York where he was part of the Greenwich Village scene, eventually signed with Vanguard and released his first four albums through them. My favorite Andersen song is Violets of Dawn though Thirsty Boots is right up there. His latest album was released last year. Andersen has never stopped writing or recording.
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Andersen began playing in the 1960's, migrated to New York where he was part of the Greenwich Village scene, eventually signed with Vanguard and released his first four albums through them. My favorite Andersen song is Violets of Dawn though Thirsty Boots is right up there. His latest album was released last year. Andersen has never stopped writing or recording.
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“After a visit to the beach, it's hard to believe that we live in a material world.”
Yesterday, while sitting in a line of traffic, I watched as the fog rolled in and engulfed everything it touched. I wanted to leave my car and run to the ocean to see the shrouded shore lined with shadowy houses looking deserted and haunted in the mist, to hear the raucous calls of gulls unseen above me and to feel and taste the fog as it surrounded and covered me. Instead, I opened my windows and inhaled the smell of the sea borne by the mist. It was the best I could do.
I don't think I could ever live too far from the ocean. Its power and beauty keep me close. I open my arms wide to the wind and follow where it takes me. On the roughest days, I drive to the beach to watch the waves smash over the seawall. On calmer days, I walk the beach hoping to find a treasure or two, maybe some sea glass or a piece of driftwood. Gracie, my new companion on these walks, chases the seagulls and sniffs every clump of seaweed. In my younger days I used to dig for clams on the flats at low tide and don waders, float my basket and search for quahogs. Those clams always tasted the sweetest of all. It is summer now, and my beaches are filled with strangers. They put down their blankets, put up their umbrellas, eat picnic lunches and swim in the water. I graciously give them the summer. Gracie and I will be patient until the fall when the beaches become ours again.
I don't think I could ever live too far from the ocean. Its power and beauty keep me close. I open my arms wide to the wind and follow where it takes me. On the roughest days, I drive to the beach to watch the waves smash over the seawall. On calmer days, I walk the beach hoping to find a treasure or two, maybe some sea glass or a piece of driftwood. Gracie, my new companion on these walks, chases the seagulls and sniffs every clump of seaweed. In my younger days I used to dig for clams on the flats at low tide and don waders, float my basket and search for quahogs. Those clams always tasted the sweetest of all. It is summer now, and my beaches are filled with strangers. They put down their blankets, put up their umbrellas, eat picnic lunches and swim in the water. I graciously give them the summer. Gracie and I will be patient until the fall when the beaches become ours again.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Careless Love: Snooks Eaglin
This is a cut from the Smithsonian Folkways album Snooks Eaglin New Orleans Street Singer originally released in 1959 but now in re-release.
Everytime I listen to this album I like Snooks even more. His unbelievable guitar playing and his voice are addictive.
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Everytime I listen to this album I like Snooks even more. His unbelievable guitar playing and his voice are addictive.
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Freight Train: Peter, Paul & Mary
Peter, Paul & Mary were one of the first folk groups to grab my attention, and I bought all their albums.
I have seen them in concert several times. One of my favorite concerts was during their reunion tour. They looked out at the crowd and talked about how old we had all gotten together. We are even so much older since.
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I have seen them in concert several times. One of my favorite concerts was during their reunion tour. They looked out at the crowd and talked about how old we had all gotten together. We are even so much older since.
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“For me, the worst part of playing golf, by far, has always been hitting the ball.”
Miniature golf, as it's called around these parts, is a family vacation, early summer evening sort of game. Most courses look like mini-amusement parks with waterfalls, pirate ships, moving parts, spouting whales and nothing resembling a windmill or a loop. The courses are even multi-leveled. A few of the old style, my kind of miniature golf, still remain. They remind me of hot afternoons at Hago Harrington's Miniature Golf. That course is still in my old hometown and looks the same, completely flat with no waterfalls in sight. A few drinking fountains are strewn about, but that's about it.
One of the tough holes is the windmill with the three openings in front. I am so bad at this game that I generally hit the divider between the holes, and my ball bounces back to me and right off the green. Hago Harrington's (you always use both names when talking about it) has holes with sloped walls that can knock you right off the course if you hit the ball too hard. One hole sends the ball to a lower hole. We used to run down and wait to watch the balls fly out of the tunnel. I always agonized at the make a choice holes. Do I dare send the ball up the loop or do I go around it? Up the loop always left you in the best position, but a weak shot would cause your ball to drop from mid-loop to the ground. The scorekeeper stopped at every hole, pulled out the little colored pencil with no eraser and recorded each score. Someone always wanted to know who was winning. When we were close to the hole and putting, you'd think the U.S. Open was on the line. We'd be on our knees checking the angle and the trajectory of the ball. After all of that, the ball usually skirted the rim and went into the corner. At the last hole, there was always a bit of excitment. A hole in one got you a free game, and when the ball went into the hole, it was gone for good. You could hear it tumbling on its way to wherever golf balls went, and the game was over, except for the tally. As the scorekeeper added the numbers, the players would huddle around waiting for the big announcement. Who would don the green jacket? The only part of that I remember is it was never me.
One of the tough holes is the windmill with the three openings in front. I am so bad at this game that I generally hit the divider between the holes, and my ball bounces back to me and right off the green. Hago Harrington's (you always use both names when talking about it) has holes with sloped walls that can knock you right off the course if you hit the ball too hard. One hole sends the ball to a lower hole. We used to run down and wait to watch the balls fly out of the tunnel. I always agonized at the make a choice holes. Do I dare send the ball up the loop or do I go around it? Up the loop always left you in the best position, but a weak shot would cause your ball to drop from mid-loop to the ground. The scorekeeper stopped at every hole, pulled out the little colored pencil with no eraser and recorded each score. Someone always wanted to know who was winning. When we were close to the hole and putting, you'd think the U.S. Open was on the line. We'd be on our knees checking the angle and the trajectory of the ball. After all of that, the ball usually skirted the rim and went into the corner. At the last hole, there was always a bit of excitment. A hole in one got you a free game, and when the ball went into the hole, it was gone for good. You could hear it tumbling on its way to wherever golf balls went, and the game was over, except for the tally. As the scorekeeper added the numbers, the players would huddle around waiting for the big announcement. Who would don the green jacket? The only part of that I remember is it was never me.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Bucking Horse Moon: Tom Russell
This cut is from Indians Cowboys Horses Dogs which was released in 2004. I had heard a Tom Russell song he sang with Iris DeMent and was hooked. Though I'd probably tell you I'm not a western music fan, I'd have to back off when it comes to Tom Russell. He sings of people, characters who are flawed or heroic or both. He paints word pictures, visions. This song even has a touch of romance.
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MP3 File
"Watermelon, when one has tasted it he knows what the angels eat."
I tasted yellow watermelon the other day. It was juicy and sweet but somehow very wrong. Watermelon is pink. Call me a purist if you must, but my history with pink watermelon seems as old as my memory, and I'm not deserting it for any come hither newcomer. I remember hot summer days and sitting on the back steps eating watermelon. That sticky juice would drip down my fingers and stay on my cheeks. I didn't care. No kid cared. I can remember the beach when watermelon took the taste of salt and the grit of sand from my mouth. During the eating, we'd sometimes line up and have world calibre seed spitting contests, always for distance. We'd each in turn send that black seed flying. Once in a while we'd spit them at each other, sometimes playfully and sometimes annoyingly. My mother generally intervened. She didn't appreciate the fun of spitting seeds. Now, every once in a while, the urge is too great and I spit for distance. My technique needs a bit of polishing, but it's watermelon season and that should give me plenty of time to practice.
Getting out of school for the summer was the third best day of the year for me, behind Christmas and my birthday. It meant days filled with playing games, riding bikes, hiking in the woods below the house or jumping through the sprinkler at the end of a busy, exhausting day. On hot nights we'd sometimes sleep out in the backyard on a blanket. I don't remember if there were bugs. I just remember the stars. They seemed to fill the sky and light the night. I'd lie on my back, look up and find the man in the moon. Some nights he seemed to be smiling while other times he'd appear just a bit grumpy. Once in awhile he'd have this surprised look on his face. That was my favorite, still is.
Getting out of school for the summer was the third best day of the year for me, behind Christmas and my birthday. It meant days filled with playing games, riding bikes, hiking in the woods below the house or jumping through the sprinkler at the end of a busy, exhausting day. On hot nights we'd sometimes sleep out in the backyard on a blanket. I don't remember if there were bugs. I just remember the stars. They seemed to fill the sky and light the night. I'd lie on my back, look up and find the man in the moon. Some nights he seemed to be smiling while other times he'd appear just a bit grumpy. Once in awhile he'd have this surprised look on his face. That was my favorite, still is.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Blue: Joni Mitchell
My friend sent me a copy of the American Masters program about Joni which I had missed. I sat mesmerized by her and her voice. I decided that I could never post too much of Joni Mitchell.
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Dark as Dungeon: Glenn Yarbrough
This song comes from Yarbrough's 1957 folk album called Come Sit by My Side. It was his second recording and was the record which caught on and introduced Yarbrough to a broader audience just as the 50's folk revival was catching fire.
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MP3 File
“The more syllables a euphemism has, the further divorced from reality it is”
Today has been one of those blogger's block days. I started to talk about euphemisms and decided I was stepping into a mine field, tottering on the PC brink and a fall to either side would be devastating. What if, in my attempt to explain, I offended. Well, sugar, honey, ice tea to that I say. Goldarnit, that would be the last thing I'd want to do.
Did you notice the miracle? None of us go to the bathroom anymore. We go wash our hands, powder our noses or go see a man about a dog. Grown women go to the little girls' room. That last one makes me gag. The end is near is not a good thing unless we realize we'll be going to a better place though the less sentimental just bite the bullet or buy the farm. Some euphemisms just drop by the wayside into the pit of oblivion, the land of lost words. Who says gentleman friend or gentleman caller anymore? Where did being in the family way go? My grandmother once talked about seeing a man in his altogether. It sounded like something he was wearing. I couldn't have been more wrong. A lady of the evening is such a delightful way to describe the oldest profession. It has a kinder ring than the current terms. The little house, the privy, left when indoor plumbing arrived. No one lies anymore. We have plausible denial.
