Jolie Holland was part of the beginnings of the Be Good Tanyas and wrote The Littlest Birds, about my favorite of their songs. She hung around for only one album and then headed out on her own.
She seems to get a lot of comparisons to singers like Bessie Smith and Billie Holiday, but I find her music to be more of a bluesy kind of folk, a unique style. I suspect she might be one of those singers people either really love or really don't.
This cut is from 2004's Escondida, her second album but first studio album.
MP3 File
Monday, July 31, 2006
French Shore: Great Big Sea
Great Big Sea (GBS) was founded in Newfoundland, Canada in 1991. Their musical inspiration comes from the seafaring songs passed down by their ancestors blended with their own original compositions.
Great Big Sea seems to raise Celtic music to a different plane. Their often foot-stomping, sing-along music is accompanied by bouzukis, whistles, bodhrans and fiddles.
This cut from The Hard and the Easy.
MP3 File
Great Big Sea seems to raise Celtic music to a different plane. Their often foot-stomping, sing-along music is accompanied by bouzukis, whistles, bodhrans and fiddles.
This cut from The Hard and the Easy.
MP3 File
"The sea hath no king but God alone."
In the depths of a freezing cold winter day, when I am wishing for the warmth of summer, I hope I'll remember today and the next few days. I hope I'll remember stifling humidity, nearly triple digits and sweat, especially the sweat. Looking fresh as a daisy no longer applies.
My niece and her boyfriend were here all day yesterday. We toured the Cape from Sandwich to Dennis, and I took them on my favorites rides to my favorite places. From the top of Scargo Tower, they were stunned by the beauty of the view and just stood and stared with intakes of breath and nary a word. The blue of the sky meets the white capped blue-green of the ocean in a sight so awe inspiring that words are insufficient to describe the feelings filling your soul.
Last night we had dinner by the water, one of the pleasures of living near the ocean. You get to sit and watch the boats move down the channel into the marina, and the sea breeze actually feels a bit chilly once the sun starts to disappear. Gulls provide the musical accompaniment, and a few brazen birds stay close hoping for stray morsels. I had lobster so sweet it rivaled dessert. Closing out the meal with an ice cream cone brought dinner and the whole of the day as close to perfection as we can get.
My niece and her boyfriend were here all day yesterday. We toured the Cape from Sandwich to Dennis, and I took them on my favorites rides to my favorite places. From the top of Scargo Tower, they were stunned by the beauty of the view and just stood and stared with intakes of breath and nary a word. The blue of the sky meets the white capped blue-green of the ocean in a sight so awe inspiring that words are insufficient to describe the feelings filling your soul.
Last night we had dinner by the water, one of the pleasures of living near the ocean. You get to sit and watch the boats move down the channel into the marina, and the sea breeze actually feels a bit chilly once the sun starts to disappear. Gulls provide the musical accompaniment, and a few brazen birds stay close hoping for stray morsels. I had lobster so sweet it rivaled dessert. Closing out the meal with an ice cream cone brought dinner and the whole of the day as close to perfection as we can get.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
“I think we should name hurricanes after vegetables we hate.”
Vegetables always had a bad rap when I was a kid. I figure it started way, way back to the first time I was forced to eat a strained vegetable. My mother would sit beside me and coo sweet words, in that funny voice people use with babies, urging me to eat the glutinous mess she was offering on a spoon. There I was, a poor innocent babe in a high chair, being held captive to that spoon and those vegetables. Closing my lips only meant that the whole mess would dribble down my chin to my bib where it would sit and mock me the entire meal. The flying spoon swooping toward me on its way to the hanger usually worked, but once I got a taste of that plane's cargo, I'd just spit out the offending mess where it would then dribble down my chin and join the rest of the mess on my bib.
I got older and left strained food behind. I learned to feed myself, and my mother was forced to change her tactics. It was then that the biggest vegetable blunder of all time was made. When my mother, like most mothers, urged us to eat our vegetables because they are good for us, the vegetable was forever doomed. Honestly, what could mothers have been thinking? I don't know of a single kid who, upon hearing this, made a dash for the wax beans or zucchini. If it was good for us, it had to be bad. That was just about the first kid rule you learned.
Meals became negotiating sessions after that. We would be in deliberation quite a while determining the exact amount of vegetables to be eaten before we could leave the table. We always went for a count: five peas, six green beans or two carrots. My mother always went for forkfuls. Once the compromise was reached, we'd shovel them in and swallow almost without tasting, a trick all kids know from birth, then bolt from the table. We were saved, at least for now.
Asking for seconds on vegetables is one of the great milestones toward adulthood.
I got older and left strained food behind. I learned to feed myself, and my mother was forced to change her tactics. It was then that the biggest vegetable blunder of all time was made. When my mother, like most mothers, urged us to eat our vegetables because they are good for us, the vegetable was forever doomed. Honestly, what could mothers have been thinking? I don't know of a single kid who, upon hearing this, made a dash for the wax beans or zucchini. If it was good for us, it had to be bad. That was just about the first kid rule you learned.
Meals became negotiating sessions after that. We would be in deliberation quite a while determining the exact amount of vegetables to be eaten before we could leave the table. We always went for a count: five peas, six green beans or two carrots. My mother always went for forkfuls. Once the compromise was reached, we'd shovel them in and swallow almost without tasting, a trick all kids know from birth, then bolt from the table. We were saved, at least for now.
Asking for seconds on vegetables is one of the great milestones toward adulthood.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
"I always thought a yard was three feet, then I started mowing the lawn."
On Saturday, in my neighborhood, the outside chores get done, and the division of labor is distinct. The men, and always the men, mow the lawns. The women are the weeders. Men wield all machinery; women wield scissors and hand tools. Men work the yards standing up; women kneel. The accepted garden garb includes wide brim hats and gloves for women. Men have no dress code. Women are also responsible for the insides of each house while the men rest from their arduous task of pushing gas mowers. Besides, men need all their strength to man the barbecues later this evening. Women prepare the meat, the side dishes, the drinks, set the table and serve the meal. Men cook. Women clear the tables, wash the dishes and put them away.
It seems that each generation is setting its own division of labor and blurring the one it inherited. Real men actually wash clothes, man the vacuum and grocery shop. The barbecue, though, remains in the hands of the hunter.
It seems that each generation is setting its own division of labor and blurring the one it inherited. Real men actually wash clothes, man the vacuum and grocery shop. The barbecue, though, remains in the hands of the hunter.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Ain't No Reason: Brett Dennen
I was overwhelmed the first time I heard Brett Dennen. I couldn't pigeon-hole his sound. He reminded me of Dylan but then he didn't; I thought I heard a little Paul Simon but maybe I didn't. What I did hear was this amazing guitar accompanying beautiful lyrics being sung by the most compelling voice.
His first album, simply called Brett Dennen, was released in 2005. His second album, So Much More, is on Dualtone Records and due for release in September.
MP3 File
His first album, simply called Brett Dennen, was released in 2005. His second album, So Much More, is on Dualtone Records and due for release in September.
MP3 File
Time After Time: Eva Cassidy
Eva Cassidy passed away at age 33, but she left behind beautiful music. She had this way of interpreting songs which make them sound fresh and all hers.
This is the title song from a 2000 album, a collection of songs previously unreleased including four live tracks.
MP3 File
This is the title song from a 2000 album, a collection of songs previously unreleased including four live tracks.
MP3 File
"Seven bucks for a movie! The price for an evening of puerile entertainment is preposterous!"
My house is so clean I'm thinking of offering tours. There will, of course, be a minimal charge. See the Amazing House. Tour the antiseptic rooms. Take the white glove inspection. If you forgot yours, white gloves in various sizes are available in the gift shop. Please keep the lines moving and stay on this side of the roped areas. Postcards are available.
Saturday matinees were always so much more than just a movie. We'd walk to the theater in the square, pay our quarters and then push our way through to the candy counter. We always had a dime, good for two bars. The candy had to have staying power. I leaned toward a Sugar Daddy, which took forever to eat, and Good and Plenty. Al, the theater owner, used to patrol the aisles with flashlight at the ready. I remember he always wore a suit coat, white shirt and a bow tie. If you were suspected of anything, he'd flash the light at you and threaten to call your father, a fate none of us wanted. The back rows were reserved for couples making out. The whole theater would be filled with noisy kids throwing candy, and there they'd be, linked lip to lip, oblivious to anything else. I'd always check them out on my way to the bathroom. To a nine or ten year old, that was pretty fascinating stuff. Candy would often fly through the air. JuJu Beads were the best for distance and generally caused a yelp from the target. That, of course, would bring Al running. He'd flash his light at the suspected area, and every one sitting there, yelper included, would look around as if trying to find the source of all that noise. An innocent look was important if you got the beam. Throwers caught red-handed were hauled away by Al who'd drag them up the aisle by the arm. They never returned.
For just a quarter we got a cartoon, a matinee serial, a feature film, the start of sex education, the antics of Al and a theater full of targets. Such a bargain!
Saturday matinees were always so much more than just a movie. We'd walk to the theater in the square, pay our quarters and then push our way through to the candy counter. We always had a dime, good for two bars. The candy had to have staying power. I leaned toward a Sugar Daddy, which took forever to eat, and Good and Plenty. Al, the theater owner, used to patrol the aisles with flashlight at the ready. I remember he always wore a suit coat, white shirt and a bow tie. If you were suspected of anything, he'd flash the light at you and threaten to call your father, a fate none of us wanted. The back rows were reserved for couples making out. The whole theater would be filled with noisy kids throwing candy, and there they'd be, linked lip to lip, oblivious to anything else. I'd always check them out on my way to the bathroom. To a nine or ten year old, that was pretty fascinating stuff. Candy would often fly through the air. JuJu Beads were the best for distance and generally caused a yelp from the target. That, of course, would bring Al running. He'd flash his light at the suspected area, and every one sitting there, yelper included, would look around as if trying to find the source of all that noise. An innocent look was important if you got the beam. Throwers caught red-handed were hauled away by Al who'd drag them up the aisle by the arm. They never returned.
