Sunday, December 31, 2006
"One resolution I have made, and try always to keep, is this: To rise above the little things."
New Year's Eve and I don't have a single resolution. I checked last year's list and didn't complete any one of them. A few half-hearted attempts in February is all I have to show. I could go with the usual, but who wants another year characterized by total resolution failure? I'm thinking I either forego the ritual entirely or pick resolutions which I'm really excited to complete. I could resolve to take life easier but that would put me into a coma. Eating healthier foods is a good one but only if coffee and chocolate can be put on the list. I'll exercise more if it involves carrying luggage and getting in and out of the car or walking down jetways. Staying in better touch with friends is one I'll keep. I see a lot of lunches, bottles of wine lined up on the table and more than a few laughs connected with that one. After those, I draw a blank.
Tonight will be spent with friends. The invitation said wear casual clothes, slippers included, and put on your game face. I might just wear my new slippers and wow the crowd. It will be the first time I've coordinated an outfit to slippers.
Every year seems to end all too soon.
Tonight will be spent with friends. The invitation said wear casual clothes, slippers included, and put on your game face. I might just wear my new slippers and wow the crowd. It will be the first time I've coordinated an outfit to slippers.
Every year seems to end all too soon.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
"One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important."
When I first retired, I figured I had to do something every day: paint a room, reorganize my sock and underwear drawers, make a walking path in the cellar, wash windows, wax floors or retile the bathroom. I resolved that each morning I'd get dressed, make my bed and go out, even if for a short ride, and for a while I did quite well. My bed was always made, and I got dressed and often went out to nowhere and anywhere. My house was relatively clean and looked great at night under dim light. Come to think of it, so did the windows, dim light I mean. My nephew painted rooms, but I chose the paint and encouraged his efforts so I take a bit of the credit. My underwear drawer got organized, and all my socks now have matching partners. The cellar is too daunting a task so I'm saving it until later, but all in all I kept busy.
I am now beginning my third year of retirement. Last week I didn't make my bed twice, and I didn't get dressed either. I had a bit of guilt, but that passed quickly. I figured why not just leave the bed as I'd only mess it up later when I took my nap, and I'd just have to change out of clothes into comfy anyway. I've decided that I can do whatever I please or, even better, do nothing. Who cares if I sit all day and read? I'll give in to personal hygiene and brush my teeth and take a shower, but that's about all I'm promising.
I'm retired and, like an old ship, withdrawn from active service. When I last checked the secret handbook, there was nothing about having to be busy every day. During my working years I was up every day at 5, at work by 6:30 and seldom home before 4. I had years of being busy, more than enough years of being busy. It's time for me to be lazy, to play, to sleep and perchance to dream.
I am now beginning my third year of retirement. Last week I didn't make my bed twice, and I didn't get dressed either. I had a bit of guilt, but that passed quickly. I figured why not just leave the bed as I'd only mess it up later when I took my nap, and I'd just have to change out of clothes into comfy anyway. I've decided that I can do whatever I please or, even better, do nothing. Who cares if I sit all day and read? I'll give in to personal hygiene and brush my teeth and take a shower, but that's about all I'm promising.
I'm retired and, like an old ship, withdrawn from active service. When I last checked the secret handbook, there was nothing about having to be busy every day. During my working years I was up every day at 5, at work by 6:30 and seldom home before 4. I had years of being busy, more than enough years of being busy. It's time for me to be lazy, to play, to sleep and perchance to dream.
Friday, December 29, 2006
Across the Great Divide: Kate Wolf
Kate died of leukemia in 1986, and her death left a huge hole. I think she wrote the most amazing songs and few songwriters are her equal.
This one is from my favorite album of hers, Close to You. I first heard this song on Nanci Griffith's Other Voices, Other Rooms, and it led to a love for Kate and her music. My Kate Wolf collection is darn near complete.
MP3 File
This one is from my favorite album of hers, Close to You. I first heard this song on Nanci Griffith's Other Voices, Other Rooms, and it led to a love for Kate and her music. My Kate Wolf collection is darn near complete.
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This Land Is Your Land: Cisco Houston
I'm stealing this from an earlier post of mine.
Cisco Houston was one of the folk singers who formed the nucleus of the growth of folk music in the 1940's. He was a close friend to both Woody Guthrie and Leadbelly, and Houston and Guthrie traveled together both before and after WWII. He was part of Moe Asch's first Folkways recording sessions.
When Houston wandered the country during the depression, he was even a cowboy for a bit. He sang the traditional songs he learned in his travels and songs about railroaders and miners and union activists. He was an important voice in the activism of the 50's and early 60's. Though he was never named, he was associated with many of the artists who were blacklisted and was considered to have leftist leanings. By 1960, though, Houston was back in the spotlight and performed at Newport and was recording for Vanguard. It was also about this time he was diagnosed with cancer. Houston died in 1961 at age 42.
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Cisco Houston was one of the folk singers who formed the nucleus of the growth of folk music in the 1940's. He was a close friend to both Woody Guthrie and Leadbelly, and Houston and Guthrie traveled together both before and after WWII. He was part of Moe Asch's first Folkways recording sessions.
When Houston wandered the country during the depression, he was even a cowboy for a bit. He sang the traditional songs he learned in his travels and songs about railroaders and miners and union activists. He was an important voice in the activism of the 50's and early 60's. Though he was never named, he was associated with many of the artists who were blacklisted and was considered to have leftist leanings. By 1960, though, Houston was back in the spotlight and performed at Newport and was recording for Vanguard. It was also about this time he was diagnosed with cancer. Houston died in 1961 at age 42.
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"Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen."
Putting up Christmas took days. Each morning I'd go down to the cellar, open a few boxes and have fun choosing the decorations. Some days the looking and picking took so long I'd pull up a chair, get comfortable and then rummage. One box had ornaments from some of my trips. Two other boxes were filled with decorations from my mother's house and remembering always takes time. The house looked wonderful, still does actually, but the putting away until next year begins today, and I'm sad. The house looked just so lovely bathed by the light from the trees. Every corner seemed glorified at Christmas: even the bathroom had a festive air. The house will soon be its usual self with a bit of color but no pageantry. I'll miss the gnomes.
Around here there are no streetlights so even a window candle keeps the darkness at bay. My outside Christmas lights and those of my neighbors have brightened the night all month, but Christmas will soon disappear. Only the lights from windows will punctuate the darkness. Winter will hold sway.
Around here there are no streetlights so even a window candle keeps the darkness at bay. My outside Christmas lights and those of my neighbors have brightened the night all month, but Christmas will soon disappear. Only the lights from windows will punctuate the darkness. Winter will hold sway.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
“If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.”
I just put on socks and turned up the heat. It's cold. Old man winter dropped by last night and left an ice floe on the birdbath and hoarfrost on the windshield. Even the daylight seems wan, as if winter's icy fingers reached to the sun and dimmed its lamp. Today is a wear a sweatshirt inside sort of day.
Each week I get a list of last minute, low price fares which stir my wanderlust. I scroll through all the fares and picture packing up, grabbing my passport and leaving with a good-bye and a quick wave tossed behind me as I walk down the jetway. It hardly matters where. It's the going which is important and the spontaniety which tickles my fancy: no long packing lists, new clothes or carefully chosen routes. I'm going to pick a place I haven't been, call my pet sitter and leave though I suppose I'll call my sisters before I go so they won't wonder why I'm not answering the phone. I'm thinking a postcard mightn't be enough notice for them though it would be fun to do just that. I'd find an exotic postcard, write something clever and send it, wishing I could see their faces when it arrives. "She's where?"
Each week I get a list of last minute, low price fares which stir my wanderlust. I scroll through all the fares and picture packing up, grabbing my passport and leaving with a good-bye and a quick wave tossed behind me as I walk down the jetway. It hardly matters where. It's the going which is important and the spontaniety which tickles my fancy: no long packing lists, new clothes or carefully chosen routes. I'm going to pick a place I haven't been, call my pet sitter and leave though I suppose I'll call my sisters before I go so they won't wonder why I'm not answering the phone. I'm thinking a postcard mightn't be enough notice for them though it would be fun to do just that. I'd find an exotic postcard, write something clever and send it, wishing I could see their faces when it arrives. "She's where?"
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Go Away From My Window: Carolyn Hester
Carolyn Hester was among the most popular women folk singers of the early 1960's and probably rates as one of the pioneers of the folk music resurgence. She began recording in 1958, and her 1962 album for Columbia had a relative unknown on harmonica, Bob Dylan. She was dubbed the queen of folk music before there was a Baez or Mitchell on the scene. Hester, considered one of the great interpreters of folk music, began to be eclipsed in the mid to late 1960's by a new breed, the singer-songwriter. She toyed with a rock phase but without success.