Well, now that we have come to the end of our meaningful dialogue, I'm off to the comfort station.
Did you notice the miracle? None of us go to the bathroom anymore. We go wash our hands, powder our noses or go see a man about a dog. Grown women go to the little girls' room. That last one makes me gag. The end is near is not a good thing unless we realize we'll be going to a better place though the less sentimental just bite the bullet or buy the farm. Some euphemisms just drop by the wayside into the pit of oblivion, the land of lost words. Who says gentleman friend or gentleman caller anymore? Where did being in the family way go? My grandmother once talked about seeing a man in his altogether. It sounded like something he was wearing. I couldn't have been more wrong. A lady of the evening is such a delightful way to describe the oldest profession. It has a kinder ring than the current terms. The little house, the privy, left when indoor plumbing arrived. No one lies anymore. We have plausible denial.
Well, now that we have come to the end of our meaningful dialogue, I'm off to the comfort station.
Monday, June 26, 2006
One Man: Lori McKenna
This is another cut from Bittertown.
I have become quite the Lori McKenna fan and wonder how I missed her for so long.
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I have become quite the Lori McKenna fan and wonder how I missed her for so long.
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Morningside: John Gorka
This is from The Company You Keep. John Gorka is joined by Ani DiFranco, Patty Larkin, Mary Chapin Carpenter and Lucy Kaplansky, but it is his wonderful voice which drew me to this album.
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MP3 File
"Summer is my period of grace. "
The dinner was wonderful. We sat for hours at the table chatting and laughing, looked at old pictures of other dinners, wondered who all those young people were and tried to remember some of the different meals and favorite dishes. The shrimp took the honors last night but not without a bit of controversy.
The rain is gone but has left a reminder: a muggy, overcast day. Everything feels damp. The still air brings no relief. It's a languid kind of day, a Victorian novel kind of day. I should be seated on my chaise lounge fluttering my flowered fan and drinking lemonade.
I think I need a porch, a screened in porch. It should have rocking chairs, a bit of wicker and a swing so I can rock and while the day away. Beside me I'd have a tall glass of ice coffee and maybe a plate of suger cookies. Gracie would be lying all stretched out in the shade, lifting her head every now and then to acknowledge passersby. The cats could have their own perch, out of Gracie's way. During the day the birds would command their attention while at night the bugs would provide endless sources of entertainment. We could watch the rain fall and the moon rise. A table surrounded by chairs would be off to the side. It would be wide enough to hold the board games my friends and I like to play. The neighbors would know I have company from the echoes of our laughter joining the night sounds. As the evening winds down, we'd just sit for a bit, contented in each others' company.
The rain is gone but has left a reminder: a muggy, overcast day. Everything feels damp. The still air brings no relief. It's a languid kind of day, a Victorian novel kind of day. I should be seated on my chaise lounge fluttering my flowered fan and drinking lemonade.
I think I need a porch, a screened in porch. It should have rocking chairs, a bit of wicker and a swing so I can rock and while the day away. Beside me I'd have a tall glass of ice coffee and maybe a plate of suger cookies. Gracie would be lying all stretched out in the shade, lifting her head every now and then to acknowledge passersby. The cats could have their own perch, out of Gracie's way. During the day the birds would command their attention while at night the bugs would provide endless sources of entertainment. We could watch the rain fall and the moon rise. A table surrounded by chairs would be off to the side. It would be wide enough to hold the board games my friends and I like to play. The neighbors would know I have company from the echoes of our laughter joining the night sounds. As the evening winds down, we'd just sit for a bit, contented in each others' company.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
“When the crowd of your admirers is shouting, "Bravo! Hear, hear!" it is not you, Pomponius, but your dinner that is eloquent”
The weather is where contentment seems just out of reach and always a day away. Yesterday morning's rain gave way to a torrent by early afternoon, and it's still raining. The grumbling has started.
Today is my annual dinner, a celebration of friendship. When I bought my house, twenty eight years ago, my first guests and I ate sitting on the floor. I had no furniture. Our voices echoed in the empty house. Just about every year since I have had a dinner celebrating and remembering that earlier time. To my first guests, other friends have been added and for a while I had a floating guest, one who seemed to change every few years, but for the past fifteen or so the list has stabilized. The meal always has a theme, and everything revolves around the theme. This year we're having Thai food. The tablecloth is from Thailand and so is the music. The table has a row of elephants, and the centerpiece is coconuts, papaya and flowers. Each meal also means a souvenir or momento. My guests are getting a set of chopsticks from Thailand, and I'll burn them each a copy of the music though I doubt Thai music has much of a demand. For the Texas barbecue, every guest had a cowboy hat and bandana to wear. You can guess when we had sombreros. Each year we sit around the table for hours, laughing and talking. The meal finally ends with a vote, one taken quite seriously and generally much debated. I don't know when favorite dish started but that's the last ritual, the vote. The men then do all the clean-up, and I love it. After two or three days of preparation, the last thing I need to do is wash another dish or pan. I just sit and eat bon bons.
Well, I'm going to post then get started. I have a flow chart you know!
Today is my annual dinner, a celebration of friendship. When I bought my house, twenty eight years ago, my first guests and I ate sitting on the floor. I had no furniture. Our voices echoed in the empty house. Just about every year since I have had a dinner celebrating and remembering that earlier time. To my first guests, other friends have been added and for a while I had a floating guest, one who seemed to change every few years, but for the past fifteen or so the list has stabilized. The meal always has a theme, and everything revolves around the theme. This year we're having Thai food. The tablecloth is from Thailand and so is the music. The table has a row of elephants, and the centerpiece is coconuts, papaya and flowers. Each meal also means a souvenir or momento. My guests are getting a set of chopsticks from Thailand, and I'll burn them each a copy of the music though I doubt Thai music has much of a demand. For the Texas barbecue, every guest had a cowboy hat and bandana to wear. You can guess when we had sombreros. Each year we sit around the table for hours, laughing and talking. The meal finally ends with a vote, one taken quite seriously and generally much debated. I don't know when favorite dish started but that's the last ritual, the vote. The men then do all the clean-up, and I love it. After two or three days of preparation, the last thing I need to do is wash another dish or pan. I just sit and eat bon bons.
Well, I'm going to post then get started. I have a flow chart you know!
Saturday, June 24, 2006
"Anyone who says sunshine brings happiness has never danced in the rain. "
Last night's rain storm still lingers, but the fury has expended itself and left a quieter rain. The drops falling on the leaves make almost a whispering sound, and I can hear bird songs rising above the rain patter. This is one of those mornings which seems to bring its own sense of comfort. The darkened room, the soft sound of the rain and the deep breathing of the dog as she sleeps in the chair near me wrap around me and hold me close. The house is a refuge from the rain, but I am surrounded by it. The opened windows connect the rain and me.
We used to play board games when rainy days kept us inside the house. The closet was filled with them, and one of us would stand there calling out the name of each game until we'd come to some agreement. Sorry was a favorite. Having the ability to knock your opponent clear back to start had appeal, still does. Dominoes was another great choice. Monopoly, though, was low on the list, too easy to lose interest. My younger sisters would lie on the floor and color, the box opened between them. They seldom spoke. Staying inside the lines takes far too much concentration. We'd while the time away until we got tired of playing or, more likely, tire of one another. My brother would work on his models; I'd read, and my two sisters would just keep coloring.
We used to play board games when rainy days kept us inside the house. The closet was filled with them, and one of us would stand there calling out the name of each game until we'd come to some agreement. Sorry was a favorite. Having the ability to knock your opponent clear back to start had appeal, still does. Dominoes was another great choice. Monopoly, though, was low on the list, too easy to lose interest. My younger sisters would lie on the floor and color, the box opened between them. They seldom spoke. Staying inside the lines takes far too much concentration. We'd while the time away until we got tired of playing or, more likely, tire of one another. My brother would work on his models; I'd read, and my two sisters would just keep coloring.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Way Out in Idaho: Rosalie Sorrels
When I first posted Rosalie Sorrels, I didn't know too much about her, but I've learned a bit since then. She has been recording since the fifties; her first album was released by Folkways in 1961. She has far too many albums to list, but her latest, My Last Go Round, was nominated for a Grammy. Rosalie tells stories woven with compassion for the people and places about which she sings. She has a special love for the songs and stories of Idaho where she lives, and her web site is named after this song.
You can find this on a Smithsonian Folkways album called Classic Railroad Songs. The link is to the right.
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You can find this on a Smithsonian Folkways album called Classic Railroad Songs. The link is to the right.
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Black Eyed Dog: Nick Drake
Nick Drake has reached cult status though his death, in 1974, went virtually unnoticed except by the fellow musicians who recognized his talent and genius. He recorded only three albums.
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"Lo! Men have become the tools of their tools."
Two of my three pets are far too demanding. They compete with each other for my time and attention, and I do the best I can in fulfilling each wish or whim. The dog has far too many toys and clutters the house with them. She has her wet food, her dry food and her treats. I get on hands and knees to fetch the toys she's pushed out of reach under tables or couches. I fill in each and every hole she digs each and every time she digs one. We play fetch or pull the toy every morning while I'm trying to type. The demanding cat plays with one or two fake mice, and I find them all over the house. She has her wet food, her dry food and her treats. She meows piteously for my attention, and I stop to scratch and pat her. For them, life is good.
This got me to thinking about inanimate objects and how demanding they've become. The ringing of the phone always sounds urgent even if it is a wrong number. It rings and rings until finally another machine takes over and records the call. My washing machine beeps to tell me to get downstairs to move the clothes to the dryer which has several beeps of its own. I'll have a couple of warning beeps then a more serious one then the final beep which makes me hurry so the clothes won't wrinkle too much. The microwave drives me crazy. It beeps to announce it's finished then continues to beep until I remove the food. Every appliance seems to have a ding or a beep, a regular kitchen cacophony. Then we have the computer. It has that you blew it or what in the heck are you trying to do sound which gives me a feeling of sheer incompetence.