For just a quarter we got a cartoon, a matinee serial, a feature film, the start of sex education, the antics of Al and a theater full of targets. Such a bargain!
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Both Sides Now: Judy Collins
It has taken me forever to finish today's blog so I didn't take time to pick and choose different music. I went with old friends.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Panic at the thought of doing a thing is a challenge to do it."
That noise you hear is me pounding my head against the monitor. Blogger has been especially cantankerous this morning. It took a long, long while to get it to open. After I finally got to the compose page, I wrote my heart out then shut down the browser by mistake. All my words of wisdom, my deep reflections on life and those humorous anecdotes disappeared. Ah, well, such is the life of a blogger.
I don't believe in ghosts or goblins, and I'm not easily scared though there have been a few rapid heart beating occasions. One night I could hear movement in the brush behind my house. I stood at the window and listened for a while then yelled, "Who's out there?" I really didn't expect someone to answer, "It's me, and I'll be in shortly to rob you," but I figured I'd give it a try. The noise continued but stopped every time I yelled. I got my flashlight, went upstairs, a good distance from the noise, opened the window and shined my light. The biggest skunk I've ever seen was waddling its way across my backyard. I felt pretty silly. Another night, Maggie leapt out of bed, went to the top of the stairs and kept barking. I figured someone was roaming around the front yard looking for an easy entry. I also figured Maggie sounded like a deterrent. After a short while, Maggie stopped barking, came back to bed and fell asleep. I was awake a whole lot longer.
I like having that pit in the stomach fear, the kind that comes from a ride which scares me half to death or like when I was a little kid looking at the water just before I dived off the board. It feels so neat to conquer what scares me. I want to sky dive, and I'm leaning toward celebrating my 60th birthday with a jump. I figure it would be fear and exhilaration all wrapped together. I also figure I might just need to be pushed.
I don't believe in ghosts or goblins, and I'm not easily scared though there have been a few rapid heart beating occasions. One night I could hear movement in the brush behind my house. I stood at the window and listened for a while then yelled, "Who's out there?" I really didn't expect someone to answer, "It's me, and I'll be in shortly to rob you," but I figured I'd give it a try. The noise continued but stopped every time I yelled. I got my flashlight, went upstairs, a good distance from the noise, opened the window and shined my light. The biggest skunk I've ever seen was waddling its way across my backyard. I felt pretty silly. Another night, Maggie leapt out of bed, went to the top of the stairs and kept barking. I figured someone was roaming around the front yard looking for an easy entry. I also figured Maggie sounded like a deterrent. After a short while, Maggie stopped barking, came back to bed and fell asleep. I was awake a whole lot longer.
I like having that pit in the stomach fear, the kind that comes from a ride which scares me half to death or like when I was a little kid looking at the water just before I dived off the board. It feels so neat to conquer what scares me. I want to sky dive, and I'm leaning toward celebrating my 60th birthday with a jump. I figure it would be fear and exhilaration all wrapped together. I also figure I might just need to be pushed.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Weightless: Ellis Paul
Ellis Paul is originally from Maine so I consider him local plus he's won a slew of Boston Music Awards. He's a prolific songwriter, and there's almost a poetry feel to his songs. He tells stories and slyly sings a lesson or two. This song is on a couple of albums, Ellis Paul Live and Carnival of Voices.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Hesitation Blues: Dave Van Ronk
The Mayor of MacDougal Street was a founding father of the 1960's folk and blues revivals, and he influenced and inspired too many musicians to begin to list here. I really miss knowing there just might be a new Dave Van Ronk album. His birthday is coming up, June 30th, and I suspect they'll be an outpouring of music and memories.
This cut is from a compilation called Smithsonian Folkways American Roots Collection.
MP3 File
This cut is from a compilation called Smithsonian Folkways American Roots Collection.
MP3 File
"Old age isn't so bad when you consider the alternative."
When I was younger, I used to wonder how it felt to get old. Now that I'm on my way, I have the dubious benefit of an inside scoop. The first indicator was the need for reading glasses. I got to the point where I had to squint so hard to read that I could see very little through slitted eyes. I took some comfort in knowing that this was an after forty phenomenon, not so old I figured. Those lines on my face which seem to appear at more frequent intervals had to be laugh lines, products of good humor, not aging. After that, though, the signs got a bit more difficult to explain away or ignore. I found that after working in the yard or house, I had achy bones and a tired body. I tried blaming the heat, dust, ozone depletion, global warming and too few green vegetables. None of them were all that convincing. I had reached that point where I was forced to acknowledge I was getting older, not old, mind you, just older. I've had to make some adjustments.
Getting down to weed is easy; the plop method is a sure fire winner. Getting up is another story. That takes planning. Spending a couple of days cleaning means a few more days recuperating. The definition of heavy objects is on a downward spiral. The number of trips for hauling groceries from the car to the house is at an all time high. I start yawning at about ten, and if I want to stay up late, I take a nap. I've accepted the grey hairs and started forgetting the brown, less painful that way. I've stopped drinking my nighttime coffee, saves on bathroom trips. Two of my friends are 60, and I've adjusted. I've moved up dinner times, and we go to matinees. I'm on the verge of joining AARP.
Getting down to weed is easy; the plop method is a sure fire winner. Getting up is another story. That takes planning. Spending a couple of days cleaning means a few more days recuperating. The definition of heavy objects is on a downward spiral. The number of trips for hauling groceries from the car to the house is at an all time high. I start yawning at about ten, and if I want to stay up late, I take a nap. I've accepted the grey hairs and started forgetting the brown, less painful that way. I've stopped drinking my nighttime coffee, saves on bathroom trips. Two of my friends are 60, and I've adjusted. I've moved up dinner times, and we go to matinees. I'm on the verge of joining AARP.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Bright Lights and Promises: Janis Ian
Janis Ian is probably best known for a couple of hits: Society's Child, recorded when she was fifteen, and At Seventeen which hit the top three and won a Grammy. In between there were very few hits, and at one point she was dropped from her label. But Janis Ian hasn't disappeared. She continues to tour and write music. She also writes articles for music publications. One of these articles has enraged members of the music industry. She had the nerve to state that peer to peer sharing is actually good for many artists and for the music industry as a whole. You can imagine how well that went over.
This song is taken from Between the Lines, originally released in 1975.
MP3 File
This song is taken from Between the Lines, originally released in 1975.
MP3 File
Heaven Now: Jeff Black
I know, I know, I probably should have known all about Jeff Black before, but I didn't. This album, his newest release, was offered to me, and I took it. Before I did, though, I researched Jeff Black to see if he would fit on Coffee. When I got the album yesterday and played it, I wondered how he's flown under my radar all this time. The first violin notes on this song grabbed me, and I hadn't even heard him sing yet.
This song is a cut from Black's newest, Tin Lily on Dualtone. The songs are so varied I'd be hard pressed to pigeon hole them. They aren't catchy, just a long-lasting mixture of folk, rock and country.
MP3 File
This song is a cut from Black's newest, Tin Lily on Dualtone. The songs are so varied I'd be hard pressed to pigeon hole them. They aren't catchy, just a long-lasting mixture of folk, rock and country.
MP3 File
“Old age: the crown of life, our play's last act.”
The cleaning is progressing well though I'm thinking that's an oxymoron. Today I get the pleasure of washing and waxing the floors. I'm taking this cleaning a little at a time so it will be just about time to start all over again when I finish the last room. Think of it as a Mad Hatter's Cleaning Party moving from room to room rather than cup by cup.
It seems that after reaching a certain age, you get a lot more fashion leeway. When I am really old, I'll wear plaids and prints at the same time. The colors won't even match. I'll wear my shoes with holes because comfort will be far more important than style. If I go out on a snowy day, I might just wear my flannel pajama top. With sneakers, I'll wear short white sox with lace at the top or knee highs folded over. My sweaters will be so old they'll conform to the contours of my body, and I will never throw them away. I'll wear knitted hats at strange angles over tousled hair, and I'll wear t-shirts with outlandish sayings. I might even fore go wearing a bra though I'm not so sure of that last part. I'll carefully choose my wardrobe to appear as eccentric as possible. I figure it will be my way of having fun and enjoying the privileges of being old.
It seems that after reaching a certain age, you get a lot more fashion leeway. When I am really old, I'll wear plaids and prints at the same time. The colors won't even match. I'll wear my shoes with holes because comfort will be far more important than style. If I go out on a snowy day, I might just wear my flannel pajama top. With sneakers, I'll wear short white sox with lace at the top or knee highs folded over. My sweaters will be so old they'll conform to the contours of my body, and I will never throw them away. I'll wear knitted hats at strange angles over tousled hair, and I'll wear t-shirts with outlandish sayings. I might even fore go wearing a bra though I'm not so sure of that last part. I'll carefully choose my wardrobe to appear as eccentric as possible. I figure it will be my way of having fun and enjoying the privileges of being old.
A Word From Your Sponsor
I have been asked to give the sources of the quotes I use. I tried to add it on after the quote but didn't like the way it looked; instead, I'll add it as a comment under the picture of the day.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Mussels in the Corner: Gordon Bok
If you've dropped by often, you know Gordon Bok is a favorite of mine.
This song is from Apples in the Basket.
MP3 File
This song is from Apples in the Basket.
MP3 File
Dirty Old Town: The Ian Campbell Folk Group
The Ian Campbell Folk group was one of the most significant groups to come out of the British folk explosion of the 60's.
Ian Campbell formed the Clarion Skiffle Group in the mid 1950s along with his sister Lorna who was also the singer. They were later joined by guitarist Dave Phillips and banjo player Gordon McCulloch, and by 1958 were known as the Ian Campbell Four. The group became well known on the local folk music scene and played regularly around Birmingham, England. In March of 1965 the group even managed to get a hit single with their rendition of Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin'. The group disbanded in the late 1970's
This songs is the title track of Dirty Old Town (The Ian Campbell Folk Group Anthology) and was written by Ewan MacColl.
