Turn down the lights, get comfy and listen to a radio Halloween story. Don't worry. It isn't real!
MP3 File
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls."
Being a kid on Halloween meant walking the dark streets and scoffing at being afraid. The shadows seemed larger than life and the noises creepy and haunting, but we weren't afraid or at least we kept telling ourselves that. A sound behind me would make my stomach drop, but I'd pretend it was nothing even though I was never quite sure, and I didn't have the courage to look. Most of the streets were filled with trick or treaters and porch lights were lit so we figured nothing horrible could happen to us. We'd all heard the story of the man with the hook looking for his arm and kept an eye out, but he never appeared. The house we always thought of haunted had shaded windows and no welcoming light on the front porch. Each year someone would go up to the porch and ring the bell, and we'd all scatter in fear and mutual guilt. That was about the worst thing anyone did when I was a kid, and we thought it both brave and foolish.
The least favorite houses would give us apples though a penny pushed into the skin made the fruit a bit more welcome. The best house sprung for nickle bars of candy, but these were few and far between. Most would just give us little bags filled with a few penny candies and maybe a popcorn ball. Lollipops were big. We'd roam the neighborhood then go far afield in our quest. It was never a school night as we went to a parochial school and, unlike our poor friends in the public school, had the next day off as a religious holiday.
We'd arrive home, get big bowls, empty out our candy and do inventory. A bit of trading usually followed and then we'd try to eat as much of our haul as possible, before my mother intervened.
I can never remember a bad Halloween, even rain never deterred us. With no school the next day and a bowl full of candy, it hardly got much better than that.
The least favorite houses would give us apples though a penny pushed into the skin made the fruit a bit more welcome. The best house sprung for nickle bars of candy, but these were few and far between. Most would just give us little bags filled with a few penny candies and maybe a popcorn ball. Lollipops were big. We'd roam the neighborhood then go far afield in our quest. It was never a school night as we went to a parochial school and, unlike our poor friends in the public school, had the next day off as a religious holiday.
We'd arrive home, get big bowls, empty out our candy and do inventory. A bit of trading usually followed and then we'd try to eat as much of our haul as possible, before my mother intervened.
I can never remember a bad Halloween, even rain never deterred us. With no school the next day and a bowl full of candy, it hardly got much better than that.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Handsome Molly: Tim O'Brien
Coffee has been all over the place in the last few weeks with a wide variety of different genres. Today it's bluegrass and Tim O'Brien.
He's been making music for thirty years and sings a range, not just his well known and recognized bluegrass. He can play not only the guitar but also the fiddle and the mandolin. He sings Beatle covers and Dylan covers and a whole bunch more traditional stuff like this song.
Every now and then we get to hear him sing with his sister, Mollie.
MP3 File
He's been making music for thirty years and sings a range, not just his well known and recognized bluegrass. He can play not only the guitar but also the fiddle and the mandolin. He sings Beatle covers and Dylan covers and a whole bunch more traditional stuff like this song.
Every now and then we get to hear him sing with his sister, Mollie.
MP3 File
Fare Thee Well Love: The Rankin Family
Dan asked me if I have a special connection to Canadian singers as I post so many. I really don't, but I find many of them are too good not to be known to us so I like to introduce them to you.
The Rankin Family is from Mabou, Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. Five members, from a family of twelve, recorded and self-released its debut album in 1989. This song is the title track from their second album, released a year later.
Pianist/fiddler John Morris, guitarist/vocalist Jimmy, and singers Raylene, Carol Jean (aka Cookie), and Heather sang together until 1999.
Tragically John Morris was killed in a car accident in 2000.
MP3 File
The Rankin Family is from Mabou, Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. Five members, from a family of twelve, recorded and self-released its debut album in 1989. This song is the title track from their second album, released a year later.
Pianist/fiddler John Morris, guitarist/vocalist Jimmy, and singers Raylene, Carol Jean (aka Cookie), and Heather sang together until 1999.
Tragically John Morris was killed in a car accident in 2000.
MP3 File
“Although I cannot lay an egg, I am a very good judge of omelettes”
Eggs come closest than most foods to being perfect. They do quite well on their own, think scrambled or easy over, and I doubt cakes would be the same without them. Egg salad sandwiches got me through meatless Friday's, and my favorite Christmas quaff is not called egg nog because the name is cute. Raising chickens and collecting eggs used to be the responsibility of the womenfolk, and I actually raised chickens when I lived in Africa. We were never close, and I didn't give them names. Besides, what self-respecting chicken wanted to go through life known as stew or roaster or sandwich meat. I found chickens to be amazing creatures of habit. They walked the same route out of my backyard each morning and returned the same way each evening. A person I was not all that fond of was traveling through my town, and, as was the Peace Corps custom, was invited to stay overnight. We had to sleep outside, in the back of my compound, because of the heat. Being the perfect hostess, I placed his mattress myself. Early the next morning I heard him scream as each chicken walked over him on its way outside. Somehow his mattress had ended up on the chickens' usual route.
The word egg has crept into our lexicon in the most amazing ways. My Dad always talked about someone being a good egg, a high compliment indeed. Laying an egg is always a bad thing, unless, of course, you're a hen then it's your singular purpose in life. The worst name we could call anyone when I was a kid was a rotten egg, but being pegged an egghead was almost as devastating. Walking on egg shells took a certain deft. Getting caught with egg on your face didn't. You egged someone on, and houses were sometimes egged on Halloween, but the two have nothing in common except the egg. You never put all your eggs in one basket except at Easter, and most of them were chocolate anyway. I know you're never supposed to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, but I have no idea why she would even want to learn.
I used to buy eggs in the market. The marketlady would hold each egg up to the light so I could check its freshness. I'd nod my head in approval, but not once, in two years, did I ever know what in the heck I was actually supposed to see.
The word egg has crept into our lexicon in the most amazing ways. My Dad always talked about someone being a good egg, a high compliment indeed. Laying an egg is always a bad thing, unless, of course, you're a hen then it's your singular purpose in life. The worst name we could call anyone when I was a kid was a rotten egg, but being pegged an egghead was almost as devastating. Walking on egg shells took a certain deft. Getting caught with egg on your face didn't. You egged someone on, and houses were sometimes egged on Halloween, but the two have nothing in common except the egg. You never put all your eggs in one basket except at Easter, and most of them were chocolate anyway. I know you're never supposed to teach your grandmother to suck eggs, but I have no idea why she would even want to learn.
I used to buy eggs in the market. The marketlady would hold each egg up to the light so I could check its freshness. I'd nod my head in approval, but not once, in two years, did I ever know what in the heck I was actually supposed to see.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
“After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”
Miss Gracie does not understand the concept of daylight savings. She woke at her usual time which happened no longer to be her usual time. She is waiting outside for her friend Cody to come and play.
Yesterday's storm became tremendous by mid-afternoon. Wind gusts reaching sixty miles an hour blew every tenuous leaf and pine needle to the ground. Leaves blown across streets in ribbons looked like games of follow the leader. Branches bent and creaked. The wind howled well into late evening. The rain, though, stopped early, and the evening was warm, almost balmy.
We stood outside waiting for the doors to open at First Encounter and chatted with people about the wind, boats, the high tide and the warmth of the evening.
The yard looks of late autumn. Light brown needles cover every surface and float in the dog's bowl and the bird bath. The sides of the street are filled with leaves lying in bunches. The wind continues to blow but with less ferocity. Single leaves spiral in the wind on their trips down the street. The air is chilly enough to make noses red.
Last night Eric Andersen was remarkable. Violets of Dawn and Close the Door Lightly When You Go caused heads to bob as listeners mouthed the familiar words. We all sat mesemerized by the strength of his voice and the beauty of his lyrics. He seemed shy at first and said nothing to the audience. He just sang and played. But during the second half, he smiled often and told stories about the songs and his friends from long ago, friends like Phil Ochs. He sang new songs so beautiful I need to buy the album so I can hear them over and over. At the end, he thanked us and quietly walked away. We waited, clapped and wished him to return for the one song he had yet to sing. A few minutes later he returned and started singing, "You've long been on the open road, You've been sleeping in the rain." We joined him on the chorus. I think every person in that audience knew the words.
Yesterday's storm became tremendous by mid-afternoon. Wind gusts reaching sixty miles an hour blew every tenuous leaf and pine needle to the ground. Leaves blown across streets in ribbons looked like games of follow the leader. Branches bent and creaked. The wind howled well into late evening. The rain, though, stopped early, and the evening was warm, almost balmy.
We stood outside waiting for the doors to open at First Encounter and chatted with people about the wind, boats, the high tide and the warmth of the evening.
The yard looks of late autumn. Light brown needles cover every surface and float in the dog's bowl and the bird bath. The sides of the street are filled with leaves lying in bunches. The wind continues to blow but with less ferocity. Single leaves spiral in the wind on their trips down the street. The air is chilly enough to make noses red.
Last night Eric Andersen was remarkable. Violets of Dawn and Close the Door Lightly When You Go caused heads to bob as listeners mouthed the familiar words. We all sat mesemerized by the strength of his voice and the beauty of his lyrics. He seemed shy at first and said nothing to the audience. He just sang and played. But during the second half, he smiled often and told stories about the songs and his friends from long ago, friends like Phil Ochs. He sang new songs so beautiful I need to buy the album so I can hear them over and over. At the end, he thanked us and quietly walked away. We waited, clapped and wished him to return for the one song he had yet to sing. A few minutes later he returned and started singing, "You've long been on the open road, You've been sleeping in the rain." We joined him on the chorus. I think every person in that audience knew the words.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
"Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter."
The wind and rain storm means staying inside my warm house made cozy by lamplight. The room feels safer, almost a refuge. I can hear raindrops hitting the roof and tapping the window beside me. They have a steady beat, slower than I expected. Outside, the brown leaves are shaking from the wind, and bunches of these sodden leaves will cover the ground and give tomorrow a strange smell, of dirt and mold. The rain seems to lend itself to afternoon naps under a warm afghan, and I've already fallen under its spell.
The Invisible Man Returns is on television, a sequel from 1940. Music constantly plays in the background, and the fog seems to be everywhere all the time. The leading man is in dire straits, being invisible and all, but his beloved has hopes and stays with her bandaged love. The movie will end in tragedy; they all do. Being invisible, or a vampire, or a wolfman or a combination of parts guarantees mobs of townspeople or police bent on your destruction. They generally succeed, at least until the sequel.
Tonight I am going to an Eric Andersen concert, and I am pretty excited. He will be singing at the First Encounter Coffee House, a small and intimate place perfect for a folk concert. The name coffee house always conjures for me the 60's when all the best coffee houses were dark and smoky and had a folk singer sitting on a stool under the only bright light with a guitar on her lap. Every time I go to First Encounter I am reminded of then. Though missing the tables, there is always plenty of coffee, lovers of folk music and a singer with a guitar.