I've watch the commercials for talking cars, and that is one step too close to Hal for me. I can hear it now. "Kat, what are you doing, Kat? Are you trying to trade me, Kat? I don't think that's a good idea, Kat."
This got me to thinking about inanimate objects and how demanding they've become. The ringing of the phone always sounds urgent even if it is a wrong number. It rings and rings until finally another machine takes over and records the call. My washing machine beeps to tell me to get downstairs to move the clothes to the dryer which has several beeps of its own. I'll have a couple of warning beeps then a more serious one then the final beep which makes me hurry so the clothes won't wrinkle too much. The microwave drives me crazy. It beeps to announce it's finished then continues to beep until I remove the food. Every appliance seems to have a ding or a beep, a regular kitchen cacophony. Then we have the computer. It has that you blew it or what in the heck are you trying to do sound which gives me a feeling of sheer incompetence.
I've watch the commercials for talking cars, and that is one step too close to Hal for me. I can hear it now. "Kat, what are you doing, Kat? Are you trying to trade me, Kat? I don't think that's a good idea, Kat."
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Roly Poly: The Little Willies
This just had the sound of summer about it, a little fun and a bit of joy.
The Little Willies are Lee Alexander, Jim Campilongo, Norah Jones, Richard Julian and Dan Rieser who named themselves after Willie Nelson. This is from their self-titled debut album.
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The Little Willies are Lee Alexander, Jim Campilongo, Norah Jones, Richard Julian and Dan Rieser who named themselves after Willie Nelson. This is from their self-titled debut album.
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Ring Bell, Ring Bell: Miriam Makeba
This is more of a pop song than the usual Miriam Makeba. It just seemed to strike the right mood for today.
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"The world is a rose; smell it and pass it to your friends."
Errand day is here. It's time to do all those chores I've been putting off for no reason except the beginnings of a summer languor. Gracie will stay here and guard the house, but it'll be from behind a closed, bolted, barred and locked door as she seems to eat a variety of home decorations if I leave her to her own devices. She will go with me to the dump later so I suspect I'll be forgiven.
Gracie has had the sweetest smelling breath lately. She has found her way to my small herb garden and seems to enjoy nipping the young growth. Yesterday it was the sage.
I love the smell of baking bread. In the square a bakery used to send that aroma wafting into the air every morning. You couldn't walk by without stopping to buy a still warm loaf. Apple pie too sends its aroma into the air and makes your mouth water in anticipation. But summer, summer brings its own wonderful smells. My neighbors were barbecuing last night, and the breeze brought the smell of charcoal into my kitchen. After a summer rain, the air smells of grass and road, and sometimes you can even see the steam as the cooling rain hits the hot pavement. Flowers intermingling in the garden spread a sweetness into the air. Only roses rise above and keep their individuality. The scent of freshly mowed lawns fills the weekend air. Clothes dried on the lines smell of breezes. Little kids coming in from play bring a whiff of dirt, an earthy smell. A day at the beach leaves salt and sand and the smell of the ocean on your clothes and in your hair. But the best smell of all is a summer morning which saturates the air with its hint of the joys of every summer day.
Gracie has had the sweetest smelling breath lately. She has found her way to my small herb garden and seems to enjoy nipping the young growth. Yesterday it was the sage.
I love the smell of baking bread. In the square a bakery used to send that aroma wafting into the air every morning. You couldn't walk by without stopping to buy a still warm loaf. Apple pie too sends its aroma into the air and makes your mouth water in anticipation. But summer, summer brings its own wonderful smells. My neighbors were barbecuing last night, and the breeze brought the smell of charcoal into my kitchen. After a summer rain, the air smells of grass and road, and sometimes you can even see the steam as the cooling rain hits the hot pavement. Flowers intermingling in the garden spread a sweetness into the air. Only roses rise above and keep their individuality. The scent of freshly mowed lawns fills the weekend air. Clothes dried on the lines smell of breezes. Little kids coming in from play bring a whiff of dirt, an earthy smell. A day at the beach leaves salt and sand and the smell of the ocean on your clothes and in your hair. But the best smell of all is a summer morning which saturates the air with its hint of the joys of every summer day.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Summer Wages: Ian Tyson
This cut is from Cowboyography released in 1986.
After the break-up with Sylvia, Ian Tyson stayed on his ranch a while. This was his second album after he had begun recording again and the first released in the US.
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After the break-up with Sylvia, Ian Tyson stayed on his ranch a while. This was his second album after he had begun recording again and the first released in the US.
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A Summer Wind, A Cotton Dress: Richard Shindell
This is from the live album Courier released in 2001.
Shindell was a former seminary student whose first musical exposure came while playing guitar in the Razzy Dazzy Spasm Band alongside John Gorka. His background is reflected in some of his more spiritual compositions, and he sounds almost poetic as he weaves tales through music. This is one of those songs.
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Shindell was a former seminary student whose first musical exposure came while playing guitar in the Razzy Dazzy Spasm Band alongside John Gorka. His background is reflected in some of his more spiritual compositions, and he sounds almost poetic as he weaves tales through music. This is one of those songs.
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"Summer afternoon - summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. "
The sun is in its glory today. It is the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year with thirteen hours and one minute of sunlight. Today brings magic. It is said that on midsummer night elves and fairies come out in great numbers, and whatever you dream tonight will come to pass. Celebrate today. Go for a walk, stop, look all around you and take in your world, sit for a while in the sun then close your eyes and dream. Feel the warmth upon your face and exult in the day.
When the night comes, the celebration shouldn't end. Be outside. Sit by a fire and listen to the crackling wood and the sounds of night. Look above and marvel at the moon and stars. Be amazed at the world on which we live.
Dream sweet dreams.
When the night comes, the celebration shouldn't end. Be outside. Sit by a fire and listen to the crackling wood and the sounds of night. Look above and marvel at the moon and stars. Be amazed at the world on which we live.
Dream sweet dreams.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
The Best of Friends: Mimi Farina
Mimi Farina and her husband Richard recorded a huge amount of music. They were powerful together. Richard died in 1966, but Mimi continued performing. She also founded Bread and Roses in 1974. Its goal is to bring free live music to people confined in jails, hospitals, juvenile facilities, AIDS facilities, and rest homes, among others. In 2004 it celebrated 30 years of performances. Mimi Farina died in 2001.
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Little Joe, the Wrangler: Cisco Houston
Cisco Houston was one of the folk singers who formed the nucleus of the growth of folk music in the 1940's. He was a close friend to both Woody Guthrie and Leadbelly, and Houston and Guthrie traveled together both before and after WWII. He was part of Moe Asch's first Folkways recording sessions.
When Houston wandered the country during the depression, he was even a cowboy for a bit. He sang the traditional songs he learned in his travels and songs about railroaders and miners and union activists. He was an important voice in the activism of the 50's and early 60's. Though he was never named, he was associated with many of the artists who were blacklisted and was considered to have leftist leanings. By 1960, though, Houston was back in the spotlight and performed at Newport and was recording for Vanguard. It was also about this time he was diagnosed with cancer. Houston died in 1961 at age 42.
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When Houston wandered the country during the depression, he was even a cowboy for a bit. He sang the traditional songs he learned in his travels and songs about railroaders and miners and union activists. He was an important voice in the activism of the 50's and early 60's. Though he was never named, he was associated with many of the artists who were blacklisted and was considered to have leftist leanings. By 1960, though, Houston was back in the spotlight and performed at Newport and was recording for Vanguard. It was also about this time he was diagnosed with cancer. Houston died in 1961 at age 42.
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“A cowboy is a man with guts and a horse.”
A grey, damp day is what remains of the tremendous thunderstorm which shook us awake last night. We all sort of acknowledged its existence, rolled over and went back to sleep. It is still cool enough to be a Gracie in the car day.
Old westerns are great fun to watch, and each movie shares easy to remember rules. The first is, of course, that the good guy wears the white hat and the bad guy the black. That makes our hero easy to spot in any fight. Another rule is that, no matter what, hats will remain on heads. This rule is in effect even during all rough and tumble fights. The hero is oblivious to his effect on women: he makes them swoon and sigh. He is polite, says ma'am, tips his hat when outside and removes his hat when inside. His horse is his best companion. The plot generally revolves around protecting the womenfolk from evil villains or saving their ranches from dishonest bankers or even both. Dust abounds. Stagecoaches kick up so much dust that the bad guys can see them coming from miles away. Throwing down the strongbox from under the seat and giving up valuables are the swag from each robbery. All the bad guys pull up their bandanas over their noses and mouths before stopping the stagecoach. This prevents them from being recognized even by people who know them, along the lines of Clark Kent's glasses. No matter what, the bad guy is never as clever as the good nor as handsome. The bad guy is always caught while the good guy always gets the girl. Life was just so much easier then.
Old westerns are great fun to watch, and each movie shares easy to remember rules. The first is, of course, that the good guy wears the white hat and the bad guy the black. That makes our hero easy to spot in any fight. Another rule is that, no matter what, hats will remain on heads. This rule is in effect even during all rough and tumble fights. The hero is oblivious to his effect on women: he makes them swoon and sigh. He is polite, says ma'am, tips his hat when outside and removes his hat when inside. His horse is his best companion. The plot generally revolves around protecting the womenfolk from evil villains or saving their ranches from dishonest bankers or even both. Dust abounds. Stagecoaches kick up so much dust that the bad guys can see them coming from miles away. Throwing down the strongbox from under the seat and giving up valuables are the swag from each robbery. All the bad guys pull up their bandanas over their noses and mouths before stopping the stagecoach. This prevents them from being recognized even by people who know them, along the lines of Clark Kent's glasses. No matter what, the bad guy is never as clever as the good nor as handsome. The bad guy is always caught while the good guy always gets the girl. Life was just so much easier then.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Back Down the River: John Martyn
This is from 1971's Bless the Weather, my first Martyn album. He was introduced to me by a new friend who was right when he said I'd love the album.
