From 1961 through 1965, the Friends of Old Time Music brought fourteen concerts of traditional music, old time country music, bluegrass, blues and religious music to New York audiences. Smithsonian Folkways Recordings has released a three disc set from these concerts with music by many of the most influential traditional musicians of the 20th century. It is an amazing release. This is one of the cuts.
This song is from a 1961 concert. The song was written in 1937 and originally recorded by Dave McEnery.
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Wednesday, January 31, 2007
So Long, Stay Well: Bud & Travis
Think 1958 which is when Travis Edmonson left the Gateway Singers and went solo. It was the beginning of what became the folk boom and just about the same time Travis met Bud Dashiell.
The two would sing together until 1965 and would record ten albums. Their debut album was released in 1959 on Liberty Records. They sang a mixture of folk, calypso, show tunes and authentic Spanish music. They would later release an all Latin album, their last album together, with not only boleros but also serenatas, guajiras and juapengos. After the two broke up, there were no reunions and very little contact. Both went on to solo careers. Bud died in 1989.
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The two would sing together until 1965 and would record ten albums. Their debut album was released in 1959 on Liberty Records. They sang a mixture of folk, calypso, show tunes and authentic Spanish music. They would later release an all Latin album, their last album together, with not only boleros but also serenatas, guajiras and juapengos. After the two broke up, there were no reunions and very little contact. Both went on to solo careers. Bud died in 1989.
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"A mathematician is a machine for turning coffee into theorems."
I wonder what happened to my family's number gene. I figure, as if I really could, that someone overslept or we just skipped standing in that line. We all do the simple stuff, the add, subtract, multiple, divide sort of mathematics and seldom need our fingers, but beyond that we are totally helpless. Algebra and geometry are foreign languages which might just as well be written in Cyrillic for all we can decipher. My mother was a balance her checkbook fanatic which is as mathematical as anyone of us ever gets. I love to cook so I can double recipes with ease though Pythagoras would hardly be impressed. He'd be prattling about the two legs of triangles, and I'd be thinking chicken. One of my best friends is a math teacher. I know, I know, everyone says that, but it's true, and I am in awe of her skill with numbers and her knowledge of theorums. I figure to keep her around in case we ever get approached by aliens. Mathematics seems to be the common bond which connects galaxies. I know from all the movies I've seen that pi seems to be a favorite. There again we're into food which is my expertise, but I doubt apple or lemon meringue would make much of an impression. I'd suggest iambic pentameter, but I don't see aliens grasping at the idea of a good poetic scan which is too bad as I think we could find real common ground thumping out the da dums.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Jackson: Lucinda Williams
This cut is from 1998's Car Wheels on a Gravel Road. It was Lucinda William's first album to go gold and won a Grammy for Best Contemporary Folk Album.
After I first heard this album, I thought it deserved its own Grammy category. Maybe it should have been listed as Best Contemporary Folk with Country and Rock Merged as a Single Genre.
The album has been reissued as a two disc set. You need to have either that or the original single disc album as a part of your collection. It is that extraordinary and has been described as a masterpiece.
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After I first heard this album, I thought it deserved its own Grammy category. Maybe it should have been listed as Best Contemporary Folk with Country and Rock Merged as a Single Genre.
The album has been reissued as a two disc set. You need to have either that or the original single disc album as a part of your collection. It is that extraordinary and has been described as a masterpiece.
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Where I Used to Have a Heart: Craig Bickhardt
This cut is from Easy Fires, Craig Bickhardt's first solo album, which was released in 2001 on Stone Barn Records.
Craig Bickhardt is best known as a songwriter who's won nine ASCAP Popular Song Awards for his number one hits and his song, "You Are What Love Means to Me," was the closing song in the picture Tender Mercies.
I love Craig's voice. He has a tenderness when he sings of love and, as in this song, of loss. When I listen to him, I sometimes think that Craig Bickhardt is singing just to me. His music feels just that personal.
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Craig Bickhardt is best known as a songwriter who's won nine ASCAP Popular Song Awards for his number one hits and his song, "You Are What Love Means to Me," was the closing song in the picture Tender Mercies.
