I'll Take Manhattan: Blossom Dearie

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Streets of London: Ralph McTell

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Chicago My Kind of Town: Frank Sinatra

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Nashville Cats: The Lovin' Spoonful

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"A Boston man is the east wind made flesh."

The Ingalls must have had a similar sense of adventure as they headed west with a loaded wagon and their livestock. My preparations are a bit different but no less elaborate. I've showered, chosen a city outfit and gassed the car. I'm pulling my feet out of the sand to greet the big world and cross the bridge to Boston to see a play. My hope is not to embarrass myself too much by gaping at the tall buildings.

When I was younger, we lived close to Boston, a bus ride and a quick subway ride away. The city entranced me. On Saturday the stalls at Haymarket were filled with vendors selling just about everything. They'd speak Italian to one another, and I could close my eyes and be a continent away. The air had an exotic smell. I'd wander by the fishmongers to see their wares sitting in ice, eyes and all. The butchers wearing soiled white aprons stood in front of their shops below the hanging meat and yelled across to one another. Shoppers wandered between the rows of stalls while vendors yelled out prices hoping to entice them to stop. It was like an adventure back in time before supermarkets and spritzed vegetables, and I cherish the memory.

No matter where else I travel, I love Boston the most with its warren of one way streets and cow paths built for feet, not wheels. It is an old city, and I never tire of walking its streets or celebrating its history. I get to go to Boston today, and I am so excited.

Pretty Mary: Peter, Paul and Mary

This is from Peter, Paul and Mary Moving, their second album which was released in 1963.

PP&M are comfort sounds for me. They were the group which hooked me and led me to so many other folk artists. I owe them a debt of gratitude.


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Jordan is a Hard Road to Travel: The New Lost City Ramblers

Tom Paley, John Cohen and Mike Seeger recorded this on February 11, 1961. You can find this and an amazing number of other songs on a great new Smithsonian-Folkways release called Friends of Old Time Music. The songs were recorded at F.O.T.M. concerts in New York between 1961 and 1965. The album is subheaded the folk arrival and brings Jesse Fuller, Dock Boggs, John Hurt, Bill Monroe and so many more singers together on three discs. The link to Smithsonian Folkways is to the right. Hurry on over!


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Life is what we make it, always has been, always will be.

Today is an unshaven old man with grey speckled whiskers who's wearing a wife beater and dingy khakis held up by tangled suspenders. His slippers shuffle when he walks to the kitchen for another cup of coffee laced with a bit of whiskey.

I have no ambition and no guilt at its lack. I will brush my teeth and might even make my bed. Beyond those, I'll just shuffle to the kitchen for more coffee, neat, for I am not a whiskey drinker. I have a day like today every now and then. The weather and my lack of ambition conspire to create lethargy. I see myself lying on the couch, covered in an afghan, cup on the table, dog at my feet and book in hand. All of this is probably the result of a dark day with the hint of more rain and a brand new Dick Francis to read, the first in many years. A pizza with carmelized onions delivered to my door from my favorite pizza parlor (though it is hardly a parlor) seems to be part of that vision. Yup, a book in one hand and a piece of pizza in the other is coming to me now.

Life is good in just so many ways.

Mr. Bojangles: Jerry Jeff Walker

After all the hubbub a while back, I figured it was time to post this song.


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Silver Thunderbird: Marc Cohn

Walking in Memphis was the big hit from Marc Cohn's first album, but this was my favorite song. There is just something about that piano, and I can see his father's car. The description is so perfect.


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To be interested in the changing seasons is a happier state of mind than to be hopelessly in love with spring.

September has been a gift of warm days and cool nights with blue skies that defy description and a sun so sharp with light it glorifies whatever it touches. Even the lowly scrub pine is majestic in the sunlight. Make no mistake, though, this is the autumn sun, a bit more deceptive than its summer sister when light meant heat and warmth. This sun shines, and even though we can feel its warmth at the height of the day, it grows colder and gives warning of the winter which will come soon enough.

I don't remember when the change of seasons became milestones for me. The year used to be divided into school time and summer time with a few vacations in between for diversion. In college the year was still divided into school and summer but summer meant work. In Ghana, we trudged through the dry season waiting for the rainy season and the renewal it brought, when a brown world became lush and green. It may have been my first fall at home when I was awed by the changes in fall, by the bone chilling cold of winter, the birth of leaves and flowers in spring and the glory of summer by the ocean.

My retirement has given me the time to see my world, to watch birds at the feeder, to ride down unfamiliar roads and, sometimes, to sit and do nothing but listen. I was riding in my car when spring arrived. The coming of summer found me sitting on my small porch, and I have had a front row seat to watch autumn take the center ring. I'll know when winter comes, and I'll be ready. I suspect it will catch me sitting in front of the fire with a hot cup of cocoa and a dollop of marshmallow.

Bach is Dead and Gone: Dan Reeder

This album started, and it took about six notes before I declared myself a Dan Reeder fan, and I had to find out about the guy who could write this song.

It turns out Dan is a painter with a wife and three kids who decided he wanted to make music and sing. First, he built his own intruments, then he learned electronics so he could work with amps and mixers. Dan wrote, performed, recorded, mixed and produced his entire self-titled first album. He sent it to John Prine as a thank you gift. John Prine was so taken he released the album.

This cut is from Dan's second album, Sweetheart, out on John Prine's label Oh Boy. It's all original music except for an amazing Whiter Shade of Pale cover. I'm thinking you might just want to Buy your own copy of this album. You can hear another cut from it over at Song Illinois if you need more convincing.


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Only a Hobo: Blind Boy Grunt

You're probably thinking this guy sounds a lot like Bob Dylan. You'd be right. Dylan by any other name is still Dylan.

This was one of three songs he recorded for Broadside Magazine in 1963 which then became part of a Broadside compilation album. All three songs were credited to Blind Boy Grunt. The album Broadside Ballads, Vol 1 has been reissued by Smithsonian Folkways.


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“Bathroom Break”

The house was cold this morning. If Miss Gracie hadn't been far too energetic with her usual on the bed cavorting coupled with enthusiastic morning greetings, I would have stayed warm and cozy. The cat, being less prone to outbreaks of frivolity, stayed asleep on her part of the bed, the part far away from Gracie's. I reluctantly got up and let Gracie outside. A quick shower gave me the wherewithal to face the day.

A trip to the bathroom this morning took me nearly a half hour, not the main reason for the visit but everything else. I was whiling away the time when I happened to notice the floor was filled with dog prints. Out came the bucket so I could wet mop the floor. As I was backing out of the bathroom, marveling at the cleanliness of the floor, I noticed a few spots on the paint. Out came the sponge and detergent and away went the spots. The door then needed my attention. As I was cleaning up in the kitchen, I noticed paw prints where Gracie had sneaked and scoped out the counter. That got cleaned, and I figured, what the heck, I might as well do the stove top while I was there.