This song is from a self-titled 1961 recording for Tradition which has been reissued.
MP3 File
This song is from a self-titled 1961 recording for Tradition which has been reissued.
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“When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.”
Today I will venture to Hyannis. I have some wonderful gift cards to spend, and wandering through a book store with money in hand is one of my favorite ways to spend time. On allowance day, when I was a kid, I'd walk uptown to the Childrens' Corner and lie or sit on the floor to read a few chapters before spending my fifty cents. In those days I'd check out Trixie Belden's or Donna Parker's latest adventures as they unraveled the every day mysteries in their lives. I'd wonder why my life was so much less exciting than theirs and hoped that somehow I'd stumble on a real mystery or a theft in progress or identical twins who kept switching places. Nancy Drew, though, was my favorite of all with her roadster and so many adventures. Her little town was such a hot bed of crime and having a detective father seemed to make my father the salesman pale in comparison.
I grew up and away from these characters but not from roaming book stores, and I love all the different parts of the bookstores of today. I wander through the music section hoping for a bargain or a find and check out the sale table. The best parts are now I get to drink coffee and sitting on the floor is back. The getting up, though, is far more difficult. Come to think of it: the getting down takes a bit of manuvering too.
I grew up and away from these characters but not from roaming book stores, and I love all the different parts of the bookstores of today. I wander through the music section hoping for a bargain or a find and check out the sale table. The best parts are now I get to drink coffee and sitting on the floor is back. The getting up, though, is far more difficult. Come to think of it: the getting down takes a bit of manuvering too.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
The Patriot Game: Judy Collins
This song was written by Dominic Behan, Brendan's brother, and tells the story of Fergal O'Hanlon from Ballybay, Co Monaghan, who was killed during the Brookborough attack at the age of 17.
Behan accused Dylan of plagiarizing this song in his With God on Our Side, but it is actually from a traditional Irish song called The Nightingale written in the 17th Century.
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Behan accused Dylan of plagiarizing this song in his With God on Our Side, but it is actually from a traditional Irish song called The Nightingale written in the 17th Century.
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Plains of Nebrasky-O: Eric Andersen and Phil Ochs
This is from The Best of Broadside 1962-1988: Anthems of the American Underground from the Pages of Broadside Magazine which is available through Smithsonian Folkways.
When I saw Eric Andersen last October, he mentioned missing his friend Phil Ochs.
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When I saw Eric Andersen last October, he mentioned missing his friend Phil Ochs.
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“No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.”
It is rainy and cloudy, a perfect day after Christmas, a perfect day to loll. Even the animals seem to lack ambition, and Gracie hasn't stirred from the couch all morning, not even to eat. The last few weeks have been so filled with friends, food and festivities that I need a little time to regenerate.
My sister gave me the pack of 50 horror classics with such goodies as The Screaming Skull, The Vampire Bat and The Giant Gilla Monster so I think a few chilling tales and some popcorn might just fill my afternoon though I do see a nap fitted in somewhere between Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney.
Christmas brings such color and light to the darkest of all seasons, and it's sad to think that next week it will all be put away. Even my car will lose its antlers and bright red nose. The cold winter will again lay siege and leave the world grey and drab, but I'll leave the candles in my windows to help keep the night away.
My sister gave me the pack of 50 horror classics with such goodies as The Screaming Skull, The Vampire Bat and The Giant Gilla Monster so I think a few chilling tales and some popcorn might just fill my afternoon though I do see a nap fitted in somewhere between Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney.
Christmas brings such color and light to the darkest of all seasons, and it's sad to think that next week it will all be put away. Even my car will lose its antlers and bright red nose. The cold winter will again lay siege and leave the world grey and drab, but I'll leave the candles in my windows to help keep the night away.
Monday, December 25, 2006
"Christmas is the season for kindling the fire of hospitality in the hall, the genial flame of charity in the heart."
This early morning was quiet. It was Miss Gracie who woke me before the sun had risen. I let her out then turned on the tree lights. The colors shined through the dark morning. Under the tree were wrapped gifts and the most enormous stocking. They stayed wrapped through a couple of cups of coffee and A Christmas Carol with Gene Lockhart. But then the stocking was emptied, the gifts opened. Some of my stocking stuffers were so much fun they made me laugh outloud. I unwrapped bobble heads and girl scout encampments, free stuff for people over fifty, chocolate spoons and gingerbread biscotti, crosssword puzzles and special soap. My sisters seem to find just the right gifts. Gracie too is enjoying her presents and is walking around with a squeaky toy tree in her mouth. The cat is curled under the tree in a deep sleep. She is warmed by the lights and protected from the dog. I am still in my reindeer pajamas. It has been a wonderful Christmas morning.
Later I'll join friends for dinner. I've got the egg nog and the dessert.
May your day be filled with joy and wonder. Merry Christmas!
Later I'll join friends for dinner. I've got the egg nog and the dessert.
May your day be filled with joy and wonder. Merry Christmas!
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Christmas at the Trailer Park: Antsy McClain
Okay, not the usual carol here, but I like this guy's voice. I found him singing this on you tube so you can to hear and see:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1QncZR1ZEok
MP3 File
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1QncZR1ZEok
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"For it is good to be children sometimes, and never better than at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child himself."
Santa's sleigh is loaded and ready. The reindeer are chomping at their bits, stomping their hooves and snorting in anticipation. Every kid has been on best behavior for weeks anticipating a prominent spot on the nice list. My tree is surrounded by presents and one sleeping cat. The eggnog is chilling, and Christmas music fills the air. Miss Gracie and I have an errand or two a bit later then a few stops to drop off presents and a bit of Christmas cheer. She'll wear a Christmas scarf and a Santa hat which may last a minute or two before they drive her to distraction. I have no plans for the rest of the day but will spend Christmas Eve with friends. Later tonight I'll put on my reindeer pajamas and my slipper socks then settle in to watch A Christmas Carol. I'm thinking coffee with a bit of cheer and a dollop of whipped cream would go just perfectly with Scrooge's reformation.
I hope that the magic of Christmas fills your hearts and souls and your joy is never ending.
I hope that the magic of Christmas fills your hearts and souls and your joy is never ending.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
"Christmas is the day that holds all time together."
The day is grey and rainy. The tree lights are lit, and the cat is lying on the tree skirt practicing to be a creature from The Night Before Christmas. Everything is ready for the big day. A couple of wrapped presents already sit under the tree, one is Gracie's and the other mine. Both of us are being quite patient though Gracie did get a few early treats from her gift bag. She also got a Christmas bulb dog toy from friends who saw the humor. It smells just like peppermint. Gracie hauls it around the house and looks quite festive with the red bulb in her mouth.
The house feels cozy in the rain, and the tree lights give it a warm glow. The candles in the windows are lit giving the world a bit of light on this drab day. Tonight Gracie and I will take our ride to see the lights. I'll ooh and aah and give her a running commentary though I suspect that a ride to the grocery store would be equally exciting for Miss Gracie.
We always had the most amazing Christmas stockings. When we were kids, a small doll or stuffed animal hung from the top. Inside the stockings were small toys, games like jacks, chocolate coins and Life Saver books. Even when we were adults, my mother would still find the best stuff. She wrapped everything individually, and it seemed we unwrapped for hours.
This Christmas morning my sisters will open their stockings from me, and I will open mine from them. We find each other the neatest little gifts. I still hang a stuffed animal from theirs. My mother would be pleased.
Friday, December 22, 2006
“Many merry Christmases, friendships, great accumulation of cheerful recollections, affection on earth, and Heaven at last for all of us.”
It is baking day. The oven is hot; counters are covered with pans and cookie sheets and a huge mixer, and bags filled with ingredients waiting their turns sit on the floor. The house smells of Christmas tree and cookies. Christmas may be a brilliance of color but it is also a glory of aromas, of cinnamon and ginger and the smells of fresh breads wafting from the oven.
Swirls of smoke curl in the air from a cup of hot chocolate as I drink from my snowman cup. A dollop of marshmallow leaves a line of white across my lip which disappears with a simple swish of my tongue. I don't waste a single drop. It will be a long day today, a day of standing, mixing and stirring. I'm thinking a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a cookie or two might just be the perfect ending to the day.
Well, break's over and time to get back to my kitchen.
Swirls of smoke curl in the air from a cup of hot chocolate as I drink from my snowman cup. A dollop of marshmallow leaves a line of white across my lip which disappears with a simple swish of my tongue. I don't waste a single drop. It will be a long day today, a day of standing, mixing and stirring. I'm thinking a cup of freshly brewed coffee and a cookie or two might just be the perfect ending to the day.