The Invisible Man Returns is on television, a sequel from 1940. Music constantly plays in the background, and the fog seems to be everywhere all the time. The leading man is in dire straits, being invisible and all, but his beloved has hopes and stays with her bandaged love. The movie will end in tragedy; they all do. Being invisible, or a vampire, or a wolfman or a combination of parts guarantees mobs of townspeople or police bent on your destruction. They generally succeed, at least until the sequel.
Tonight I am going to an Eric Andersen concert, and I am pretty excited. He will be singing at the First Encounter Coffee House, a small and intimate place perfect for a folk concert. The name coffee house always conjures for me the 60's when all the best coffee houses were dark and smoky and had a folk singer sitting on a stool under the only bright light with a guitar on her lap. Every time I go to First Encounter I am reminded of then. Though missing the tables, there is always plenty of coffee, lovers of folk music and a singer with a guitar.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Wildest Dreams: Eileen Laverty
I suspect Eileen Laverty is as unknown to you as she had been to me. She is from Saskatoon, Sasketchewan, Joni's hometown, though she was born in Belfast. She was a school teacher who decided to pursue music full time.
This song is from her first album, Dancing With Angels. The song was recorded by Mary Black which gave Laverty's career a huge boost. It also resulted in her touring Ireland with Mary Black.
The album won a Prairie Music Award for Best Roots Recording.
MP3 File
This song is from her first album, Dancing With Angels. The song was recorded by Mary Black which gave Laverty's career a huge boost. It also resulted in her touring Ireland with Mary Black.
The album won a Prairie Music Award for Best Roots Recording.
MP3 File
Someday Baby: Bob Dylan
This is from Modern Times which was released in August. According to Wikipedia, it became Dylan's first number 1 album in the US since 1976's Desire, thus making Dylan the oldest living person ever to have an album enter the Billboard charts at number one.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"The evening praises the day, and the morning a frost."
I had a friend drop in for coffee this morning so my posting is even later than usual. We finished a pot of coffee and chatted about music, television, movies, politics and what we'd been up to since we last talked. He is leaving to join the migration of retired people who follow the sun to Florida this same time each year so this was our swan song until spring entices him north.
My house is so clean, at least the downstairs, that I'm thinking of starting tours. I will be handing out sunglasses so that people will not be blinded by the glare shining off the floors. Spiders were sighted with packed suitcases leaving in droves after having been left homeless by the power of my vacuum cleaner. No longer do I know where everything on each shelf belongs. The dust rings are gone, at least until tomorrow.
Gracie and I will be out and about today as we are expecting quite the rainstorm tomorrow, and we have a few errands. Gracie did in my last pumpkin so I need a new one, and Saturday will be the perfect day to stay inside to carve that pumpkin and watch scary movies. I hope for a bit of thunder and lightening; they'd be great mood setters.
My heat has started the last few mornings. More than any other sign that tells me winter is coming. Around the house I've been wearing warm slippers and a sweatshirt hoping to keep the cold at bay, but soon enough the grass tips will be covered in frost each morning, and there'll be a nip in the air. The sun will do its duty and melt the frost for only for a short while longer. The nip will give way to the cold. November is close.
My house is so clean, at least the downstairs, that I'm thinking of starting tours. I will be handing out sunglasses so that people will not be blinded by the glare shining off the floors. Spiders were sighted with packed suitcases leaving in droves after having been left homeless by the power of my vacuum cleaner. No longer do I know where everything on each shelf belongs. The dust rings are gone, at least until tomorrow.
Gracie and I will be out and about today as we are expecting quite the rainstorm tomorrow, and we have a few errands. Gracie did in my last pumpkin so I need a new one, and Saturday will be the perfect day to stay inside to carve that pumpkin and watch scary movies. I hope for a bit of thunder and lightening; they'd be great mood setters.
My heat has started the last few mornings. More than any other sign that tells me winter is coming. Around the house I've been wearing warm slippers and a sweatshirt hoping to keep the cold at bay, but soon enough the grass tips will be covered in frost each morning, and there'll be a nip in the air. The sun will do its duty and melt the frost for only for a short while longer. The nip will give way to the cold. November is close.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
The Field Behind the Plow: Stan Rogers
Stan Rogers found his voice when he began singing about his home, Canada. He sang about the people who worked the mines or the nets or the vast farmlands. He sang of the universals common to us all, especially love and hope. His voice was just beginning to be heard more loudly and beyond the confines of Canada when he died tragically in 1983 in a fire aboard an aircraft.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Beautiful Night: Lynn Miles
This song is from 1999's Night in a Strange Town.
Lynn Miles is a Canadian singer-songwriter whose first album, Slightly Haunted, was touted as one of the best folk albums of the year when it was released in 1996. She has this absolutely beautiful voice and can effortlessly move between folk and pop with an occasional bit of country.
MP3 File
Lynn Miles is a Canadian singer-songwriter whose first album, Slightly Haunted, was touted as one of the best folk albums of the year when it was released in 1996. She has this absolutely beautiful voice and can effortlessly move between folk and pop with an occasional bit of country.
MP3 File
"Where there is no imagination there is no Horror."
As soon as I woke up, I knew it was slipper weather. The house was chilly and the cozy, warm bed inviting. Except for Gracie, I'd probably still be there. She went out, played with her friend and is now back to sleep. I should keep waking her up. Fair is fair.
Pumpkin carving is an art. Even the common jack-o-lantern takes skill. Once that first cut has been made, your path is determined. I have a book of patterns which would raise my pumpkin to art museum status, but I choose the familiar, though every now and then I bravely alternate the look. Last year my pumpkin had a few teeth, lowers. I have yet to carve my 2006 edition, but I figure it will have the usual triangular eyes and nose above a wide grin. Why fiddle with tradition?
I don't remember any of the Halloween costumes I wore when I was a kid. They were mostly the easily put together from stuff at home disguises. I don't think I knew anyone who bought a costume. They were just too expensive. Make-up came from my mother's supply, and she would amply apply lipstick and rouge. We were excited with the grown-up look, but I suspect we resembled more women of the evening than magical fairies or witches. We'd choke down dinner then run to the window to keep careful watch for the first night shadows, our signal that the magic could begin. My mother would remind us of this and that, and we'd nod as if we were really listening. With bags in hand, we'd race to the street to begin the second best night of the year.
Pumpkin carving is an art. Even the common jack-o-lantern takes skill. Once that first cut has been made, your path is determined. I have a book of patterns which would raise my pumpkin to art museum status, but I choose the familiar, though every now and then I bravely alternate the look. Last year my pumpkin had a few teeth, lowers. I have yet to carve my 2006 edition, but I figure it will have the usual triangular eyes and nose above a wide grin. Why fiddle with tradition?
I don't remember any of the Halloween costumes I wore when I was a kid. They were mostly the easily put together from stuff at home disguises. I don't think I knew anyone who bought a costume. They were just too expensive. Make-up came from my mother's supply, and she would amply apply lipstick and rouge. We were excited with the grown-up look, but I suspect we resembled more women of the evening than magical fairies or witches. We'd choke down dinner then run to the window to keep careful watch for the first night shadows, our signal that the magic could begin. My mother would remind us of this and that, and we'd nod as if we were really listening. With bags in hand, we'd race to the street to begin the second best night of the year.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Little Gypsy Girl: Eliza Carthy
Eliza Carthy being the offspring of Martin Carthy and Norma Waterson has music as part of her DNA, and she does sing with her parents as part of Waterson: Carthy.
Her debut album was in 1993: Eliza Carthy and Nancy Kerr. She has since received England's equivalent to the Grammy for Best Folk Album.
This song is from Anglicana released in 2002. It is an album of traditional, purely English folk songs and for Eliza a return to folk after her previous couple of albums.
MP3 File
Her debut album was in 1993: Eliza Carthy and Nancy Kerr. She has since received England's equivalent to the Grammy for Best Folk Album.
This song is from Anglicana released in 2002. It is an album of traditional, purely English folk songs and for Eliza a return to folk after her previous couple of albums.
MP3 File
Early Morning Rain: Ian & Sylvia
Ian & Sylvia were always better together than apart, but it was a wonder to me that they had far less success with their own songs than the artists who covered them.
This Lightfoot cover is from Ian & Sylvia, The Best of the Vanguard Years.
MP3 File
This Lightfoot cover is from Ian & Sylvia, The Best of the Vanguard Years.
MP3 File
“I'd love to go out with you, but my favorite commercial is on TV.”
Today is another blog block day. Every now and then my mind takes a small vacation and packs just about everything. I'm left with old clothes and socks with holes. Each time I've started this morning, I've gotten stuck. One thought had to do with the benefits of growing older. I ran out of ideas right after AARP and discounts on senior Tuesdays. My mind then jumped to TV commercials, and here is where I found some fodder.
Car commercials rule the airwaves. I remember zoom zoom, but I forget who makes it. I'm liking the car which parallel parks by itself, but I'm not amused by the guy living in his car. The rest of the car commercials are just a blur of windy roads and rain. Prescription drugs are now a hot TV commercial topic. You get to see the benefits then they blast you with the huge list of side effects and warnings. My favorite side effect, if you can have a favorite, is for a sleep drug. One of its side effects is drowsiness. Alcohol commercials were gone for the longest time but have returned with a caveat. You get to see people partying at the beach, in a house overlooking the beach, on a patio leading to the beach and from the windows of the most amazing apartment where the city is atwinkle with a million lights. The partygoers are laughing, raising their glasses, dancing and having the best of times. The scenes fade as an overvoice reminds us to drink responsibly.
So now we have car commercials so alike they blend and blur, prescription drug with potentially dire consequences and party goers who probably missed the voiceover. Bring me back to the golden age of commercials. I want to see Choo Choo Charlie and Bucky Beaver. I sort of liked Speedy with his strange little hat, and I loved people flying into their cars from Hertz rental. John Cameron Swazey and his Timex were as constant as the rising of the sun.
Their graphics were simple. Their tunes were catchy and sometimes suggestive, but I still remember those songs and their products. Sometimes I even shake the Good and Plenty box in memory of simpler times.
Car commercials rule the airwaves. I remember zoom zoom, but I forget who makes it. I'm liking the car which parallel parks by itself, but I'm not amused by the guy living in his car. The rest of the car commercials are just a blur of windy roads and rain. Prescription drugs are now a hot TV commercial topic. You get to see the benefits then they blast you with the huge list of side effects and warnings. My favorite side effect, if you can have a favorite, is for a sleep drug. One of its side effects is drowsiness. Alcohol commercials were gone for the longest time but have returned with a caveat. You get to see people partying at the beach, in a house overlooking the beach, on a patio leading to the beach and from the windows of the most amazing apartment where the city is atwinkle with a million lights. The partygoers are laughing, raising their glasses, dancing and having the best of times. The scenes fade as an overvoice reminds us to drink responsibly.