This distractibility is a new and growing phenomenon. I go out to get mail but end up filling the bird feeders. I go to make lunch but sweep the hall first. Reaching in the basket for a magazine is never a simple task anymore. It seems to include sorting the baskets and dusting around them. This has to stop. I need blinders or the top part of some nun's old habit. Maybe I just need to leave the house for a few hours, meet my own kind. I wonder, though, if I should take a dustrag and mop or just a dustrag.

Carey: Joni Mitchell

It has just been one of those mornings. The computer is so slow I have been banging my head against the monitor in frustration, and all that blood makes it difficult to see; the dog has been going in or out every five or ten minutes and is lucky none of her paws have been broken, and the cat is sitting on my mouse and not happy about being moved. These are the days I just go right to the folk institutions, the constants in my life.


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The Pony Man: Gordon Lightfoot

This song first appeared on 1970's Sit Down Stranger, an album which was later renamed If You Could Read My Mind capitalizing on the success of that song also from this album.


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Bringing Home the Bacon on the Gravy Train

Each year, those dictionary people probably sit around a big table, drink coffee, eat jelly donuts and decide the fates of words. Some words just disappear with little or no fanfare to make room for the newly coined. Who's the wiser? But if they disappear from the dictionary, where do they go? It isn't as if there is a word graveyard or afterlife. Gone is gone. Who says smote any more? Or thither? I miss some of those words. They are fun to use, and every now then I pepper my conversations with words like bamboozle and anon just to keep them alive.

I took four years of Latin in high school, and part of learning Caesar was learning his idioms. At least his didn't disappear entirely, but others haven't been as lucky. My mother always used to say dollars to donuts. My sister now says it so that still lives, but where did Dutch uncle go? How come we have to do even Stevens? Who's Stevens? Animals seem to loom big in the idiom world. We still talk about beating a dead horse and getting someone's goat, and we know you shouldn't have a cow or go to the dogs, though I think that last one decidedly unfair to dogs.

I have a few favorite idioms. The worm has turned is a great one. Trip the light fantastic is so visually poetic that Fred and Ginger always come to mind. Nip it in the bud always reminds me of Barney Fife. It's on the tip of my tongue is an idiom I seem to be using more and more often as my word retrieval skills take a nosedive, bite the dust, kick the bucket, buy the farm and lie dead in the water.

Cornflower Blue: Eric Bogle

This is a cut from Treasures Left Behind - Remembering Kate Wolf released in 1998 by Red House.

Eric Bogle is probably best known for having written And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda in 1971. He is an Australian institution who emigrated there from Scotland over thirty years ago. Another of his songs The Green Fields of France, recorded by the Furey Brothers, spent 26 weeks on the Irish charts including 10 weeks at No 1. Altogether nearly 50 of Eric's songs have been recorded by others including Mary Black, Donovan, Billy Bragg and The Dubliners.


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Your Head's Too Big: The Ditty Bops

I have been a fan of The Ditty Bops since the first time I heard them on the radio. You're listening to Amanda Barrett, mandolin and dulcimer, and Abby DeWald, guitar. They are folk and ragtime and swing and I don't know how many other musical genres.

This cut is from their latest album: Moon Over the Freeway.


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“There's sand in the porridge and sand in the bed, / And if this is pleasure we'd rather be dead.”

Living near the ocean means sand: sand in my car, sand on my floor and the ever so popular sand in my shoes. It is inevitable that no matter how much I sweep, no matter how much I vacuum, the sand will return. Gracie runs and the sand floats in on the wind. She comes inside, and the sand hitches a ride on her paws. I walk around the house dropping granules from the ridges on my sandals. Going to the beach means bringing bits of it home in the car. Sand sits under the brake pedal, under the gas pedal and on the door rubber. I know the Sandman is from around here. I suspect his wife came up with that nifty way to rid her house of all that grit. When we were kids, we used to go to the beach almost every weekend. I never remember being bothered by sand. It even used to get up under our bathing suits. We didn't care. My Dad did. We washed our feet in pails of water, dried them on clean towels and were carried to the car after our day at the beach. My house would drive him crazy.

Sand just doesn't have a good reputation. Besides jumping from the beach to my house, it has somehow found its way to an hourglass and a soap opera and the passage of time. Building a house of sand is never a good idea and neither is keeping your head in the sand though I sometimes think it the lesser of two evils. Sandcastles are frustrating given their short life spans and never write love letters in the sand. Eternity seems to be tied to a beach and a bird and sand in its beak. As for me, I'm big on the shifting sands metaphor.

William Blake saw the world in a grain of sand so I suspect he made his wife do the sweeping.

Hang Up My Rock and Roll Shoes: Chuck Willis

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These Boots Are Made for Walking: Loretta Lynn

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Tan Shoes with Pink Shoe Laces: Dodie Stevens

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Shoe Shine Boy: Eddie Kendricks

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"How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?"

Last night we celebrated my friend's sixty years of life. We chatted, laughed together more than a bit and dined on the most wonderful meal. The dinner table was festive with color and candlelight, and the conversation was peppered with the sounds of horned noisemakers. A few side comments regarding old age were aimed in my friend's direction though we're not really so far behind her.

When I was young and thinking about being old, I had twenty-five in mind. Fifty or sixty meant grandparents, not me, and I remember my grandmother as always being old. I remember her sitting at the kitchen table and wearing house dresses covered by an apron with a bib, always some kind of a flowery print. Her slipper backs were trodden down, and she had nylons rolled to her ankles. She seemed to walk slowly as befitting her age or her age as I imagined it. She was probably the age I am now or even younger.
My mother was never old to me.

Here Comes the Sun: The Beatles

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I Don't Care if the Sun Don't Shine: Patti Page

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You Are My Sunshine: Ray Charles

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I Got the Sun in the Morning: Ethel Merman

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“OK, we have three chocolate chip cookies. Big score!”

For the first time in days, I woke Gracie. She was a little slow to stir and didn't stay out in the darkness long. She came back in, played a bit, bothered the cat and then rang her poochie bells. I stood at the door after letting her out and noticed the clouds were bright with back lighting. The scene triggered a memory from my elementary school days when the nuns used to give us holy cards as rewards. Every card seemed to have the sky lit exactly the same way behind the very same rolling clouds.

I actually had to set the alarm. Today my little library is having a book sale, bake sale and folk- singer. I am on the board and have to be there to set up and help organize. I got a chuckle out of the description in the newspaper. The folksinger was described as retro. I suspect the librarian meant acoustic.

Last night I baked for the first time in a long while. I was more than a bit rusty. A sheet of cookies fell and half of them crumbled just the way they're supposed to according to that silly saying. Well, they still tasted just fine but crumbled won't sell. I was forced to have those cookies with my coffee. It was a sacrifice indeed. I decided to make cupcakes to compensate for fewer cookies. They baked just fine and survived the trip from oven to counter. When I went to frost the cupcakes, however, there was no confectioners' sugar. It was not a good day for baking.

I have lots more to say but no more time. I'm off to the grocery store for frosting then I have to go right to the library. It feels a bit strange to be rushed for time.