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The Civil Defense Sign: Mark Spoelstra
The Civil Defense Sign was written during the Cuban missile crisis of October 1962. It was a scary time, and we expected war. Those black and yellow signs meant safety.
This is a song from a wonderful Folkways recording called Broadside Ballads Volume One. The songs are taken from Broadside Magazine and many were demos not released anywhere else.
Since Smithsonian acquired Folkways, every title has been kept in print and made available. They come in these generic cases with Moses Asch, the founder of Folkways, on the cover and with copied liner notes from the records.
MP3 File
This is a song from a wonderful Folkways recording called Broadside Ballads Volume One. The songs are taken from Broadside Magazine and many were demos not released anywhere else.
Since Smithsonian acquired Folkways, every title has been kept in print and made available. They come in these generic cases with Moses Asch, the founder of Folkways, on the cover and with copied liner notes from the records.
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"Sweater, n.: garment worn by child when its mother is feeling chilly."
Most of the universal truths I believed when I was a kid have been debunked as old wives' tales. This never made my mother, the source, too happy. Nor would have it made my mother's mother too happy or her mother's mother and so on and so on. We can probably trace some of them as far back as the first cavewoman who told her son to bundle up before going hunting unless, of course, he was looking to catch a cold. I knew that toads caused warts. Everyone else knew it too so we avoided toads. The catastrophic results of swallowing gum were just far too horrific to contemplate let alone risk. We knew that eating too much chocolate caused pimples, and going into the water too soon after eating caused cramps. Sitting too close to the TV screen was courting disaster and crossing your eyes could become a permanent condition. On the coldest days my mother would always tell us no snow, too cold. She also warned me not to begin shaving my legs because the hair would grow in so dark and thick I'd regret my decision.
I think each generations collects a few of its own and a few others fall by the wayside as too improbable in the light of scientific advancements. I would hate to have been the scientists who had to go tell her mother that it was okay to skip the hat and scarf. I'm betting there was so much guilt it hung oppressively in the air between them during the entire conversation.
I do eat my carrots. I'm older and my eyes need all the help they can get, especially at night.
I think each generations collects a few of its own and a few others fall by the wayside as too improbable in the light of scientific advancements. I would hate to have been the scientists who had to go tell her mother that it was okay to skip the hat and scarf. I'm betting there was so much guilt it hung oppressively in the air between them during the entire conversation.
I do eat my carrots. I'm older and my eyes need all the help they can get, especially at night.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
My Dad: Paul Peterson
My nephew and his wife are expecting their first baby in August, a boy. This song reminds me of Ryan and the relationship he has with his father, my brother-in-law, Rod.
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"Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes."
This is from last Father's Day with just a few additions.
My Dad passed away thirteen years ago, but I miss him still. I miss playing cards with him and laughing with him and arguing with him. I miss being able to spend Father’s Day with him. We'd play cribbage until he was winning. It was always skill when he won and luck when I did.
My dad told the best stories and was great fun at parties. He'd be around the piano singing with that great deep voice of his. He was even in a few minstrel shows. In one, he leaned back a bit too far and fell off the stage. He got right back up without missing a single beat or note. That became a dad story. We have many such dad stories and told a few at his funeral. The tears were replaced by out and out laughter.
Here is another of my favorite dad stories.
We traveled together, with my Mom and sometimes my sister, to Europe. He had the worst pronunciation of foreign words, and I often missed my turnoff when he gave directions. The problem was solved when my Mom got the good map, and my Dad got the less complicated one. My Mom would let me know where I really needed to be. My Dad would feel he was the navigator. When we were in Portugal, we'd see many, many piggy-back tandem trucks. Sometimes they were hauling three or more behind them. On the bumper of the last truck was a sticker which warned us: Vehiculo Longo. We saw that many times. As we were pulling out of a gas station, we pulled in behind one of those trucks. My Dad said, "That guy Longo owns a lot of trucks." I had to pull over until I could drive again.
That was my Dad!
My Dad passed away thirteen years ago, but I miss him still. I miss playing cards with him and laughing with him and arguing with him. I miss being able to spend Father’s Day with him. We'd play cribbage until he was winning. It was always skill when he won and luck when I did.
My dad told the best stories and was great fun at parties. He'd be around the piano singing with that great deep voice of his. He was even in a few minstrel shows. In one, he leaned back a bit too far and fell off the stage. He got right back up without missing a single beat or note. That became a dad story. We have many such dad stories and told a few at his funeral. The tears were replaced by out and out laughter.
Here is another of my favorite dad stories.
We traveled together, with my Mom and sometimes my sister, to Europe. He had the worst pronunciation of foreign words, and I often missed my turnoff when he gave directions. The problem was solved when my Mom got the good map, and my Dad got the less complicated one. My Mom would let me know where I really needed to be. My Dad would feel he was the navigator. When we were in Portugal, we'd see many, many piggy-back tandem trucks. Sometimes they were hauling three or more behind them. On the bumper of the last truck was a sticker which warned us: Vehiculo Longo. We saw that many times. As we were pulling out of a gas station, we pulled in behind one of those trucks. My Dad said, "That guy Longo owns a lot of trucks." I had to pull over until I could drive again.
That was my Dad!
Saturday, June 17, 2006
"No price is set on the lavish summer; June may be had by the poorest comer."
We're finally home! After six trips to unload boxes from the car, I curled up and took a nap. A cat was on my hip when I woke up, and Gracie was sleeping on the chair. We are a lively bunch.
We were stuck in traffic for the longest time, but when we got to the break point, absolutely nothing was there. The road was clear. This is not the first time I have been involved in this phenomenon, another of the great mysteries of life.
Small towns in New England are wonderful places. Each seems to have a central green, a small town square, one or more white churches and a few town characters. In my town, no funeral was complete without Hubie. The affiliation didn't matter. He was at all the churches. He'd greet people at the church door, sit in the back and give the deceased a send-off anyone of us would have been proud to have. Hubie always dressed in work chinos and a white shirt. Sometimes the chinos were gray; other times they were tan. I remember when Hubie passed away. It was a huge funeral. He would have been beaming.
I went to my first barbeque last night so I'm officially recognizing the beginning of summer!
We were stuck in traffic for the longest time, but when we got to the break point, absolutely nothing was there. The road was clear. This is not the first time I have been involved in this phenomenon, another of the great mysteries of life.
Small towns in New England are wonderful places. Each seems to have a central green, a small town square, one or more white churches and a few town characters. In my town, no funeral was complete without Hubie. The affiliation didn't matter. He was at all the churches. He'd greet people at the church door, sit in the back and give the deceased a send-off anyone of us would have been proud to have. Hubie always dressed in work chinos and a white shirt. Sometimes the chinos were gray; other times they were tan. I remember when Hubie passed away. It was a huge funeral. He would have been beaming.
I went to my first barbeque last night so I'm officially recognizing the beginning of summer!
Friday, June 16, 2006
A Sun Valley Song: Jan Brunvand
A while back I posted St. James' Infirmary and mentioned that the source of the song is The Unfortunate Rake. Many variations of that song exist including The Streets of Laredo. Today I have posted three of these variations. This one is among my favorites.
The song The Unfortunate Rake had its beginning in the latter part of the eighteenth century as a broadside ballad. It was originally about an English soldier who was dying of syphilis at St. James Infirmary in London.
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The song The Unfortunate Rake had its beginning in the latter part of the eighteenth century as a broadside ballad. It was originally about an English soldier who was dying of syphilis at St. James Infirmary in London.
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The Linesman's Hymn: Rosalie Sorrels
I know Rosalie Sorrels and even have her most recent CD but don't know very much about her. As always, I go looking. This information is from World Folk Music Association.
"Rosalie Sorrels was born in Idaho in 1933. She grew up in and around Boise, learning literature from her mother, who ran the town's book shop, and learning the ways of nature from her father, who was a hunter. During the fourteen years of her marriage, she lived in Salt Lake City, where she became interested in folk music, and began collecting and singing old songs from the area. Rosalie wraps her exquisite voice around some of her favorite songs. Rosalie sings songs always deeply felt, effortlessly and altogether lovely. Rosalie, through song and story, weaves a tale that is common to all of us a tale of home, of roots, of a rural western America."
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"Rosalie Sorrels was born in Idaho in 1933. She grew up in and around Boise, learning literature from her mother, who ran the town's book shop, and learning the ways of nature from her father, who was a hunter. During the fourteen years of her marriage, she lived in Salt Lake City, where she became interested in folk music, and began collecting and singing old songs from the area. Rosalie wraps her exquisite voice around some of her favorite songs. Rosalie sings songs always deeply felt, effortlessly and altogether lovely. Rosalie, through song and story, weaves a tale that is common to all of us a tale of home, of roots, of a rural western America."
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"Simplicity is making the journey of this life with just baggage enough."
The cleaning continues. In six hours, the three of us managed to clean one room. I vow that as soon as I get home I'm filling a trash bag from the cellar and will do so each week. What in the world prompted me to believe I would actually use all those cooking magazines?
We all save stuff. At some indefinite date or circumstance that clipping or article will be just what we need. If we throw it away, the law of averages says that it will be needed the very day the trash was hauled to the dump. I am no different except maybe by degree. One basket is filled with recipes I saved knowing that an entire meal would be planned around these wondrous creations. Clippings from travel magazines of places I dream to visit are probably so dated the country no longer exists in its past form. The instructions belong to appliances long gone to electrical heaven. Old postcards and letters fill a file or two. I don't remember half the people. My advice: always use your full name when sending correspondence. You may be less memorable than you think. Two file folders have cards for every occasion with some cards so old they stick to the envelopes.
I am educated, well read, and well-traveled. Goes to show that being a bit of a pack rat is part of the human genome.