So now we have car commercials so alike they blend and blur, prescription drug with potentially dire consequences and party goers who probably missed the voiceover. Bring me back to the golden age of commercials. I want to see Choo Choo Charlie and Bucky Beaver. I sort of liked Speedy with his strange little hat, and I loved people flying into their cars from Hertz rental. John Cameron Swazey and his Timex were as constant as the rising of the sun.
Their graphics were simple. Their tunes were catchy and sometimes suggestive, but I still remember those songs and their products. Sometimes I even shake the Good and Plenty box in memory of simpler times.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Ramblin': Barbara Dane
The words are Woody Guthrie's, but the music is based on Goodnight, Irene by Leadbelly & John Lomax.
Barbara Dane first started singing in the late 50's and was labeled "Bessie Smith in Stereo" by jazz critic Leonard Feather. She is known more for her blues and jazz recordings. She recorded this at the Ash Grove in Los Angeles for her 1959 album, When I Was a Young Girl, her only truly folk album.
MP3 File
Barbara Dane first started singing in the late 50's and was labeled "Bessie Smith in Stereo" by jazz critic Leonard Feather. She is known more for her blues and jazz recordings. She recorded this at the Ash Grove in Los Angeles for her 1959 album, When I Was a Young Girl, her only truly folk album.
MP3 File
Now Be Thankful: Fairport Convention
This was written by Richard Thompson and Dave Swarbrick. It first appeared as the a-side of a single in 1970. Later it was released on Island Life in 1988.
Youtube has a video of Fairport singing this. You can find it here:
Fairport Sings
MP3 File
Youtube has a video of Fairport singing this. You can find it here:
Fairport Sings
MP3 File
"To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else."
Life presents me with perfect moments. I'm not talking life altering events here, just a small piece of my usual day made remarkable.
I remember being in Ireland in April in a very small, very cold B&B. I remember I took a bath, dried myself almost quicker than imaginable to ward off potential pneumonia and raced into bed where there were layers and layers of covers. I got cozy, nestled, pulled out the Peter Wimsey I was reading and unwrapped my Cadbury chocolate bar. As I started reading and eating, I was struck with the most overwhelming feeling of contentment. I couldn't think of a place or time more perfect than where I was at that very moment.
Last night, Gracie wanted to come in far too quickly so I went out to encourage her efforts. It was chilly, and I was impatient. I stood for a bit and nagged Gracie a little. All of a sudden I was struck by the absolute beauty of the night, so clear, so lit with a million stars. A moment or two later, a falling star crossed the sky, and I was wowed.
These are but two of the moments which have made my life remarkable.
I remember being in Ireland in April in a very small, very cold B&B. I remember I took a bath, dried myself almost quicker than imaginable to ward off potential pneumonia and raced into bed where there were layers and layers of covers. I got cozy, nestled, pulled out the Peter Wimsey I was reading and unwrapped my Cadbury chocolate bar. As I started reading and eating, I was struck with the most overwhelming feeling of contentment. I couldn't think of a place or time more perfect than where I was at that very moment.
Last night, Gracie wanted to come in far too quickly so I went out to encourage her efforts. It was chilly, and I was impatient. I stood for a bit and nagged Gracie a little. All of a sudden I was struck by the absolute beauty of the night, so clear, so lit with a million stars. A moment or two later, a falling star crossed the sky, and I was wowed.
These are but two of the moments which have made my life remarkable.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Soul of a Man: Ollabelle
I apologize for my lack of information this morning, but I need to be on the road, and I'm just going to be on time if I hurry.
MP3 File
MP3 File
“My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance”
My house needs to be cleaned. The dust has become a canvas, deep enough for a masterpiece of words beyond the "wash me" you sometimes see on the backs of trucks. But I have devised a plan. Each day I will tackle one room. I will dust ceilings, furniture and anything else within the reach of my dustrag. I will wash and wax the floors. Each room, when finished, will look like the room in a TV cleaning ad, the one where there are kids, a few toys strewn about and not a speck of dirt or dust and where every counter top shines enough to cause a small fire if the sun directly hits it. That will be my house by the weekend.
Some chores drive me crazy. I never mind washing clothes. I just hate folding them. Grocery shopping is okay until it's time to make the multi-trip hauls into the house and put the groceries away. I hate paying bills even though it takes only a little time. It's the idea of watching all that money disappear that causes the pain. I love buying flowers but hate planting them. Cooking all kinds of new and different foods for dinners with friends is one of my favorite ways to spend time, but the endless clean-ups make me want to scream.
What I need is a factotum. I can't pay much, but I'm witty and gracious. Please submit resumes by e-mail. Meals are included, but only if you cook them.
Some chores drive me crazy. I never mind washing clothes. I just hate folding them. Grocery shopping is okay until it's time to make the multi-trip hauls into the house and put the groceries away. I hate paying bills even though it takes only a little time. It's the idea of watching all that money disappear that causes the pain. I love buying flowers but hate planting them. Cooking all kinds of new and different foods for dinners with friends is one of my favorite ways to spend time, but the endless clean-ups make me want to scream.
What I need is a factotum. I can't pay much, but I'm witty and gracious. Please submit resumes by e-mail. Meals are included, but only if you cook them.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
"October's poplars are flaming torches lighting the way to winter."
Gracie broke her collar and took off yesterday. Luckily she just went down the street to visit her friend Cody, who hadn't come his usual time in the morning. Gracie must have been missing him and decided she'd leave here and just drop by Cody's to say hello. Luckily one of Cody's people saw Miss Gracie and brought her back to my yard with Cody where they got their romp.
The last two mornings have been really chilly. The sun seems dimmer, even a bit tired. The glare of hot days has given way to the clarity only cold mornings bring. I know the sun will gather its strength as I can feel the hint of warmth in today's morning air, but late afternoons have now joined the mornings and are cold and colder again each day. A warm day is a gift, an extension of the season warding off the inevitable.
The farmstands are still filled, but their offerings have changed. The summer's fresh vegetables have been replaced by the squashes and pumpkins of autumn. Bumpy, strangely shaped and brightly colored gourds lie in bins where fresh fruits used to reside. Pumpkins of various sizes and personalities sit on long pallets vacated by summer flowers. Apples are tart and crispy, and cider stays cold in the shadows. Newly dug potatoes still carry the look of dirt about them. The cranberries are a dark, subdued color and available by the scoop. Smiling scarecrows on long sticks stand ready to decorate a front yard. Square bales of hay and tall corn stalks are for sale. The richly colored ears of autumn corn hang in bunches. Icicle pansies are the last reminders of summer, their bright colors befitting an earlier season, not the waning of the year.
I love New England in the fall.
The last two mornings have been really chilly. The sun seems dimmer, even a bit tired. The glare of hot days has given way to the clarity only cold mornings bring. I know the sun will gather its strength as I can feel the hint of warmth in today's morning air, but late afternoons have now joined the mornings and are cold and colder again each day. A warm day is a gift, an extension of the season warding off the inevitable.
The farmstands are still filled, but their offerings have changed. The summer's fresh vegetables have been replaced by the squashes and pumpkins of autumn. Bumpy, strangely shaped and brightly colored gourds lie in bins where fresh fruits used to reside. Pumpkins of various sizes and personalities sit on long pallets vacated by summer flowers. Apples are tart and crispy, and cider stays cold in the shadows. Newly dug potatoes still carry the look of dirt about them. The cranberries are a dark, subdued color and available by the scoop. Smiling scarecrows on long sticks stand ready to decorate a front yard. Square bales of hay and tall corn stalks are for sale. The richly colored ears of autumn corn hang in bunches. Icicle pansies are the last reminders of summer, their bright colors befitting an earlier season, not the waning of the year.
I love New England in the fall.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Pearl Harbor Memorial Fund
I received this e-mail last week and thought it important to support the efforts of the Pearl Harbor Memorial Fund so I'm posting all the information I received in place of my usual posting. Just think about all I'll have to say tomorrow!
I'm contacting bloggers about a web project to honor and remember survivors of the Peal Harbor attack in 1941. After looking at your blog, I thought you might be interested in this information. As you know, December 7th, 2006 marks the 65th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. For 65 years, America has rightly honored those who gave their lives at Pearl Harbor, but thousands more lived to fight on, defend freedom, preserve democracy and rally a nation. This year, the Pearl Harbor Memorial Fund is proud to sponsor the Pearl Harbor Survivor's Project, a new initiative to remember the survivors of Dec. 7, 1941, as well as the freedom they preserved. The campaign, which centers around an interactive website, www.pearlharborstories.org, seeks to engage the future generations of Americans who benefit even today from these efforts.
The Pearl Harbor Survivors Project is an online community that allows users to:
* Share stories told by their fathers, grandfathers, spouses and friends using the latest social networking technology
* Upload photos, letters and other memorabilia to create “living, interactive history
* Create a lasting tribute to Pearl Harbor Survivors that will be preserved for future generations
* Make a donation to preserve history physically in the form of a new Pearl Harbor Memorial Museum and Visitors Center on Pearl Harbor
* We invite you to visit www.pearlharborstories.org, share your story or that of a loved one, and explore other survivor stories. While you're on the site, please take a moment to check out the survivor database, which will serve as a lasting record of those who survived the December 7th attack. http://www.pearlharborstories.org/survivors
Finally, we're excited to offer a toll-free number for people who would prefer to phone in their loved one's story. Users are invited to call 1-866-PHSTORY, where they can record a story that will be saved as a podcast and uploaded onto the website. Thank you for your support, and we hope you enjoy the site!
Let me know if you need further information.
Sincerely,
Terrance Heath
The Pearl Harbor Survivors Project
I'm contacting bloggers about a web project to honor and remember survivors of the Peal Harbor attack in 1941. After looking at your blog, I thought you might be interested in this information. As you know, December 7th, 2006 marks the 65th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. For 65 years, America has rightly honored those who gave their lives at Pearl Harbor, but thousands more lived to fight on, defend freedom, preserve democracy and rally a nation. This year, the Pearl Harbor Memorial Fund is proud to sponsor the Pearl Harbor Survivor's Project, a new initiative to remember the survivors of Dec. 7, 1941, as well as the freedom they preserved. The campaign, which centers around an interactive website, www.pearlharborstories.org, seeks to engage the future generations of Americans who benefit even today from these efforts.