Well, break's over and time to get back to my kitchen.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
"Whatever else be lost among the years, Let us keep Christmas still a shining thing..."
Last night my sister and I were privileged to attend an Odetta concert at the MFA in Boston. It was in the museum's intimate concert hall where Odetta sang many of the songs from her new Christmas album. She'd smile and laugh as she spoke about the history of some of the songs, and we were drawn to her. Her encore number was The House of the Rising Sun, and I think most of us forgot to breath as we listened. It was extraordinary.
The city was ablaze with Christmas. We ate at Quincy Market where all the trees were draped in lights, and Christmas music played from the different stalls and restaurants. People weren't rushing but seemed to take their time to enjoy the warmth of the evening. Families and arm in arm couples stopped to take pictures in front of the giant columns and the huge lit wreath. I stood outside for a long while and chatted with a few people who were also drawn to watching Christmas unfold around us. The crowds, the lights and the season just seemed to intertwine and make the evening joyous.
We took a cab to the museum and gawked at the lights as the cabbie drove. We were like little kids as we called attention to the Christmas trees we could see in windows along Storrow Drive. Rooftops had snowmen, and patio gardens were draped in color. The city seemed to be a giant Christmas card.
It was a glorious evening.
The city was ablaze with Christmas. We ate at Quincy Market where all the trees were draped in lights, and Christmas music played from the different stalls and restaurants. People weren't rushing but seemed to take their time to enjoy the warmth of the evening. Families and arm in arm couples stopped to take pictures in front of the giant columns and the huge lit wreath. I stood outside for a long while and chatted with a few people who were also drawn to watching Christmas unfold around us. The crowds, the lights and the season just seemed to intertwine and make the evening joyous.
We took a cab to the museum and gawked at the lights as the cabbie drove. We were like little kids as we called attention to the Christmas trees we could see in windows along Storrow Drive. Rooftops had snowmen, and patio gardens were draped in color. The city seemed to be a giant Christmas card.
It was a glorious evening.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
"At Christmas I no more desire a rose, Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled shows; But like of each thing that in season grows."
Every year my parents would come back to the house after midnight mass, and my dad would climb into the small attic crawlspace and hand the gifts to my mother. They tried to be quiet and were pretty successful, but one year I woke up and strained to listen. I heard a bit of music, lots of crinkles and their whispers. After forever, they had hauled all the toys and gifts downstairs so I sneaked down to watch from behind the bannister as they placed the toys under the tree. I was just so excited I could barely contain myself, and it took every bit of me to keep from running to the tree. I wanted company for my misery so I woke up my brother, and we sat there for days. I don't remember sneaking back to bed or getting up the next morning. I just remember the joy of anticipation and the excitement of seeing all those wonderful gifts under the tree.
I don't think my parents ever really got any sleep on Christmas Eve. They'd come back from mass, get the toys out and put together, set them under the tree and just get to bed when we'd wake up and run into their bedroom. They'd come down with us and pretend to be amazed as we showed them our gifts. My mother watched us around the tree for a while then started her kitchen duties, especially stuffing the turkey. My dad would nod off a bit in his chair until our shouts and squeals woke him. I don't remember eating breakfast, but I do remember candy canes from our stockings.
We'd go to my grandparents every Christmas Day where I'd get to play with all one million of my cousins, or so it seemed in my grandmother's small kitchen. We'd open presents and run around until dinner. That night we'd pile in the car and sleep all the way home. It was the only time I don't remember us fighting over personal territory in the back seat.
I don't think my parents ever really got any sleep on Christmas Eve. They'd come back from mass, get the toys out and put together, set them under the tree and just get to bed when we'd wake up and run into their bedroom. They'd come down with us and pretend to be amazed as we showed them our gifts. My mother watched us around the tree for a while then started her kitchen duties, especially stuffing the turkey. My dad would nod off a bit in his chair until our shouts and squeals woke him. I don't remember eating breakfast, but I do remember candy canes from our stockings.
We'd go to my grandparents every Christmas Day where I'd get to play with all one million of my cousins, or so it seemed in my grandmother's small kitchen. We'd open presents and run around until dinner. That night we'd pile in the car and sleep all the way home. It was the only time I don't remember us fighting over personal territory in the back seat.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
"Christmas waves a magic wand over this world, and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful."
This is the one time of year when decorated houses which could guide small aircraft are not over the top but mouthdropping. When I happen on one, my head swivels to take in all the magic, and wows drop from my lips. I sit in my car reluctant to leave but final move on with more than a few backward glances.
Blown up Santas and snowmen are joined by carousels and reindeer. Yards are filled with plastic choirs and neon trains. Wreaths with bright red bows cover every window and gate. One house shows a Chrismas movie while others add piped music to the festivities. If this were any other time of year, I might actually be tempted to think tacky, but never at Christmas.
I can never have enough Santas and just about every surface in my house has a decoration. Even the heath is filled with lit cardboard houses, though after Gracie noticed them I have one less than when I started. One of my sisters is into animation, and her trees and Santas sing and dance.
This year the three of us, my two sisters and I, have decorated our houses and trees with some of my mother's decorations. I have snowmen and lambs in each room, and Santa pillows sit on chairs. The tree has decorations my mother made and many I made for her. We decorate in celebration my mother and all the joys of the season she gave us.
Blown up Santas and snowmen are joined by carousels and reindeer. Yards are filled with plastic choirs and neon trains. Wreaths with bright red bows cover every window and gate. One house shows a Chrismas movie while others add piped music to the festivities. If this were any other time of year, I might actually be tempted to think tacky, but never at Christmas.
I can never have enough Santas and just about every surface in my house has a decoration. Even the heath is filled with lit cardboard houses, though after Gracie noticed them I have one less than when I started. One of my sisters is into animation, and her trees and Santas sing and dance.
This year the three of us, my two sisters and I, have decorated our houses and trees with some of my mother's decorations. I have snowmen and lambs in each room, and Santa pillows sit on chairs. The tree has decorations my mother made and many I made for her. We decorate in celebration my mother and all the joys of the season she gave us.
Monday, December 18, 2006
"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love."
In December are a huge amount of givens. A Christmas card or two will arrive too late to reciprocate; marathon baking sessions will yield the most wonderful kitchen smells and the tastiest of cookies. Someone unexpected will give me a gift. This week before Christmas will be jammed full with too much to do or get done, but if you had asked last week, I would have sworn I was just about ready. My sister in Colorado will get more and more excited and call more frequently as the big day gets closer. Come Christmas Eve I will watch a Christmas Carol and know the dialogue. Christmas morning will be filled with fun and excitement, even though I'm old, and the stocking stuffers will be the most fun of all.
Most of my mother's family was infected with the Christmas bug, and they passed the virus to their children. My sister always jokes and says we were cursed: destined to love all things Christmas, decorate to excess, sing carols whether alone or with others, fill stockings until they overflow and search until we find the perfect gifts. I'm glad this virus has no known cure.
Most of my mother's family was infected with the Christmas bug, and they passed the virus to their children. My sister always jokes and says we were cursed: destined to love all things Christmas, decorate to excess, sing carols whether alone or with others, fill stockings until they overflow and search until we find the perfect gifts. I'm glad this virus has no known cure.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
"Nothing's as mean as giving a little child something useful for Christmas."
A bit of a frost this morning covered the tips of grass, and I could see my breath as I stood outside for a long while with my coffee cup between my hands for warmth and my eyes on Gracie and her friend Cody, or rather my ears as it was still dark, as they romped behind my house and down the street. Cody had escaped from his yard a bit earlier than their usual play time, but Miss Gracie was already outside, waiting and hoping. The two dogs exhausted themselves; Cody got a ride home then Gracie came inside, collapsed and is now deep into her morning nap.
My neighbors are coming tomorrow for a bit of Christmas cheer, and I am excitedly getting ready. The Christmas plates have been washed, the napkins brought upstairs, and the menu set. I love to entertain, and Christmas is my favorite time for inviting friends over to eat, drink and be most merry. The music is always perfect, and the tree lights and candles give the house a festive air. The guests arrive already in the Christmas spirit so the evening is a success almost before it starts.
Santa Claus was always the best reason to behave at this time of year. My mother would blackmail us and threaten to tell Santa if we even got close to stepping over the line. Making the naughty list and finding only coal in our stockings were always hanging there like omnious black clouds. My sister had a report card to give to Santa when her kids were young. It listed the good behaviors like cleaning up your toys, being polite, eating your vegetables: all the stuff you'd usually ignore. My nephew would get a gold star or a black one at the end of each day. He knew the card would be left for Santa to read as he munched his cookies and drank his milk on Christmas Eve. A black star would get my nephew begging for a chance to reform, sort of a mini Christmas Carol without the ghosts, and my sister would pretend to think a bit before agreeing.