MP3 File
Ian Campbell formed the Clarion Skiffle Group in the mid 1950s along with his sister Lorna who was also the singer. They were later joined by guitarist Dave Phillips and banjo player Gordon McCulloch, and by 1958 were known as the Ian Campbell Four. The group became well known on the local folk music scene and played regularly around Birmingham, England. In March of 1965 the group even managed to get a hit single with their rendition of Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A-Changin'. The group disbanded in the late 1970's
This songs is the title track of Dirty Old Town (The Ian Campbell Folk Group Anthology) and was written by Ewan MacColl.
MP3 File
"Nature abhors a vacuum. And so do I."
Glorious is the only way to describe this morning. The rains have finally given way to a dry day. I don't know how long this wonder of a day will last, but I'm reveling in the coolness. Maybe I'll even dance down the middle of the street waving ribbons and wearing fresh flowers in my hair. Look for the one in white gossamer.
Today I brave the beast. Today I clean the house. I have avoided this odious chore with every excuse known to woman. It's too hot, windy or wet just won't wash today. Up from the cellar will come my covered in dust cleaning basket. I'll find music lively enough to keep me moving, and the spiders will just have to pack their bags for more hospitable climes. I can see them now, a bag on each leg, as they move in a single line down the street led by spiders the size of science fiction nightmares. Maybe I should alert the neighbors.
My music collection includes dinner music, moonlight music, weekend music and music for a rainy day. It does not include music for dusting. Let's see what I can put together. The theme song would have to be Clean Up Woman. Then there's Dirty World, a bit too cosmic but it'll work. Dust is perfect. I don't think Woody would mind my using Talking Dustbowl Blues. Rag Mop would fit as would Unwashed & Somewhat Dazed. Ragged and Dirty would be me in the after picture. I'd hope the final cut could be White, Clean and Neat.
Now, where did I put that bucket?
Today I brave the beast. Today I clean the house. I have avoided this odious chore with every excuse known to woman. It's too hot, windy or wet just won't wash today. Up from the cellar will come my covered in dust cleaning basket. I'll find music lively enough to keep me moving, and the spiders will just have to pack their bags for more hospitable climes. I can see them now, a bag on each leg, as they move in a single line down the street led by spiders the size of science fiction nightmares. Maybe I should alert the neighbors.
My music collection includes dinner music, moonlight music, weekend music and music for a rainy day. It does not include music for dusting. Let's see what I can put together. The theme song would have to be Clean Up Woman. Then there's Dirty World, a bit too cosmic but it'll work. Dust is perfect. I don't think Woody would mind my using Talking Dustbowl Blues. Rag Mop would fit as would Unwashed & Somewhat Dazed. Ragged and Dirty would be me in the after picture. I'd hope the final cut could be White, Clean and Neat.
Now, where did I put that bucket?
Sunday, July 23, 2006
“And Summers and Winters scattered like splinters And four or five years slipped away”
How am I faring? Well, I'm hot and sweaty and miserable. The humidity is a pall surrounding my house, my yard, the street and the known world. The little rain we had this early morning just added a bit more moisture to an already saturated air. I want to sit and drink frosty liquids all day.
Selective memory reigns supreme. In the winter I wish for the warmth of a sunny day. Summer can't come too soon I moan as I don socks, lined shoes, mittens, a heavy winter coat and a furry hat. This very moment, though, I want winter. I want to see my breath in the cold air. I want to shiver.
Today is a perfect day to be on the water. Years ago, we used to go and drop anchor at a sandbar not far from Hyannis harbor. We'd stay there until the tide had reduced the sandbar to a foothold. Sometimes we'd even have to put on sweatshirts to ward off the cool ocean breeze. Okay, I'm adding houseboat to my growing list of dream places to live.
Tonight is band concert night.
Selective memory reigns supreme. In the winter I wish for the warmth of a sunny day. Summer can't come too soon I moan as I don socks, lined shoes, mittens, a heavy winter coat and a furry hat. This very moment, though, I want winter. I want to see my breath in the cold air. I want to shiver.
Today is a perfect day to be on the water. Years ago, we used to go and drop anchor at a sandbar not far from Hyannis harbor. We'd stay there until the tide had reduced the sandbar to a foothold. Sometimes we'd even have to put on sweatshirts to ward off the cool ocean breeze. Okay, I'm adding houseboat to my growing list of dream places to live.
Tonight is band concert night.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
“She had over 200 herbs in her garden--over 40 varieties of lavender, and 20 varieties of basil.”
I had only one cup of coffee this morning, a first. The humidity is so stifling that even a freshly brewed pot of coffee quickly lost its appeal. That coffee, though, will have another incarnation. It will become today's ice coffee instead.
It is a take to the back roads sort of day. Cars filled with vacationers will be on all the main roads looking for a diversion, any diversion. The beaches will have only a few souls who don't mind a sunless day. Every miniature golf course will have lines; the movie theaters will be filled; the gift shops will see a sudden surge in snow globes, and enough fish and chips will be sold to feed a small town in the Midwest. I keep seeing a line of dancing ice cream cones.
A trip to the Lavender Farm is planned for later. I have in mind replacing the lavender Gracie strewed all over the living room the other night when left to her own devices. The farm is way back in the woods and is its own destination. Wandering the grounds is a joy of sights and smells. The last time I was there I bought the farm; we're talking denotation here, not connotation.
It is a take to the back roads sort of day. Cars filled with vacationers will be on all the main roads looking for a diversion, any diversion. The beaches will have only a few souls who don't mind a sunless day. Every miniature golf course will have lines; the movie theaters will be filled; the gift shops will see a sudden surge in snow globes, and enough fish and chips will be sold to feed a small town in the Midwest. I keep seeing a line of dancing ice cream cones.
A trip to the Lavender Farm is planned for later. I have in mind replacing the lavender Gracie strewed all over the living room the other night when left to her own devices. The farm is way back in the woods and is its own destination. Wandering the grounds is a joy of sights and smells. The last time I was there I bought the farm; we're talking denotation here, not connotation.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Whispering Jesse: John Denver
My cousin Erin pointed out that I have neglected to post any John Denver. I explained I am not a big Denver fan, and she told me to try this song. Erin, you're right. If all of Denver's songs were like this, I would be converted.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Someday Some Morning Some Time: Billy Bragg and Wilco
This is from Mermaid Avenue Vol. II and continues what was started in the first Mermaid Avenue album, putting Woody Guthrie lyrics to music written and performed by the odd joining of British singer Billy Bragg and the American band Wilco.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"A house that does not have one worn, comfy chair in it is soulless."
If I designed my dream house, it would have a a screened porch wrapped around each side of the house. Off the kitchen would be a pantry with plenty of room for all the dishes I seem to have accumulated and enough outlets for all my gadgets. The screening room in the basement would have comfy seats, a huge screen and a popcorn cart. I'd also serve Good and Plenty, Raisinettes and Nonpareils. The kitchen and master bedroom would have fireplaces, and the one in the living room would be open on all sides. In my kitchen would be enough bookcases to hold all my cookbooks. I'd arrange the books in categories but not alphabetically. The greenhouse would be off the dining room and face the south. My oversized plants would finally have a comfortable home. The den would be a cozy room with a window seat and oversized furniture perfect for winter naps. Off my bedroom would be a balcony where I could sit at night and watch the stars. The guest rooms would have windows overlooking the garden and be warm and inviting with hand knit afghans, fresh flowers and new magazines. The back deck would be the perfect spot for morning coffee and cold summer lunches. I'd have a summer kitchen. The backyard would have a patio with tables, chairs and colorful umbrellas. Off to the corner would be a barbecue big enough to serve the crew of a small battleship and beside it would be a refrigerator holding frosty drinks. I'd make sure the gazebo was large enough for a table, chairs and maybe even a place to sleep on hot summer nights. The trees would be filled with chimes and the gardens with whirly-gigs. The fountains would make sweet sounds as the water tumbled. Music would surround the house and fill every room. It would be a taste of heaven.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Tiny Sparrow: Peter, Paul and Mary
I remember my first Peter, Paul and Mary album was also their first release. It was in 1962. I call it the year I found folk music.
This song is from 1963's Movin.
MP3 File
This song is from 1963's Movin.
MP3 File
"The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page. "
As I grow older, my memories seem to acquire a glow of unreality. Long ago incidents and events seem filtered, as if I were wearing mind blinders. The best parts of my life's adventures shine. This is how it should be. I want to grow old with sweet memories.
Yesterday I spent a couple of hours planning a trip. I don't know if I'll take it, but the planning was just too much fun to stop. Yesterday I traveled to Timbuktu and wandered its dirt streets. I stopped to see the museum, ate local food and saw the sun set on the desert from the roof of my hotel. When I was a kid, Timbuku always seemed mystical to me, a desert Atlantis. People talked about from here to Timbuktu as if it were at the ends of the earth and as far away as the moon. It was in geography class in the fifth grade when I found out it was real, that I could actually travel to the ends of the earth. I didn't get there when I lived in Africa. I'm guessing that buried deeply was the idea that it needed to be a trip of its own, not jumbled in with all the other memories. Yesterday I spent the afternoon in Timbuktu.
Yesterday I spent a couple of hours planning a trip. I don't know if I'll take it, but the planning was just too much fun to stop. Yesterday I traveled to Timbuktu and wandered its dirt streets. I stopped to see the museum, ate local food and saw the sun set on the desert from the roof of my hotel. When I was a kid, Timbuku always seemed mystical to me, a desert Atlantis. People talked about from here to Timbuktu as if it were at the ends of the earth and as far away as the moon. It was in geography class in the fifth grade when I found out it was real, that I could actually travel to the ends of the earth. I didn't get there when I lived in Africa. I'm guessing that buried deeply was the idea that it needed to be a trip of its own, not jumbled in with all the other memories. Yesterday I spent the afternoon in Timbuktu.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Down on Penny's Farm: The Bently Boys
Do you have a sense of deja vu here?
This song was recorded in 1929 for Columbia and appears on two different anthologies: Hard Times Come Again No More, vol 2 and Anthology of American Folk Music from Smithsonian.
Not much is known about the Bently Boys other than that they were possibly from North Carolina. The song Penny's Farm, which deals with the plight of a sharecropper, has evolved over the years. Gid Tanner and the Skillet Lickers recorded it as Tanner's Farm. Bob Dylan adapted the theme to create Maggie's Farm.