The Pearl Harbor Survivors Project is an online community that allows users to:
* Share stories told by their fathers, grandfathers, spouses and friends using the latest social networking technology
* Upload photos, letters and other memorabilia to create “living, interactive history
* Create a lasting tribute to Pearl Harbor Survivors that will be preserved for future generations
* Make a donation to preserve history physically in the form of a new Pearl Harbor Memorial Museum and Visitors Center on Pearl Harbor
* We invite you to visit www.pearlharborstories.org, share your story or that of a loved one, and explore other survivor stories. While you're on the site, please take a moment to check out the survivor database, which will serve as a lasting record of those who survived the December 7th attack. http://www.pearlharborstories.org/survivors
Finally, we're excited to offer a toll-free number for people who would prefer to phone in their loved one's story. Users are invited to call 1-866-PHSTORY, where they can record a story that will be saved as a podcast and uploaded onto the website. Thank you for your support, and we hope you enjoy the site!
Let me know if you need further information.
Sincerely,
Terrance Heath
The Pearl Harbor Survivors Project
Friday, October 20, 2006
Fields of Gold: Sting
I watch Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and, given the ratings, am one of the few, but it has become a favorite of mine. The musical guest on last week's pretend Studio 60 was Sting who sang this song though with much less accompaniment.
I apologize for the long delay in posting this but Blogger refused to cooperate this morning.
MP3 File
I apologize for the long delay in posting this but Blogger refused to cooperate this morning.
MP3 File
Heart Like a Wheel: Kate and Anna McGarrigle
This is probably their signature song.
The sisters have been singing together since the 1970's.
MP3 File
The sisters have been singing together since the 1970's.
MP3 File
“I used the dump religiously.”
On Wednesday I made several trips from the house to the car to load the trunk for our weekly dump run. Gracie was loaded last and off we went. We weren't successful. The dump was closed for street repaving. As it is closed on Thursdays as a rule, I've had to wait until today. It is raining, and I will get soaked, but I have no choice. The trash has been sitting long enough to give CSI a lesson on the life cycles of various grubs and beetles and an ability to date my trash should they be so inclined.
Though I have barely any trash, I have enough recycles to keep me in the rain a long while. I know exactly how this will go; I do it every week. First, I toss the cans away, run back to the trunk for the cardboard and then run across the road to the cardboard chute. I then run back to the car and grab the frosted plastics and the colored plastics for their respective bins. I run back to the car yet again for the clear plastics and hike down to the last container to dump them. Wet and muddy, I climb back in the car to drive to the end section where I open the trunk and grab the bags of newspaper and shake them out of their bags into the giant bin. I do the same with the magazines into their bin. I then grab the clear glass, and if I have the arm space, the colored glass and walk to their tables. The signs say not to throw the glass in the bins, but I always do. I like the sound of glass smashing, and the dump guys just toss them anyway. I think they want the fun part for themselves. Then I'm back to the car to drive to the trash bag receptacles. I toss those babies and then leave. But wait, I can't leave quite yet. There might be a couple of more stops. Sometimes I drop clothing off at the Goodwill bin and sometimes I leave stuff at the Treasure Chest which is filled with other peoples' castoffs left for the rest of us to bring home. Then and only then am I done.
There are two picnic tables at my dump. Is there any question as to why?
Though I have barely any trash, I have enough recycles to keep me in the rain a long while. I know exactly how this will go; I do it every week. First, I toss the cans away, run back to the trunk for the cardboard and then run across the road to the cardboard chute. I then run back to the car and grab the frosted plastics and the colored plastics for their respective bins. I run back to the car yet again for the clear plastics and hike down to the last container to dump them. Wet and muddy, I climb back in the car to drive to the end section where I open the trunk and grab the bags of newspaper and shake them out of their bags into the giant bin. I do the same with the magazines into their bin. I then grab the clear glass, and if I have the arm space, the colored glass and walk to their tables. The signs say not to throw the glass in the bins, but I always do. I like the sound of glass smashing, and the dump guys just toss them anyway. I think they want the fun part for themselves. Then I'm back to the car to drive to the trash bag receptacles. I toss those babies and then leave. But wait, I can't leave quite yet. There might be a couple of more stops. Sometimes I drop clothing off at the Goodwill bin and sometimes I leave stuff at the Treasure Chest which is filled with other peoples' castoffs left for the rest of us to bring home. Then and only then am I done.
There are two picnic tables at my dump. Is there any question as to why?
Thursday, October 19, 2006
It Sure Was Better Back Then: Steve Forbert
Steve Forbert had his first album, Alive on Arrival, released in 1978. Romeo's Tune in '79 was probably his biggest hit. He has had some low points in his career and has bounced around a few recording labels. Just Like There's Nothin' To It was released in 2004. Forbert also released two compilations around the same time, Young, Guitar Days and More Young, Guitar Days.
This cut is from 1995's Mission of the Crossroad Palms, considered to be one of his strongest albums.
MP3 File
This cut is from 1995's Mission of the Crossroad Palms, considered to be one of his strongest albums.
MP3 File
“I think togetherness is a very important ingredient to family life.”
When I was a kid, all the Italian restaurants looked alike. The tables had red-checkered table cloths and chianti bottles streamed with bumpy lines of colored wax from the candles burned during every dinner. The walls were covered in wallpaper with scenes of Italy, usually a gondola in Venice, and pictures of places like the Leaning Tower. The gondolier always wore a boater with a ribbon hanging behind, a red scarf, checkered shirt and white pants. The lights were low and the restaurant felt foreign, almost exotic. I knew that Italy looked exactly the same as my restaurant.
We were all a bit insulated then. A family trip meant going to the ocean or the lake a state or two away. Eating out was a major event for which we all dressed in our best clothes. We never stayed in hotels but in cabins or cottages where my mother could cook. I knew someone who had been to Florida, and I was amazed at how far she'd traveled. We always went by car. Six people were crammed together, with the four of us fighting over windows and whose feet were on whose side of the car while my father kept reaching behind with one hand to whack us while driving with the other. His waving arm never found us, but we got the idea. We played twenty questions, car bingo and looked out the windows. We'd start teasing my sister just for the excitement. Getting there wasn't filled with anticipation but sheer boredom.
By the time I was in early high school age, we had actually stayed in a couple of motels where we had to eat out every night, but we still traveled by car, were still bored and were even more crammed. These were the years of my early adolescence. Being bored or annoyed meant being silently sullen. Any question elicited a one word, bordering on the rude, answer. I was best left alone.
I expect my parents were thrilled by my self-imposed isolation. That left them only three to moan about boredom, fight over space and demand a bathroom or food stop.
I was a teenager, all of thirteen, and above it all.
We were all a bit insulated then. A family trip meant going to the ocean or the lake a state or two away. Eating out was a major event for which we all dressed in our best clothes. We never stayed in hotels but in cabins or cottages where my mother could cook. I knew someone who had been to Florida, and I was amazed at how far she'd traveled. We always went by car. Six people were crammed together, with the four of us fighting over windows and whose feet were on whose side of the car while my father kept reaching behind with one hand to whack us while driving with the other. His waving arm never found us, but we got the idea. We played twenty questions, car bingo and looked out the windows. We'd start teasing my sister just for the excitement. Getting there wasn't filled with anticipation but sheer boredom.
By the time I was in early high school age, we had actually stayed in a couple of motels where we had to eat out every night, but we still traveled by car, were still bored and were even more crammed. These were the years of my early adolescence. Being bored or annoyed meant being silently sullen. Any question elicited a one word, bordering on the rude, answer. I was best left alone.
I expect my parents were thrilled by my self-imposed isolation. That left them only three to moan about boredom, fight over space and demand a bathroom or food stop.
I was a teenager, all of thirteen, and above it all.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
The Rains: Fred Eaglesmith
Here I go again, telling you I am not a fan of country music, sort of an apology I guess, just before I post a country singer. I have to say, though, I was relieved when I read a description of Fred which called him country-folk. Okay, it's time to admit it: I like country music. There, I feel so much better.
Fred Eaglesmith is a Canadian who has produced a slew of albums and toured with several bands, including The Flathead Noodlers, The Flying Squirrels and The Smokin' Losers. The thing is, though, the bands may have different names, but they have pretty much the same musicians.
His self-titled debut album was released in 1980, and one of his albums, 1996's Drive-In Movie, won a Juno Award for Best Roots & Traditional Album. This song is from his newest album, Milly's Cafe.
MP3 File
Fred Eaglesmith is a Canadian who has produced a slew of albums and toured with several bands, including The Flathead Noodlers, The Flying Squirrels and The Smokin' Losers. The thing is, though, the bands may have different names, but they have pretty much the same musicians.
His self-titled debut album was released in 1980, and one of his albums, 1996's Drive-In Movie, won a Juno Award for Best Roots & Traditional Album. This song is from his newest album, Milly's Cafe.
MP3 File
Apples in the Basket: Gordon Bok
I probably played this last year around the same time, but it is so beautiful and so perfect for the waning of the year it needs another play. Gordon Bok has said that this is one of his most requested song.
I do love to listen to his voice.
"Autumn wins you best by this, its mute Appeal to sympathy for its decay."
My bedroom window is still open to the coolness of the evening. I lied awake last night and heard the sounds of the new season. Gone are the singular songs of the evening birds and the chirping of crickets. Instead, the crackling of dry leaves blowing in the wind, the tapping of rain and sometimes even just a silence have replaced them. Fall has a lonelier sound than summer, no less melodic but filled with trees and winds and leaves. But soon even these sounds will disappear. The harshness of winter will bring the moans of winds and the scratchings of branches, the fodder for scary stories by the fire. I will have shut my window, but the sounds of winter are intrusive and never deterred by a few panes of glass.
The warmth of Indian summer is returning for a few days. I'll put the jacket and sweatshirt back into the closet for a bit or maybe I'll just keep them handy. Weather is such a tease this time of year.
The warmth of Indian summer is returning for a few days. I'll put the jacket and sweatshirt back into the closet for a bit or maybe I'll just keep them handy. Weather is such a tease this time of year.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Easy's Getting Harder Every Day: Iris Dement
This is from My Life released in 1994 and Iris' second album.
This is such a personal song about a life filled with lament, with unfulfilled dreams and hopes of something different, hopes you know will never ever be more than that.
MP3 File
This is such a personal song about a life filled with lament, with unfulfilled dreams and hopes of something different, hopes you know will never ever be more than that.
MP3 File
Moonlight Over Paris: Peter Mayer
This cut is from 1999's Spare Tire Orchestra, Peter's sixth album, an unplugged studio live album. I read somewhere there had been sound problems so the band just decided to unplug and continue the concert.
Peter and his brother Jim, who plays bass on this recording, are veteran members of Jimmy Buffett's Coral Reefer Band.
MP3 File
Peter and his brother Jim, who plays bass on this recording, are veteran members of Jimmy Buffett's Coral Reefer Band.