My nephew is a father himself now, and this is his son's first Christmas. I suspect the baby has this Christmas and one or two more before that report card makes its first appearance. There are traditions you know.
My neighbors are coming tomorrow for a bit of Christmas cheer, and I am excitedly getting ready. The Christmas plates have been washed, the napkins brought upstairs, and the menu set. I love to entertain, and Christmas is my favorite time for inviting friends over to eat, drink and be most merry. The music is always perfect, and the tree lights and candles give the house a festive air. The guests arrive already in the Christmas spirit so the evening is a success almost before it starts.
Santa Claus was always the best reason to behave at this time of year. My mother would blackmail us and threaten to tell Santa if we even got close to stepping over the line. Making the naughty list and finding only coal in our stockings were always hanging there like omnious black clouds. My sister had a report card to give to Santa when her kids were young. It listed the good behaviors like cleaning up your toys, being polite, eating your vegetables: all the stuff you'd usually ignore. My nephew would get a gold star or a black one at the end of each day. He knew the card would be left for Santa to read as he munched his cookies and drank his milk on Christmas Eve. A black star would get my nephew begging for a chance to reform, sort of a mini Christmas Carol without the ghosts, and my sister would pretend to think a bit before agreeing.
My nephew is a father himself now, and this is his son's first Christmas. I suspect the baby has this Christmas and one or two more before that report card makes its first appearance. There are traditions you know.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
That Christmas Feeling: Perry Como
Today is a real mix of styles.
I had fun listening as I went through all my songs trying to find the right ones.
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I had fun listening as I went through all my songs trying to find the right ones.
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"I have a simple philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. Scratch where it itches."
I get stuck on the heavier side of life and sometimes forget the simple pleasures of every day: freshly brewed morning coffee, the smell of sheets dried in the sun, funny movies and buttered popcorn with just a touch of salt, warm slippers on a winter's day, an afternoon nap on the couch, a hot shower after a tiring day and brownies, any kind of brownies, as long as they're chocolate. The rain sustains me, not the lightning bolts.
As I type, I am sitting on my couch with Gracie to my right and Fern to my left. Both are curled in deep sleep. The cat is snoring gently, but, luckily for me, Gracie is not snoring for hers are never gentle. Every now and then I pause in thought and find myself absently patting one or the other. They, and my other cat Maddie, are my companions. Fern and Gracie are vocal, but Maddie says little. Fern has a trill when she is happiest, and Gracie has noises for all occasions. Maddie hides in the no dog room as Gracie chases her. She comes down for a bit of loving when Gracie is either outside or asleep. Maddie just seems to know exactly when it's safest to appear. I can't imagine a life without animals. They help make my house a home, and my life would be lessened without them. They too sustain me.
My life has had momentous events, even life altering events, but I've learned it is the little pieces which give it meaning and depth, make it whole.
As I type, I am sitting on my couch with Gracie to my right and Fern to my left. Both are curled in deep sleep. The cat is snoring gently, but, luckily for me, Gracie is not snoring for hers are never gentle. Every now and then I pause in thought and find myself absently patting one or the other. They, and my other cat Maddie, are my companions. Fern and Gracie are vocal, but Maddie says little. Fern has a trill when she is happiest, and Gracie has noises for all occasions. Maddie hides in the no dog room as Gracie chases her. She comes down for a bit of loving when Gracie is either outside or asleep. Maddie just seems to know exactly when it's safest to appear. I can't imagine a life without animals. They help make my house a home, and my life would be lessened without them. They too sustain me.
My life has had momentous events, even life altering events, but I've learned it is the little pieces which give it meaning and depth, make it whole.
Friday, December 15, 2006
"When you look at your life, the greatest happinesses are family happinesses."
Boston is a wonderful city at Christmas. At Fanueil Hall, the buildings are covered in lights, carolers stroll, jugglers juggle, people eat, drink and are generally merry. Boston Common has a huge Christmas tree and lights are intertwined in the bare branches of the Common's trees. In the Public Garden, the Frog Pond is iced over for skating and the stand sells hot chocolate with a perfect dollop of cream.
Every Christmas we try to do something in the city, and each year's event always seems so special, a perfect start to the holiday season. Last Saturday it was the Rockettes with all their color, glitz and high kicks. Next week we're going into town for dinner and an Odetta concert. One year the whole family piled into a trolley and rode around the city to see the lights. I really don't remember exactly when our tradition started, but The Nutcracker was first. My mother, sister and I hurried through the cold, cold night, across the Common to the theater. There was the year a performance of The Christmas Carol ended when fire alarm went off, just as Scrooge got merry, and we had to evacuate the theater. Another year my mother took us to see Death of a Salesman with Brian Dennehy, and we joked about how festive a play it was.
I love all the traditions at Christmas: the old ones, the new ones, and the ones we have yet to start.
Every Christmas we try to do something in the city, and each year's event always seems so special, a perfect start to the holiday season. Last Saturday it was the Rockettes with all their color, glitz and high kicks. Next week we're going into town for dinner and an Odetta concert. One year the whole family piled into a trolley and rode around the city to see the lights. I really don't remember exactly when our tradition started, but The Nutcracker was first. My mother, sister and I hurried through the cold, cold night, across the Common to the theater. There was the year a performance of The Christmas Carol ended when fire alarm went off, just as Scrooge got merry, and we had to evacuate the theater. Another year my mother took us to see Death of a Salesman with Brian Dennehy, and we joked about how festive a play it was.
I love all the traditions at Christmas: the old ones, the new ones, and the ones we have yet to start.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Papa Noel: Brenda Lee
First two Papa Noels loaded. I fixed it so well that they became two Rosemary Clooney's. Here's hoping the third time is a charm. Thanks for letting me know.
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MP3 File
"Christmas is not a date. It is a state of mind."
Today will be in the high 50's with nary a flake in sight. When I went out to get the paper around 6, I could hear the morning songs of birds, and last night, moths flew around my outside light. It's a strange December.
The warm days bring back memories of December in Africa. I had reconciled myself to feeling lonely and miserable as it would be my first Christmas away from home. My mother had done her best and sent a piece of home. There was a small tree and familiar ornaments. She sent a stocking and brick looking paper so I could have my fireplace. She included cookie cutters and sprinkles for my first foray into making sugar cookies. My house was on the route north into what was then Upper Volta so other volunteers were on their way through town during the holidays. My fellow volunteer, Patrick, and I decided to have a Christmas party as both of us espoused the misery loves company axiom. He bought the beer, and I took care of the food. We had plenty of both, and my sugar cookies were perfect. On Christmas Eve the house was filled. We sang Christmas carols, though none of us ventured I'll Be Home for Christmas, ate up a storm, laughed and filled our evening with the good feelings of friendship and a shared experience. The night was filled with the brightness of the moon. It seemed to beckon us outside where we sat with our backs to the baobab tree as we silently took in the night. It was then someone mentioned that the first Christmas must have been like this one: a night bright with the light of the stars and the moon and cooled from the desert winds. None of us said another word. It was that moment I knew it was Christmas.
The warm days bring back memories of December in Africa. I had reconciled myself to feeling lonely and miserable as it would be my first Christmas away from home. My mother had done her best and sent a piece of home. There was a small tree and familiar ornaments. She sent a stocking and brick looking paper so I could have my fireplace. She included cookie cutters and sprinkles for my first foray into making sugar cookies. My house was on the route north into what was then Upper Volta so other volunteers were on their way through town during the holidays. My fellow volunteer, Patrick, and I decided to have a Christmas party as both of us espoused the misery loves company axiom. He bought the beer, and I took care of the food. We had plenty of both, and my sugar cookies were perfect. On Christmas Eve the house was filled. We sang Christmas carols, though none of us ventured I'll Be Home for Christmas, ate up a storm, laughed and filled our evening with the good feelings of friendship and a shared experience. The night was filled with the brightness of the moon. It seemed to beckon us outside where we sat with our backs to the baobab tree as we silently took in the night. It was then someone mentioned that the first Christmas must have been like this one: a night bright with the light of the stars and the moon and cooled from the desert winds. None of us said another word. It was that moment I knew it was Christmas.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
"The best Christmas trees come very close to exceeding nature."
After the frenzy of the last few days, I am a bit uninspired today. The tree seems to be standing tall; Gracie hasn't eaten a light in two days, and the house is decorated. It is a grey, damp day so after a few errands I'm staying inside, warm and cozy. I'm thinking hot chocolate with whipped cream, a few cookies and a book will raise the day beyond the usual.