MP3 File
This song was recorded in 1929 for Columbia and appears on two different anthologies: Hard Times Come Again No More, vol 2 and Anthology of American Folk Music from Smithsonian.
Not much is known about the Bently Boys other than that they were possibly from North Carolina. The song Penny's Farm, which deals with the plight of a sharecropper, has evolved over the years. Gid Tanner and the Skillet Lickers recorded it as Tanner's Farm. Bob Dylan adapted the theme to create Maggie's Farm.
MP3 File
The Moon's a Harsh Mistress: Jimmy LaFave
The Judy Collins cover of this song has always been my favorite, but this one comes close.
The song is from a 2001 album called Texoma.
MP3 File
The song is from a 2001 album called Texoma.
MP3 File
“Those that say you can't take it with you never saw a car packed for a vacation trip.”
We had mostly stay- in- a- cottage family vacations, but one vacation sticks in a front drawer of my memory, our trip to Niagara Falls. It was the first time we ever stayed in a motel, and we ate in restaurants, an unheard of luxury in those days. We did all the touristy stuff. We donned raincoats, hats and funny shoes to walk around and beside the falls. We stood on a platform so close to one fall your whole body could feel the tremendous power of the water. We went to Madame Toussaud's Wax Museum where my dad stood at the ticket window and kept repeating in a progressively louder voice six tickets, four adult and two children, as he was being completely ignored by the woman behind the window. Two old ladies were sitting on a nearby bench and laughing. My dad was getting more and more frustrated until he realized the figure was wax. Then he was a bit chagrined, a perfect word I didn't learn until much later. I remember the chamber of horrors and the warning on the wall about entering. I was a bold kid and walked right it. It was gruesome, and I loved it.
We stayed on the shores of Lake Ontario one night, and it looked as big as an ocean to me. I remember the water lapped the shore just like at the beach. The cottage was big and old. We also stopped at the St. Lawrence Seaway and the Eisenhower Lock, and I remember my dad explaining how the lock worked as we stood watching a ship going through.
It was a long time in the car. We played twenty questions, the license plate game and harassed each other. My dad forever threatened to stop the car, and he'd swipe his hand toward the back seat but never got one of us.
We went home by way of the Mohawk Trail, but it was at night, and we were sleeping anyway.
We stayed on the shores of Lake Ontario one night, and it looked as big as an ocean to me. I remember the water lapped the shore just like at the beach. The cottage was big and old. We also stopped at the St. Lawrence Seaway and the Eisenhower Lock, and I remember my dad explaining how the lock worked as we stood watching a ship going through.
It was a long time in the car. We played twenty questions, the license plate game and harassed each other. My dad forever threatened to stop the car, and he'd swipe his hand toward the back seat but never got one of us.
We went home by way of the Mohawk Trail, but it was at night, and we were sleeping anyway.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Are You Going to the Country: Karen Dalton
This is from Dalton's second album, In My Own Town, released around 1968. She recorded only one other. Karen Dalton was part of the early 60's folk scene. I've used this Fred Neil quote before but it is too perfect not to repeat. "Karen has been my favorite female vocalist as well as a heavy influence on my own style of singing since the early sixties. I first picked up on her one night in the village at the "Cock & Bull" (later the Bitter End). Her voice grabbed me immediately. She did "Blues On The Ceiling" (which is my song) with so much feeling that if she told me she had written it herself I would have believed her. After the set Dino Valenti took me up to Karen's place. Later that night we jammed. Karen was like a letter from home. Her voice is so unique, to describe it would take a poet. All I can say is she sure can sing the shit out of the blues"
MP3 File
MP3 File
Torn Screen Door: David Francey
David Francey is a favorite of mine. He is a Canadian folk singer from Quebec who is gifted with the ability to paint pictures with his words and music. He has this pure, simple sound which reminds me of an earlier time in folk music. His sound is almost personal.
In Canada he has won the Juno Award, Canada's version of the Grammy.
MP3 File
In Canada he has won the Juno Award, Canada's version of the Grammy.
MP3 File
"It's so hot even my fake plants are wilting."
The humidity is hanging low enough to see and touch. I feel like an extra in the first Fog movie. I'm keeping a wary eye for cutless bearing pirates.
Gracie has become the neighborhood Quasimodo. She has learned all too well how to ring the bells. She rings, and I jump. She goes out and not long after scratches the door so I let her back in the house. A few minutes later the bells sound yet again, and the cycle repeats. I figure she likes to see me jumping to her wishes far more than she needs to go outside.
My shoes have finally reached the throw away point. The toe hole in my left shoe has expanded into toes' hole, and the sides too have air-conditioning. When I walked through the yard, sand somehow always ends up in my shoe, and my toes grind. Shoes getting comfy as slippers is a sure sign they have come to the end of their days.
My neighborhood is really quiet. I haven't heard a car, a dog bark or a mower. Nothing seems to be moving. My mind is addled by the heat, and it has taken me forever to get this written. The anonymous they are predicting rain and a cold front later. I'm thinking that anything in the mid-80's could be construed as a cold front. Maybe I'll have to put a blanket on the bed. Oh, no, I'm beginning to lose it. Bring me ice cream. Save me!
Gracie has become the neighborhood Quasimodo. She has learned all too well how to ring the bells. She rings, and I jump. She goes out and not long after scratches the door so I let her back in the house. A few minutes later the bells sound yet again, and the cycle repeats. I figure she likes to see me jumping to her wishes far more than she needs to go outside.
My shoes have finally reached the throw away point. The toe hole in my left shoe has expanded into toes' hole, and the sides too have air-conditioning. When I walked through the yard, sand somehow always ends up in my shoe, and my toes grind. Shoes getting comfy as slippers is a sure sign they have come to the end of their days.
My neighborhood is really quiet. I haven't heard a car, a dog bark or a mower. Nothing seems to be moving. My mind is addled by the heat, and it has taken me forever to get this written. The anonymous they are predicting rain and a cold front later. I'm thinking that anything in the mid-80's could be construed as a cold front. Maybe I'll have to put a blanket on the bed. Oh, no, I'm beginning to lose it. Bring me ice cream. Save me!
Monday, July 17, 2006
Little Drops of Water: Edith North Johnson and Henry Brown
Edith North Johnson, who lived in St. Louis all her life, wasn't a professional singer, but she tracked 18 great blues sides in 1928 and 1929 for QRS, Paramount and Okeh. She was married to Jesse Johnson who owned a music store and was a record producer as well as a scout for Okeh Records.
Henry Brown, on piano, was a barrelhouse player who recorded in 1929 for Rodgers and Brunswick and Paramount. He composed this song in the late 1920's. It was recorded in 1961.
This gem is on Classic Blues vol. 2, an album from Smithsonian-Folkways. The album is filled with these great blues songs that move feet, shoulders and heads as you listen.
MP3 File
Henry Brown, on piano, was a barrelhouse player who recorded in 1929 for Rodgers and Brunswick and Paramount. He composed this song in the late 1920's. It was recorded in 1961.
This gem is on Classic Blues vol. 2, an album from Smithsonian-Folkways. The album is filled with these great blues songs that move feet, shoulders and heads as you listen.
MP3 File
Jesus Gave Me Water: The Five Blind Boys of Mississippi
The Five Blind Boys of Mississippi began singing in the 1930's as The Cotton Blossom Singers when they were students at the Piney Woods School. After graduation they decided to go professional, eventually dropped the Mississippi, became The Five Blind Boys and began recording in 1946. They had a giant hit with Our Father and recorded 7 singles and five albums for Peacock through the '60s.
Singers were replaced over time, and the Blind Boys continued recording into the 1990's.
MP3 File
Singers were replaced over time, and the Blind Boys continued recording into the 1990's.
MP3 File
"Heat, ma'am! it was so dreadful here, that I found there was nothing left for it but to take off my flesh and sit in my bones. "
Sitting in a dark room trying to stave off the heat is about the most energy I can expend. Not a whisper of a breeze breaks through, and the only sound is the buzzing of insects. Today is made for sitting in front of the fan languidly turning pages and sipping ice coffee. I'll put on some music and just let the day pass into night.
I have a few of those hand fans which make you feel like Scarlett O'Hara or an extra in an old Southern movie. Everytime I drag one out I'm tempted to say, "Fiddlesticks." In my heat produced delirium I see myself as an Egyptian queen sitting regally on my throne while being fanned by two burly men wearing brocade loincloths and gold armbands, no oasis or ocean in my mirage.
If I lived near a lake, I'd put my chair in the water under a shade tree and dangle my feet.
I have a few of those hand fans which make you feel like Scarlett O'Hara or an extra in an old Southern movie. Everytime I drag one out I'm tempted to say, "Fiddlesticks." In my heat produced delirium I see myself as an Egyptian queen sitting regally on my throne while being fanned by two burly men wearing brocade loincloths and gold armbands, no oasis or ocean in my mirage.
If I lived near a lake, I'd put my chair in the water under a shade tree and dangle my feet.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
"I never could have thought of it, To have a little bug all lit, And made to go on wings."
Already I've been to the grocery store, made potato salad, washed the dishes and cleaned up what was left of the basket Gracie tore apart while I was otherwise occupied. I admonished her, and she wagged her tail, happy for the attention. Tonight is band concert night, and the theme for dinner is Southern hospitality. My contribution to dinner is sweet potato salad and corn bread. We'll follow our Sunday night routine and arrive early, set up the chairs and table, pour our drinks, toast the evening then sit back and enjoy. It is the perfect summer evening.
The fireflies are here. My backyard is filled with their lights blinking in and out of the trees, and I lose myself in their wonder as I watch them light up the night. When I was very young, the field below my house would fill with these tiny bits of wonder, and I thought their blinking lights were proof that fairies were real. Learning that they were bugs never diminished the marvel.