Greenfields: The Brothers Four

We're listening to four fraternity brothers from the University of Washington who got together in the late 1950's. This was one of their biggest hits, released in 1960 which made it to number two on the charts. Theirs was a sound which came to epitomize the early folk revival, and The Brothers Four was one of the most successful of these groups. They gave concerts all over the country and recorded the theme song for Hootenanny.

It would take the emergence of singer-songwriters like Dylan to push them off the folk charts.

The Brothers Four still sing with two of the original members.


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Blowing in the Wind: The Chad Mitchell Trio

The Chad Mitchell Trio is also one of the 1960's groups you've been hearing the last couple of days. They, however, set themselves apart by their willingness to perform more political music than their contemporaries such as their Last Night I had the Strangest Dream, The John Birch Society and Ochs' Draft Dodger Rag.

Though none of the original three played any instruments, they were trained singers who could sing almost any sort of folk from traditional to contemporary ballads. Their over a dozen albums were released by a few different labels including Mercury. I think that The Chad Mitchell Trio is vastly underappreciated and gets unjustly lumped with the different trios and groups which emerged at the same time, late 50's to early 60's.

Note of Interest: Chad Mitchell left the trio in 1965 and was replaced by John Denver.


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“Autumn's the mellow time.”

Get out your beach blankets and your picnic baskets. Walk barefoot in the grass. Sit on the porch and drink lemonade. Celebrate the last day of summer because autumn arrives tomorrow.

I remember being a kid in autumn when the street gutters were filled with yellow, red and brown leaves. On every lawn sat a raked pile aching to be scattered. We'd run and send leaves flying from every direction into the wind. Saturday afternoons meant the ritual fires of fall when all of the fathers up and down the street burned their leaves. I can still see them standing there, by their fires, with rakes in hand. They'd talk to one another about the weather and football. We'd stand off to the side and watch. I remember flames and smoke and the smell of burning leaves spiraling through the air into the wind. When you walked into the house, you could smell autumn.

It's almost time to bring out the gourds and the pumpkins, to change the bright colors of summer to the muted yellows and oranges of fall.

Green Green: The New Christy Minstrels

I love the movie A Mighty Wind. There was no doubt the very first time I saw it that The New Main Street Singers represented groups like The New Christy Minstrels, groups that were really popular but were given little respect in folk circles.

The group recorded for the top label in the country, Columbia Records, and from 1962 to 1965, issued nine albums. In the summer of 1963 this song reached the top forty. The lead vocal was done by Barry McGuire, who had co-written the song with Randy Sparks, the founder of the New Christy Minstrels.

Throughout the 60's, some major talent performed as members of the New Christy Minstrels, some of whom went to greater fame on their own. Barry McGuire went on to perform as a solo act and hit big with his own number one song in 1965, P.F. Sloan's Eve Of Destruction. Larry Ramos joined the Association, and Gene Clark joined others in starting the Byrds. Kim Carnes was with the group in 1966 and fifteen years later would have her own number one hit with Bette Davis Eyes. Musical director for the group, Mike Settle, left in 1967 and took three other members of the group with him, including Kenny Rogers. Together they formed a very successful group, the First Edition. In the early 70's, future Broadway stars Linda Hart and Christine Andreas were both in the group.


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He Was My Brother: The Travelers 3

Listen a bit and this song is pretty easy to date. It appeared during the late 50's and early 60's when the folk revival also meant the birth of trios. The Kingston Trio and its 1958 hit Tom Dooley were the first.

This group was started when singer-songwriter Pete Apo convinced his fellow students, Charles Oyama and Dick Shirley, to form a trio. These three University of Oregon students quickly garnered a strong local following and both Apo and Oyama quit school to concentrate on their music. By 1962, the group recorded its first album for Elektra Records and had made an appearance on Hootenanny. They did club gigs and made a few records, but by the mid to late 60's their popularity had pretty much waned.


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“There is only one pretty child in the world, and every mother has it.”

We all grow up hearing the same things. If I could venture a theory here, I'd say that every mother was given a list of things she was required to pass on to her children. My mother did her duty, and this is what I learned. I know that sitting too close to the TV will damage my eyes as will reading in too dim a light. I won't even begin to describe what swallowing gum does. It's too ghastly and not for general audiences. My poor mother had to have been driven crazy by the numbers of times we begged to go back into the water after eating. That hour took forever. I keep looking for those adults who didn't listen to their mothers. You know the ones I mean, the knuckle crackers. I'm guessing that by now their hands must be dragging with those huge, tell-tale knuckles gnarled by arthritis. I figure they might be hanging around with those poor souls who went blind after their clandestine behind locked door activities. I don't know why I didn't have pneumonia every winter of my childhood. I courted physical disaster ever time I went outside during the dead of winter without buttoning my coat.

My mother had a few of her own. She had that black tongue thing going. If you told a lie, your tongue turned black. Rushing to the mirror to look didn't help. Only mothers could see the blackness of deception. We always knew when it wouldn't snow. My mother would check the temperature and announce, "It's too cold to snow." We still tell each other that.

Tonight I'm going to improve my brain and my eyesight. Tonight I'll dine on fish and carrots.

Two Lights in the Nighttime: Bonnie Raitt and Ben Harper

This is from VH1 Classic Decades Rock Live! Presents Bonnie Raitt and Friends. Bonnie's friends include Norah Jones, Ben Harper, Alison Krauss and Keb’Mo’. The album, released in August, is live and was recorded in September of 2005 at Trump Taj Mahal in Atlantic City.

I have been a Bonnie Raitt fan forever, and I love this album. It didn't hurt that I got to hear two of my favorites, Alison Krauss and Ben Harper, sing along with Bonnie. The album also comes with a concert DVD. You get to watch Bonnie performing 17 songs with her longtime band – George Marinelli (guitar), James “Hutch” Hutchinson (bass), Ricky Fataar (drums) and Jon Cleary (keyboards). Included are some classic Raitt hits: Something To Talk About, Love Letter (with Mo’), You (with Krauss) and an encore of Love Sneakin’ Up On You with all her friends: Ben, Alison, Norah Jones and Keb' Mo’.


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Savior: Stoll Vaughan

This cut is from Stoll Vaughan's new album, Love Like a Mule, which was released yesterday. Vaughan has been compared to a young, early Springsteen, but I find his music much more poetic, even more heartfelt.

His first album, Hold on Through Sleep and Dreams, was named one of Alternative Country’s Top Ten Records of the Year. I have no idea what that means as I have only recently begun to enjoy and appreciate country music, and I can't begin to explain the difference between country and alternative country. I just know that I like the songs Vaughan writes and the way he sings them.


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“I've a grand memory for forgetting.”

Yesterday I went to vote in the primary elections. I got my ballot, walked in the booth, closed the curtain then looked through my bag for my glasses. They weren't there. We're talking my travel pair which is always in my bag as opposed to the home pair which never travels. I took the ballot and squinted, hoping I was voting and not defacing an official government document.