Ecah night I've been watching any Christmas show I can find. The usual murder and mayhem have been shunted aside for good feelings and happy endings. I've watched Santa lose his memory, fight blasting for oil, get tired of the Christmas rut and pass on his powers to an assortment of successors including Whoopie Goldberg, his son, his daughter and a complete stranger who heard the magic word. I've watched how to decorate on just a few dollars using what can be found around the house, and if need be, I can rustle up a meal for a crowd in thirty minutes or less depending on what is in my freezer.
I have yet to see Santa Clause Conquers the Martians and my secret vice, Jack Frost, the killer snowman. Somehow Christmas just isn't the same without alien kidnappers and a murderous snowman.
Ecah night I've been watching any Christmas show I can find. The usual murder and mayhem have been shunted aside for good feelings and happy endings. I've watched Santa lose his memory, fight blasting for oil, get tired of the Christmas rut and pass on his powers to an assortment of successors including Whoopie Goldberg, his son, his daughter and a complete stranger who heard the magic word. I've watched how to decorate on just a few dollars using what can be found around the house, and if need be, I can rustle up a meal for a crowd in thirty minutes or less depending on what is in my freezer.
I have yet to see Santa Clause Conquers the Martians and my secret vice, Jack Frost, the killer snowman. Somehow Christmas just isn't the same without alien kidnappers and a murderous snowman.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
The Little Drummer Boy: Johnny Cash
We've come to that magic time of the year when Coffee goes Christmas. From now until the 25th, you'll find a wide variety of Christmas music.
Enjoy!
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Enjoy!
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"Christmas is the day that holds all time together."
Under the tree before Christmas were always a few wrapped gifts from my parents. We'd get to open one on Christmas eve, but there was a drawback to this pre-Christmas morning largesse. My mother picked the gift, and it was always new pajamas. We'd beg to pick our own present, but my mother would give us the take this or nothing ultimatum. After a while it became a joke. The four of us would sit with the presents and pretend to guess what could possibly be hidden in the wrapped boxes. Our guesses were outlandish, and we all thought ourselves funny and clever. After we'd open the boxes, we'd pretend to be completely surprised by the new pajamas.
Every time I hear Winter Wonderland I sing, "Later on we'll perspire as we sit by the fire." That was what my sister thought it said, and, to her, it made perfect sense. After all, sitting by that fire can get pretty darn hot.
The wrapped or unwrapped controversy is one of the Christmas conundrums. In my family, the presents from Santa were never wrapped. They were carefully placed under the tree in a tableau. Dolls sat in highchairs; games were upright so you could see them; small toys sat on top of larger toys, and wagons were filled. The thought was that Santa just had too many gifts to make wrapping them practical. Walking downstairs on Christmas morning and seeing that display just made our mouths open in amazement and gave us pause, for a few precious seconds anyway.
I remember the year I got my bike, but all the gifts from all the other years seem to run together. What I remember are the intangibles that give Christmas a glow that seem to transcend time and space and make me feel young again at Christmas, filled with hope and joy and the thrill of surprises.
Every time I hear Winter Wonderland I sing, "Later on we'll perspire as we sit by the fire." That was what my sister thought it said, and, to her, it made perfect sense. After all, sitting by that fire can get pretty darn hot.
The wrapped or unwrapped controversy is one of the Christmas conundrums. In my family, the presents from Santa were never wrapped. They were carefully placed under the tree in a tableau. Dolls sat in highchairs; games were upright so you could see them; small toys sat on top of larger toys, and wagons were filled. The thought was that Santa just had too many gifts to make wrapping them practical. Walking downstairs on Christmas morning and seeing that display just made our mouths open in amazement and gave us pause, for a few precious seconds anyway.
I remember the year I got my bike, but all the gifts from all the other years seem to run together. What I remember are the intangibles that give Christmas a glow that seem to transcend time and space and make me feel young again at Christmas, filled with hope and joy and the thrill of surprises.
Monday, December 11, 2006
“I grew up with a Christmas tree, I'm going to stay with a Christmas tree.”
You might just be wondering why this post is so late. Well, I have a story filled with anger, pathos, despair and frustration. But rest asssured, it is one which ends in a triumph of sorts. Yesterday my tree was left to fall, figuratively, and therein lies the rub. Today I hauled up my lights and dutifully tested each set and replaced any bad bulbs. I started with the white for that star effect and moved to chili peppers, regular lights and the piece de resistance, Santa with reindeer stretching to the top of the tree. I plugged in the lights. Nothing. I plugged in each individual set. Nothing. I cursed and pulled all the lights off the tree to begin again. The tree fell, literally this time. I fought it branch by branch until it was upright and steady. I tested the lights. They worked then I had a brainstorm and tested the extension cord, no good. It was never the lights.
Act II
I started at the bottom so I could be sure the lights were lit as they went on the tree. Things went swimmingly. I took a breather and checked on the dog. She had pulled sets of lights off the bushes, a new spot for her. I checked them and put them back on the bushes then went inside to tackle the tree. All the lights got on, were evenly distributed and Santa looked great. The tree then began to sway and then listed permanently stopped only by the back wall. I checked the stand and found the tree was no longer connected to the base. I tried and just couldn't get the tree in the base then in the stand. There I sat, holding the tree trunk with one hand trying to hold the stand between my feet for the tree. I couldn't do it and burst into tears. I'd have called someone but I couldn't leave the tree. I decided then and there that my tree would have the distinction of being the first tree at the landfill.
Act II
A calmer head prevailed, and that old stubborn streak reared its head. I was determined. With one hand still on the tree, I managed to get the base on then put it in the tree stand. I moved it about and it stayed out. I even turned it around, a bold stroke on my part, and it still stayed put.
Final Act
The floor was soaked from all that moving in and out of the stand. There seemed to be more needles on the floor than the tree, but I was not daunted. I had conquered the tree. A mere clean up was nothing for this woman warrior.
Act II
I started at the bottom so I could be sure the lights were lit as they went on the tree. Things went swimmingly. I took a breather and checked on the dog. She had pulled sets of lights off the bushes, a new spot for her. I checked them and put them back on the bushes then went inside to tackle the tree. All the lights got on, were evenly distributed and Santa looked great. The tree then began to sway and then listed permanently stopped only by the back wall. I checked the stand and found the tree was no longer connected to the base. I tried and just couldn't get the tree in the base then in the stand. There I sat, holding the tree trunk with one hand trying to hold the stand between my feet for the tree. I couldn't do it and burst into tears. I'd have called someone but I couldn't leave the tree. I decided then and there that my tree would have the distinction of being the first tree at the landfill.
Act II
A calmer head prevailed, and that old stubborn streak reared its head. I was determined. With one hand still on the tree, I managed to get the base on then put it in the tree stand. I moved it about and it stayed out. I even turned it around, a bold stroke on my part, and it still stayed put.
Final Act
The floor was soaked from all that moving in and out of the stand. There seemed to be more needles on the floor than the tree, but I was not daunted. I had conquered the tree. A mere clean up was nothing for this woman warrior.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Seven Joys of Mary: Kate and Anna McGarrigle
The artists on this song include Rufus and Martha Wainwright, Emmylou Harris and Beth Orton.
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MP3 File
"As many mince pies as you taste at Christmas' so many happy months will you have."
My usual chattiness is on hold as today is just filled with stuff to do. The town's Christmas stroll begins at noon, and I hate to miss this wonderful start to the season. I meet old friends, get to nosh a bit, buy a few things, sing a carol or two and have the grandest time. Grumpy people just don't go on a Christmas stroll. All along the route, the air is filled with laughter, greetings and shouts of Merry Christmas.
I have my tree to decorate. I bought it yesterday, struggled to get it upright and then let it sit so the branches would fall. I'll put on some music, maybe have a bit of the egg nog and decorate. I figure I'll be in and out of the living room sneaking peeks once it's up and decorated. Gracie will probably join me in the festivities.
More house decorations need to be hauled from the cellar which means pulling out boxes and giving them the once over to see what in the heck I put in them last year. I used to have all the boxes marked, but they were cardboard, and a mouse or a whole family of mice lived there. They ate many of my ornaments and must have given birth to a few generations judging from the size of the nest. Now the boxes are plastic, and I never did bother to mark them. That makes every box a surprise.
Tonight I'll sit, watch some Christmas shows and make my list of holiday goodies and the ingredients I'll need. A few traditional cookies and candies always make the list. My family demands English toffee and gets more than a little disgruntled if I don't make and send some. My sister wants her date nut bread, and the crowd clamors for orange cookies. With neighbors coming in for a bit of egg nog, I'll be pouring through cookbooks looking for something festive to serve with my egg nog though after a few belts of that just about everything looks great.