We all save stuff. At some indefinite date or circumstance that clipping or article will be just what we need. If we throw it away, the law of averages says that it will be needed the very day the trash was hauled to the dump. I am no different except maybe by degree. One basket is filled with recipes I saved knowing that an entire meal would be planned around these wondrous creations. Clippings from travel magazines of places I dream to visit are probably so dated the country no longer exists in its past form. The instructions belong to appliances long gone to electrical heaven. Old postcards and letters fill a file or two. I don't remember half the people. My advice: always use your full name when sending correspondence. You may be less memorable than you think. Two file folders have cards for every occasion with some cards so old they stick to the envelopes.
I am educated, well read, and well-traveled. Goes to show that being a bit of a pack rat is part of the human genome.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Stackolee: John Cephas
Though his first taste of music was gospel, John Cephas became a master of the Piedmont blues. His grandfather taught him the folklore of eastern Virginia, where his ancestors had toiled as slaves, and Cephas learned about blues from a guitar-playing aunt. Music from the ragtime era and early Piedmont artists such as Blind Boy Fuller, Blind Blake, Rev. Gary Davis, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Tampa Red were all his influences.
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Wild Geese: Ian and Sylvia
It always seemed to me that other musicians sing Ian and Sylvia songs better than Ian and Sylvia ever did.
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"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his."
We are clearing out my mother's house. My sisters, who have been at this task much longer than I, tell me that my finds are nothing in comparison to some of their earlier ones. I emptied one small bureau and was amazed to find old greeting cards, receipts from vacations, sewing sundries and magazine collections going back years. We keep asking what had possessed her to save some of this stuff and then I think of my own house. Whoever gets the task of clearing it out will find surprises in boxes, bags, drawers, nooks and grannies.
As we go through, each of us is choosing what we would like to have. Sentiment plays a big part in our choices. My sister chose an old chip and dip set going back at least forty years. She has already seen it in her mind's eye at her family parties. I know its story will be told each time it graces her table. If she uses it for onion dip, the circle will be unbroken.
As we go through, each of us is choosing what we would like to have. Sentiment plays a big part in our choices. My sister chose an old chip and dip set going back at least forty years. She has already seen it in her mind's eye at her family parties. I know its story will be told each time it graces her table. If she uses it for onion dip, the circle will be unbroken.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
“Outside of traffic, there is nothing that has held this country back as much as committees.”
On my trip to Boston this morning I was stuck in traffic for a long while. Normally I might grouse, but I had given myself plenty of time, and this was a new route. From my car I could see the Boston skyline surrounded by a haze that summer seems to bring. Off to my right was a sand company. Its tower is one of those memories I can call at will, its shape and color always being familiar. This trip I had the time to watch their conveyor belts moving. It was neat following one section on its trip around. I was stopped on a ramp surrounded by concrete. Cars in front and cars in back were all as far as I could see. Above me were mazes of concrete ramps and beside me enormous concrete pillars. It was the only spot the sun did not penetrate.
On Storrow drive, I could see the Charles and the boats at the boathouse. At one spot beside the river, I noticed two gondolas and thought I would like to ride in them, at night with a lamp for light. A song in Italian would be the perfect touch. People were jogging or walking or pushing carriages on the path by the river. I noticed a woman working on her rooftop garden then left the river for the city itself.
I drove down Beacon and saw the wonderful old homes. I marveled at the huge assortment of restaurants, a world tour of food. I traveled through three squares and on a road dwarfed by trees. I was almost sorry to arrive. It was the best traffic jam I can ever remember.
On Storrow drive, I could see the Charles and the boats at the boathouse. At one spot beside the river, I noticed two gondolas and thought I would like to ride in them, at night with a lamp for light. A song in Italian would be the perfect touch. People were jogging or walking or pushing carriages on the path by the river. I noticed a woman working on her rooftop garden then left the river for the city itself.
I drove down Beacon and saw the wonderful old homes. I marveled at the huge assortment of restaurants, a world tour of food. I traveled through three squares and on a road dwarfed by trees. I was almost sorry to arrive. It was the best traffic jam I can ever remember.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Cielito Lindo: Pete Seeger
This reminds me of a trip to London. I was staying in a B&B in Earl's Court which was, at the time, a less savory part of the city. My room was in the cellar area where the kitchen also was. Another version of this song played morning and night. It has been a long while since I've been able to listen to this song without holding a pillow over my head!
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MP3 File
“Until the end of the last Ice Age around 11,000 B.C., all humans on all continents were still living as Stone Age hunter/gatherers.”
The number of drivers who make me want to scream out my window like a madwoman are directly proportional to the weather and the season: a warmer season means more cars and drivers; the more drivers, the greater the problems and the more times I curse. Yesterday the car behind me was so far away you couldn't tell the color. It looked like a blur. A guy in a truck cut out in front of me, went a few feet and stopped to take a left. I had my window up but let loose a string of obscenities that would have made Lenny Bruce blanch. The guy must have been watching as he poked his head out the window, looked at me and laughed. If I were living in a sitcom, I'd lose the language but wiggle my nose. He would have had two flat tires and a short term disease requiring lots of scratching.
The other day at a yard sale I bought a file cabinet for $5.oo. It is missing a handle, but a rope one seems to work as well. I'd been meaning to get a new cabinet as the old cabinet's drawers have fallen off the rails and can't be fixed. This old cabinet is crammed with emphemera, tidbits I've collected over the years. There are recipes, magazine articles, travel stories, old maps, brochures from airlines and anything else which caught my attention. I probably figured that at some point in time what I found and saved would be invaluable.
I am part of a family of gatherers. We inherited this from our mother, the queen gatherer, and it has already been passed on to the next generation. One of my nephews started collecting beer bottles when he was a little kid. He has since moved up the gathering ladder into larger, more expensive collections. There are others in this new link of gatherers, but he started the earliest. We are now sorting through my mother's house and are amazed at her gathering prowess. It has exceeded all of our expectations. These skills of hers have gotten my sisters and me arguing among ourselves as to which of us will be the first to go. She will be the lucky one as the other two will have to sort through the belongings of yet another mighty gatherer.
The other day at a yard sale I bought a file cabinet for $5.oo. It is missing a handle, but a rope one seems to work as well. I'd been meaning to get a new cabinet as the old cabinet's drawers have fallen off the rails and can't be fixed. This old cabinet is crammed with emphemera, tidbits I've collected over the years. There are recipes, magazine articles, travel stories, old maps, brochures from airlines and anything else which caught my attention. I probably figured that at some point in time what I found and saved would be invaluable.
I am part of a family of gatherers. We inherited this from our mother, the queen gatherer, and it has already been passed on to the next generation. One of my nephews started collecting beer bottles when he was a little kid. He has since moved up the gathering ladder into larger, more expensive collections. There are others in this new link of gatherers, but he started the earliest. We are now sorting through my mother's house and are amazed at her gathering prowess. It has exceeded all of our expectations. These skills of hers have gotten my sisters and me arguing among ourselves as to which of us will be the first to go. She will be the lucky one as the other two will have to sort through the belongings of yet another mighty gatherer.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Pretty Peggy O: John Stewart
John Stewart began his career in 1960 with a group called The Cumberland Three, but it is for his years with The Kingston Trio that he is better known. He has written songs for several artists including Daydream Believer for The Monkees.
This song, Pretty Peggy O, is based on a traditional tune from Scotland called Bonnie Lass of Fyvie. The song appeared on just about every folk album in the 60's and is still being recorded.
MP3 File
This song, Pretty Peggy O, is based on a traditional tune from Scotland called Bonnie Lass of Fyvie. The song appeared on just about every folk album in the 60's and is still being recorded.
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“Have a deep respect for the source of life and also for the ocean, for the forest, for the stars and for the truth.”
My alarm woke me this morning, jarring me and the animals awake. I'd forgotten how intrusive a morning awakening is. I'd still be abed if it weren't for an early appointment. As if the alarm weren't bad enough, to find no morning paper as yet was of near tragic proportions. In the olden days, the days of work, I'd wake at 5 or 5:15; the paper would be in the driveway, and the coffee ready. I'd sip and read then get ready for work. I always envied people who could stay up after 9:30 at night and sleep until eight. Now I'm one of those people, and I've found that my envy was justified.
The room is dark as the sun is in the front of the house. Last night was perfect, chilly enough for a covering but not so cold as to be uncomfortable. This is when I wish I were King Arthur in Camelot, the musical, and could order my days. I would preserve this time of year and make it the official weather for my kingdom: warm days and cool nights. As with Arthur, I would have it rain mostly at night save for a few gentle summer rains to give the days a bit of variety. I'd let it snow but reasonable amounts only, except for a snow day or two to make wishes come true. Of course, we would have a white Christmas: that should go without saying. There would be few large scale changes. I'm pretty content with living in New England.
Yesterday Gracie and I went for a ride along 6A, one of the prettiest roads I know. I stopped to take a few pictures but mostly we just meandered. The trees are full and so very green. From high parts of the road you can see the dunes and the ocean stretching beyond them. There were yard sales, people and their dogs, and stands with people eating ice cream. It was a wonderful ride.
The room is dark as the sun is in the front of the house. Last night was perfect, chilly enough for a covering but not so cold as to be uncomfortable. This is when I wish I were King Arthur in Camelot, the musical, and could order my days. I would preserve this time of year and make it the official weather for my kingdom: warm days and cool nights. As with Arthur, I would have it rain mostly at night save for a few gentle summer rains to give the days a bit of variety. I'd let it snow but reasonable amounts only, except for a snow day or two to make wishes come true. Of course, we would have a white Christmas: that should go without saying. There would be few large scale changes. I'm pretty content with living in New England.
Yesterday Gracie and I went for a ride along 6A, one of the prettiest roads I know. I stopped to take a few pictures but mostly we just meandered. The trees are full and so very green. From high parts of the road you can see the dunes and the ocean stretching beyond them. There were yard sales, people and their dogs, and stands with people eating ice cream. It was a wonderful ride.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
"Middle age is when you choose your cereal for the fiber, not the toy."
A strange bright ball of light has appeared in the sky. People are screaming and running, but the light is everywhere. A few brave souls have ventured to the street, are covering their eyes and looking skyward. They just stand there, frozen by the strange light. Remain in your homes. Barricade your windows. Stay tuned to this station for more information about this unknown phenomenon.