I love Craig's voice. He has a tenderness when he sings of love and, as in this song, of loss. When I listen to him, I sometimes think that Craig Bickhardt is singing just to me. His music feels just that personal.
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"Life is either a daring adventure or it is nothing."
My life has been more than the younger me could ever have imagined and yet I yearn for more. It has been a long while since my last adventure, and the need for another is growing. Mind you, I'm not talking bungee jumping from a bridge over a yawning pit filled with venomous snakes. I'm talking someplace exotic, off the beaten path. I want to be Jane when she finds Tarzan.
I have a list. I always have a list. This list, though, is filled with possibilities. On it are the places I still need to see, the places tempting my wanderlust and feeding my imagination. I see elephants and crocodiles, thatched roof villages and mighty temples, mountains reaching to the sky and desert camels rhythmically shifting the sands. I see a small bus wending its way through the rain forest while my fellow passengers and I laugh together and share lunch. I see festivals where dancers are wearing clothes so bright you almost have to squint to see them. I see myself happily crammed between a woman feeding her baby and a few chickens squawking in their wooden crate.
I see serendipity.
I have a list. I always have a list. This list, though, is filled with possibilities. On it are the places I still need to see, the places tempting my wanderlust and feeding my imagination. I see elephants and crocodiles, thatched roof villages and mighty temples, mountains reaching to the sky and desert camels rhythmically shifting the sands. I see a small bus wending its way through the rain forest while my fellow passengers and I laugh together and share lunch. I see festivals where dancers are wearing clothes so bright you almost have to squint to see them. I see myself happily crammed between a woman feeding her baby and a few chickens squawking in their wooden crate.
I see serendipity.
Monday, January 29, 2007
On a Winter's Night: Willie Nininger
"Singer songwriter Willie Nininger was a mainstay of the New York, Greenwich Village Folk Scene in the 70's and 80's, Willie has M.C'd and performed in th elegendary Fast Folk Musical Revues, played clubs and concerts across the USA. He wrote and performed the title song for the Winter's Night compilation CD that inspired the still popular Winter's Night concert tours, wrote songs for the Captain Kangaroo show and kids TV specials, perennially won the Folk City Bon Dylan imitator's contests, developed a reputation as a great folk humourist and gained notoriety as a top flatpick guitarist with his solo acoustic blue-grass version of the William Tell Overture."
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Frozen in the Snow: David Wilcox
I love David's voice and the simplicity of his music: no gimmicks, just him accompanied by his acoustic guitar. He has this easy going sound which often belies the lyrics.
This is from 1987's Nightshift Watchman.
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This is from 1987's Nightshift Watchman.
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"Where's the snow That fell the year that's fled--where's the snow?"
I don't remember ever feeling cold when I was a kid. After every snowstorm, we'd want out so badly we'd beg and whine and keep begging and whining until my mother was so worn down and so sick of listening to us she'd finally relent, but never happily. It was more along the lines of FINE, FINE, always repeated and always spoken in capital letters.
Getting us ready was, for her, a time consuming process. She believed in bundling us as if for an arctic expedition. First came the snow pants and jackets. They were easy, and we could pretty much take care of them ourselves though my mother did need to reach up each snow pant's leg and pull down our cuffs. My mother would then tackle our boots, and back then, they were the over the shoe kind of boots. Kneeling in front of us, she'd tug while we pushed. It took a long while, and I remember times when my shoe just didn't make the boot curve. I though it funny to walk around flapping my boot. My mother was far less amused. Once the boots were done, the mittens were put on and tucked inside the sleeves for further protection. Hats were last. We'd waddle outside and play all day long building forts, pelting each other with snowballs and sledding down the hill. My mittens would get so crusted with snow they were useless in any snowball fight. The snowballs would just stick. My clothes got soaked and still I played.