I got to the car, hunted and didn't find them. I got home and did the same. It was then I realized I had probably left them somewhere. I tried to reconstruct my last few days. Sounds easy I bet. Well, for someone at the point of generally forgetting why she walked from the den to the kitchen, that was no easy task. I sat on the couch, blank paper in front of me, pen in hand and tried to remember. Monday was fairly easy, being but a day away. Saturday was far more difficult, and it took a long while before I remembered. I know that if I'm ever questioned about my whereabouts beyond a day or two and come up empty, I'll hear some detective poorly disguise my guilt as incredulity. I've seen it on all the crime shows. You mean to say you don't remember where you were on Friday, April 14th,1999? Come on, you expect me to believe that?

Well, my glasses were found. I wrote my name and phone number inside for the next time I leave them. I'm thinking the way things are going, I might just have to start writing my name on my clothing labels with a line about if found...

Everybody's Talkin': Madeleine Peyroux

Today is new and old, jazz and blues.

This is from Madeleine Peyroux's new album Half the Perfect World from Rounder Records. Listening to her sing this Fred Neil song made me realize how beautiful a song it really is and how awful was Nilsson's cover.


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Frankie and Johnny: Big Bill Broonzy

Big Bill Broonzy began his thirty year career in 1927. He had learned to play both the fiddle and the guitar when young and played at dances in Arkansas until he was drafted 1n 1918. By 1938 he was playing in a concert series at Carnegie Hall for John Hammond. In the early 1950's he began to tour overseas and often appeared on radio in New York and Chicago. Not long before his death, he wrote the first delta-blues autobiography.

This song is based on actual events. One Sunday night in 1899, Frankie Baker, a prostitute, shot Albert Britt during a late night altercation. She was put on trial but found innocent as the shooting was considered self-defense.

This cut is from a Smithsonian Folkways collection called Classic African-American Ballads.


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“A nickel will get you on the subway, but garlic will get you a seat”

If you were shopping at the local stores, you were going up town. If you were heading into Boston, you were going in town. No one ever questioned what you meant. They were universals. Going in town was special as we never went too often. At Christmas time my Dad would drive, and we'd see the lights on the Common and check out the store windows. But when my Mom took us, it was a huge undertaking to get four kids set and ready. She didn't drive so we'd walk up town to take the bus to Sullivan Square where my brother and I would run downstairs to the subway platform. My mother would yell and tell us to wait by the door of the station. Once there, she'd herd us together for the usual reminder that if we got separated, we should get off at the next station and wait, a sort of citified version of what to do if lost in the woods. Standing on the platform and waiting always felt like the beginning of an adventure. I'd creep as close to the edge as I dared and watch down the tracks for the train. It would arrive with a whoosh and a blast of air. We'd get on and hurry to a seat. We never ever sat on those seats. We knelt with our backs to the car and our noses to the windows. We sped by the world outside the train, and I still remember landmarks. First was the sand and gravel company with its giant conveyor belt. North Station was next. It looked huge to me with all the different tracks and even a real train station below us. Hovering over the station was Boston Garden, and I can close my eyes and see the color of the bricks and the Garden sign. We went into the tunnel next, and I remember the creaking of the train as it went around corners and the lurch as it stopped and started at each station. We'd usually get off just below Jordan Marsh. That platform was always crowded with shopppers, and all of them seemed to be holding bags filled to the brim. I loved that station. It had everything, and the neatest part was all the stores had entrances in the subway. We'd get off the train, hold hands and plunge into the crowd for the rest of our adventure.

Toothbrush and My Table: Grace Potter and the Nocturnals

This is a brand spankin' new group for me. I heard them on the radio and just had to buy a song or two or three.

Rather than pretend I know anything about them, I'll just send you to their web site where I found this song mentioned. It seems I chose well.

http://www.gracepotter.com/bio.html


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So Long Sweet Misery: Brett Dennen

Some music is perfect for a certain mood while other music works best in the background when I have friends for dinner. I sing along with my favorite music, and upbeat music gets my body moving to its sound. This music, Brett Dennen's music, is made for listening so you can catch every beautiful image, so you don't miss a single word.

This cut is from Dennen's second album, So Much More, released this month on Dualtone records.


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"Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling. "

It's another perfect Indian summer day, and I'm getting suspicious. Mother Nature might just be working from a bit of guilt here. She's giving us these beautiful, almost description defying days because she knows what's coming. Yup, winter is champing at the bit. I can feel the cold nights lingering a little longer each morning. The sun has been able to keep pace, so far.

I have this dance card with no entries until Saturday. The week is mine to fill or fritter. I'm thinking a trip to the farm store for a few tomatoes and to the garden store for a few more flowers. Gracie and I might take a ride down Cape and try a few side roads. She loves a ride and we both love an adventure. I'll pack up a few water bottles and dog treats for Miss Gracie and some apples and cheese for me. We'll meander. The best rides have no destination.

My neighborhood is quiet today. The lawn mowers had their day Saturday, and the decks were filled yesterday. Gracie is outside lying in the sun and moves only to get more comfortable. The cat is sleeping sprawled in the warmth by the front door. She makes a slight snoring sound you need to be close to hear. The leaves are still and no branches creak. The birds sing sweet songs.

Today is a day for words filled with imagery and color and the warmth of the sun. Today is a day for poets.

Shine on Harvest Moon: Leon Redbone

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September Song: Nat King Cole

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Meet Me in the Indian Summer: Van Morrison

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Autumn in New York: Sarah Vaughan

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"No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face."

Yesterday was a perfectly satisfying day. It was filled. I did all that cleaning stuff in the morning then a bit more last night while I was watching television. During the day I rewarded myself for cleaning by shopping at Trader Joe's. I bought the most wonderful foods: curried rice, lemons filled with sherbert, artichoke dip, Thai peanut noodles and naan. It was such fun checking out the foods and rolling the cart up and down the aisles of that wonderful store. When I got home, I took a bit of a nap then the dog and I did some regular shopping, checked out the cars lined up in the parking lot for the Saturday Night Cruise and got home in time for some bloody awful scifi movies.

Today is wide-opened, and the weather is perfect for an outing. I'm thinking it might be fun to play tourist as some of the historic homes have free admission, and Hyannis has a maritime museum I have yet to see. A walk along the harbor and a seafood lunch might just raise this day to perfection.

Given a choice of where and when, I would chose autumn in New England. The days are sunny and warm with dark blue skies sprung from a painter's palette. The ocean is everywhere. On early mornings, when the fog hovers just over the ground, the smell of the sea permeates the air, and I just stand, breathe and take in the ocean. Any ride is filled with the sounds of noisy gulls and the sights of hawks riding the thermals. The colors have begun to change, and the cranberries will soon be harvested. At night, the air is crisp and sometimes cold. A fire in the chiminea wards off the chill, and a glass of wine warms the innards. The sky is filled with stars. I think this is as close to heaven as being alive allows.

La Palome: Banda de Zapadores de Mexico

Today we celebrate the anniversary of Mexico's independence from Spain.