Have I mentioned how much I enjoy this time of the year?
I have my tree to decorate. I bought it yesterday, struggled to get it upright and then let it sit so the branches would fall. I'll put on some music, maybe have a bit of the egg nog and decorate. I figure I'll be in and out of the living room sneaking peeks once it's up and decorated. Gracie will probably join me in the festivities.
More house decorations need to be hauled from the cellar which means pulling out boxes and giving them the once over to see what in the heck I put in them last year. I used to have all the boxes marked, but they were cardboard, and a mouse or a whole family of mice lived there. They ate many of my ornaments and must have given birth to a few generations judging from the size of the nest. Now the boxes are plastic, and I never did bother to mark them. That makes every box a surprise.
Tonight I'll sit, watch some Christmas shows and make my list of holiday goodies and the ingredients I'll need. A few traditional cookies and candies always make the list. My family demands English toffee and gets more than a little disgruntled if I don't make and send some. My sister wants her date nut bread, and the crowd clamors for orange cookies. With neighbors coming in for a bit of egg nog, I'll be pouring through cookbooks looking for something festive to serve with my egg nog though after a few belts of that just about everything looks great.
Have I mentioned how much I enjoy this time of the year?
Saturday, December 09, 2006
"It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air."
My ornaments aren't just tree decorations. They have stories and histories and are the respositories for wonderful family memories.
The stuffed fish and alligator come from Panama. When I put them on the tree, I am transported to our family cruise. It was the longest time we've spent together since we were kids, and we had the best fun. We'd even meet for drinks every afternoon and share dinner together every night, swapping seats so we'd all have more time with one another. I think of my mother who gave us all those memories when she treated us to the cruise.
The felt ornaments came from Hungary and a trip with my mom and dad. My poor father hated shopping and was stuck when my mother and I banded together. He would wait impatiently outside each store and keep peeking in as if that would make us hurry.
The adobe church takes me back to Santa Fe and the trip with my two sisters. We drove from Colorado, ate our trip goodies about a half hour into the ride and filled the weekend with sightseeing and shopping. I remember we got off the highway and found a hole in the wall where we had the best breakfast.
The homemade ornaments are from my now grown niece and nephews, compliments of my sister. There are snowmen and school pictures, sparkly pot holders and paper stables. They have a prominent place on my tree each year. My sister has also sent me western ornaments as part of an in joke about her living where cowboys are still king. A wooden saloon is about my favorite, and I get a chuckle when I hang it on the tree.
My mother gave us glass ornaments from her collection, ornaments which used to hang on the trees of our childhood. Some are scratched while others are faded, but they are my favorite of all. When I hang them on the tree, my mind is flooded with all the Christmases past. I can hear my father mumbling curses as he tried to untangle lights or tried to find the one light holding back all the other lights. I remember my mother telling us to stop throwing the icicles on the tree but place them one at a time. We were into finishing, not effect.
A tree is always wonderous but most especially when it sparkles with the glow of all those memories that seem to come alive at Christmas more than any other time of the year.
The stuffed fish and alligator come from Panama. When I put them on the tree, I am transported to our family cruise. It was the longest time we've spent together since we were kids, and we had the best fun. We'd even meet for drinks every afternoon and share dinner together every night, swapping seats so we'd all have more time with one another. I think of my mother who gave us all those memories when she treated us to the cruise.
The felt ornaments came from Hungary and a trip with my mom and dad. My poor father hated shopping and was stuck when my mother and I banded together. He would wait impatiently outside each store and keep peeking in as if that would make us hurry.
The adobe church takes me back to Santa Fe and the trip with my two sisters. We drove from Colorado, ate our trip goodies about a half hour into the ride and filled the weekend with sightseeing and shopping. I remember we got off the highway and found a hole in the wall where we had the best breakfast.
The homemade ornaments are from my now grown niece and nephews, compliments of my sister. There are snowmen and school pictures, sparkly pot holders and paper stables. They have a prominent place on my tree each year. My sister has also sent me western ornaments as part of an in joke about her living where cowboys are still king. A wooden saloon is about my favorite, and I get a chuckle when I hang it on the tree.
My mother gave us glass ornaments from her collection, ornaments which used to hang on the trees of our childhood. Some are scratched while others are faded, but they are my favorite of all. When I hang them on the tree, my mind is flooded with all the Christmases past. I can hear my father mumbling curses as he tried to untangle lights or tried to find the one light holding back all the other lights. I remember my mother telling us to stop throwing the icicles on the tree but place them one at a time. We were into finishing, not effect.
A tree is always wonderous but most especially when it sparkles with the glow of all those memories that seem to come alive at Christmas more than any other time of the year.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Thirsty Boots: John Gorka
This cover of my favorite Eric Andersen song is from an album called Bleeker Street: Greenwich Village in the 1960's.
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MP3 File
Let It Be: Joan Baez
This song is from 1971's Blessed Are. Her hit, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, is also on this album. It would be her last album for Vanguard Records.
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MP3 File
"Christmas will be a day of remembrance - a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved."
The cold wind doth blow, and snowflakes swirl and circle as they fall from a dark sky. The world outside my window looks stark and cold, colored only in browns and greys, but I am cozy and warm. The heat is blasting, and the living room curtains dance in the hot air. The house is bright with the reds and golds of Christmas. Santas sit on tables, and gnomes keep a watchful eye. Stars shine in windows and hang from the fireplace screen. Snowmen frolic from on high, away from the paws of a puppy who thinks anything stuffed is hers. Wrapping paper and ribbon clutter the floor in this room as my wrapping marathon is in full swing. The cats think the ribbon is for munching so presents too are on high. The tree will go up this weekend, and my house will be filled with the smell of pine. The living room will be bright with strands and strands of colored lights wound carefully from branch to branch: chili pepper lights and snowmen, small bubble lights and sparkling red balls of lights. Wound around the trunk will be white lights, giving the tree a look of starlight bursting from within. Once the tree is decorated, I will sit for a bit each evening absorbing its colors, etching them permanently in my mind's eye. Their beauty will help get me through even the darkest of winters.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Turnaround: Stan Rogers
Thoughts of ratty sweatshirts and comfortable flannel made me want to post familiar friends.
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MP3 File
"There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want."
The day already seems well along. The wash is in the dryer; Gracie has played with her friend Cody; I've digested the news in two papers and done the cryptogram and the crosswords. My arms were filled with decorations each time I went up and down to the cellar, and they already decorate my house. It is barely past eight, and I'm exhausted.
My vision of retirement did not include early mornings. It did include lying abed in my fluffy morning gown eating bon bons. I think I also remember long afternoon naps. My life doesn't even come close to the TV commercials of frolicking retirees living in an exclusive community, playing golf with their silver-haired friends and eating at the gourmet restaurant after their daily aerobics workout in the olympic size pool. Instead, here I sit in my ratty sweatshirt and flannel pants looking forward to a day at the grocery story with nary a silver-haired friend in sight. The last time I played golf, the windmill was the toughest lie. Unless Wendy's meets the criterion for a gourmet restaurant, I'm out of luck there too.
I love my life, ratty sweatshirt and all. Actually, I think I love my life because of the ratty sweatshirt. It fits me just right.
My vision of retirement did not include early mornings. It did include lying abed in my fluffy morning gown eating bon bons. I think I also remember long afternoon naps. My life doesn't even come close to the TV commercials of frolicking retirees living in an exclusive community, playing golf with their silver-haired friends and eating at the gourmet restaurant after their daily aerobics workout in the olympic size pool. Instead, here I sit in my ratty sweatshirt and flannel pants looking forward to a day at the grocery story with nary a silver-haired friend in sight. The last time I played golf, the windmill was the toughest lie. Unless Wendy's meets the criterion for a gourmet restaurant, I'm out of luck there too.
I love my life, ratty sweatshirt and all. Actually, I think I love my life because of the ratty sweatshirt. It fits me just right.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
The Lady of Shalott: Loreena McKennitt
This is from the album The Rise released in 1992. This is a quote from Loreena.
"For people who aren’t familiar with it, "Lady of Shalott" is set in the Arthurian time of Camelot. It’s an epic poem in terms of performance because it has about 15 verses. I just liked the imagery of it. There’s a rural imagery that I tap into because I live on a farm just north of Stratford. When the sun sets, I look to the west and see it setting over this wonderful field. So, the verse "The reapers reaping early" had imagery that really caught my eye. I found the whole story quite romantic and thought it would be an interesting piece to have in the recording. It’s different than a lot of other things on it. I’ve tried to cover a wide thematic territory with the album’s imagery and arrangements."