Most television commercials just aren't as much fun as they used to be. Real people hawk wares, and I miss the characters of my youth. Bucky Beaver was a favorite, and I still brusha-brusha-brusha. Cap't Crunch had personality and Jim Backus for a voice. The Cheerios Kid wore this funky outfit at first, and the song was a definite sing-a-long. Rocky and Bullwinkle also did cereal gigs, and I remember that high voice Rocky had. Toucan Sam taught pig Latin and hawked Fruit Loops. That they were black and white characters never seemed to matter. The tunes were catchy and the characters fun for kids. They certainly sold cereal. Sometimes we'd have four or five different boxes of cereal in the cabinet. You had to shake each box to figure out if there was enough for breakfast. If there was just a small amount, back into the cabinet it'd go. That drove my mother crazy. She was constantly trying to find out who had left a near empty cereal box in the cabinet. No one ever volunteered that information.
Most television commercials just aren't as much fun as they used to be. Real people hawk wares, and I miss the characters of my youth. Bucky Beaver was a favorite, and I still brusha-brusha-brusha. Cap't Crunch had personality and Jim Backus for a voice. The Cheerios Kid wore this funky outfit at first, and the song was a definite sing-a-long. Rocky and Bullwinkle also did cereal gigs, and I remember that high voice Rocky had. Toucan Sam taught pig Latin and hawked Fruit Loops. That they were black and white characters never seemed to matter. The tunes were catchy and the characters fun for kids. They certainly sold cereal. Sometimes we'd have four or five different boxes of cereal in the cabinet. You had to shake each box to figure out if there was enough for breakfast. If there was just a small amount, back into the cabinet it'd go. That drove my mother crazy. She was constantly trying to find out who had left a near empty cereal box in the cabinet. No one ever volunteered that information.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
"Shopping tip: You can get shoes for 85 cents at the bowling alley."
The other day I went to buy a pair of sneakers, though I don't think sneakers is what they're called any more. They used to be tennis shoes, but that no longer fits either. I think I bought a walking shoe or maybe a trainer. I'm confused about their exact pedigree, but I do know they are cream color, not white. Well, anyway, it was a huge shoe store, an outlet, where you wait on yourself. Only women were shopping, and I watched for a while. One woman was trying on what appeared to be hundreds of pairs, given the boxes surrounding her. She'd hold a shoe to the light, put it on and then turn her ankle in such a way as to be able to see the sides of the shoe. It never occurred to me that sides of shoes had any importance. Sides are always cole slaw to me. Then this woman would look in the mirror holding a shoe beside her face. I figured she was trying to match her eyes, another shoe ritual which escaped me. A different woman walked around talking on her phone as she shopped. Every now and then she'd describe a shoe she'd found to the person on the other end of the call. She was loud and annoying. The only other person in the store would pick up a shoe or sandal, look at it then put it back where she'd found it. By my counting, she did this about eight times.
I am not a shoe person. When shoes have so many holes they no longer protect my feet from rain or snow, I buy another pair. I have a winter pair, a dress up pair, my new sneakers and my old summer sandals. I am perfectly shod even if they don't match my eyes.
I am not a shoe person. When shoes have so many holes they no longer protect my feet from rain or snow, I buy another pair. I have a winter pair, a dress up pair, my new sneakers and my old summer sandals. I am perfectly shod even if they don't match my eyes.
Friday, June 09, 2006
I Hope I Won't Fall in Love with You: Tom Waits
I either love Tom Waits music or I really hate it depending on the song I'm hearing. This cut is from his very first album, Closing Time, released in 1973. That gravelly voice is missing though you can hear hints of it on some of the songs from this album. This is one of the I love Tom Waits songs as are most of them on this album.
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Thinkin': Steve Forbert
This is from Alive on Arrival, Forbert's 1978 debut album. Somehow Forbert got lost in the shuffle and had only a minor hit with Romeo's Tune. He was called the new Dylan which was too bad because it pigeonholed him. He deserved more than a passing success.
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MP3 File
“How do you document real life when real life's getting more like fiction each day?”
Yesterday was one of those days which needed no diary entry. I'd have to embellish my entire day. Just imagine the revised text. Dear Diary, I woke up so very late after the tremendously wonderful evening last night (translation: I stayed up late watching old movies). The morning was perfectly leisurely (I didn't bother to get dressed). After a delicious lunch (bologna and cheese), I spent the rest of the afternoon browsing shops and came home with the trunk filled with marvelous finds (coffee and toilet paper were on sale). After changing into something comfortable (t-shirt and torn flannels), I opened a bottle of the bubbly (diet Coke), fixed a few tidbits (saltines and Cheese Whiz) and rested (napped), wanting to be fresh for the evening. The evening was everything I could have possibly hoped ( the Sox won), and I went to bed tired and happy from my perfect day.
The highlights so far today have been reading the papers, solving the cryptogram and getting a jump on the laundry. It's beginning to seem as if I'll need another nap.
I really like red licorice but don't like black; however, I like Good and Plenty. This is one of life's great mysteries.
The highlights so far today have been reading the papers, solving the cryptogram and getting a jump on the laundry. It's beginning to seem as if I'll need another nap.
I really like red licorice but don't like black; however, I like Good and Plenty. This is one of life's great mysteries.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Rock Island Line: Leadbelly
Decorated with billowing flags and garlands, and pulling six cars of ecstatic passengers, "The Rocket" roared into Rock Island Feb. 22, 1854. It was the first train to reach the Mississippi River.
Never one of the truly prestige passenger carriers, the Rock Island (officially, Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific) was a solid bread and butter line that, famous in the world of folk songs, served its riders and communities well. It ran very view star quality trains but provided solid comfort and its Rocky Mountain Rocket, between Chicago's Lasalle Street Station and Denver/Colorado Springs, and Golden State Ltd., between Chicago and LA, with a little help from the SP, offered all the amenities. Until the late 60s its silky race course across Iowa hosted some of the fastest trains in the land at speeds that would make today's corridors proud.
MP3 File
Never one of the truly prestige passenger carriers, the Rock Island (officially, Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific) was a solid bread and butter line that, famous in the world of folk songs, served its riders and communities well. It ran very view star quality trains but provided solid comfort and its Rocky Mountain Rocket, between Chicago's Lasalle Street Station and Denver/Colorado Springs, and Golden State Ltd., between Chicago and LA, with a little help from the SP, offered all the amenities. Until the late 60s its silky race course across Iowa hosted some of the fastest trains in the land at speeds that would make today's corridors proud.
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Old Train: The Dillards
I first met the Dillards as the Darlings on Andy Griffith. I loved how Charlene just followed Andy with those wide, loving eyes of hers. It wasn't until a lot of years later I found out they had another name, that Denver Pyle wasn't part of the family, and there was no Charlene. I used to love their jam sessions on Andy's porch with Aunt Bea and Barney just sitting and listening. Barney always wore that same suit and would be smoking his pipe and rocking.
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MP3 File
"I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read in the train."
Near where my grandparents used to live, there were train tracks. Each afternoon around 5, the train would roar pass. I always waited to catch a glimpse. When I got older, I used to walk those same tracks. They were a short cut. I can remember jumping over any wooden parts with the OO on them. The reason escapes me, but it is probably along the same lines as stepping on a crack and your mother's back. I used to walk on the rail and pretend it was a tightrope. My arms would be outstretched helping me keep my balance so I wouldn't fall to a tragic death witnessed by a screaming, gasping audience. At the end of the line, there were always cars just sitting on the tracks. I'd hoist myself up to catch a glimpse inside the trains and imagine the ride. The countryside would be whizzing by me. Meals would be in the dining car with linens on the table and real plates and silverware. During the day I'd go to the observation car and travel from car to car just to get a chance to be outside to feel the wind. At night, I'd watch out my window to see the lights of houses and towns then I'd fall asleep in my upper berth to the sounds of the wheels clacking. I've seen all the movies. Trains are adventure, mystery and intrigue in motion.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Buckets of Rain: Bob Dylan
From Dylan's 1975 Blood on the Tracks, one of my all time favorite Dylan's, chock filled with songs like this and Tangled Up in Blue and Shelter from the Storm.
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MP3 File
"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read."
My head aches. We were awakened by a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking. Baskets had fallen off a hook and landed on what were glass dishes. The floor is still a bit of a mess. I expect today is just one of those days which come around every now and then to give life some contrast.
The cat sits on part of the keyboard. I keep moving it and she just naturally fills the new space. I think there is a rule of physics about that, but I was into humanities. Science and math remain mysteries.
It is a stay at home wearing slippers and a sweatshirt sort of day. The wind is howling and the rain has been constant since early last night. It is pouring right now. The rain has a pattern. It slows down then gathers more momentum and returns with a vengeance.
Summer reading is always a bit different from winter reading. I have never been one to promise to finish War and Peace while lolling on the beach; instead, summer demands a quick read, a bit of murder and mayhem, perhaps a spy or a few terrorist and, my personal favorite, a virulent disease decimating humanity. Combinations of any or all of the above are acceptable as well. Winter books are weightier. Outside doesn't beckon so subjects can demand a bit more attention. Biographies fit in there as do most other non-fiction. I've started my summer reading and am in the middle of a combination. There's plain outright murder and death caused by chemicals. Drug companies seem to make great antagonists.
The cat sits on part of the keyboard. I keep moving it and she just naturally fills the new space. I think there is a rule of physics about that, but I was into humanities. Science and math remain mysteries.
It is a stay at home wearing slippers and a sweatshirt sort of day. The wind is howling and the rain has been constant since early last night. It is pouring right now. The rain has a pattern. It slows down then gathers more momentum and returns with a vengeance.
Summer reading is always a bit different from winter reading. I have never been one to promise to finish War and Peace while lolling on the beach; instead, summer demands a quick read, a bit of murder and mayhem, perhaps a spy or a few terrorist and, my personal favorite, a virulent disease decimating humanity. Combinations of any or all of the above are acceptable as well. Winter books are weightier. Outside doesn't beckon so subjects can demand a bit more attention. Biographies fit in there as do most other non-fiction. I've started my summer reading and am in the middle of a combination. There's plain outright murder and death caused by chemicals. Drug companies seem to make great antagonists.