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They All Went to Mexico: Willie Nelson

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Down in Mexico: The Coasters

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South of the Border Down Mexico Way: Bob Wiils and the Texas Playboys

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“Excuse my dust”

This morning I went around the house moving stuff from one spot to another to accommodate a birthday gift I'd received. Once the stuff was rearranged, I'd casually walk into the room and take a look around as if just visiting. I ended up having to change those pieces and walk through the room several times before I was content. Meanwhile, the stuff I moved had obviously spent eons in the same spot judging by the outlines left in the dust. That meant I needed to polish the shelves. There I was on my knees at lower shelf eye-level when I noticed that under the shelves were granules of sand sufficient for a small beach scene. I got the dustpan and swept the sand. While throwing the sand back outside from whence it came, I saw the sun shining on enough spider webs to save entire farms of pigs. I went hunting for a dustrag and cleared away the webs. I was thinking I was finished when I noticed that the cats had left paw prints on the dining room table. First, I hate them on the table, but I understand their need to escape the attentions of one cute but annoying dog. Second, the only reason I saw the pawprints was, and I figure you know the answer here, the dust. I then got polish and a rag and polished the dining room table which led me to the cabinet and the serving table. During this entire time the dog kept coming in from outside to see what was happening. She'd decide it was of little interest and then ring those damn bells to go back outside. I think we're at outside 6, inside 5.

I have yet to place the gift in its new spot in the kitchen. I'm thinking before I do, I need to have the bucket, mop, cleaning cloths and metal polisher ready just in case.

I'll Never Find Another You: The Seekers

The Seekers were formed in Australia in 1963 and had a string of hits, including this one. Their others included A World of Our Own, Come the Day and Georgy Girl.

They arrived in London via a crusie ship performance and found they were already booked for several London gigs and had a record deal in the offing. Several songs reach number one, and they were selling nearly as many records as The Beatles. By the tail end of the 60's, their music had begun to change from folk to folk rock and finally morphed into more of a pop sound. This sound, though, began to fade as did the fortunes of The Seekers.

The Best of the Seekers, reached number one in 1969, but the group disbanded earlier that year following a farewell concert broadcast on British television.


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Diamond Day: Vashti Bunyan

It was an article in the Boston Globe which reminded me I had this album. It seems Vashti Bunyan is making her first tour to the United States and is playing in Boston tonight.

When her first album, Just Another Diamond Day, was released, it was 1970. Bunyan was being hailed as the female Dylan. But then she just disappeared from the music scene. She retired but resurfaced in 2000 and released another album, Lookaftering, her first in thirty five years. It has been called brilliant, and I've ordered it without even listening. I don't need to.


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“Nothing says holidays, like a cheese log.”

A huge list of errands to do today, and I don't mind. Riding around in the car this time of year is very nearly a pleasure. The roads are clear, the weather beautiful and the scenery breathtaking. I take Miss Gracie and my camera and we meander. Yesterday found us on a road along the water watching a sailfish being gently blown across the river. The sailor and I chatted for a bit as he glided by us. I'm thinking today is one of those this road looks good days. First the errands then the meandering.

Most days had almost no importance when I was a kid. They just were. Friday meant the end of the school week and Saturday meant cartoons, but the rest of the week was just a jumble. We kids really only recognized the big days, calendar circling days, countdown days. We knew what the weather would be and the phase of the moon. Nothing about the big days escaped our attention. Halloween was the first. It necessitated lots of planning. What would I be this year? Where would my route take me and who gives out fruit and needs to be avoided? Thanksgiving was next, and it was the mini school vacation which earned it a big day listing. Parades were fun to watch, and turkey tasted great, but the day had no real kid attraction. The DAY of all days was next, Christmas. My mind boggles at the preparations. We looked through catalogues, left steam on shop windows and made list after list. Christmas Eve used to take forever to arrive. I swear December had fifty or sixty days when I was a kid.

Nothing much happened after Christmas. Once in a while a snow day would elevate a lumped together day to a higher listing, but those were rare. It was a long wait until Easter.

The Windmills of Your Mind: Noel Harrison

There are three things I remember about Noel Harrison: this song, The Girl from U.N.C.L.E. and his father, Rex.

This song was released in 1969 and was his only hit. It was also the theme from The Thomas Crown Affair.


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Forgiven: Deb Tallen

The first time I heard Deb Talen I just wanted to listen to her over and over I was so taken with her voice.

I went looking to find out about her and learned she had classical training in the clarinet and piano and recorded two albums with a group she formed called Hummingfish. When the group disbanded in 1999, she left Oregon and moved to Boston. It was there she recorded Something Burning from which this song is taken. Deb Talen is also one half of the Weepies.


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Animals are such agreeable friends - they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms.

Writing this blog is sometimes done under the most trying circumstances. Today a cat sits on my desk with her tail swishing back and forth hiding the letters on the keyboard. Yesterday it was playtime and Gracie kept bringing me her toys. I had to type with one hand and throw Gracie's frog down the hall with the other. These animals of mine feel entitled, my fault of course. The cats expect treats every time I go up stairs, and the dog expects treats anytime I go into the kitchen. Gracie follows me then sits right down. She associates the act of sitting with a treat, my fault again. The cats have canned food, dry food and treats. Their litter is natural and recyclable. The dog has canned food, dry food, dog biscuits and chews, pork, beef and lamb, all natural of course. She eats healthier than I do. The cats sleep upstairs during the day, on beds, while the dog has a favorite chair. At night, we share though my share is generally less than theirs. If I need human food, I scrape by with whatever is in my kitchen, grocery shopping not being a favorite of mine, but if I need animal food, I shop. On the totem pole of life, I sit at the bottom.

I don't know what I would do without Fern, Maddie and Gracie. They keep me company, make me laugh, grouse and even raise my voice. They nestle beside me on the couch when I watch television and cuddle next to me at night to keep me warm. They are all lickers, my three, with Gracie the messiest. She licks faces and arms and hands. Fern and Maddie are much gentler, even delicate, and a heck of a lot drier. Maddie licks my arm on the way by, and Fern licks my cheek. All three give me unbounded love, and I try my best to deserve it.

This Train: Sandy Denny

I actually played this before but so long ago you probably don't remember. I figured it fit perfectly with the Frank, and I can always listen to Sandy Denny, repeat or not. (Besides, I have this girl-boy thing stuck in my head.)

This was a solo recording made by in 1967, a year before Denny joined Fairport Convention.


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Blues Run the Game: Jackson C. Frank

When I played Kimbie not long ago, the response was huge, mostly because many were hearing Jackson C. Frank for the first time.

This is probably his most well known, his most significant song. It is the title track from that album I mentioned in the earlier post and was written on the boat as Frank was sailing to England.


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“If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come.”

Yesterday I cleaned and filled all the bird feeders. During the night, the word must have passed from bird to bird as the air is filled with zooming chickadees, finches and blue jays. I suspect the squirrels eavesdropped as I saw a few completing spectacular balancing acts on the thin pine branches to hang at the feeders. You can easily identify these squirrels from my yard. They waddle. My suet feeder disappeared a while back, compliments of a racoon who carried it to the backyard to dine al fresco. I'll wire it to a branch and hope it stays a bit longer than a day, but racoons tend to be persistent beasts. Doves are ground feeders, and I throw handfuls of seeds so they don't feel left out of the dining experience. My birds stay around all winter. I keep the feeders full and add a heater to the birdbath. In the dead of winter, with trees bare and snow covering the ground, the birds remind me of the joys of a summer morning filled with song.