MP3 File
"The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there."
At five I heard Gracie announcing her needs by the constant ringing of bells. I dragged myself out of bed, ran down, let her out, waited and froze in the cold house while she romped in the darkness. Going back to bed was hardly worth the few minutes sleep I got. But wait, I had my coffee, read the papers and went back to bed for yet one more try and managed to sleep for a couple of hours more. Gracie and one of the cats joined me. Gracie snored while the cat self-cleaned. We were all pretty cozy and warm, and I just didn't want to move. Not that any of this is of great interest but I did want to explain my tardiness.
The colder weather invites a lazy day. I should be one of those fussy Victorian ladies you see in the movies. I'll lie abed wearing my fancy shawl and lacy bedcap while the upstairs maid brings me a tray, does her little curtsie thing, calls me mum and delivers my coffee and chocolate biscotti (just a small bit of updating here). Such a lovely way to begin the day.
If I could time travel, I'd go back in time, not forward. I'd make a list of the events and people I want to see, set the dashboard and be gone. The shot heard round the world has always intrigued me, and I'd watch from a window on the green. I'd roam Greenwich Village and the coffee houses to hear Dylan and all the folk singers who sang there. I'd see Satchel Paige pitch, and I'd be at the very first opening day at Fenway Park. I'd sneak a peek at my mother, the teenager, during World War II and my Dad in his navy uniform. You'd find me at a medieval festival and joust and a real old country fair. I'd meet Ben Franklin and root for the Wright Brothers. Tom Jefferson too is on that list as is Emily Dickinson, but I suspect I wouldn't get in to see her. I'll love to meet the Barrett-Brownings in Italy and Samuel Coleridge in London. The Shakespeare question would be answered, but I'd tell no one what I learned. I'd be willing to leave this age of marvels to live for a while in another time, a simpler time, but I'd always come home.
After all, while I was gone, things would still be moving along in their merry, automated ways. E-mails would clog the system; I'd run out of room on my Tivo, and my phone messages would be into big time double or triple digits. Ah, the simple life!
The colder weather invites a lazy day. I should be one of those fussy Victorian ladies you see in the movies. I'll lie abed wearing my fancy shawl and lacy bedcap while the upstairs maid brings me a tray, does her little curtsie thing, calls me mum and delivers my coffee and chocolate biscotti (just a small bit of updating here). Such a lovely way to begin the day.
If I could time travel, I'd go back in time, not forward. I'd make a list of the events and people I want to see, set the dashboard and be gone. The shot heard round the world has always intrigued me, and I'd watch from a window on the green. I'd roam Greenwich Village and the coffee houses to hear Dylan and all the folk singers who sang there. I'd see Satchel Paige pitch, and I'd be at the very first opening day at Fenway Park. I'd sneak a peek at my mother, the teenager, during World War II and my Dad in his navy uniform. You'd find me at a medieval festival and joust and a real old country fair. I'd meet Ben Franklin and root for the Wright Brothers. Tom Jefferson too is on that list as is Emily Dickinson, but I suspect I wouldn't get in to see her. I'll love to meet the Barrett-Brownings in Italy and Samuel Coleridge in London. The Shakespeare question would be answered, but I'd tell no one what I learned. I'd be willing to leave this age of marvels to live for a while in another time, a simpler time, but I'd always come home.
After all, while I was gone, things would still be moving along in their merry, automated ways. E-mails would clog the system; I'd run out of room on my Tivo, and my phone messages would be into big time double or triple digits. Ah, the simple life!
Monday, October 16, 2006
Half Acre: Hem
I love being able to post someone new to me. It's almost like being a kid at Christmas.
Hem is from Brooklyn, New York, and they have been together since 1999. The lead vocalist, Sally Ellyson, answered an ad in the Village Voice, sent a demo tape and was invited to join. The rest of Hem include Dan Messe (piano, glockenspiel, harmonium), Steve Curtis (guitar, mandolin) and Gary Maurer (guitar, mandolin).
This cut if from their debut album, Rabbit Songs. I liked one description I read of this song which called it chamber folk sound, the combination of the blue grassy mandolins with the classical group with strings and clarinet.
MP3 File
Hem is from Brooklyn, New York, and they have been together since 1999. The lead vocalist, Sally Ellyson, answered an ad in the Village Voice, sent a demo tape and was invited to join. The rest of Hem include Dan Messe (piano, glockenspiel, harmonium), Steve Curtis (guitar, mandolin) and Gary Maurer (guitar, mandolin).
This cut if from their debut album, Rabbit Songs. I liked one description I read of this song which called it chamber folk sound, the combination of the blue grassy mandolins with the classical group with strings and clarinet.
MP3 File
"To poke a wood fire is more solid enjoyment than almost anything else in the world."
Fall seems to be moving quicker than I'd hoped. The last few nights have been cold, and the sun is taking longer each morning to make its presence felt. The leaves have turned, and the marshes are circled with reds and a yellow here and there for contrast. The days are perfectly beautiful with a clarity that comes only with fall when the sun outlines each leaf and mums pop out of the garden. The scents of summer are gone. The air is no longer filled with the sweetness of summer gardens or the smell of freshly mowed grass. The pumpkin is on the doorstep.
Soon I will haul out my Halloween decorations, and witches and monsters will fill my house. The window candles are already orange and the bushes will soon follow. It's time to hang the witch from the tree limb near the back stairs where she blows with the breeze as if flying aloft. Dracula will take his usual place on the mantle beside the Frankensteins, and they'll be joined by the Mummy and the Wolfman. It's almost time to start the movie monster fest. I can already hear the howls as the count takes to flight. I so love those old movies.
The winter too has its rituals, and I'm prepared. I've brought wood into the house, put the wine on to chill, chosen the perfect music, moved the rocker in front of the fire and brought out the afghan. I'm now working on training Gracie to sleep at my feet, sort of an updated American Gothic. I always thought the last one lacked humor and really could have used the wine.
Soon I will haul out my Halloween decorations, and witches and monsters will fill my house. The window candles are already orange and the bushes will soon follow. It's time to hang the witch from the tree limb near the back stairs where she blows with the breeze as if flying aloft. Dracula will take his usual place on the mantle beside the Frankensteins, and they'll be joined by the Mummy and the Wolfman. It's almost time to start the movie monster fest. I can already hear the howls as the count takes to flight. I so love those old movies.
The winter too has its rituals, and I'm prepared. I've brought wood into the house, put the wine on to chill, chosen the perfect music, moved the rocker in front of the fire and brought out the afghan. I'm now working on training Gracie to sleep at my feet, sort of an updated American Gothic. I always thought the last one lacked humor and really could have used the wine.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
“We're about to hit time travel.”
My life is in a constant loop. I noticed this only recently, probably because I forgot what I had learned during each previous loop. (Star Trek TNG and Stargate taught me that.) Well, anyway, I've noticed that my TV shows have reappeared as movies, and my movies are reappearing with a different cast, same plot. But it gets even worse. My music now hawks a variety of products on commercials. What could possible be left I ask? What other indignities will be visited upon my person? Maybe me in an elevator singing and grooving along with the music? Oh! the indignity of it all!
Did I mention clothes? First bell bottoms reappeared, then pedal pushers showed up under a pseudonym, and I swear I've seen fringed jackets for sale. I also think I saw some kids wearing tie dye shirts, but that may have been a mirage brought about by too much sun. Who wears short shorts can now be answered. Anyone who can. They are now just your every day variety. To use the word mini to describe today's skirts would be redundant. I'm running scared here. What should I do if a Nehru jacket appears?
The Rolling Stones are still performing and CSN&Y is doing a reunion tour or is it? Oops, The Fog is on or maybe I've just seen it. I'm just so confused.
Did I mention clothes? First bell bottoms reappeared, then pedal pushers showed up under a pseudonym, and I swear I've seen fringed jackets for sale. I also think I saw some kids wearing tie dye shirts, but that may have been a mirage brought about by too much sun. Who wears short shorts can now be answered. Anyone who can. They are now just your every day variety. To use the word mini to describe today's skirts would be redundant. I'm running scared here. What should I do if a Nehru jacket appears?
The Rolling Stones are still performing and CSN&Y is doing a reunion tour or is it? Oops, The Fog is on or maybe I've just seen it. I'm just so confused.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
"Everybody needs his memories. They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door."
I am distracted. On days like today, when the present offers little comfort, my memory floods my mind's eye with images of the past.
When I was young, the radiators made the loudest hissing sounds and sometimes you could even see steam rising. When you first came in from outside and your fingers and toes were numb from playing in the snow, standing in front of the radiator was almost as good as having a roaring fire. We'd dry mittens and hats on the radiator and once I put my wets shoes underneath so they'd dry quickly. In the morning, they were curved like a genie's slipper. My little sisters liked to sit right in front of the radiators, and I always thought they were hogging all the heat. On winter nights, when we were all in bed, the house was never quiet. Sometimes the radiators made gurgling sounds and other times they clanged. We never noticed. They were just the sounds of our house.
We had two closets downstairs. One held coats and boots. The other held an ironing board, the wet mop and bucket, brooms and the dust mop. My mother would also hide Christmas presents in that second closet, and we'd always keep checking. I have a dust mop and use it once in a while on the wood floors in my house, but I keep it behind the cellar railing. I think I bought it just because my mother had one. I remember I used to go out the back door and shake that dust mop over the railing and watch the dust fly. If I hadn't check the wind direction, the dust would fly right back at me. I used to love the way the dust shined in the sunlight as it floated away. I still do.
Cards with spinners were about as high tech as any of our games got. My little sisters' spinners had colors; we, being so much older, had numbers. I remember you had to flick your fingers just right to get a good spin, and there were no do overs. We'd play seated around the kitchen table or lying on our stomachs on the living room rug. We'd argue over spins and turns, and sometimes one of my sisters would cry over something really silly to me but monumental to her.
It's strange what memories pop into your head unbidden.
When I was young, the radiators made the loudest hissing sounds and sometimes you could even see steam rising. When you first came in from outside and your fingers and toes were numb from playing in the snow, standing in front of the radiator was almost as good as having a roaring fire. We'd dry mittens and hats on the radiator and once I put my wets shoes underneath so they'd dry quickly. In the morning, they were curved like a genie's slipper. My little sisters liked to sit right in front of the radiators, and I always thought they were hogging all the heat. On winter nights, when we were all in bed, the house was never quiet. Sometimes the radiators made gurgling sounds and other times they clanged. We never noticed. They were just the sounds of our house.