Bugs and snakes were part of our summers. We'd run through the field scaring up grasshoppers and try to catch them on the fly. We'd hold them in our closed hands and peek through our fingers to watch them. Darning needles would flit too fast for us to catch them. My sister used to be afraid they'd sew her lips and would cover her mouth when they were around. Garter snakes were our most common finds, and we'd use them to scare each other before we'd let them go. We'd hold them in our fingers and make frightening noises as we'd run at each other.
Being a kid during the summer was always so much fun.
The fireflies are here. My backyard is filled with their lights blinking in and out of the trees, and I lose myself in their wonder as I watch them light up the night. When I was very young, the field below my house would fill with these tiny bits of wonder, and I thought their blinking lights were proof that fairies were real. Learning that they were bugs never diminished the marvel.
Bugs and snakes were part of our summers. We'd run through the field scaring up grasshoppers and try to catch them on the fly. We'd hold them in our closed hands and peek through our fingers to watch them. Darning needles would flit too fast for us to catch them. My sister used to be afraid they'd sew her lips and would cover her mouth when they were around. Garter snakes were our most common finds, and we'd use them to scare each other before we'd let them go. We'd hold them in our fingers and make frightening noises as we'd run at each other.
Being a kid during the summer was always so much fun.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
"In order to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe."
I have no idea why, but I started thinking about pies this morning, all kinds of pies. I went looking for a recipe yesterday, and that may have triggered this pie thing. Regardless, I am stuck with pies on the brain.
For my family, tradition means a lemon meringue pie at Thanksgiving. It may not have been on the original menu, but I think the pumpkin and squash pies would have gone home in doggie bags with the Indians had the Pilgrims been blessed with but a single taste. My dad loved apple pie with a chunk of cheddar or hot from the oven with vanilla ice cream. My sister likes savory pies but not double crusted dessert pies. As for me, after the lemon meringue, I'm a blueberry fan. Rhubarb pie shows up this time of year but does nothing for me. Without copious amounts of sugar, you're just eating a plant. Boston Cream Pie is really a cake so it needs to be struck from the list. Shepherd's pie is another favorite for dinner, not dessert, but anything with mashed potatoes is tops on my list. Pi is a mathematical term about which I have no real understanding, besides it's missing an e. I have no idea who decided that dessert pies have to be round.
Steak and kidney pie will never make my list. I have this thing about internal body parts being on the menu. I make a hot and sweet meat pie which is so good it defies description. I know mince meat pie is a dessert but what's with the suet? Doesn't that make it jump a category?
I made a paw paw pie when I was in Africa, and it tasted just like apple. My mother always made turds with the leftover crusts. She added sugar and cinnamon then rolled up the pieces and baked them. I still do that with my pieces and still call them turds. I have no idea where that name came from, but I suspect my dad had something to do with it.
It seems that people always want bigger pieces of the pie. If they were actually talking about dessert, who could blame them? I have no idea who thought of the easy as pie thing, but I'm guessing whoever did never had to roll out the crust.
I'll leave pizza pie, mud pies, moon pies and pie charts for another day.
For my family, tradition means a lemon meringue pie at Thanksgiving. It may not have been on the original menu, but I think the pumpkin and squash pies would have gone home in doggie bags with the Indians had the Pilgrims been blessed with but a single taste. My dad loved apple pie with a chunk of cheddar or hot from the oven with vanilla ice cream. My sister likes savory pies but not double crusted dessert pies. As for me, after the lemon meringue, I'm a blueberry fan. Rhubarb pie shows up this time of year but does nothing for me. Without copious amounts of sugar, you're just eating a plant. Boston Cream Pie is really a cake so it needs to be struck from the list. Shepherd's pie is another favorite for dinner, not dessert, but anything with mashed potatoes is tops on my list. Pi is a mathematical term about which I have no real understanding, besides it's missing an e. I have no idea who decided that dessert pies have to be round.
Steak and kidney pie will never make my list. I have this thing about internal body parts being on the menu. I make a hot and sweet meat pie which is so good it defies description. I know mince meat pie is a dessert but what's with the suet? Doesn't that make it jump a category?
I made a paw paw pie when I was in Africa, and it tasted just like apple. My mother always made turds with the leftover crusts. She added sugar and cinnamon then rolled up the pieces and baked them. I still do that with my pieces and still call them turds. I have no idea where that name came from, but I suspect my dad had something to do with it.
It seems that people always want bigger pieces of the pie. If they were actually talking about dessert, who could blame them? I have no idea who thought of the easy as pie thing, but I'm guessing whoever did never had to roll out the crust.
I'll leave pizza pie, mud pies, moon pies and pie charts for another day.
Friday, July 14, 2006
“Baseball was, is and always will be to me the best game in the world.”
If you looked in the dictionary under the word morning, you'd find a description of today's. It is perfect, much like Adam and Eve must have experienced on a daily basis before that snake interfered.
Usually August is spider month, but my house already looks like a set from some science fiction movie. Webs criss-cross from one stationary object to another, across ceilings and up the stairs. I move around every few minutes hoping the horde of eight-leggeds won't locate me. Yesterday I saw two which could have been ridden if saddled. I have begun to compete with Miss Haversham but find the wedding dress a bit cumbersome.
I love baseball, and I love the Red Sox. The first time I saw Fenway Park at night I thought it a fairy land filled with bright lights and the greenest grass ever grown. I just stood with my mouth wide open in amazement. I still feel the same way and can remember just about every game I've seen at the park. My Dad once took me to a night game, and we had sky box seats. I could see everything and felt regal in the rarified air. Sitting in the bleachers is like sitting with all your friends and neighbors. We were once right behind home plate, and you can't get much closer to baseball than that. I could hear the ball whack the catcher's mitt and the under the breath mutterings of the batters. I watch almost every Red Sox game. I yell, applaud and groan. Gracie sometimes lifts her head but mostly she's used to my sudden outbreaks. I remember driving home in 1967 and listening to the Sox on the radio that very last weekend of the season. Every time they got a hit, every car on the road honked. A Sox run meant a stream of honking filling the air for what seemed liked miles. When the game was over and the Sox had won the pennant, cars stopped and people got out and cheered. Strangers hugged. It was unforgettable.
Usually August is spider month, but my house already looks like a set from some science fiction movie. Webs criss-cross from one stationary object to another, across ceilings and up the stairs. I move around every few minutes hoping the horde of eight-leggeds won't locate me. Yesterday I saw two which could have been ridden if saddled. I have begun to compete with Miss Haversham but find the wedding dress a bit cumbersome.
I love baseball, and I love the Red Sox. The first time I saw Fenway Park at night I thought it a fairy land filled with bright lights and the greenest grass ever grown. I just stood with my mouth wide open in amazement. I still feel the same way and can remember just about every game I've seen at the park. My Dad once took me to a night game, and we had sky box seats. I could see everything and felt regal in the rarified air. Sitting in the bleachers is like sitting with all your friends and neighbors. We were once right behind home plate, and you can't get much closer to baseball than that. I could hear the ball whack the catcher's mitt and the under the breath mutterings of the batters. I watch almost every Red Sox game. I yell, applaud and groan. Gracie sometimes lifts her head but mostly she's used to my sudden outbreaks. I remember driving home in 1967 and listening to the Sox on the radio that very last weekend of the season. Every time they got a hit, every car on the road honked. A Sox run meant a stream of honking filling the air for what seemed liked miles. When the game was over and the Sox had won the pennant, cars stopped and people got out and cheered. Strangers hugged. It was unforgettable.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Angel of the Morning: Nina Simone
Nina Simone is one singer I'd love to have heard in concert. She could sing just about any song be it folk, pop, rock or jazz and make it sound better than you could ever have imagined.
She recorded her first album, Jazz as Played in an Exclusive Side Street Club, in 1958. A single from that album, I Love You Porgy, became a hit and sold over a million copies. That was the beginning of an amazing career.
MP3 File
She recorded her first album, Jazz as Played in an Exclusive Side Street Club, in 1958. A single from that album, I Love You Porgy, became a hit and sold over a million copies. That was the beginning of an amazing career.
MP3 File
Love Will Endure: Patrick Sky
Settling into New York's Greenwich Village in the early-1960s, Sky became an important member of the growing folk community. His self-titled debut album, released in 1965, included several original tunes including Many A Mile, which was adopted as the title track of an album recorded by his then-girlfriend, Buffy Sainte-Marie. This song, Love Will Endure, was covered by The Blues Project on their 1967 album, Live At Town Hall.
Sky was also one of those responsible for helping John Hurt be heard by a new audience.
He recorded four or so albums then disappeared for a while, but has started performing and recording again.
MP3 File
Sky was also one of those responsible for helping John Hurt be heard by a new audience.
He recorded four or so albums then disappeared for a while, but has started performing and recording again.
MP3 File
"I like bubbles and the whole thing. That's the fun of taking a bath."
The monitor is the only light in the room on this rainy, dark day. The rain is intermittent. I hear the whisper of rain drops and bird songs then the cadence changes, and I can hear the heavier drops and the leaves. Days like today seem to have been designed for walking in the rain.
I don't know the exact moment we move into the beginnings of adulthood, but I suspect it might be when we begin minding being dirty or wet or when a spot on clothing no longer represents time well spent. We'd hike in the woods, pick blueberries, play softball and roll down grassy hills to get dizzy without changing our clothes even once. Being dirty and sweaty at the end of the day meant a good day, a fun day. It also meant a bath which usually took forever as there was so much to do. First, I'd lie in the tub with my head under water to see how long I could breath. Then I'd run the water so the tub was so high it would sometimes overflow, but you need a lot of water to be buoyant. Once the water was high enough, I'd practice floating. Splashing was an anytime event. I'd find my target and go for the gold. I don't remember soap in all of this. I just remember all the fun I'd had, wrinkled fingers and a very wet floor.
I don't know the exact moment we move into the beginnings of adulthood, but I suspect it might be when we begin minding being dirty or wet or when a spot on clothing no longer represents time well spent. We'd hike in the woods, pick blueberries, play softball and roll down grassy hills to get dizzy without changing our clothes even once. Being dirty and sweaty at the end of the day meant a good day, a fun day. It also meant a bath which usually took forever as there was so much to do. First, I'd lie in the tub with my head under water to see how long I could breath. Then I'd run the water so the tub was so high it would sometimes overflow, but you need a lot of water to be buoyant. Once the water was high enough, I'd practice floating. Splashing was an anytime event. I'd find my target and go for the gold. I don't remember soap in all of this. I just remember all the fun I'd had, wrinkled fingers and a very wet floor.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
"Do you have potatoes growing in your ears?"