No dump run today in the rain so I'm staying comfy. I see a day filled with music, a good book and coffee to warn the in'ards.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
The Streets of Baltimore: Nanci Griffith & John Prine
This is from Griffith's Other Voices, Too (A Trip Back To Bountiful). It, like her earlier Other Voices, Other Rooms, pays homage to those songwriters who influenced her singing. This one, though, is filled with duets with singers like Guy Clark, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Dolores Keane to name a few.
I've always loved the title the Queen of Folkabilly which has attached itself to Nanci Griffith.
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I've always loved the title the Queen of Folkabilly which has attached itself to Nanci Griffith.
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Along the Verdigris: Tom Paxton & Iris DeMent
This cut is from Tom Paxton's 1994 album Wearing the Time. Considering how long a career Tom Paxton has had, the title is apt. This song harkens back to Oklahoma and Tom's roots. Iris DeMent is sort of a bonus with her vocal harmonies.
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MP3 File
"If it keeps up, man will atrophy all his limbs but the push-button finger."
My living room couch has seen its day. It's one of those items on the seldom purchase list. No one really spends much time on my living room couch. The den is where we all hang out at my house. The music is there; the TV is there, and it's arranged for comfort and closeness. The living room is generally reserved for groups of four or more. I only sit there in the winter when the fireplace is lit and the flames are raging, keeping the ice and cold at bay, and at Christmas so I can admire the tree and inhale the pine.
I never thought about it, but we all have a seldom buy list. Big appliances are on it. We only buy them when the old ones conk out. Most people never just choose to upgrade their refrigerators, same with stoves. Mattresses fit into this category. I have yet to be lulled by the ones which mold to your body, have separate sleep controls or let you choose your perfect number. Mine is a plain old mattress which just lies there. My TV is huge and beautiful and new. The old one lost sound but I routed it through the vcr and that worked for a long while. When the picture died, I went shopping. My cars go on forever. It isn't until the work needed will cost more than the value of the car that I start hunting. Smaller appliances are replaced most often. They have that planned obsolescence thing going for them. Each new small appliance always seems fancier than its predecessor. That means poring through the book figuring what all those unlabeled buttons actually do. I found out one changes the time, another sets an alarm, the blue one chooses the speed and another sings Rigoletto. My new CD player greets me and then says goodbye. If one compliments my outfit, I'm running.
I never thought about it, but we all have a seldom buy list. Big appliances are on it. We only buy them when the old ones conk out. Most people never just choose to upgrade their refrigerators, same with stoves. Mattresses fit into this category. I have yet to be lulled by the ones which mold to your body, have separate sleep controls or let you choose your perfect number. Mine is a plain old mattress which just lies there. My TV is huge and beautiful and new. The old one lost sound but I routed it through the vcr and that worked for a long while. When the picture died, I went shopping. My cars go on forever. It isn't until the work needed will cost more than the value of the car that I start hunting. Smaller appliances are replaced most often. They have that planned obsolescence thing going for them. Each new small appliance always seems fancier than its predecessor. That means poring through the book figuring what all those unlabeled buttons actually do. I found out one changes the time, another sets an alarm, the blue one chooses the speed and another sings Rigoletto. My new CD player greets me and then says goodbye. If one compliments my outfit, I'm running.
Monday, June 05, 2006
I Think It's Going to Rain Today: Randy Newman
Blogger got tempermental and was hit or miss today. I kept getting the My Search page. In between songs I got to clean out a closet. Aren't I the lucky one@##!!
Of late, I have become a big Randy Newman fan. This cut is from The Randy Newman Songbook, Vol. 1. It also has Louisiana 1927 and a few other songs I found I really liked.
MP3 File
Of late, I have become a big Randy Newman fan. This cut is from The Randy Newman Songbook, Vol. 1. It also has Louisiana 1927 and a few other songs I found I really liked.
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Tanglewood Tree: Dave Carter & Tracy Grammer
This is the title track from their second album. Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer sang together from 1998 until 2002 when Dave Carter died suddenly while on tour. Their music is a little bluegrass but then it's not. It's Celtic, but then it's not. It seems to be a combination of genres and styles.
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MP3 File
“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
Two days of planting flowers and herbs have left me a bit bent, sort of a parentheses with feet. The rest of the herbs and the few annuals I bought yesterday went into the ground. First on the dance card, though, was the sheep shearing, right day this time. I wandered around and checked out everything. Two colonial groups had different encampments and were cooking. Their fires were a bit of warmth, and the smell of their cooking wafted all over carried by the chilly wind. I did a bit of shopping, a few stocking stuffers, and checked out the llamas when they arrived. The dogs were doing their sheep herding. They are amazing, and I thought Gracie wonderful because she sits on command. My next stop was home to pick up said dog, and we went flower shopping.
It is fun to wander the aisles of flowers pulling a little red wagon making a clattering sound. It sort of made me feel like a little kid. Colors caught my eyes, and I stopped to check out the different flowers. I am not a gardener by choice so my knowledge is quite limited. I went with tall and pink and short and white at one nursery. I also bought herbs, and those I can identify by sight and smell. The second nursery was for oregano, but I also walked away with tomatoes and tall and yellow flowers. Then we went home to plant. The day was perfect for flowers to get adjusted, overcast and misty. They went into the ground, and I went into the shower.
Our next stop was the dump then the final chore, grocery shopping. Nothing like filling the day with dreaded tasks and getting them over in one fell swoop.
The Sox were still on when all was finished. I brewed a pot of coffee, poured a cup, put my feet up and got comfy. I deserved it. After the game, Gracie and I curled up for a nap. It was a perfect way to end a busy day.
It is fun to wander the aisles of flowers pulling a little red wagon making a clattering sound. It sort of made me feel like a little kid. Colors caught my eyes, and I stopped to check out the different flowers. I am not a gardener by choice so my knowledge is quite limited. I went with tall and pink and short and white at one nursery. I also bought herbs, and those I can identify by sight and smell. The second nursery was for oregano, but I also walked away with tomatoes and tall and yellow flowers. Then we went home to plant. The day was perfect for flowers to get adjusted, overcast and misty. They went into the ground, and I went into the shower.
Our next stop was the dump then the final chore, grocery shopping. Nothing like filling the day with dreaded tasks and getting them over in one fell swoop.
The Sox were still on when all was finished. I brewed a pot of coffee, poured a cup, put my feet up and got comfy. I deserved it. After the game, Gracie and I curled up for a nap. It was a perfect way to end a busy day.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
“A Sunday well-spent brings a week of content.”
Yesterday I weeded and planted. My shoes, with the holes in the toes, were filled with grit, the knees of my pants had ground in damp dirt, and, despite the chill, I was sweating. The front bed looks better but could use some colorful annuals as fillers. My herb garden still looks a bit bleak. I'm thinking that planting is like Lay's potato chips. Once you start, you can't seem to stop. Every space seems to scream FILL ME. My front yard is becoming a sequel to Little Shop of Horrors, and I am stepping to its tune.
The sheep shearing is today. I went yesterday and got a great parking space, being the only car in the lot. I did stop for a bit to visit the sheep and chickens. They seemed glad to have a visitor and walked over to say hello. The sheep were especially vocal with their welcome. The chickens just made their usual noise.
Miss Gracie will be behind bars today. Yesterday she made her displeasure at being alone apparent by yanking toilet paper off the roll, pulling stuff off the dining room table and leaving a goody or two on the floor. Petulant little beastie!
My Cape Cod guide book and another on Massachusetts are in my car. I have maps to the whale pods, the painted whales for charity which are all over the Cape, and so far have pictures of two. I will try for a few more today. There are nurseries to visit, groceries to buy (I just bought TP yesterday) and sheep to be sheared. It's time to get moving.
Have a wonderful Sunday!
The sheep shearing is today. I went yesterday and got a great parking space, being the only car in the lot. I did stop for a bit to visit the sheep and chickens. They seemed glad to have a visitor and walked over to say hello. The sheep were especially vocal with their welcome. The chickens just made their usual noise.
Miss Gracie will be behind bars today. Yesterday she made her displeasure at being alone apparent by yanking toilet paper off the roll, pulling stuff off the dining room table and leaving a goody or two on the floor. Petulant little beastie!
My Cape Cod guide book and another on Massachusetts are in my car. I have maps to the whale pods, the painted whales for charity which are all over the Cape, and so far have pictures of two. I will try for a few more today. There are nurseries to visit, groceries to buy (I just bought TP yesterday) and sheep to be sheared. It's time to get moving.
Have a wonderful Sunday!
Saturday, June 03, 2006
There Are No Bugs on Me: Jerry Garcia and Dave Grisman
For those of you keeping watch, this is, indeed, deja vu all over again, but I couldn't resist the reposting.
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MP3 File
"The language of friendship is not words but meanings."
Yesterday I groveled in the dirt and planted flowers. The beds are outlined, weeded and planted but still look a bit bare so I'll be off to the nursery for more plants. Last night's rain has left a soft mist, and the air is chilly from the dampness.
My dance card is filled today. The town's farm has sheep shearing so I'll start there first. Miss Gracie will guard the homefront from marauders then she and I will go to the nursery. Considering she loves chewing my plants and flowers, she should have a choice as to her menu. Mint might be perfect for that morning dog breath,
A Baltimore Oriole has been flitting around and about my neighborhood, the first in a long while. That striking orange color is so beautiful and easy to spot. I bought oranges and put them on branches hoping to entice it to stay a while. I mean, who can refuse a free lunch?