We had two closets downstairs. One held coats and boots. The other held an ironing board, the wet mop and bucket, brooms and the dust mop. My mother would also hide Christmas presents in that second closet, and we'd always keep checking. I have a dust mop and use it once in a while on the wood floors in my house, but I keep it behind the cellar railing. I think I bought it just because my mother had one. I remember I used to go out the back door and shake that dust mop over the railing and watch the dust fly. If I hadn't check the wind direction, the dust would fly right back at me. I used to love the way the dust shined in the sunlight as it floated away. I still do.
Cards with spinners were about as high tech as any of our games got. My little sisters' spinners had colors; we, being so much older, had numbers. I remember you had to flick your fingers just right to get a good spin, and there were no do overs. We'd play seated around the kitchen table or lying on our stomachs on the living room rug. We'd argue over spins and turns, and sometimes one of my sisters would cry over something really silly to me but monumental to her.
It's strange what memories pop into your head unbidden.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Freedom Road: Josh White
Protest songs are more usually associated with folk singers. Josh White, however, is the exception. He used his political leanings to help him make music, becoming in the process a whole new genre: blues protester.
His life and career read like a novel. Born in South Carolina in 1915, he left home after his father's death which resulted from a beating by whites because of unpaid bills. He witnessed beatings and lynches of Black men as he hid out from the klan. At the age of 17 he began his solo career.
He had a lot of firsts: first Black to perform at the White House, to perform in segregated venues, to have a million dollar record and to have a solo concert tour; however, his leftist leanings led to a McCarthy committee blacklisting in the early 1950's.
This song was written by Langston Hughes to support the war effort during World War II. It also hopes for a less segregated world, a Josh White recurrent theme.
MP3 File
His life and career read like a novel. Born in South Carolina in 1915, he left home after his father's death which resulted from a beating by whites because of unpaid bills. He witnessed beatings and lynches of Black men as he hid out from the klan. At the age of 17 he began his solo career.
He had a lot of firsts: first Black to perform at the White House, to perform in segregated venues, to have a million dollar record and to have a solo concert tour; however, his leftist leanings led to a McCarthy committee blacklisting in the early 1950's.
This song was written by Langston Hughes to support the war effort during World War II. It also hopes for a less segregated world, a Josh White recurrent theme.
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Emma Rose: Kate Wolf
I actually found the background for this song.
"Emma Rose is about a real Sebastopol woman whose name caught Kate's eye on a roadside mailbox one day. Although she had not met the woman when she wrote the song, she used her name to dramatize the threat of subdividers moving into the apple orchards.
There are many older women like her whose husbands died and who now are having trouble running their farms, making ends meet and contending with the developers moving in. A few months later, Kate received a phone call from the real Emma Rose, who suggested that they meet. "She turned out to be a delightful 81-year-old lady," Kate said, not too much unlike the one the song was about.. Emma Rose recently came to a promotional party for the album and wound up autographing copies of the record."
The song first appeared on 1976's Back Roads which was Kate's debut recording.
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"Emma Rose is about a real Sebastopol woman whose name caught Kate's eye on a roadside mailbox one day. Although she had not met the woman when she wrote the song, she used her name to dramatize the threat of subdividers moving into the apple orchards.
There are many older women like her whose husbands died and who now are having trouble running their farms, making ends meet and contending with the developers moving in. A few months later, Kate received a phone call from the real Emma Rose, who suggested that they meet. "She turned out to be a delightful 81-year-old lady," Kate said, not too much unlike the one the song was about.. Emma Rose recently came to a promotional party for the album and wound up autographing copies of the record."
The song first appeared on 1976's Back Roads which was Kate's debut recording.
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"Vegetables are a must on a diet. I suggest carrot cake, zucchini bread, and pumpkin pie. "
Vegetables are among my favorite foods, but a few of them give me pause.
An artichoke always reminds me of a prop from some bad science fiction movie, and I wonder how long it took before someone actually found the part you can eat. A cauliflower looks sort of like a brain to me, and that puts me off more than a bit. Seaweed may be a vegetable, but I would have to be stranded on an island before I added it to the menu. I hate beans of any size, shape or color, and I think eating a kidney bean borders on cannibilism. Beets are on the list and even adding the misnomer candied doesn't do it for me. Watercress seems a waste of good soil. I like coriander but not when its cilantro. Marrow is another one of those cannibal sort of foods. When I think of dandelions, I think weeds, not salad, though I might just like it as a wine. I can only eat broccoli uncooked and slathered in ranch dressing. Cooked spinach looks disgusting to me, but I'm okay with it in a salad. A radish is only good for decoration. It does make a lovely rose. Parsley always gets put aside, usually on the bread plate. It's the limp look which gets to me. Lettuce is okay but so much of it gets tossed before you find the good parts. Brussels sprouts, poor things, are just cabbage wannabes.
I'm sure there are probably quite a few more dreaded vegetables out there, but I figure these are more than enough for one frightening, blood curdling nightmare.
An artichoke always reminds me of a prop from some bad science fiction movie, and I wonder how long it took before someone actually found the part you can eat. A cauliflower looks sort of like a brain to me, and that puts me off more than a bit. Seaweed may be a vegetable, but I would have to be stranded on an island before I added it to the menu. I hate beans of any size, shape or color, and I think eating a kidney bean borders on cannibilism. Beets are on the list and even adding the misnomer candied doesn't do it for me. Watercress seems a waste of good soil. I like coriander but not when its cilantro. Marrow is another one of those cannibal sort of foods. When I think of dandelions, I think weeds, not salad, though I might just like it as a wine. I can only eat broccoli uncooked and slathered in ranch dressing. Cooked spinach looks disgusting to me, but I'm okay with it in a salad. A radish is only good for decoration. It does make a lovely rose. Parsley always gets put aside, usually on the bread plate. It's the limp look which gets to me. Lettuce is okay but so much of it gets tossed before you find the good parts. Brussels sprouts, poor things, are just cabbage wannabes.
I'm sure there are probably quite a few more dreaded vegetables out there, but I figure these are more than enough for one frightening, blood curdling nightmare.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Roseville Fair: Bill Staines
I apologize for the delay but my music host decided to take an entire day to upload two songs. I was not very patient, and my vocabulary received an explicit language rating.
This is from The First Million Miles released in the late 1980's.
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This is from The First Million Miles released in the late 1980's.
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Boots of Spanish Leather: Bob Dylan
This was first released on 1964's The Times They Are A-Changin'. I went looking to see how many covers of this song exist and stopped counting at twenty.
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“Fashions, after all, are only induced epidemics.”
I have never been a slave to fashion. The only names I wear are pants, blouse and undergarments. I would even use a plastic bag for a pocketbook if it had lasting power. My shoes finally go to shoe heaven when the holes are so big my feet get wet in the rain. My every day clothes embark on a new life when they transition to my around the house clothes. But I wasn't always this way. When I worked, I actually wore a dress or some such outfit every day and even made sure my earrings matched. I wore panty hose, which, though convenient, would challenge Houdidi's talents. I can see him now. The stage is dark. The spotlight suddenly shines on Houdini and an egg in his hand. He opens the egg with a flourish and announces, "Watch me turn this tiny ball of nylon into a garment which will fit the entire lower part of my body." The crowd gasps in disbelief.
Don't get me wrong here, I still make sure the colors of my clothes don't clash, that the holes can barely be seen and that my stripes and plaids stay very far away from each other. I even have a dress suitable for winter occasions and another for those spring and fall events, but that's about the extent of it.
If you're looking for me now, I'm the one in comfortable, well-worn pants, a hooded sweatshirt and sandals. Come winter, look for me wearing comfortable well-worn pants, a hooded sweatshirt and sandals with socks. I do make concessions for the season.
Don't get me wrong here, I still make sure the colors of my clothes don't clash, that the holes can barely be seen and that my stripes and plaids stay very far away from each other. I even have a dress suitable for winter occasions and another for those spring and fall events, but that's about the extent of it.
If you're looking for me now, I'm the one in comfortable, well-worn pants, a hooded sweatshirt and sandals. Come winter, look for me wearing comfortable well-worn pants, a hooded sweatshirt and sandals with socks. I do make concessions for the season.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Jubilee: Elizabeth Mitchell and Daniel Littleton
In 1992 Elizabeth Mitchell founded the rock band Ida with her husband Daniel Littleton. They now run their own label Last Affair Records. You Are My Flower, in 1999, was their first album of more traditional material, and subsequent albums have continued in that genre.
This song is a reworking of an older folk tune.
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This song is a reworking of an older folk tune.
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Helplessly Hoping: CS&N
This is probably on more than the one album, but it's from my CSN Greatest Hits, one of those albums belonging in every collection. I know most of the songs reappeared later with CSN&Y, but this is the first, the beginning and is filled with those harmonies which are so good they almost give you chills.
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"The strength of a man's virtue should not be measured by his special exertions, but by his habitual acts. "
Staying optimistic seems so naive given the temper of today's world. When we were young, everything seemed possible. My friends and I believed if we tried hard enough, we could make the world a better place, and, for us, that meant taking a stand and being visible and vocal. We picketed every Friday morning starting at 4 am at the wholesale produce center for the rights of migrant workers and were thrilled to meet Cesar Chavez. We went to Boston to picket George Wallace during his run for the presidency and attended sit-ins and rallies for peace. I joined the Peace Corps driven by the belief that giving something back is a duty.
That was a long time ago, a world away from today, and I'm so much older. Retrospection seems to come unbidden, and I get to wondering. Where am I now?
Here's what I figured out about me. I am still an optimist, and I believe there are a number of us left. We don't seem to be as vocal as the doomsayers maybe because there are fewer signs that good will prevail, and it's getting to be a harder sell. I believe that human life has sanctity. I also believe that we have a duty to give back for the blessings we have received and that each of us must make a difference. The what doesn't matter nor does the size. It is simply the difference that matters.
I will not give up on my world. So many good people live here.
That was a long time ago, a world away from today, and I'm so much older. Retrospection seems to come unbidden, and I get to wondering. Where am I now?
Here's what I figured out about me. I am still an optimist, and I believe there are a number of us left. We don't seem to be as vocal as the doomsayers maybe because there are fewer signs that good will prevail, and it's getting to be a harder sell. I believe that human life has sanctity. I also believe that we have a duty to give back for the blessings we have received and that each of us must make a difference. The what doesn't matter nor does the size. It is simply the difference that matters.
I will not give up on my world. So many good people live here.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Tornado Time in Texas: Guy Clark
I'm apologizing for shortchanging the commentary, but it is late so I'm making it quick postings today.
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“What is more agreeable than one's home?”