My mother used to mix the carrots with the mashed potatoes. It was her way of getting us to eat vegetables. I never really liked the combination though the color was kind of neat. Carrotless mashed potatoes were fun, sort of like with Richard Dreyfus in Close Encounters. Though we weren't as talented as he, we always made a well for the gravy, and it was a game to see how long we could hold the dam. American Chop Suey was a favorite. It was a single dish with hamburger, bean sprouts and whatever else my mother could find in the recesses of the fridge. It tasted different every time we ate it. Fried dough was a Friday night special, the no meat night. We'd stand around the electric fry pan waiting for that dough to turn golden brown then slather it with butter. As we grew older, our tastes changed, and the vegetables came out of hiding. American chop suey disappeared from the menu. My mother stopped needing to stretch the meat. Meals became far less fun and far more functional. Childhood was definitely over when gravy cascaded down the sides of the potato mound, and we didn't care.
I never learned to play a musical instrument. I can't even kazoo and make it sound like anything recognizable. Humming is out of the question, and when I whistle, dogs come running. I did play the triangle but decided not to pursue it as a career. If I could go back, I'd learn to play the piano.
I never learned to play a musical instrument. I can't even kazoo and make it sound like anything recognizable. Humming is out of the question, and when I whistle, dogs come running. I did play the triangle but decided not to pursue it as a career. If I could go back, I'd learn to play the piano.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Darcy Farrow: Steve Gillette
Darcy Farrow was written by Steve Gillette and Tom Campbell and recorded in 1966 by Ian & Sylvia. His own self-titled first album was released in 1968, and he has been recording since. Since 1989, he has been recording with his wife, Cindy Mangsen. Their latest album, Being There, was released this year.
MP3 File
MP3 File
“I go running when I have to. When the ice cream truck is doing sixty.”
Gracie has more of a social life than I. She has a play date today with another Boxer at the dog park. I hope that Gracie will run down her batteries and be less manic on her walk later. She tends to twist and jump in the air, eat her leash or your hand if it gets in the way.
Summer and ice cream are a match made in heaven. As a kid, I started out with Hoodsie's, chocolate and vanilla ice cream in a cup complete with wooden spoon. They were easy to eat so I moved to cones, a more difficult category. That mastery took a bit longer. The cone would be wrapped in a napkin by my mom in hopes of catching the drips. It never really worked, and my fingers would get so covered in ice cream they'd stick together. I'd lick one side, and the other would drip. My tongue just wasn't faster than the melting ice cream. Just when I'd think I had it down, the bottom would leak, and I just couldn't handle leaks on two fronts. It took me a long while to master the licking the cone skill, but once I did, not a drop of that precious ice cream went anywhere but my mouth. I have no favorite ice cream but rather favor whatever I happen to be eating. I prefer sugar cones and know enough to block the bottom hole with my finger. Any summer evening reaches close to perfection when it includes a trip to the ice cream shop.
Summer and ice cream are a match made in heaven. As a kid, I started out with Hoodsie's, chocolate and vanilla ice cream in a cup complete with wooden spoon. They were easy to eat so I moved to cones, a more difficult category. That mastery took a bit longer. The cone would be wrapped in a napkin by my mom in hopes of catching the drips. It never really worked, and my fingers would get so covered in ice cream they'd stick together. I'd lick one side, and the other would drip. My tongue just wasn't faster than the melting ice cream. Just when I'd think I had it down, the bottom would leak, and I just couldn't handle leaks on two fronts. It took me a long while to master the licking the cone skill, but once I did, not a drop of that precious ice cream went anywhere but my mouth. I have no favorite ice cream but rather favor whatever I happen to be eating. I prefer sugar cones and know enough to block the bottom hole with my finger. Any summer evening reaches close to perfection when it includes a trip to the ice cream shop.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Every Long Journey: Ann Reed
A while back I posted Bill Staines' cover of this song. I learned from Greg, a long time Coffee friend, that it had been written by a friend of his, Ann Reed. I also learned it had been written to honor Ann Bancroft who, with Norwegian polar explorer Liv Arnesen, became the first women in history to ski and sail across Antarctica’s landmass—completing a 94-day, 1,717-mile trek.
Greg sent me this song, and, once I heard it, I was hooked on Ann Reed. How in the heck did I not know her? I went to her web site and immediately bought some albums. I read that she has been the recipient of every major music award in Minnesota and wondered why she hasn't a wider audience with this wonderfully powerful voice.
Ann Reed gave permission for me to post this song, and I am pleased to introduce her to you. I suspect you might just mosey on over and pick up a few albums for yourselves. This cut is from By Request.
MP3 File
Greg sent me this song, and, once I heard it, I was hooked on Ann Reed. How in the heck did I not know her? I went to her web site and immediately bought some albums. I read that she has been the recipient of every major music award in Minnesota and wondered why she hasn't a wider audience with this wonderfully powerful voice.
Ann Reed gave permission for me to post this song, and I am pleased to introduce her to you. I suspect you might just mosey on over and pick up a few albums for yourselves. This cut is from By Request.
MP3 File
Farewell (Fare Thee Well): Lonnie Donegan
Lonnie Donegan was a rock and roll pioneer in England who ruled the musical charts during the 1950's. He was also the king of skiffle which he once described as, "... a mixture of music, it's a mongrel music." During the 1950's skiffle was, with its guitar-driven rhythm, tea-chest basses and washboard percussion, hugely popular.
Some of Donegan's top 30 hits included Cumberland Gap, Puttin' on the Style and Battle of New Orleans. Even Elvis recorded one of his songs, I'm Never Gonna Fall in Love Again.
Lonnie Donegan passed away in 2002 not long after his music was reissued and had become hits yet again.
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Some of Donegan's top 30 hits included Cumberland Gap, Puttin' on the Style and Battle of New Orleans. Even Elvis recorded one of his songs, I'm Never Gonna Fall in Love Again.
Lonnie Donegan passed away in 2002 not long after his music was reissued and had become hits yet again.
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"Here they are -- THE BEATLES!"
Gracie seems to think that I can read minds, or at least her mind. This is the way it goes. She wants out, needs out, so she stands at the door expecting me to hear her silent pleas. I generally miss the calls so she finds a convenient spot on the floor. Okay, I should have said that's how it used to go. My friend, hearing of my plight, gave me poochie bells. They hang on the back of the front door, and the hope is, after repetition and modeling, the dog will ring the bells to signal the need to go outside. For the last week or two I'd stand at the door and say, "Outside, ring the bells," to Gracie after which I'd ring the bells. She'd look at me as if I were crazy then impatiently scratch the door. Well, the other day, I heard the tintinnabulation of the bells, bells and let Gracie out all the while heaping profuse praise at her accomplishment. I admit, though, I suspected she just sniffed the bells and they happened to ring. Well, yesterday she rang them again, and I patted her, praised her musical talents and let her outside. Another coincidence? Today they have rung enough to make Poe proud. Errant wind? We'll see!
Gracie and her training efforts have led me to The Ed Sullivan Show. He'd often have trained dogs wearing tutus as one of his acts. They were usually poodles. I think they are about the only dogs who can wear tutus and look good. They'd do a conga line, jump through hoops and dance on cue. Watching Ed Sullivan was a Sunday night ritual in most families. Where else could you see jugglers spinning dishes or flinging giant hoops? How about unicyclists or acrobats? I know the high point will always be The Beatles, but I still miss Topo Gigio!
Gracie and her training efforts have led me to The Ed Sullivan Show. He'd often have trained dogs wearing tutus as one of his acts. They were usually poodles. I think they are about the only dogs who can wear tutus and look good. They'd do a conga line, jump through hoops and dance on cue. Watching Ed Sullivan was a Sunday night ritual in most families. Where else could you see jugglers spinning dishes or flinging giant hoops? How about unicyclists or acrobats? I know the high point will always be The Beatles, but I still miss Topo Gigio!
Sunday, July 09, 2006
"The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea. "
A late post today as Gracie and I were off Cape for the weekend. We saw the two mile line waiting to get on as we sailed off. I'm guessing on this hot, lazy Sunday the occupants of those cars are now on the beaches wiping sand off their sandwiches and slattering themselves with sunscreen.
My mother always made peppers and eggs when we went to the beach. She'd also make sandwiches, usually bologna or ham, bring chips, pickles, rolls for the pepper and egg, fruit and maybe a few Hostess somethings for dessert. We'd stay at the beach all day and never get bored. We'd dig in the sand, collect shells, walk the beach and kick water at each other. The tartan jug was always filled with orange Zarex, and we'd generally want a drink long before we got to the beach. Getting to our spot meant everyone was a Sherpa. My dad took the heavy stuff, and the rest'd be divided. We'd follow along in the sand lugging our burdens until my dad found exactly the right spot. The longer it took, the more we groused. Finally, my dad was happy and we'd drop everything and run to the water. My mother and father would put down the blanket, weigh the edges, put up the umbrella and settle in for the long haul. At the end of the day, we'd repack and haul all the way back to the parking lot. At the car, my dad would clean off our feet so we'd leave the sand where it belonged. We'd climb in the car, fight for the windows and be asleep almost as soon as we pulled out of the lot.
My mother always made peppers and eggs when we went to the beach. She'd also make sandwiches, usually bologna or ham, bring chips, pickles, rolls for the pepper and egg, fruit and maybe a few Hostess somethings for dessert. We'd stay at the beach all day and never get bored. We'd dig in the sand, collect shells, walk the beach and kick water at each other. The tartan jug was always filled with orange Zarex, and we'd generally want a drink long before we got to the beach. Getting to our spot meant everyone was a Sherpa. My dad took the heavy stuff, and the rest'd be divided. We'd follow along in the sand lugging our burdens until my dad found exactly the right spot. The longer it took, the more we groused. Finally, my dad was happy and we'd drop everything and run to the water. My mother and father would put down the blanket, weigh the edges, put up the umbrella and settle in for the long haul. At the end of the day, we'd repack and haul all the way back to the parking lot. At the car, my dad would clean off our feet so we'd leave the sand where it belonged. We'd climb in the car, fight for the windows and be asleep almost as soon as we pulled out of the lot.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Sleeping with the Television On: Billy Joel
Each station would sign off after playing The Star Spangled Banner. The first time I actually stayed up late enough to watch a sign-off made me feel grown up.