Tonight Will Be Fine: Teddy Thompson

This cut is from Leonard Cohen: I'm Your Man, the motion picture soundtrack which was recorded at a tribute in Sidney, Australia.

I had high hopes for this album but was disappointed. Some singers just didn't seem to be suited to the songs they sang. This song, however, is an exception and is one of the few I really enjoyed.


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Night Comes On: Judy Collins

This is from her 2004 album Judy Collins Sings Leonard Cohen- Democracy. Judy Collins has been covering Leonard Cohen songs since 1966 when she first recorded Suzanne and Dress Rehearsal Rag, both of which are on this album. It was her cover of Suzanne which led me to the music of Leonard Cohen.


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"September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret."

Slipper weather arrived last night, and sweatshirt weather dawned this morning. Gone is the time of air conditioners, fans and complaining about the heat. September is here, the time of fires to ward off the evening chill, of crisp apples and fresh cranberries and corn husks by the fence. The farm stands offer turnips and pumpkins and gourds. The fields and gardens are brown and only the cranberry bogs keep their red for autumn.

The beaches are near empty. The few beach chair occupants soak in the last of summer's heat with blankets across their knees. Walkers follow the tide line, and dogs run free.

Gracie and I walked the beach yesterday. The path we took to the water was surrounded by beach grass. I let Gracie run free to explore. She stopped every three or four steps to sniff and had to run to catch up with me. I took off my sandals to feel the warm sand under my feet. Gracie stopped at the water, sniffed the seaweed and watched as the waves kept returning to the sand. She cocked her head as if to wonder why. A wave washed close to her and she jumped away. When it had gone, she again moved close only to jump back when another wave arrived. A passing seagull caught her eye and she forgot the water. Gracie found dead crabs and pieces of crabs. She wanted to greet the few people we saw, but I decided to spare them her exuberance. I saved a small piece of driftwood swirled by the water as my memento of the day. Gracie brought home sand.

To the Fallen: Ruthie Foster

You'd be hardpressed to pigeon hole Ruthie Foster. She's blues, folk, gospel and even a little country. She has this strong voice that almost totally demands your attention. It's like you don't want to miss a single note.

Ruthie Foster is from Texas, was a vocalist for the Navy Band and sang in New York where she had signed with Atlantic Records, but she returned to Texas when she heard her mother, who was extremely ill, needed her. Ruthie's mother died when Ruthie was on stage as she had insisted that Ruthie not cancel the concert.

This cut is from Crossover.


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All the Diamonds: Bruce Cockburn

Cockburn wrote this song when he was in Stockholm in 1973 and it first appeared on 1974's Salt, Sun and Time. He later said this song was written the day he realized he was a Christian.


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"There is no frigate like a book."

Books are as necessary as food and water. They have been part of my life since my oldest memories. My mother first started reading to me from Golden Books. I would sit on her lap and follow every line then we'd play name the animals on the back covers. She said the one book I never tired of hearing was Henny Penny. Even then science fiction was a draw. I know that I had my Bobbsey Twins' period and went everywhere with Nan and Bert and Freddie and Flossie. I remember how they climbed to the torch of the Statue of Liberty and found adventures at the circus. A few of those original books are still upstairs in my bookcase. They remain a treasure from my childhood.

My mother read the classics to us, and I remember her reading Robinson Caruso. My brother and I would be sitting on his bed listening to my mother and hanging on her every word. We hated it when it was time for bed, and we were left stranded in the middle of a chapter. I started reading them on my own so I'd never have to stop. Little Women was read on the bus to school when I was in the fifth grade, and Jo became my hero. The Five Little Peppers made me sad because they had so little but taught me that happiness came from each other. I wanted to be stranded like Swiss Family Robinson just so I could live in a tree house. My second favorite on the list would have to be Treasure Island. It had pirates and treasure, treachery and bravery and a great bad guy in Long John Silver. My first favorite, the one I read over and over, was The Wind in the Willows. Mole, Badger and Water Rat taught me about having adventures and about unqualified friendship. Toad was their friend, and that was enough.

I have traveled everywhere, across time and space, under the sea and into a rabbit hole, without ever leaving my house.

I'll See You in My Dreams: Pat Boone

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I Never Dreamed You'd Leave in Summer: Stevie Wonder

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Lost in a Dream: The Ink Spots

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Life is But a Dream: The Harptones

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“We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure..."

Boring and predictable seem to describe the older me. Gone are the days of downing bottles of wine of unknown vintages and anonymous countries of origin before falling into bed at the wee-est of hours. Gone is the energy to wake up in time for school or work and be little the worse for wear. Now, a bit of wine makes me sleepy and without eight hours I get cranky and need a nap.

Any far-fetched or half-baked idea or plan was met with whole hearted enthusiasm. We had no date book, no calendar of events, nothing to interfere with the spontaneity of our lives. But I now need constant reminders of scheduled events. I keep a calendar in my bag and one in every room and cross check one to the others to make sure I miss nothing.

Like Count Dracula, I used to own the night. I'd be up until two or three and some nights I wouldn't make it to bed at all then I'd sleep in until noon. I seldom make it beyond eleven now and am up by six thirty. I've even been known to fall asleep on the couch with the tv blaring and all the lights still lit. It's getting late has taken on a whole new meaning.

I remember when a friend's car hit 100,000 miles. We stopped right there at the side of the highway and had a party. We unscrewed the wine, popped the beer cans and celebrated.

That part of me is alive and thriving, the dare to part, though the opportunities to exercise it are far less frequent. I do love skirting the edge, taking a chance. It keeps life exciting and moves the blood a bit faster through the veins. Life's big adventure doesn't end when you get older, it just slows down a bit.

Be True to Your School: Beach Boys

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School Days: Chuck Berry

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Teacher's Pet: Doris Day

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Straight A's in Love: Johnny Cash

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“I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods.”

I miss a lot of the people I knew in the 50's. The milkman came every other day and left bottles in the rack on the top step. He always announced his presence with a cheery, "Milkman's here." We all knew his name, and he and my mother would pass pleasantries at the door. The man who sharpened knives and scissors drove his little cart around the neighborhoods and shouted to let us know he was here. We ran with scissors back then so as not to miss him. I used to stand and watch the sparks fly as he would grind the blades on his wheel. The ragpicker had a horse and wagon then a really old, rusty pickup truck. He would ride around calling, "Rags here. Newspapers here." He scared me a little. Newspapers were hand-delivered before school and Friday was collection day. The ice cream man, Johnny, was our favorite, and you could hear his truck bell every summer afternoon around the same time. The garbage man came with a barrel slung over his shoulder. He would lift the cover and pull the garbage pail out of the ground to empty it. He always wore the grungiest gloves. We could choose between the red or the white corner store for errands. We liked the white one run by two sisters. At Christmas there were so many cards the mailman came twice a day, mornings and afternoons.