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"For people who aren’t familiar with it, "Lady of Shalott" is set in the Arthurian time of Camelot. It’s an epic poem in terms of performance because it has about 15 verses. I just liked the imagery of it. There’s a rural imagery that I tap into because I live on a farm just north of Stratford. When the sun sets, I look to the west and see it setting over this wonderful field. So, the verse "The reapers reaping early" had imagery that really caught my eye. I found the whole story quite romantic and thought it would be an interesting piece to have in the recording. It’s different than a lot of other things on it. I’ve tried to cover a wide thematic territory with the album’s imagery and arrangements."
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A Place Called Home: Kim Richey
Kim Richey is another artist whose music isn't all that easy to label. She is probably better known as country, a Mary Chapin Carpenter sort of country, but even country has become difficult to define.
This song is from 2002's Rise album. It is lyrical and lovely.
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This song is from 2002's Rise album. It is lyrical and lovely.
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"Stay home. Have fun. Build a snowman. Go sledding with the kids.”
Snow was once the source of days and days of amusement. We built forts with walls to protect us from flying missiles and dug our caves in the tall piles left on the sides of the road by the snow plows. We'd stay inside our caves and pretend we lived in Alaska or the North Pole. Our sleds were dragged out of the cellars and cleared of the year's cobwebs then we'd fly down hills hoping to set the day's long distance record. We'd stay outside until we were drenched and our lips chattered from the cold. My mother would yell at us to come in and escort us down cellar where we'd remove our wet snowsuits. She'd hang them on a line to dry. Our cheeks were rosy red and our hands freezing. We'd run upstairs, grab a blanket and huddle to get warm.
Once in a while my dad would tie our sleds to the back of his car and haul us up and down the street. We'd fight for turns. Our street was a huge hill and sometimes the plow would take its good old time. We'd sled down that street so fast we couldn't stop at the bottom. We'd post another kid on the street at the bottom so as to warn the cars we were coming. The sleds would fly across the street and finally come to a stop in a field. It was a long climb back up the hill.
The sled were wooden and difficult to steer. We'd run, jump on the sled and go down the hill on our stomachs sometimes with another kid on top. Little kids sat up and held the sides of the sleds. They had to be pulled. Sometimes we'd build small jumps on the hill so we could be airborne, if only for a moment. I still remember the joy of that small flight, the exhilaration I felt as I left the ground and soared. It was a wonderous journey.
Once in a while my dad would tie our sleds to the back of his car and haul us up and down the street. We'd fight for turns. Our street was a huge hill and sometimes the plow would take its good old time. We'd sled down that street so fast we couldn't stop at the bottom. We'd post another kid on the street at the bottom so as to warn the cars we were coming. The sleds would fly across the street and finally come to a stop in a field. It was a long climb back up the hill.
The sled were wooden and difficult to steer. We'd run, jump on the sled and go down the hill on our stomachs sometimes with another kid on top. Little kids sat up and held the sides of the sleds. They had to be pulled. Sometimes we'd build small jumps on the hill so we could be airborne, if only for a moment. I still remember the joy of that small flight, the exhilaration I felt as I left the ground and soared. It was a wonderous journey.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
“In skating over thin ice our safety is our speed”
The day has been a bit odd. The weather made this most dramatic shift and even the outside dog bowl water froze. Flurries have been falling, and the electricity went out just as I first started writing early this morning. I decided a warm car sounded perfect and went off to do my many errands. When I returned, the house was so warm and toasty I quickly fell asleep and slept for nearly two hours surrounded by a nestling cat and one small pesky dog. My internal clock must have been on alert as I awoke in time to get my finicky car to the garage where the problem was found and fixed. I am, therefore, behind my time and feel a bit like white rabbit as he sped by Alice with his watch in hand.
The ice crunched this morning as Gracie and her friend Cody ran across the small patch of it in my front yard. The sound triggered my mind's eye, and a picture flashed of me and my brother gingerly sliding first one foot forward then the other as we tested the ice on the swamp near our house. We'd go slowly. The ice would sometimes crack, and a web looking like icy bolts of lightning fanned from where my foot had stepped. I'd run, and my brother would follow hoping speed would save us from cold, wet feet. Sometimes it did.
Once the swamp froze we'd go ice skating there almost every afternoon until darkness would force us home. The ice was so clear you could see plants and small branches below it. On Saturdays the big kids played hockey in the front, and we younger ones were forced to skate in the backwaters of the swamp where we followed small winding canals. There the water was so shallow that often pieces of branches lay above the ice tripping the unwary. Sometimes we'd have to scoot on hands and knees past especially low branches. That backwater was another place, almost a scene from the book I was reading. There I was at the furthest reaches of the world being chased by the fingers of bare branches as I tried to escape from the ice men.
The ice crunched this morning as Gracie and her friend Cody ran across the small patch of it in my front yard. The sound triggered my mind's eye, and a picture flashed of me and my brother gingerly sliding first one foot forward then the other as we tested the ice on the swamp near our house. We'd go slowly. The ice would sometimes crack, and a web looking like icy bolts of lightning fanned from where my foot had stepped. I'd run, and my brother would follow hoping speed would save us from cold, wet feet. Sometimes it did.
Once the swamp froze we'd go ice skating there almost every afternoon until darkness would force us home. The ice was so clear you could see plants and small branches below it. On Saturdays the big kids played hockey in the front, and we younger ones were forced to skate in the backwaters of the swamp where we followed small winding canals. There the water was so shallow that often pieces of branches lay above the ice tripping the unwary. Sometimes we'd have to scoot on hands and knees past especially low branches. That backwater was another place, almost a scene from the book I was reading. There I was at the furthest reaches of the world being chased by the fingers of bare branches as I tried to escape from the ice men.
Monday, December 04, 2006
The Ballad of Amelia Earhart: The Dirdy Birdies Jug Band
Here's what I found.
"The Dirdy Birdies Jug Band, a sextet of wandering minstrels formed in 1965, quit playing in 1972, then re-emerged to celebrate its 40th anniversary. Band members Barbara Brummer, Rich Fedorchak, Dick Finn, Joe Kloza, Tony Muller and Jack Pignatello are known for their spirited renditions of not only traditional jug music but gospel, folk and bluegrass. "
MP3 File
"The Dirdy Birdies Jug Band, a sextet of wandering minstrels formed in 1965, quit playing in 1972, then re-emerged to celebrate its 40th anniversary. Band members Barbara Brummer, Rich Fedorchak, Dick Finn, Joe Kloza, Tony Muller and Jack Pignatello are known for their spirited renditions of not only traditional jug music but gospel, folk and bluegrass. "
MP3 File
“Fond memory brings the light of other days around me.”
This morning I woke to the pounding sounds of rain on the roof and knew, without stirring, the storm was terrific. I opened my front door and saw the world was awash. A small lake has replaced the dirt of the front yard and the street has running rivers. A few minutes ago, though, the sky lightened, and the rain became large wet flakes of snow neither one nor the other but somehow both. I'm hoping the day leans more toward the rain. I haven't yet braced my psyche for snow.
Today will be devoted to organizing gifts, making lists and preparing to send my pre-Chrismas boxes filled with ribbon candy, potpourri and a few special surprises. That tradition started when my nephews and niece were little and continues but on a smaller scale. My sister says the season officially starts when the box with her ribbon candy arrives. That first taste zooms her back to our childhood Christmases and the dishes of candy my mother put around the house. The hard candy had little Christmas trees in the middle and the ribbon candy tasted of cinnamon and peppermint.
I can't recall who gave them to me, but I remember getting hard candies in small, decorated cardboard boxes with white strings. The boxes were usually square with green backgrounds and each had a jolly Santa. The candy inside was usually stuck together in a single clump, and it took all my strength to pull off a single piece. I liked the red ones the most, still do.
Today will be devoted to organizing gifts, making lists and preparing to send my pre-Chrismas boxes filled with ribbon candy, potpourri and a few special surprises. That tradition started when my nephews and niece were little and continues but on a smaller scale. My sister says the season officially starts when the box with her ribbon candy arrives. That first taste zooms her back to our childhood Christmases and the dishes of candy my mother put around the house. The hard candy had little Christmas trees in the middle and the ribbon candy tasted of cinnamon and peppermint.
I can't recall who gave them to me, but I remember getting hard candies in small, decorated cardboard boxes with white strings. The boxes were usually square with green backgrounds and each had a jolly Santa. The candy inside was usually stuck together in a single clump, and it took all my strength to pull off a single piece. I liked the red ones the most, still do.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year."
Last night the moon lit up my bedroom. It sat so brilliantly in the dark sky the stars were mere backdrops. It was a cold night, and the moon looked frosted in icy blue. I think I could see the old man in the moon's breath as he exhaled into the night air.