My mother would finally yell out the back door it was time to come inside. She'd tell us to come in through the cellar. That was actually fun as the cellar steps never got shoveled and we'd slide down to the door. Once inside we'd peel down to our inside layers and hang the soaked jackets and mittens on lines. We'd walk upstairs in our stocking feet and leave footprints everywhere we walked as even our socks were soaked. Our faces were always beat red and our hands raw, but we just never noticed. My mother always asked us if we were cold, and I thought that a silly question. Why would we ever get cold when we were having so much fun?
Getting us ready was, for her, a time consuming process. She believed in bundling us as if for an arctic expedition. First came the snow pants and jackets. They were easy, and we could pretty much take care of them ourselves though my mother did need to reach up each snow pant's leg and pull down our cuffs. My mother would then tackle our boots, and back then, they were the over the shoe kind of boots. Kneeling in front of us, she'd tug while we pushed. It took a long while, and I remember times when my shoe just didn't make the boot curve. I though it funny to walk around flapping my boot. My mother was far less amused. Once the boots were done, the mittens were put on and tucked inside the sleeves for further protection. Hats were last. We'd waddle outside and play all day long building forts, pelting each other with snowballs and sledding down the hill. My mittens would get so crusted with snow they were useless in any snowball fight. The snowballs would just stick. My clothes got soaked and still I played.
My mother would finally yell out the back door it was time to come inside. She'd tell us to come in through the cellar. That was actually fun as the cellar steps never got shoveled and we'd slide down to the door. Once inside we'd peel down to our inside layers and hang the soaked jackets and mittens on lines. We'd walk upstairs in our stocking feet and leave footprints everywhere we walked as even our socks were soaked. Our faces were always beat red and our hands raw, but we just never noticed. My mother always asked us if we were cold, and I thought that a silly question. Why would we ever get cold when we were having so much fun?
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Song For a Winter's Night: Gordon Lightfoot
I know I played this not long ago, but it is so beautiful and fits my theme for today that I thought what the heck.
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"Alice came to a fork in the road. "Which road do I take?" she asked."
The weather is warmer this morning so the birds have come out of hiding. I stood a long while watching at the window. Gracie, ever nosy, joined me so I pushed aside the curtain and we became two bird watchers. The bird bath had doves and robins perched around the sides waiting their turns. The main bathers, robins, jumped in, fluttered their wings and threw water left and right over the sides. Juncos chased each other away from the seeds I had thrown on the ground so a female cardinal, grabbing an opportunity, took her fill. At one feeder, guaranteed to be safe from squirrels, a chipmunk sat munching on sunflower seeds. Chickadees flew in and out of the smaller feeders, and a few finches perched at the thistle feeder. Gracie got tired of watching, rang her bells and wanted to go outside. The birds scattered.
We had a light dusting of snow last night, but it's already melting. I can hear the patter of drops falling from the roof. The sun keeps trying to poke out of the clouds, and the day brightens just a bit with each reappearance. Gracie and I have a few errands so we'll be out and about later. I love a Sunday drive and all the memories it conjures.
We had a light dusting of snow last night, but it's already melting. I can hear the patter of drops falling from the roof. The sun keeps trying to poke out of the clouds, and the day brightens just a bit with each reappearance. Gracie and I have a few errands so we'll be out and about later. I love a Sunday drive and all the memories it conjures.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Elusive Butterfly: Bob Lind
Okay, all these songs too have something in common, actually two things in common. What are your guesses?
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"Like religion, politics, and family planning, cereal is not a topic to be brought up in public. It's too controversial."
Corn Flakes have always seemed an unexciting cereal. They have no real color or sound, and though they start out crisp, they wilt rather quickly. I always thought they were just for adults. I liked Frosted Flakes but learned later Frosted Flakes were in disguise. They were really just Corn Flakes with sugar and a tiger. Oatmeal is one of those cereals parents make you eat. It gives you a warm start in winter and has substance. That just means oatmeal is thick and globby, and you can stand a spoon straight up smack dab in the middle. My mother made oatmeal for us on especially cold winter mornings before we walked to school. She thought of it as adding another layer of protection to the coat, hats and mittens. I think that oatmeal stayed with us all day in the pits of our stomachs. My favorite cereal is Rice Krispies. Though it lacks color, it has that snap, crackle and pop. You can't fault a cereal that talks.