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MP3 File
"If Hero means sincere man, why may not every one of us be a Hero? "
Saturday morning was the highlight of the television week. We'd sit in front of the small set, still in our pajamas, cereal bowls in hand and watch. I remember Crusader Rabbit, crude by any standards but still a marvel to me. Mighty Mouse announced his arrival in song, and his "Here I come to save the day," is etched in the niches of my brain where childhood memories are lovingly stored. Old movie serials got recycled. My love of science fiction was fed by Commander Cody, Captain Midnight and Rocketman, all heroes willing to risk life and limb in their pursuit of justice. They flew in rocket ships or in the air with jet packs strapped to their backs. I believed that some day I'd just strap one on and take off for school or the movies. I sort of still do.
Television was jaw dropping for me. It was amazing that one small box could be so entertaining. That the programs were in black and white never mattered. I imagined my heroes in color like Lois Lane, with her suits and little hats, daring to go into the heart of trouble for a story. What a woman! Annie Oakley was raising her brother and being sheriff all at the same time. She made me want to have a horse from which I could shoot my rifle and hit the bull's eye square in the middle. The Lone Ranger was the best sort of hero who never cared for fame, only justice.
We played at being these heroes, at defeating the bad guys, at good triumphing over evil. I suspect that most of us still harbor the belief in our hearts and souls that in the long run, no matter what happens in between, good always wins.
Television was jaw dropping for me. It was amazing that one small box could be so entertaining. That the programs were in black and white never mattered. I imagined my heroes in color like Lois Lane, with her suits and little hats, daring to go into the heart of trouble for a story. What a woman! Annie Oakley was raising her brother and being sheriff all at the same time. She made me want to have a horse from which I could shoot my rifle and hit the bull's eye square in the middle. The Lone Ranger was the best sort of hero who never cared for fame, only justice.
We played at being these heroes, at defeating the bad guys, at good triumphing over evil. I suspect that most of us still harbor the belief in our hearts and souls that in the long run, no matter what happens in between, good always wins.
Friday, July 07, 2006
You Meet the Nicest People in Your Dreams: Peter Mulvey
It was through the trio Redbird that I was first introduced to Peter Mulvey. After listening to the three artists, Jeffrey Foucault, Kris Delmhorst and Peter Mulvey, I went to find more individual songs. I found that together they are wonderful but no less wonderful apart.
There is something so catchy about Peter Mulvey's voice.
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There is something so catchy about Peter Mulvey's voice.
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Wasn't That a Mighty Storm: Nanci Griffith and Friends
This is from Other Voices, Too (A Trip Back To Bountiful). The song is the telling of the story of the 1900 hurricane that destroyed Galveston, Texas. Tom Rush and Eric Von Schmidt are credited with this arrangement.
The friends you are hearing are Tom Rush, Carolyn Hester, Odetta, Emmylou Harris, Jamie Hartford and Frank Christian.
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The friends you are hearing are Tom Rush, Carolyn Hester, Odetta, Emmylou Harris, Jamie Hartford and Frank Christian.
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"A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counsellor, a multitude of counsellors."
I started writing about 9:30 but found myself easily distracted. Gracie was chasing the cats and barking at them. Needing to check the source of all noise, I found Fern had Gracie frustrated and on the run: hence the barking. I watched the beastie hop on a chair when Fern got her paw poised and ready. Gracie, deciding that cats who fight back are no fun, turned her attention to playing fetch. Considering I am the only creature living here capable of throwing something down the hall, it was to me she brought her fish, ice cream cone and ball. After Gracie decided she'd had enough, I went to the cellar and started a load of laundry. While there, I bagged a few non-essentials for my next dump run. Meanwhile, Gracie has found lying in the sun and snoozing a good way to store up that needed energy for her next romp. With the house quiet and the animals in their respective spots, I can now proceed.
The morning is lovely. Yesterday's humidity has disappeared, and the sun has a sharp brillance. The clear air gives every sound a prominence. Earlier, my neighbors performed a stereo rendition of lawns being mowed accompanied by the tympany of sticks being demolished. Now, I hear birds and the hum of my computer. A book I started yesterday sits on the table. I swear it is calling my name in a soft, tantalizing whisper.
The morning is lovely. Yesterday's humidity has disappeared, and the sun has a sharp brillance. The clear air gives every sound a prominence. Earlier, my neighbors performed a stereo rendition of lawns being mowed accompanied by the tympany of sticks being demolished. Now, I hear birds and the hum of my computer. A book I started yesterday sits on the table. I swear it is calling my name in a soft, tantalizing whisper.
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A bit of business.
I've had some help in boosting the bit rate of the music but am finding that the problem is hipcast. I upload a high quality file but find the bit rate lowered after conversion through hipcast for posting.
Keeping in mind I am virtually inept when it comes to technical, I'm trying to find a site from which I can offer a better quality of music which is so easy to use that anyone over 50, who didn't find computers until much later in life, can do it. If you have any ideas, please let me know.
Please remember: "Anything simple always interests me."
I've had some help in boosting the bit rate of the music but am finding that the problem is hipcast. I upload a high quality file but find the bit rate lowered after conversion through hipcast for posting.
Keeping in mind I am virtually inept when it comes to technical, I'm trying to find a site from which I can offer a better quality of music which is so easy to use that anyone over 50, who didn't find computers until much later in life, can do it. If you have any ideas, please let me know.
Please remember: "Anything simple always interests me."
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Aragon Mill: Peggy Seeger
This song is from a Smithsonian Folkways compilation called Classic Labor Songs. It pays homage to the labor movement and those who championed its cause through song.
Peggy Seeger's first album was in 1954 for Folkways. She was steeped in music from inception. Her dad was Charles Louis Seeger, her mom Ruth Seeger, a pianist and composer; her half-brother is Pete and her brother Mike. She was destined to be a musician. Her style is what I call a pure form of folk, no bells or whistles, just a voice and a guitar.
Peggy lived and recorded in England for a long time where she and Ewan MacColl were life and music partners and were together until his death. She now lives in Asheville, North Carolina.
MP3 File
Peggy Seeger's first album was in 1954 for Folkways. She was steeped in music from inception. Her dad was Charles Louis Seeger, her mom Ruth Seeger, a pianist and composer; her half-brother is Pete and her brother Mike. She was destined to be a musician. Her style is what I call a pure form of folk, no bells or whistles, just a voice and a guitar.
Peggy lived and recorded in England for a long time where she and Ewan MacColl were life and music partners and were together until his death. She now lives in Asheville, North Carolina.
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Loving Arms: Darden Smith
It was way back in April when I promised more Darden Smith. For the time lag, I apologize. I should have written a note.
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MP3 File
"Memory is a crazy woman that hoards colored rags and throws away food. "
The area around my computer is cluttered with odd pieces of paper and different colored post-its. Some are notes to myself reminding me of something I would otherwise have forgotten while others are scraps with names or web sites or just a word or two important enough to save though I have no idea why. I guess I should have written notes to myself about them as well.
One envelope has Dick Dale and the Del-Tones written on the front. That one I remember. They were in a few Annette-Frankie movies, and I wanted to find out more about them. That same envelope has Teaberry, BlackJack and Cloves written on it. I know those are different kinds of gum, but why I needed them written down is a mystery. To my right is a list of immunizations I would need if I traveled to Africa. I presently do not have plans to travel to Africa, but if I do, I'll know what shots I'll need. Hanging off the monitor is a phone number. I'd have to call it to find out who is at the other end. Several torn from magazine pieces are clipped together. One is how to order tickets to TV shows taped in New York. Considering that the last time I was in New York was about twenty-five or thirty years ago, I can probably toss that one. Of course, once I do, someone will call and say we ought to go to New York and watch a TV show being taped. Another is a picture of a digital camera, actual size too. It must have caught my fancy. I could add it to the two I already have. You can't have enough digital cameras I always say. The last magazine scrap is about a USB drive which holds two gigs of data. Why I might need two gigs of storage is a mystery. I have a 256MB jump drive, and I have yet to come close to filling it.
The web addresses have sat here a long time. I pick them up every now and then, look at them and put them down until later. It seems later has stretched into a few months with a couple of them, but I'll get to them. I know it. I'll just write a note to remind myself.
One envelope has Dick Dale and the Del-Tones written on the front. That one I remember. They were in a few Annette-Frankie movies, and I wanted to find out more about them. That same envelope has Teaberry, BlackJack and Cloves written on it. I know those are different kinds of gum, but why I needed them written down is a mystery. To my right is a list of immunizations I would need if I traveled to Africa. I presently do not have plans to travel to Africa, but if I do, I'll know what shots I'll need. Hanging off the monitor is a phone number. I'd have to call it to find out who is at the other end. Several torn from magazine pieces are clipped together. One is how to order tickets to TV shows taped in New York. Considering that the last time I was in New York was about twenty-five or thirty years ago, I can probably toss that one. Of course, once I do, someone will call and say we ought to go to New York and watch a TV show being taped. Another is a picture of a digital camera, actual size too. It must have caught my fancy. I could add it to the two I already have. You can't have enough digital cameras I always say. The last magazine scrap is about a USB drive which holds two gigs of data. Why I might need two gigs of storage is a mystery. I have a 256MB jump drive, and I have yet to come close to filling it.