The best parts of any trip are leaving and coming home. During the leaving part, I've filled with anticipation. All the travel arrangements have been made, my wardrobe carefully chosen for versatility, the guide book pages highlighted and packed, a book or two stowed away and a few snacks stashed for those in-between moments. Just before I go, I check my list for the last time, look around and then leave before the dog knows this trip is a bit longer than the grocery store. The coming home part, though, is my favorite leg of any journey. No matter how wonderful the trip, walking in my front door is the best part. I drop the suitcases, greet the animals and relax. The unpacking has no urgency; dirty laundry can always wait. I need to savor the usual, the commonplace, for just a bit.
I arrived home today at 8 am having been awake all night. I took the red-eye. The 6:30 flight was full so I chose to give up my seat for a later flight, a bump up to first class, a meal voucher and a trip voucher good for one year. The offer was too good to refuse. It was a long six hours until my next flight, but I managed to keep myself entertained. When I finally arrived home, I was licked by Gracie for the longest time, meowed at by my cats for abandoning them and then just crashed on the couch.
I feel human again having showered and had a cup or two of coffee. I have a few chores and that dirty laundry to tackle, but that may have to wait. The day is beautiful, and I want to enjoy what's left. I suspect Gracie, too, would like a ride.
I love coming home.
I arrived home today at 8 am having been awake all night. I took the red-eye. The 6:30 flight was full so I chose to give up my seat for a later flight, a bump up to first class, a meal voucher and a trip voucher good for one year. The offer was too good to refuse. It was a long six hours until my next flight, but I managed to keep myself entertained. When I finally arrived home, I was licked by Gracie for the longest time, meowed at by my cats for abandoning them and then just crashed on the couch.
I feel human again having showered and had a cup or two of coffee. I have a few chores and that dirty laundry to tackle, but that may have to wait. The day is beautiful, and I want to enjoy what's left. I suspect Gracie, too, would like a ride.
I love coming home.
Monday, October 09, 2006
World Before Columbus: Suzanne Vega
I know that it was just a bit ago I played another Suzanne Vega, but it is, after all, the pretend Columbus Day and in keeping with the theme... This too is from that Retrospective album I mentioned earlier.
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"Perhaps, after all, America never has been discovered. I myself would say that it had merely been detected. "
Today is not Columbus Day, but we pretend it is and celebrate. I'm thinking, though, that sleeping in is about the extent of the celebration. When I was young, there were parades and lots of Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria floats filled with waving people and guys walking the parade route selling balloons. We're celebrating Columbus' discovery of America which didn't really happen today, and, besides, he didn't really discover it anyway. That honor belongs to Lief Ericson. But because he had no publicist, the poor Viking is lost in the shuffle. Personally I'd like a day honoring a Viking, there are so few of those. We could all wear those great Viking hats and eat strange foods.
Plans have long been afoot to call today Discovery Day and drop Columbus from the mix. I'm okay with that, not being a big Columbus fan in the first place, but I am a fan of long weekends. I figure we can just call it the Monday in October when we don't have to go to work and can sleep in late and doddle over the paper and coffee day.
Plans have long been afoot to call today Discovery Day and drop Columbus from the mix. I'm okay with that, not being a big Columbus fan in the first place, but I am a fan of long weekends. I figure we can just call it the Monday in October when we don't have to go to work and can sleep in late and doddle over the paper and coffee day.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
"A baby is God's opinion that the world should go on"
My computer and I are still on eastern time so I again woke early, but today I have company. The christening is this morning so internal excitment got sleepy bodies up early. I hear walking around, a few coughs but no voices, probably they're thinking the rest of us are still sleeping behind closed doors. The thought of that first sip of coffee is going to get me downstairs fairly quickly.
Yesterday my brother-in-law, his dog Lucky and I left long before the rest of the house woke. We drove to see the deer. First we saw a doe and her fawn dining on the tall grass far enough away not to be bothered by my gawking. Shortly after we could see the white tails of several deer as a large herd had begun moving up into the hills. I could see them leaping from rock to rock almost as if they were playing follow the leader. We kept driving and were rewarded by finding a smaller herd closer to the road who enjoyed the grass far too much to be bothered by my picture taking. Round the bend we found three deer so close to the road you'd think they were waiting for a bus. We also saw herons and hawks and a few humans, hikers up early to hit the trails. They were far noisier and less interesting.
The christening takes place during the 9:30 mass, and this religious tradition will bring both families together in celebration. Later, we will party together, chat, pass Ryder from arm to arm and marvel at how beautiful he is and how he looks like each of us.
Yesterday my brother-in-law, his dog Lucky and I left long before the rest of the house woke. We drove to see the deer. First we saw a doe and her fawn dining on the tall grass far enough away not to be bothered by my gawking. Shortly after we could see the white tails of several deer as a large herd had begun moving up into the hills. I could see them leaping from rock to rock almost as if they were playing follow the leader. We kept driving and were rewarded by finding a smaller herd closer to the road who enjoyed the grass far too much to be bothered by my picture taking. Round the bend we found three deer so close to the road you'd think they were waiting for a bus. We also saw herons and hawks and a few humans, hikers up early to hit the trails. They were far noisier and less interesting.
The christening takes place during the 9:30 mass, and this religious tradition will bring both families together in celebration. Later, we will party together, chat, pass Ryder from arm to arm and marvel at how beautiful he is and how he looks like each of us.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Travel and change of place impart new vigor to the mind.
My eastern time has kicked in, and I'm awake in a silent house. Two of the resident cats joined me, sniffed a bit and I patted them. We now consider ourselves acquainted. I can see the stirrings of day in the bands of yellow creeping above the horizon. We are going deer hunting this morning, hoping to get close enough in the fields for pictures.
Last night was game night, with ten of us competing on two teams. My team, looking doomed to defeat, pulled off an upset win, but we whined under pressure, stooping to that age old loser's ploy. Being together made for laughs, moans and not a few bits of teasing.
The baby is gorgeous. Ryder is passed from person to person all eager to take turns holding him. He sleeps in peoples' arms and lies down only to be changed. We all decided he is a prince with a endless retenue of servants waiting on each whimper and cry. Life for him is a remarkable mixture of love, food, adoration and comfort.
It always seems amazing to me that in hours we can be anywhere. Hop on a plane and be in Colorado. Hop on a different plane and be in China. Eat breakfast at home and dinner in Lisbon. But the quickness of travel has made the world lose much of its mystery. It has become homogenized far too quickly for my taste. I still crave the off-beat, the allure of a foreign places where English is barely spoken, and where I need to point at the foods I want rather than order them at a fast food counter. I know I have time, and I have my list of places. I just hope I get there before the first tour guide raises her umbrella in the air and yells follow me to the crowds behind her.
Last night was game night, with ten of us competing on two teams. My team, looking doomed to defeat, pulled off an upset win, but we whined under pressure, stooping to that age old loser's ploy. Being together made for laughs, moans and not a few bits of teasing.
The baby is gorgeous. Ryder is passed from person to person all eager to take turns holding him. He sleeps in peoples' arms and lies down only to be changed. We all decided he is a prince with a endless retenue of servants waiting on each whimper and cry. Life for him is a remarkable mixture of love, food, adoration and comfort.
It always seems amazing to me that in hours we can be anywhere. Hop on a plane and be in Colorado. Hop on a different plane and be in China. Eat breakfast at home and dinner in Lisbon. But the quickness of travel has made the world lose much of its mystery. It has become homogenized far too quickly for my taste. I still crave the off-beat, the allure of a foreign places where English is barely spoken, and where I need to point at the foods I want rather than order them at a fast food counter. I know I have time, and I have my list of places. I just hope I get there before the first tour guide raises her umbrella in the air and yells follow me to the crowds behind her.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine: the Weavers
I could spend pages and pages describing The Weavers, their beginnings, their politics, their influences oo folk music, but I doubt I'd be telling you anything new, or should I say revolutionary.
Enjoy.
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Enjoy.
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"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family."
I hate having a cold, and I hate the looks I get from people when I cough. I'm expecting one of them, in a mask and wearing rubber gloves, to hand me a bell and demand I yell unclean as I walk through the streets and byways.
I'm sitting here just before leaving for Colorado to attend the christening of my grand nephew. One of the neatest things about my family is the joy of being together to celebrate family milestones. We fly to Colorado, and they fly here. We've attended high school graduations and weddings and significant birthdays. My sister has flown here for graduations, birthdays and retirements. It is all part of staying connected, and the distance seems small when it has to do with family. I call my sister every Sunday so we can catch up on the family, her work and the week's events. She gives me the low down on the rest of the family and a few tidbits I might have missed. I laugh a lot during our conversations, and I feel her close to my heart.
My family is far from perfect but we do support each other and offer encouragement. Did I mention we also yell and occasionally swear at each other? It always blows over though, at least until the next time.
I'm sitting here just before leaving for Colorado to attend the christening of my grand nephew. One of the neatest things about my family is the joy of being together to celebrate family milestones. We fly to Colorado, and they fly here. We've attended high school graduations and weddings and significant birthdays. My sister has flown here for graduations, birthdays and retirements. It is all part of staying connected, and the distance seems small when it has to do with family. I call my sister every Sunday so we can catch up on the family, her work and the week's events. She gives me the low down on the rest of the family and a few tidbits I might have missed. I laugh a lot during our conversations, and I feel her close to my heart.
My family is far from perfect but we do support each other and offer encouragement. Did I mention we also yell and occasionally swear at each other? It always blows over though, at least until the next time.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Reasons Why: Nickel Creek
This is from Nickel Creek's self titled debut album which was produced by Alison Krauss and released in 2000. You're hearing Sara Watkins on fiddle and vocals; her brother Sean Watkins on guitar, mandolin, and vocals; and Chris Thile on mandolin, banjo, bouzouki, and vocals.
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MP3 File
Child of the Wind: Bruce Cockburn
This is from 1991's Nothing But a Burning Light.
Bruce Cockburn career has spanned decades and his music seems to get richer, more layered. He has had great success in his native Canada but more limited success here in the U.S. Wondering Where the Lions Are has been his greatest hit here.
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Bruce Cockburn career has spanned decades and his music seems to get richer, more layered. He has had great success in his native Canada but more limited success here in the U.S. Wondering Where the Lions Are has been his greatest hit here.
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"Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us."
My mother and I used to shop for a bit then stop at Woolworth's for lunch. The waitress, who had been there for years, called everyone hon. She folded her handkerchief like a flower, and it hung out of her pocket. Her pens and pencils gave her hair an Oriental look sticking out as they did from the bun at the back of her head. My mother always had the tuna melt, and I usually had a club sandwich. It was one of our rituals, and we were devastated when Woolworth's closed.
So many of my memories connect to people and places now gone. The diner where my friends and I lingered over cokes was torn down to make room for a hardware store which gets me thinking the world has too few diners and too many hardware stores. We always sat at the counter and ordered a coke and a brownie with ice cream and chocolate sauce, and we'd periodically swirl our seats as we chatted. The jukebox had old songs, but we'd stand and flip the selections until we found ones we knew. A quarter gave us three songs.