The best fun was always the free prize in each box of cereal, but free, of course, had a drawback. The prize was was always at the bottom of the package. That meant eating all the cereal or, better yet, digging your hand all the way down until the prize was found. We used to fight over whose prize it was. My mother always used the same threat: none of you will get it if you don't stop. I love the submarine which used baking powder and floated up and down in the water. My other favorite was the flip book. It was so cool that the figures moved when you flipped the pages. I found that amazing.
I'm not a big cereal eater any more. It just seemed too much trouble to eat a whole bowl of cereal when a few cups of coffee and maybe a biscotti will do. But if they start offering that submarine again, I could be persuaded to become a cereal eater. I love a free prize.
The best fun was always the free prize in each box of cereal, but free, of course, had a drawback. The prize was was always at the bottom of the package. That meant eating all the cereal or, better yet, digging your hand all the way down until the prize was found. We used to fight over whose prize it was. My mother always used the same threat: none of you will get it if you don't stop. I love the submarine which used baking powder and floated up and down in the water. My other favorite was the flip book. It was so cool that the figures moved when you flipped the pages. I found that amazing.
I'm not a big cereal eater any more. It just seemed too much trouble to eat a whole bowl of cereal when a few cups of coffee and maybe a biscotti will do. But if they start offering that submarine again, I could be persuaded to become a cereal eater. I love a free prize.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Love Takes the Best of You: Catie Curtis
If you dropped by earlier, you saw a link to yousendit. I got frustrated by this and got hunting to find the solution to posting to bloggerBeta, and I found the answer.!!. But then I had to go back and change the player. I posted the song with the new player but found no mp3 link so back I went.
This is beginning to be a full time job.
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This is beginning to be a full time job.
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Richland Woman Blues: Maria Muldaur
This song, from the album of the same name, was written by Mississippi John Hurt. The album, nominated in 2002 for a Grammy in the Best Traditional Blues Album category, is a tribute to early blues players of the 1920s and 1930s. The picking and playing you hear is by John Sebastian.
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"Dispel the cold, bounteously replenishing the hearth with logs."
Arctic blasts roar across the tundra. Herds of elk rush before the wind. Birds huddle in the safety of dense fir trees. It is winter with all its ferocity. Today's single digits will seem warm by night. I filled the bird feeders a while ago and thought my fingers would snap from the cold. Today is a day to watch the world from windows, to watch brown leaves and snow fly down the street, to watch branches shutter and bow and to watch the sun stand useless before winter's onslaught.
I bought a palm tree, a lighted palm tree for my deck. It is a bit of hope and maybe a bit of a joke as well. It will remind my neighbors that winter is only a single cycle of the year, and soon enough we'll complain about summer. If I could pipe music, something Hawaiian would soften the blows of winter. I expect my neighbors will think me a bit daft, but I don't mind. I find being a bit daft keeps life interesting and no explanations are ever necessary.
Gracie had frost on her muzzle this morning from a short trip outside. She had stood hunched beside the tree trying to blunt the force of the wind as she did her duty. The poor dog ran inside so fast I was nearly knocked over as I opened the door. Gracie is now asleep on the couch where I suspect she will spend most of her day.
Friday always had magical powers for me. No matter how long the work week had been, no matter how tired I was, on Friday afternoons an energy force would enter my body, and I could stand tall. Though I no longer work, I still have great affection for Fridays. Today is a good day.
I bought a palm tree, a lighted palm tree for my deck. It is a bit of hope and maybe a bit of a joke as well. It will remind my neighbors that winter is only a single cycle of the year, and soon enough we'll complain about summer. If I could pipe music, something Hawaiian would soften the blows of winter. I expect my neighbors will think me a bit daft, but I don't mind. I find being a bit daft keeps life interesting and no explanations are ever necessary.
Gracie had frost on her muzzle this morning from a short trip outside. She had stood hunched beside the tree trying to blunt the force of the wind as she did her duty. The poor dog ran inside so fast I was nearly knocked over as I opened the door. Gracie is now asleep on the couch where I suspect she will spend most of her day.