I don't remember when they all stopped coming. I should have missed them more.

John Hardy: Leon Bibb

I'm trying a little something new today and offering a father-son combo of the Bibbs, Leon and Eric.

Leon Bibb was part of the folk scene in the 50's and 60's in Greenwich Village. His sweet music reflects his classical background which he has mixed with spirituals from his childhood as well as the blues. He was another artist who was blacklisted, and, though he continued to sing, he also turned to acting to make a living. He has been in two feature movies and has performed on the Broadway stage.


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Judge Not Your Brother: Eric Bibb

Eric Bibb can easily sing them all: the blues, folk and jazz. As mentioned above, his father Leon and the musicians of the 60's were his roots. The rest is pure Eric!

This cut is from a Putamayo compilation of American Folk

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“Everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.”

Bits of memories surface. I had totally forgotten the raft my brother and I build, but it has vividly jumped into my head from whatever place it had been stored. I remember the ragtag pile of mismatched pieces of wood taking form and how I cut my hand pretty badly during construction. Our raft was seaworthy, barely seaworthy, but when we pushed off for on maiden voyage, we were seamen. It never mattered that the water constantly sloshed over the top and our feet were always wet. We'd pole our craft back and forth across the small pond, taking turns being captain. My brother sometimes would straddle his feet from side to side and rock the raft. I was never scared, just annoyed, a feeling constantly brought about by the very existence of a little brother. I don't remember how long that raft held our attention that summer. It was just another one of our many adventures.

Those were the days of one car families and mothers who didn't drive. If we needed to be somewhere, we walked. The town pool was as far away from my house as you could get and still be in the same town. We'd grab towels and bathing suits, our penny to get in and walk all the way. I still remember how clear the water looked, how brightly it reflected the sun and how you got this bracelet thing to hold your locker key. Alongside the pool were the high school bathing beauties stretched out on their towels. Guys would sneak over and drop water on their backs then jump back into the pool. I was too young to recognize it as the flirting it was. I just thought it funny when the girls jumped up and squealed. We'd stay at the pool most of the day, but when it got close to the end of the afternoon, it was time for the long walk home. We'd be carrying wets towels and suits and dragging from a day in the sun and water. The walk took forever. By the time we got home, we were exhausted and dying of thirst. But a couple of days later, we couldn't wait to do it all over again.

Big Town: Tanya Savory

Tanya Savory is a mixed genre singer-songwriter which would seem to make it difficult to shelf her CD's. Do I put her in folk? How about country?

She has been likened to Iris DeMent and Nanci Griffith. I sometimes think comparisons are a bit of a disservice to any singer, but I guess, because she is a bit unknown, comparing helps to put Tanya in some musical context. This song, though, makes me think that singers will soon be compared to Tanya Savory.

This cut is from Town to Town, her 1999 Rounder debut album.


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Blue River: Danko, Fjeld, Andersen

This is a cut from a wonderful album called One More Shot. Jonas Fjeld, THE Norwegian singer, joins with Rick Danko and Eric Andersen. Each of the singers has solos backed by the rich harmony of all three voices. The album won a Norwegian Grammy in 1992 and has recently been rereleased by BMW with the addition of a live recording of the three singing at the Molde Jazz Festival in 1991.

Blue River is one of my favorite Andersen songs, and Rick Danko is magnificient with this rendition. The song reminds me how much Danko is missed.


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“Every day feels like before the first day of school, you know when you like lay your clothes out, you can't sleep and you're really excited.”

The air was chilly when Miss Gracie decided she needed to go out for her morning duty call. I had hopes we'd both go back to sleep, but Gracie had other ideas. I'm glad, in a way, because I got to see the dawn of a glorious day, the sort of day which gives fall its good name. Only a few wispy clouds float in a sea of blue, the deepest of blues. Though the house is cool, the sun is already hot enough to draw the cat to the doorway mat. She is my barometer. Gracie too sleeps in the sun. The two animals have ceased their hostilities for the sake of comfort.

We did errands yesterday. At every stop, I carried on conversations with huge numbers of strangers drawn to Gracie. She is just too cute to ignore. Two men, patiently sitting and waiting for their wives, rolled down their car window to chat. They had been watching Gracie and were quite amused by her antics. She had pulled down visors and chewed papers and books to keep herself busy while I was gone. The men said they tried to figure what Gracie's human might be like. They thought I needed to be younger.

The school buses rolled this morning. It is the third school year which has started without me. I couldn't be happier.

Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound: Nanci Griffith

I had never heard of Nanci Griffith before her album Other Voices/Other Rooms won a Grammy for Best Folk Album. I was amazed that I had somehow missed her. I bought that album then another and another. Part of the problem, I figured, was that country thing I had. I could think of no other eason I had missed Nanci Griffith.

This cut is from that Grammy album, Nanci Griffth's way of paying homage to those singer-songwriters who influenced her music. This is a Tom Paxton.


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Miss Cherry Lane: Paul Siebel

This is another great singer-songwriter who has been virtually ignored. Maybe we can be in the forefront of a Siebel revival. He made two albums and then just disappeared from the music scene. Some of his lyrics are filled with a sense of mysticism and every song is always backed by a great melody.

Both of his albums have been reissued. This cut is from his self-titled album, and his other album is called Jack-Knife Gypsy.


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"If you have a job without any aggravations, you don't have a job."

I remember clearly my first job, the summer after high school. Though I had put applications just about everywhere, only Woolworth's answered. They had me working the register and cleaning cages. The hamsters, guinea pigs and fish were mine. Each day I'd clean out the cages and feed all my charges. I learned a lot about rodents that summer. One of my earliest lessons was not to leave the male hamster with the babies if I wanted the babies to live. I'd play musical cages and secure the mother and her newborns. It was neat watching those pale, hairless babies grow up, and I was a proud mother when litters became inventory. We had a lot of litters that summer. One thing I never did learn was how to tell a female hamster from a male.

All the rest of the summers during college I worked in the post office sorting mail. It was the most laid back place I ever worked. You sat on a leaning stool, wore a rubber thumb for sorting and worked at your own pace. The regulars had the slowest pace. One guy, my favorite to watch, used to line up the envelopes by size. He'd stop sorting, reach into the cubby hole, pull out the mail and then arrange it with smallest on top on down to largest. He never did get all his mail sorted by the end of the night. I was often asked to pair with a guy named Pete. If I agreed to work with Pete, I'd get extra breaks as his hygiene left a lot to be desired. Pete was also a drinker. He would stop sorting, look around for the foreman, take a drink from the bottle he'd hidden in the trash, look at me and wink. I was his co-conspirator. What Pete didn't realize was everyone knew he drank. The foreman would even hold periodic scavenger hunts for Pete's bottles. Pete was, despite his shortcomings, a pretty funny guy.

I was a quick study and could sort almost all the different boards. I even took over for my compulsive co-worker who would have been shocked to see the haphazard messes in each of my cubbyholes. At the end of the summer, before my senior year in college, I was offered a permanent job. Needless to say, I turned down the kind offer. Pete was on his own.