All of the drug stores are gone. Pullo's had the smallest counter, only four chairs, but he knew our dad and sometimes gave us a coke, on the house. Middlesex Drug had the best soda fountain with a mirror all the way across the back and a marble counter top. I loved to watch the soda jerk make a vanilla frappe. It was a step by step process and demanded precise timing in the mixing. He'd pour the frappe into a large glass then give us the overflow in a smaller glass. That somehow made me feel special, the little extra in the small glass.
Once in a while I see the friends of my youth, and we say hello, talk about what we've been up to and how long it's been. That's about where we run out of conversation. We may share a past, but the years and experiences in between have made us strangers. They are central figures in my fondest memories, but I have no regrets at having moved on without them. Life tends to be that way.
So many of my memories connect to people and places now gone. The diner where my friends and I lingered over cokes was torn down to make room for a hardware store which gets me thinking the world has too few diners and too many hardware stores. We always sat at the counter and ordered a coke and a brownie with ice cream and chocolate sauce, and we'd periodically swirl our seats as we chatted. The jukebox had old songs, but we'd stand and flip the selections until we found ones we knew. A quarter gave us three songs.
All of the drug stores are gone. Pullo's had the smallest counter, only four chairs, but he knew our dad and sometimes gave us a coke, on the house. Middlesex Drug had the best soda fountain with a mirror all the way across the back and a marble counter top. I loved to watch the soda jerk make a vanilla frappe. It was a step by step process and demanded precise timing in the mixing. He'd pour the frappe into a large glass then give us the overflow in a smaller glass. That somehow made me feel special, the little extra in the small glass.
Once in a while I see the friends of my youth, and we say hello, talk about what we've been up to and how long it's been. That's about where we run out of conversation. We may share a past, but the years and experiences in between have made us strangers. They are central figures in my fondest memories, but I have no regrets at having moved on without them. Life tends to be that way.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Blue Chalk: John Gorka
This is from John Gorka's sixth album, Between Five and Seven.
I love his songs, and I love the sensitivity of his voice and lyrics.
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I love his songs, and I love the sensitivity of his voice and lyrics.
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If I Could (El Condor Pasa): Julie Felix
Julie Felix left California for England in 1964. It was there she became the first solo folk artist to be signed to a major U.K. record label, and in 1966 Julie became the resident singer on the amazingly popular Frost Report. By 1968 she had her own TV series.
Her strong political beliefs gave her a reputation as a protest singer and this, along with a conviction for possession of marijuana, only added fuel to her image. She was very soon labeled Britain's answer to Joan Baez.
This song was a huge hit for her around 1970.
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Her strong political beliefs gave her a reputation as a protest singer and this, along with a conviction for possession of marijuana, only added fuel to her image. She was very soon labeled Britain's answer to Joan Baez.
This song was a huge hit for her around 1970.
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“And summer's lease hath all too short a date.”
My windows are still open, but I no longer hear summer. I miss the sound of water from sprinklers hitting the pavement, the laughter of the kids next door and the morning calls of birds. I used to hear the neighbor behind my house play music when he'd work on his boat. I never knew any of the songs. Other neighbors would sit out on porches or patios, and I could hear the hum of their voices in the night air. My neighbor, Bob, has the best laugh. A dog sometimes barked and the other dogs answered. I knew when it was my neighbor's truck passing my house because the mailman's truck has a different sound. The neighbor across the street mowed twice a week, and his wife worked in the yard. I sometimes heard them bickering about silly stuff. I have already replaced the screen door and lost the night sounds.
With the changing season, my world has become muted, more insular. Gone are impromptu gatherings. Decks and patios have been stripped of summer. The aroma of barbecues has been replaced by the scent of wood burning. Glass has replaced screen. The heat of summer has made way for the crispness of fall. Soon my neighbors and I will wave at each other from the warmth of our cars as we pass.
I will miss the cordiality of summer.
With the changing season, my world has become muted, more insular. Gone are impromptu gatherings. Decks and patios have been stripped of summer. The aroma of barbecues has been replaced by the scent of wood burning. Glass has replaced screen. The heat of summer has made way for the crispness of fall. Soon my neighbors and I will wave at each other from the warmth of our cars as we pass.
I will miss the cordiality of summer.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
I'll Never be Your Maggie May: Suzanne Vega
This is from my newest CD, Retrospective: The Best of Suzanne Vega. I really only knew two of her songs before I bought this: Tom's Diner and Luka. I now realize the breath of her style and found this album to be an amazing collection of music.
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"The windows of my soul I throw wide open to the sun."
I have to admit to a growing stodginess about leaving my house. It's not the weather: that's near perfect. It's not the traffic: the tourists are home. It's just a growing sense of wanting the comfort of home and hearth. Maybe I feel the coming of winter or maybe it is the quiet or maybe the warmth of the sun as I sit and read on the porch. No matter the reason, I like being here. The house is filled with books and music and Gracie so I never get bored. If I choose not to get dressed, so be it. If I choose not to comb my hair, so be it. It is an amazing privilege, this freedom to choose.
Autumn keeps its feet in both camps, reluctant to allow summer to disappear but accepting that winter must have its due. It is a season of compromise with warm days and chilly nights. This morning, this perfect fall morning, had the crispest air giving the world a clarity that made every flower brilliant. A brown and gold butterfly shined in the sunlight and flitted around a fir tree while chickadees ignored me and swooped in and out of the feeders. I stayed in the front yard for a bit hoping to etch this day in my memory so that on some wintery, freezing day, I can bring back butterflies and sun.
Autumn keeps its feet in both camps, reluctant to allow summer to disappear but accepting that winter must have its due. It is a season of compromise with warm days and chilly nights. This morning, this perfect fall morning, had the crispest air giving the world a clarity that made every flower brilliant. A brown and gold butterfly shined in the sunlight and flitted around a fir tree while chickadees ignored me and swooped in and out of the feeders. I stayed in the front yard for a bit hoping to etch this day in my memory so that on some wintery, freezing day, I can bring back butterflies and sun.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Sisters of Mercy: Judy Collins
This is another cut from Judy Collins Sings Leonard Cohen-Democracy. I was in the mood for a bit of Judy.
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Nineteen: Jeff Black
This is another cut from Tin Lily, Jeff Black's newest album and his second on Dualtone.
This is a beautiful ballad filled with rich imagery and layers of feelings, and its music is at times almost haunting.
This album made me Jeff Black fan.
MP3 File
This is a beautiful ballad filled with rich imagery and layers of feelings, and its music is at times almost haunting.
This album made me Jeff Black fan.
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"The past is never dead, it is not even past."
Yesterday I was walking into my den when I realized I was in my favorite place at the perfect moment in time. The rain was tattering on the roof and windows, and I felt comforted by the sound. The light was on, and it spread warmth throughout the room. The dog was stretched on the couch, and I could hear her deep breathing. I felt contented, and I smiled at my good fortune.
Life is really a quilt of moments sewn together without any thought to design, color or shape. The whiff of a familiar smell or the shape of a hand or the color of a shirt brings back a moment and connects us with an experience, never forgotten but seldom recalled. We hear a few notes from a long ago song, and, with a whoosh, the rest of the experience comes roaring into our memories and floods us with all the people and places forever connected to that song, memories we had shelved. The smell of a pie transports me to a small kitchen at 16 Washington Ave and the baking mitt on my mother's hand. All of a sudden I'm remembering Thanksgiving and Christmas and cinnamon and sugar cookies, all triggered by the memory of my mother wearing that mitt and pulling a shelf from the oven.
One afternoon, walking home from school, I got so soaking wet even my shoes bubbled. When I got in the door, I shed the wet wear, went upstairs, got cozy and jumped into bed, book in hand. I nestled under the covers, turned on the bed lamp and began to read. As I was lying there, I felt warm and protected. Yesterday, it was the memory of that so long ago moment which gave me cause to smile.
Life is really a quilt of moments sewn together without any thought to design, color or shape. The whiff of a familiar smell or the shape of a hand or the color of a shirt brings back a moment and connects us with an experience, never forgotten but seldom recalled. We hear a few notes from a long ago song, and, with a whoosh, the rest of the experience comes roaring into our memories and floods us with all the people and places forever connected to that song, memories we had shelved. The smell of a pie transports me to a small kitchen at 16 Washington Ave and the baking mitt on my mother's hand. All of a sudden I'm remembering Thanksgiving and Christmas and cinnamon and sugar cookies, all triggered by the memory of my mother wearing that mitt and pulling a shelf from the oven.
One afternoon, walking home from school, I got so soaking wet even my shoes bubbled. When I got in the door, I shed the wet wear, went upstairs, got cozy and jumped into bed, book in hand. I nestled under the covers, turned on the bed lamp and began to read. As I was lying there, I felt warm and protected. Yesterday, it was the memory of that so long ago moment which gave me cause to smile.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
"I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult."
The bedroom was chilly when I woke this morning. Gracie had found her way under the covers and was pretty cozy. My nose was the cold one. From the opened window, I could hear the thuds of newspapers hitting driveways up and down the street. I counted my three as each paper hit the ground then heard the car drive off to the next house. Sunday newspapers, a fresh pot of coffee and an impatient dog got me out of bed. It was still dark.
I'm writing this three cups of coffee and one newspaper later. Gracie is back to sleep, exhausted. She met her friend, as she does each morning, and the two of them played with each other then ran all over my yard and the next few yards. Her friend's owner and I stood outside, chatted over cups of coffee and watched the dogs. They disappeared a couple of times, but we kept track from the noise in the underbrush. Gracie follows her friend, Cody, an older and, presumably, wiser dog whereever he goes and ignores me if I call. They always reappear so we don't worry. Both dogs finished their run exhausted and covered in spit, not a pretty picture. Gracie came in, got wiped off and collapsed. She loves her morning rituals as much as I love mine.
I have been a social butterfly of late. Yesterday was Boston and later is brunch. My dance card hasn't been this filled in months.
I'm writing this three cups of coffee and one newspaper later. Gracie is back to sleep, exhausted. She met her friend, as she does each morning, and the two of them played with each other then ran all over my yard and the next few yards. Her friend's owner and I stood outside, chatted over cups of coffee and watched the dogs. They disappeared a couple of times, but we kept track from the noise in the underbrush. Gracie follows her friend, Cody, an older and, presumably, wiser dog whereever he goes and ignores me if I call. They always reappear so we don't worry. Both dogs finished their run exhausted and covered in spit, not a pretty picture. Gracie came in, got wiped off and collapsed. She loves her morning rituals as much as I love mine.
I have been a social butterfly of late. Yesterday was Boston and later is brunch. My dance card hasn't been this filled in months.
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