The web addresses have sat here a long time. I pick them up every now and then, look at them and put them down until later. It seems later has stretched into a few months with a couple of them, but I'll get to them. I know it. I'll just write a note to remind myself.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
Go Away from My Window: Carolyn Hester
Carolyn Hester was one of the most popular folk singers of the early 1960's. She was most known for singing traditonal songs and has a storied folk history. Hester married Richard Farina before Mimi, offered a very young Dylan a chance to play harmonica on her 1962 Columbia debut and, according to one site, turned down a chance to be part of a trio which became Peter, Paul and Mary. This song is from a self-titled 1961 recording for Tradition which has been reissued. It was written by John Jacob Niles in 1908.
Carolyn Hester is still active today.
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Carolyn Hester is still active today.
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He's Got the Whole World in His Hands: Odetta
This gospel song seems almost to give a feeling of exaltation. It is a joyful sound. It is from a 1957 recording on the Tradition label.
I always love Odetta best when she sings traditional music.
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I always love Odetta best when she sings traditional music.
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"Arithmetic is being able to count up to twenty without taking off your shoes."
The simple action of moving the mouse causes me to sweat, not a pretty picture. The air is damp and thick. Sounds are muted by the humidity. Nothing is moving: not birds, not dogs and certainly not people. I designate today as find a bar by the water, order frozen drinks and stay there, moving only to go to the bathroom, day. Now that, that, would be bliss.
Saddle shoes should never have disappeared. In their heyday, they were just about the first uni-shoe when uni-anything was an unknown. Black and white, my favorite, was traditional, but you could choose brown and white or even step out from the pack with a red and white combo. The brown and black combo, another fine choice, was favored more by men. When I'd get a new pair, they'd stay in the box for a bit. My mother, though, harbored this strange notion that new shoes were meant to be worn, not admired. I'd put them on under protest and step gingerly, even resorting to walking in the middle of the street, anything to avoid the horror of that first scuff mark. No matter how careful, though, scuff marks were inevitable. After the initial shock, I'd bring out the polish. Esquire Lano White was my polish of choice. It covered every errant blot on perfection. The tricky part was not getting any white on the black rim. I'd use that applicator in much the same way as Michelangelo used brushes. I'd cover the marks so well that only a trained eye could find them. The saddle shoes, though, were never the same. I'd get off my tiptoes and go back to walking on the sidewalk with a sadness in my heart.
Saddle shoes should never have disappeared. In their heyday, they were just about the first uni-shoe when uni-anything was an unknown. Black and white, my favorite, was traditional, but you could choose brown and white or even step out from the pack with a red and white combo. The brown and black combo, another fine choice, was favored more by men. When I'd get a new pair, they'd stay in the box for a bit. My mother, though, harbored this strange notion that new shoes were meant to be worn, not admired. I'd put them on under protest and step gingerly, even resorting to walking in the middle of the street, anything to avoid the horror of that first scuff mark. No matter how careful, though, scuff marks were inevitable. After the initial shock, I'd bring out the polish. Esquire Lano White was my polish of choice. It covered every errant blot on perfection. The tricky part was not getting any white on the black rim. I'd use that applicator in much the same way as Michelangelo used brushes. I'd cover the marks so well that only a trained eye could find them. The saddle shoes, though, were never the same. I'd get off my tiptoes and go back to walking on the sidewalk with a sadness in my heart.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
"May the sun in his course visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than this our own country! "
"Yesterday the greatest Question was decided, which ever was debated in America, and a greater perhaps, never was or will be decided among Men. A Resolution was passed without one dissenting Colony 'that these united Colonies, are, and of right ought to be free and independent States, and as such, they have, and of Right ought to have full Power to make War, conclude Peace, establish Commerce, and to do all the other Acts and Things, which other States may rightfully do.' You will see in a few days a Declaration setting forth the Causes which have impell'd Us to this mighty Revolution, and the Reasons which will justify it in the Sight of God and Man. A Plan of Confederation will be taken up in a few days."
"I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by Solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfire and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more."
Just as John Adams hoped, we still celebrate the 4th of July with parades and fireworks. The flag flies on fence posts and houses, from sea to sea. Friends and family gather to share food and drink. The hot dogs and hamburgers are ready for the grill. Corn is husked. The watermelon is cold and so is the beer. Frisbee, horseshoes and maybe a game of catch keep everyone busy until the food is ready. Kids and dogs are underfoot, but nobody minds. Tonight there will be fireworks, and the crowd will ooh and ahh the bursts of color. It will be a glorious day.
Happy Birthday, America. Happy 4th of July!
Monday, July 03, 2006
Carey: Cyndi Lauper
This is from the live tribute to Joni Mitchell which I remember watching maybe more than just a few times. This song from Cyndi Lauper was about my favorite.
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MP3 File
Over the Rainbow: Dan Zanes and Friends
This cut is from Rocket Ship Beach which was the first album from the Festival Five label, Dan Zanes' own label dedicated to children's music. The friends on this album include Sheryl Crow and Suzanne Vega.
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MP3 File
“For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be”
The humidity is thick this morning. Blankets the air is just about a perfect description. Yesterday's breeze has gone missing, not even a leaf stirs in the dead air. The sky is that grey color which just darkens the day and gives no expectation of rain. Not even the perpetual motion machine, Gracie, feels like moving. She is just lazing outside lying in the cool dirt. I may join her later.
Today is a go from the air conditioned car into the air conditioned store sort of day. I have a few stops to make so I'll go out and about in a bit.
Each morning I spend and hour and a half or so writing Coffee, plucking stories from the back drawers of my brain, picking the perfect picture and listening to music until I find the songs which sound exactly right for the day. Some days I stare at a blank screen for what seems like an eon. Other days my fingers fly across the keyboard. Keep the Coffee Coming continues to bring me joy. When I think of all the people I've met and the friends I've made, I marvel. My neighborhood is no longer bound by a street or a few houses. It is as close as my friends Clare and Tony down the street and as far away as my friends John and Lynn in South Africa. The world continues to surprise me, to bring me wonder. I can't think it gets much better than that.
Today is a go from the air conditioned car into the air conditioned store sort of day. I have a few stops to make so I'll go out and about in a bit.
Each morning I spend and hour and a half or so writing Coffee, plucking stories from the back drawers of my brain, picking the perfect picture and listening to music until I find the songs which sound exactly right for the day. Some days I stare at a blank screen for what seems like an eon. Other days my fingers fly across the keyboard. Keep the Coffee Coming continues to bring me joy. When I think of all the people I've met and the friends I've made, I marvel. My neighborhood is no longer bound by a street or a few houses. It is as close as my friends Clare and Tony down the street and as far away as my friends John and Lynn in South Africa. The world continues to surprise me, to bring me wonder. I can't think it gets much better than that.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
"One of the most delightful things about a garden is the anticipation it provides. "
Summer proceeds as scheduled. Tonight is the first band concert. We tote lawn chairs, a fold up table, food and drinks to our spot, set up, sit back, listen and enjoy the evening.
The wind is blowing enough to make music. The chimes are constant.
The weather is near perfection. The sun is hot, but the wind and a few clouds blunt the heat. Gracie goes outside, finds a comfortable spot in the shade and lies there enjoying the breeze on her fur. She has three spots, all dug with her own little front paws. Two are under bushes, and the third, for the late afternoon, is by the fence. I gave up filling the one by the fence after she redug it each time. Gracie would come in with her face covered in dirt, and I knew what she'd been doing to occupy her time. I'd have the paper towel ready, and Gracie would patiently sit and have her faced washed. She never minds the indignity.
My first tomatoes are red. Okay, I cheated and bought the plants already started, but I watered them, staked them and kept watch for devouring bugs. I'm so looking forward to the first taste of a native tomato. I do love the bounty summer brings.
The wind is blowing enough to make music. The chimes are constant.
The weather is near perfection. The sun is hot, but the wind and a few clouds blunt the heat. Gracie goes outside, finds a comfortable spot in the shade and lies there enjoying the breeze on her fur. She has three spots, all dug with her own little front paws. Two are under bushes, and the third, for the late afternoon, is by the fence. I gave up filling the one by the fence after she redug it each time. Gracie would come in with her face covered in dirt, and I knew what she'd been doing to occupy her time. I'd have the paper towel ready, and Gracie would patiently sit and have her faced washed. She never minds the indignity.
My first tomatoes are red. Okay, I cheated and bought the plants already started, but I watered them, staked them and kept watch for devouring bugs. I'm so looking forward to the first taste of a native tomato. I do love the bounty summer brings.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
"A period of travel and relaxation when you take twice the clothes and half the money you need. "
Today traditionally begins our summer. We generally ignore that official June date because it is this weekend when the caravans start crossing the bridges. These caravans, like their desert counterparts, have packed their beasts, filling every available space. As you drive by the endless procession of vehicles, you notice the bicycles attached to racks off the back. You see big bikes, little bikes, pink bikes and bikes with training wheels. You notice the carry-alls attached to the tops, presumably filled with vacation essentials and probably too many nonessentials. A peek into any car is possible only on the driver's side. You wonder how many other people are trapped inside, people having difficulty breathing in the cramped, filled space. You just shake your head and make tracks to the safety of your home and hearth.
Unlike bears, we, in these, parts hibernate during the summer. We never leave the house on rainy days, never food shop on Saturdays, never arrive on Cape any Friday after three or leave after four on a sunny Sunday or at all on a rainy one. We check to see if it is a changeover weekend. If it is, the bridge is off-limits on Saturday as well. We forego the most direct routes and sneak through side roads. We never, never go to a movie on a rainy day; we only go on the most perfect beach days. We stay clear of any seafood restaurants on the weekends and eat early on weekdays. Come September, we'll emerge from our hibernation and reclaim our roads until the next first weekend in July when it will begin all over again.
Unlike bears, we, in these, parts hibernate during the summer. We never leave the house on rainy days, never food shop on Saturdays, never arrive on Cape any Friday after three or leave after four on a sunny Sunday or at all on a rainy one. We check to see if it is a changeover weekend. If it is, the bridge is off-limits on Saturday as well. We forego the most direct routes and sneak through side roads. We never, never go to a movie on a rainy day; we only go on the most perfect beach days. We stay clear of any seafood restaurants on the weekends and eat early on weekdays. Come September, we'll emerge from our hibernation and reclaim our roads until the next first weekend in July when it will begin all over again.
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