My friend and neighbor does not get a paper or watch the news, that is unless a breaking story interrupts her program. If I mention a recent event to her, she looks at me blankly as if I had begun speaking in tongues. Her opinions are based on hearsay and emotion. Facts just roil her waters. Her world stays bright and optimistic. Her conversations center on her children, her dogs and her housecleaning. I have learned to stay clear of anything remotely contemporary or the least bit controversial. We chat about the weather. Pine pollen has been big with us of late. We discuss music. She loves country and western. Old movies pop up but she is far more into the romantic than I so those conversations tend to be one-sided. She takes as fact what most of us think of as old wives' tales. After all, they have been around a long time and must be true. I don't know her politics, and I don't really care. Sometimes she says the most outrageous stuff, and I bite my lip to keep silent. We are so very different in almost every way yet we have a good friendship. She is kind-hearted and generous. She likes a funny joke. She can be counted on should I need anything. She loves a good laugh and will laugh until she cries. Because of this friend, I have learned that all that other stuff is sometimes unimportant. That's one of my favorite life lessons.
My dance card is filled today. The town's farm has sheep shearing so I'll start there first. Miss Gracie will guard the homefront from marauders then she and I will go to the nursery. Considering she loves chewing my plants and flowers, she should have a choice as to her menu. Mint might be perfect for that morning dog breath,
A Baltimore Oriole has been flitting around and about my neighborhood, the first in a long while. That striking orange color is so beautiful and easy to spot. I bought oranges and put them on branches hoping to entice it to stay a while. I mean, who can refuse a free lunch?
My friend and neighbor does not get a paper or watch the news, that is unless a breaking story interrupts her program. If I mention a recent event to her, she looks at me blankly as if I had begun speaking in tongues. Her opinions are based on hearsay and emotion. Facts just roil her waters. Her world stays bright and optimistic. Her conversations center on her children, her dogs and her housecleaning. I have learned to stay clear of anything remotely contemporary or the least bit controversial. We chat about the weather. Pine pollen has been big with us of late. We discuss music. She loves country and western. Old movies pop up but she is far more into the romantic than I so those conversations tend to be one-sided. She takes as fact what most of us think of as old wives' tales. After all, they have been around a long time and must be true. I don't know her politics, and I don't really care. Sometimes she says the most outrageous stuff, and I bite my lip to keep silent. We are so very different in almost every way yet we have a good friendship. She is kind-hearted and generous. She likes a funny joke. She can be counted on should I need anything. She loves a good laugh and will laugh until she cries. Because of this friend, I have learned that all that other stuff is sometimes unimportant. That's one of my favorite life lessons.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Safe in the Harbour: Eric Bogle
Eric Bogle was born in Scotland but has made Australia his home for well over thirty years. He is a singer-songwriter whose most well-known song is And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda. He started his professional life as an account but started singing in folk clubs in Canberra, and that was the end of accounting and the start of Eric Bogle, singer-songwriter.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Northwest Passage: Stan Rogers
Stan Rogers sang of the Maritimes and the seas. He sang traditional songs which celebrate Canada and its people.
"His own songs, generally set in traditional formats, spoke eloquently for the many ordinary lives that, taken together, reflect the diversity of the Canadian experience. Rogers gave resounding voice to those who work closest to the land and the sea - to sailors, fisherman and farmers - as well as to the dispossessed and the disaffected. His themes were universal - honor, loyalty and hope - but his terms of reference and his images were evocatively specific and his sense of Canadian history equally poetic and heroic."
Stan Rogers died on June 2, 1983 ( corrected date) in a fire aboard an Air Canada DC-9 at the Greater Cincinnati Airport.
MP3 File
"His own songs, generally set in traditional formats, spoke eloquently for the many ordinary lives that, taken together, reflect the diversity of the Canadian experience. Rogers gave resounding voice to those who work closest to the land and the sea - to sailors, fisherman and farmers - as well as to the dispossessed and the disaffected. His themes were universal - honor, loyalty and hope - but his terms of reference and his images were evocatively specific and his sense of Canadian history equally poetic and heroic."
Stan Rogers died on June 2, 1983 ( corrected date) in a fire aboard an Air Canada DC-9 at the Greater Cincinnati Airport.
MP3 File
“Men should stop fighting among themselves and start fighting insects”
When the cats need food, I need to shop. Add out of toilet paper to the list, and the trip jumps to a must. This afternoon I will steel myself to brave the carts with wobbly wheels, the crowds blocking the aisles, the huge wait at the deli counter and the long lines at the checkouts. I will have list in hand, coupons at the ready and do battle.
There are days when I write whole paragraphs, read them and decide to delete them because they just don't fit. I have already erased three. One was about a traffic incident with foul language and extended middle fingers; another discussed the quirky endings of The Twilight Zone episodes and the last dealt with laundry. Of the three, the laundry one had the most potential. But I have been distracted. This whole time I have been struggling, a bug has been throwing itself at my screen window. That reminded me that the first June bug arrived right on time and attached itself to my screen last night, June 1. They are the ugliest bugs and seem bent on self-destruction, suicide by screen window. The lights in the room attract them, and they bounce against the screen driving me crazy with the sound. The cats too are driven by the sound and try to catch those things through the screen. Their claws get caught, and I have to free them as their bodies squirm and paws pull. One of my cats finds June bugs pretty tasty, and I find that pretty disgusting. They crunch.
Insects tend, on the whole, to be quite annoying. They bite, they sting, they buzz your ears and dive bomb your head. Flies get me chasing them with rolled magazine in hand as I run from room to room swinging my home-made weapon. Moths are the easiest to catch and make little noise when eaten as both cats seems to enjoy a moth or two after dinner. Some insects, though, are welcomed to my yard. I was bitten on the top of my head by a bee, but I forgave all bees because of flowers and honey. Fireflies are the most wondrous creatures, and I eagerly await their return each summer. Butterflies are eye-catching beauties, and I love to watch them fly.
Because the list of unwanteds far out-weighs and out-numbers the list of welcomed, I'll be on the ready with my magazines, sprays and feet. Come on, bug, I dare you!
There are days when I write whole paragraphs, read them and decide to delete them because they just don't fit. I have already erased three. One was about a traffic incident with foul language and extended middle fingers; another discussed the quirky endings of The Twilight Zone episodes and the last dealt with laundry. Of the three, the laundry one had the most potential. But I have been distracted. This whole time I have been struggling, a bug has been throwing itself at my screen window. That reminded me that the first June bug arrived right on time and attached itself to my screen last night, June 1. They are the ugliest bugs and seem bent on self-destruction, suicide by screen window. The lights in the room attract them, and they bounce against the screen driving me crazy with the sound. The cats too are driven by the sound and try to catch those things through the screen. Their claws get caught, and I have to free them as their bodies squirm and paws pull. One of my cats finds June bugs pretty tasty, and I find that pretty disgusting. They crunch.
Insects tend, on the whole, to be quite annoying. They bite, they sting, they buzz your ears and dive bomb your head. Flies get me chasing them with rolled magazine in hand as I run from room to room swinging my home-made weapon. Moths are the easiest to catch and make little noise when eaten as both cats seems to enjoy a moth or two after dinner. Some insects, though, are welcomed to my yard. I was bitten on the top of my head by a bee, but I forgave all bees because of flowers and honey. Fireflies are the most wondrous creatures, and I eagerly await their return each summer. Butterflies are eye-catching beauties, and I love to watch them fly.
Because the list of unwanteds far out-weighs and out-numbers the list of welcomed, I'll be on the ready with my magazines, sprays and feet. Come on, bug, I dare you!
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Don't Speak in English: Chip Taylor & Carrie Rodriguez
This cut is from 2003's album The Trouble with Humans. I love the sound of these two voices together.
Chip Taylor is the songwriter of Wild Thing and Angel of the Morning. He and Carrie first started singing together in 2001. She is a fiddle player who hadn't sung before Chip Taylor encouraged her to give it a try.
MP3 File
Chip Taylor is the songwriter of Wild Thing and Angel of the Morning. He and Carrie first started singing together in 2001. She is a fiddle player who hadn't sung before Chip Taylor encouraged her to give it a try.
MP3 File
So Easy: Aztec Two Step
Rex Fowler and Neal Shulman have been together since they met at a club in Boston in 1971. They took their name from Ferlinghetti's Coney Island of the Mind. This track is from See, It Was Like This which is a bit of a retrospective with a few changes here and there and a perfect connection to their Ferlinghetti roots.
from A Coney Island of the Mind, 1958
See
it was like this when
we waltz into this place
a couple of Papish cats
is doing an Aztec two-step
And I says
Dad let's cut
but then this dame
comes up behind me see
and says
You and me could really exist
Wow I says
Only the next day
she has bad teeth
and really hates
poetry
MP3 File
from A Coney Island of the Mind, 1958
See
it was like this when
we waltz into this place
a couple of Papish cats
is doing an Aztec two-step
And I says
Dad let's cut
but then this dame
comes up behind me see
and says
You and me could really exist
Wow I says
Only the next day
she has bad teeth
and really hates
poetry
MP3 File
"Choices are the hinges of destiny."
I love the mornings of early summer. The house holds the night's coolness, and with the windows opened, I can hear birds celebrating the day. They are accompanied by the rustle of the pines and oaks, finally full with leaves. Just a bit ago a brown rabbit was enjoying its breakfast on tall spears of grass in my front yard. I watched until it did that funny quick hopping to its next destination. From my window, I can see the sunlight fighting to stay free of the clouds which will bring the rain later today into tonight. The room is a bit dark with the sun otherwise occupied. I have this overwhelming sense of security here in my den surrounded by my world.
Life is filled with happenstance, a maze of twists and turns. Some choices take endless lists of reasons, and they are my least favorite. Spur of the moment decisions, the ones made for the flimsiest reasons, are my all time favorite. What I'm wearing even comes into play with some of them. I found out long ago that life needs surprises, mouth dropping moments. "What's available?" is often the beginning of a great adventure.
Life is filled with happenstance, a maze of twists and turns. Some choices take endless lists of reasons, and they are my least favorite. Spur of the moment decisions, the ones made for the flimsiest reasons, are my all time favorite. What I'm wearing even comes into play with some of them. I found out long ago that life needs surprises, mouth dropping moments. "What's available?" is often the beginning of a great adventure.
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