Morning Morgantown: Joni Mitchell

This has been a difficult day for choosing my second song. I listened to at least ten and none of them sounded right until I tried Joni.


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Kimbie: Jackson C. Frank

Who the heck is Jackson C. Frank?

Well, he is an American folk singer who made his way to England during its 60's folk boom. It was there he cut his only album with Paul Simon as producer. The album was an immediate hit in England and Scotland, but when the album was released in the United States, it was a commercial failure.

This self-titled album was long out of print and near impossible to find, but you can now buy a remastered copy. Blues Run the Game and My Name Is Carnival as well Kimbie are three of the best songs you never heard.

"The sudden fame had a paralyzing effect on Frank. Plagued by writer’s block, stage fright and depression, his talent seemed to have deserted him and within just a few years his money was all gone. He fled back to the United States to pull himself together, but just as he was getting his life and music in order, his wife left him and his son died, sending him hurtling back into a deep depression from which he would never recover. He was institutionalized, became homeless and spent most parts of the next twenty five years living as a vagrant on the streets of New York City, where he was once almost murdered. Every now and then a story would appear that he had been "saved", and rumors would start that he was planning a comeback, but nothing ever materialized and Jackson C. Frank died a sad death after a sad life with just one short highlight."
( Quote from Fuller Up)


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"Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn."

I don't remember when chrysanthemums became just plain mums, but I like the informal name better. It makes them seem more familiar, more like old friends. They started appearing at stores and garden stands in the last few weeks. Rows and rows of mums sit, tempting me to stop and fill my trunk. Compared to the glories of a summer garden, their colors seem almost muted, understated. But those oranges and yellows serve a higher purpose: they are mother nature's way of letting us down slowly, reminding us with fading colors that the bleakest of all seasons will follow soon enough.

Fall on Cape Cod has its own pattern and sense of drama. With just the right timing, you might happen on a cranberry bog being harvested. Red berries are churned to the surface and corraled into a wide circle. Yellow waders are in contrast with the bright red of the harvested berries and the deeper red of the submerged bog as workers move the circle closer and closer to the harvester sitting idly at the edge of the bog, waiting its first berries. Every year I watch this fall ritual with such enthusiasm you'd think it my first harvest.

The marshes are surrounded by scrub oaks. They keep their celebration of the season low-keyed by adding just another shade of red to the landscape. Every now and then a maple in full array stands brightly among the reds. I love its audacity.

Fall means the beaches are ours again, and Gracie is welcome to run across the sand and chase seagulls. This is the one time I feel bad for seagulls. They have no idea what is in store for them.

It's My Job: Jimmy Buffett

This cut is from Coconut Telegraph.


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Union Maid: New Harmony Sisterhood Band

This is one of Woody's Guthries best known songs. It was written in 1940 in Oklahoma City where Woody and Pete Seeger were singing for a group of striking oil workers.

The New Harmony Sisterhood Band was made up of five Boston-area women, some of whom met in a feminist studies course at the Goddard-Cambridge Graduate School for Social Change in 1973-1974.

This cut is from Classic Labor Songs from Smithsonian Folkways


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"Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop."

"Labor Day differs in every essential way from the other holidays of the year in any country," said Samuel Gompers, founder and longtime president of the American Federation of Labor. "All other holidays are in a more or less degree connected with conflicts and battles of man's prowess over man, of strife and discord for greed and power, of glories achieved by one nation over another. Labor Day...is devoted to no man, living or dead, to no sect, race, or nation.

Top Hat, White Tie and Tails: Fred Astaire

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All Around My Hat: Steeleye Span

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Mexican Hat Dance: Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass

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Hats Off to Larry: Del Shannon

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“The tongue is the only tool that gets sharper with use”

It is one of those boring days when the highlight will be a sale on aisle two. I'm down to my last roll of toilet paper. It's time to shop, and the weather seems to be commiserating. It's cold and rainy.

My tool drawer is filled with all the necessities. I have two screwdrivers, two hammers, pliers, wire cutters and a wrench. Any job needing more than that needs someone else. Being handy to me means neatly folding laundry and knowing which spice works best with what foods.

I once took a woodworking course and even made a bookcase. The machines were so huge and scary I kept moving my fingers further back from the moving blades. I think it was too many Stephen King novels with vengeful inanimate objects. That got me thinking about tools. I thought about getting screwed and how that didn't need a screwdriver which is really a drink with orange juice. Too many screwdrivers and you get hammered which is far better than getting nailed.

English is a strange language.

Beans for Breakfast: Martin Belmont

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Coffee in the Morning and Kisses at Night: The Boswell Sisters

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Big Butter and Egg Man: Bessie Smith

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Banana Pancakes: Jack Johnson

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“Only dull people are brilliant at breakfast.”

The wind is blowing the leaves of the giant oak tree outside my window, and the day is heavy with gray. I can feel a cold breeze from the window beside me. It is October weather, sweatshirt weather, perfect for shopping a bit and stopping later for a scone and a cup of coffee.

The Cape will be quiet this last weekend of summer. The beaches will be empty except for the hearty souls who are drawn to the shore by the promise of wind and weather. People and their dogs might just have their beaches back a bit early this year.

This afternoon, once I get home, I'll be lazy. I might watch a movie, start my new book, take a nap or do all three in no particular order. It is perfect weather for a pizza. I'm thinking maybe caramelized onions and one more topping to be named later. It will do for dinner and tomorrow's breakfast. Yes, okay, I admit it. I am a fan of pizza for breakfast. Every Italian bakery, around here anyway, has pans of cheese pizza for sale. The pans are always square and the pizza always room temperature. I buy the traditional morning pastries for the less adventurous and a piece of pizza for me. Breakfast is, after all, defined by when, not what you eat.

Circle Dance: Bonnie Raitt

The only commentary needed when Bonnie Raitt sings is where you can find the song: Longing in Their Hearts is the album.


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When Fall Comes to New England: Cheryl Wheeler

Cheryl Wheeler appears here often. I really enjoy her humorous songs, but it is her personal, more intense music I love.

Cheryl Wheeler lives in New England, and her song is filled with the colors and sights and sounds of my favorite season in my favorite of all places.

This cut is from her first album on Rounder Records, 1993's Driving Home.


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"Sex is good, but not as good as fresh, sweet corn."

Fall seems to have poked its head into summer's last hurrah. The days are cool and the nights downright chilly. The windows and doors have been closed for the last week though I suspect the hot days might return just in time for the opening of school. That just seems to be the way. Weather happens and is rarely convenient. Rain is expected during the weekend pushing our traditional Sunday barbecue to Monday. We're saying goodbye to summer with steak and potato salad, with and without onions, and hello to fall with Waldorf salad. The menu will be highlighted with more of summer's best: local tomatoes and sweet corn. We'll sit around, chat about the weather, bemoan the demise of the Red Sox and bring the Patriots and football into the conversation for the first time. At least one person will mention how quickly the summer has flown. We'll all agree, and someone will add that it's hard to believe Labor Day is here already. Our yearly end of summer conversation is as traditional as our barbecue.