Winter arrived last night, and today is in the 30's. The sun stands in a clear blue sky. Its light shines with a sharpness empty of any warmth. Today I need socks and a layer or two. It is a perfect day for a stroll.
The TV schedule is filled with Christmas shows and movies, and I watch them all. Yesterday it was shows dedicated to Christmas cookies and decorating on a dime. Last night it was pure schmaltz in a movie where you knew the right guy would get the girl, on Christmas morning no less. In the traditional movies like It's a Wonderful Life or White Christmas, I know the dialogue. I sing every Whoville song. Burgermeister Meisterburger has my favorite name and is my second favorite bah humbug character, after Scrooge, of course. Alastair Sims is the best of all the Scrooges. I still laugh at the antics of Clark Griswold in his quest for the perfect Christmas, and no season is complete without at least one viewing of Santa Claus conquers the Martians.
I just love everything about Christmas.
Winter arrived last night, and today is in the 30's. The sun stands in a clear blue sky. Its light shines with a sharpness empty of any warmth. Today I need socks and a layer or two. It is a perfect day for a stroll.
The TV schedule is filled with Christmas shows and movies, and I watch them all. Yesterday it was shows dedicated to Christmas cookies and decorating on a dime. Last night it was pure schmaltz in a movie where you knew the right guy would get the girl, on Christmas morning no less. In the traditional movies like It's a Wonderful Life or White Christmas, I know the dialogue. I sing every Whoville song. Burgermeister Meisterburger has my favorite name and is my second favorite bah humbug character, after Scrooge, of course. Alastair Sims is the best of all the Scrooges. I still laugh at the antics of Clark Griswold in his quest for the perfect Christmas, and no season is complete without at least one viewing of Santa Claus conquers the Martians.
I just love everything about Christmas.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
“Christmas! 'Tis the season for kindling the fire of hospitality in the hall, the genial fire of charity in the heart”
The wind blew and the rain fell. Pine branches snapped. Leaves sat in sodden clumps. Birds hid in the thick branches of bushes and even squirrels gave up the hunt. Yesterday was not fit for man nor beast but was perfect for woman shopper.
Today is still a bit warm, but the cold is heading our way. Old Man Winter just got too tired of waiting and is exercising his rights to December. It's time to put away the sandals and bring out the wool socks, to think of layers and mittens and those hats my mother always insisted I wear.
The holiday festivities begin this weekend with the first Christmas strolls. They'll be hay rides and Christmas carolers, lighted trees and ice sculptures, hot dogs, cotton candy and Christmas cookies. The farm will be decked with wreaths and swags and filled with the sweet smell of pine. Revelers will be wearing Santa hats and Christmas sweaters. People will smile as they move from shop to shop, and I'll hear their conversations and laughter.
The countdown to Christmas officially begins today, and I'm rubbing my hands together in anticipation and glee.
Today is still a bit warm, but the cold is heading our way. Old Man Winter just got too tired of waiting and is exercising his rights to December. It's time to put away the sandals and bring out the wool socks, to think of layers and mittens and those hats my mother always insisted I wear.
The holiday festivities begin this weekend with the first Christmas strolls. They'll be hay rides and Christmas carolers, lighted trees and ice sculptures, hot dogs, cotton candy and Christmas cookies. The farm will be decked with wreaths and swags and filled with the sweet smell of pine. Revelers will be wearing Santa hats and Christmas sweaters. People will smile as they move from shop to shop, and I'll hear their conversations and laughter.
The countdown to Christmas officially begins today, and I'm rubbing my hands together in anticipation and glee.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Mushaboom: Feist
It's been awhile since my last Feist.
This song is from her album Let It Die. I'm not sure if I should add all kinds of Feist info as she has appeared here so many times. I will say this is probably as breezy as she gets with a song.
MP3 File
This song is from her album Let It Die. I'm not sure if I should add all kinds of Feist info as she has appeared here so many times. I will say this is probably as breezy as she gets with a song.
MP3 File
The Next Train to Baltimore: Melvern Taylor
I really like that Coffee gives me the opportunity to introduce different artists, and I am really excited about Melvern Taylor. This song is from his third album, Fabuloso, which made me wonder why it's taken three albums to find him. What took so long this morning wasn't deciding whether to post a song of his but which one. I just love his wonderfully graspy, gruff voice.
He wrote all of the songs on the album, and how could you not love his ukelele? Melvern is from Lowell, Mass though he grew up in Andover, which just happens to be where I went to college. You'll find out anything you want to know on his website where you can also purchase this album. I don't think you'll be disappointed.
MP3 File
He wrote all of the songs on the album, and how could you not love his ukelele? Melvern is from Lowell, Mass though he grew up in Andover, which just happens to be where I went to college. You'll find out anything you want to know on his website where you can also purchase this album. I don't think you'll be disappointed.
MP3 File
"Whoever said you can't buy happiness forgot little puppies."
This is a Christmas tale of holiday lights, a pine garland and one small dog named Gracie. Last week, on a warm Sunday afternoon, I put up my traditional outside light display. This year, as in years past, the bushes are sheathed in lights, and the fence is festooned with a pine garland roped with colored lights, a perfect cover for any holiday magazine. The garland is on the outside of the fence, but small branches are stuffed between two pickets to give the garland that looped look across the whole fence. It just seemed logical to use pine cones to help hold the garland in place. How silly of me!
Chapter I
I looked outside just as Gracie was pulling at the pinecones with all the might of a small, but very muscular, Boxer. When I went outside to check the damage, I found bulbs had been pulled out with the pinecones. I found the empty sockets and back those bulbs went. When the lights came on, half of the strand was not lit. That would be the half Gracie enjoyed. I went out, unwound the old strand, wound the new strand and carefully looped the garland.
Chapter II
What do I see but pine branches on the ground and pieces of lights strewn about the yard. Who do I see but Miss Gracie pulling for all she is worth. Out I go and Chapter I is revisited with the unwinding, the winding and the looping.
Chapter III
Gracie is running back and forth in the front yard with pinecones in her mouth, not an unusual sight, but the pieces of a light strand all over the front yard were. You'd think I'd get smarter each time, but both Gracie and I share a bit of stubborn tenacity. Out I go and repeat Chapters I and II. You know the drill: unwind, wind and loop.
Chapter IV
This was the worst of all. Gracie had a section of the garland attached to her and dragged it back and forth as she ran with a few pine branches in her mouth. The yard was festooned with several pieces of what had been a strand of lights. I ran out and screamed in frustration which caused Gracie to panic and run some more with that garland attached. The whole scene was just too silly, and I had to laugh, both at the antics of a tiny dog and my own foolishness. Knowing there was one set of lights left in the cellar, I decided to give Gracie and the lights one more try and repeated the previous three chapters: unwind, wind and loop.
Chapter V
It is raining today, and Gracie hates rain. My lights are safe.
I am going to buy a few more sets of lights as I need them for my Christmas tree. I just hope that Gracie doesn't think that an inside tree is my present to her.
Chapter I
I looked outside just as Gracie was pulling at the pinecones with all the might of a small, but very muscular, Boxer. When I went outside to check the damage, I found bulbs had been pulled out with the pinecones. I found the empty sockets and back those bulbs went. When the lights came on, half of the strand was not lit. That would be the half Gracie enjoyed. I went out, unwound the old strand, wound the new strand and carefully looped the garland.
Chapter II
What do I see but pine branches on the ground and pieces of lights strewn about the yard. Who do I see but Miss Gracie pulling for all she is worth. Out I go and Chapter I is revisited with the unwinding, the winding and the looping.
Chapter III
Gracie is running back and forth in the front yard with pinecones in her mouth, not an unusual sight, but the pieces of a light strand all over the front yard were. You'd think I'd get smarter each time, but both Gracie and I share a bit of stubborn tenacity. Out I go and repeat Chapters I and II. You know the drill: unwind, wind and loop.
Chapter IV
This was the worst of all. Gracie had a section of the garland attached to her and dragged it back and forth as she ran with a few pine branches in her mouth. The yard was festooned with several pieces of what had been a strand of lights. I ran out and screamed in frustration which caused Gracie to panic and run some more with that garland attached. The whole scene was just too silly, and I had to laugh, both at the antics of a tiny dog and my own foolishness. Knowing there was one set of lights left in the cellar, I decided to give Gracie and the lights one more try and repeated the previous three chapters: unwind, wind and loop.
Chapter V
It is raining today, and Gracie hates rain. My lights are safe.
I am going to buy a few more sets of lights as I need them for my Christmas tree. I just hope that Gracie doesn't think that an inside tree is my present to her.
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