Friday always had magical powers for me. No matter how long the work week had been, no matter how tired I was, on Friday afternoons an energy force would enter my body, and I could stand tall. Though I no longer work, I still have great affection for Fridays. Today is a good day.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
The Wagoner's Lad: The Duhks
The Duhks' sound defies a genre. Their albums are filled with traditional airs of Celtic and French Canadian origin to which they have added The Duhks' touch.
This is from their self title album released in 2005 on Sugar Hill Records.
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This is from their self title album released in 2005 on Sugar Hill Records.
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Easy as the Rain: The Little Willies
The Little Willies are Lee Alexander, Jim Campilongo, Norah Jones on vocals and piano, Richard Julian and Dan Rieser. The group shares a love of the music of Hank Williams and Willie Nelson, from whom they took their name.
This is from their self-titled debut album which was released in 2006.
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This is from their self-titled debut album which was released in 2006.
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“Most of us do not consciously look at movies.”
Movie theaters have no personality any more. Screen upon screen is around every corner and stuffed in every nook and cranny of each theater. To find my movie and then get back to the lobby, I usually leave a trail of bread crumbs. They, of course, had to be sneaked into the theater as contraband. I stop at the refreshment counter but only after my first stop at the ATM conveniently located in the lobby. With money in hand, I stand and contemplate my choices. I've always liked popcorn and generally buy a bag and have found my childhood memories of popcorn have something in common with these megaplex offerings: the popcorn is never fresh. My kid candy choices had to do with longevity, buying candy which would last through the cartoons and a good bit of the movie, but they are no longer offered. Everything now comes in boxes except the food. Yup, I can order a hot dog or nachos. I make my choices, hand over piles of money and start the hike. There I am with my bag of popcorn, my drink and a box of candy stuffed in my pocket wending my way through corridors to number 11. I open the door and walk into a theater with thirty seats. I sit down, put my drink in the convenient drink holder and slide my seat forward. These seats are comfortable which is the one concession I'll make about new versus old.
The newspaper gave the starting time as 12:15, and I sit down just about that time. The coming attractions are first. A new movie starring Brad Pitt will be coming to this theater during the fall of 2007. Look for the next movie this summer. The movies coming to your theater soon are shown next. I figure no date is given for them as the films are probably still in production. I watch coming attraction upon coming attraction and eat my popcorn. By the time the movie finally starts, I'm nearly out of popcorn. That's okay I figure, but then I have to go to the bathroom. It's in the lobby. I leave, hike back to the lobby, go to the bathroom, air dry my hands and hike back to my seat. I have missed so much of the movie, I have no idea what's happening. I whisper a question to my friend and am shushed by the two other people in the theater. I quiet down and watch the rest of the movie.
I watched a year's worth of coming attractions, spent an enormous amount of money, missed key scenes, got shushed and finished my popcorn far too early. Even the worst movies on TV are getting more and more attractive.
The newspaper gave the starting time as 12:15, and I sit down just about that time. The coming attractions are first. A new movie starring Brad Pitt will be coming to this theater during the fall of 2007. Look for the next movie this summer. The movies coming to your theater soon are shown next. I figure no date is given for them as the films are probably still in production. I watch coming attraction upon coming attraction and eat my popcorn. By the time the movie finally starts, I'm nearly out of popcorn. That's okay I figure, but then I have to go to the bathroom. It's in the lobby. I leave, hike back to the lobby, go to the bathroom, air dry my hands and hike back to my seat. I have missed so much of the movie, I have no idea what's happening. I whisper a question to my friend and am shushed by the two other people in the theater. I quiet down and watch the rest of the movie.
I watched a year's worth of coming attractions, spent an enormous amount of money, missed key scenes, got shushed and finished my popcorn far too early. Even the worst movies on TV are getting more and more attractive.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Never Coming Back: Lynn Miles
Last year I posted my first Lynn Miles and gave this introduction:
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.
What I didn't mention is how her songs are stories and how the commonplace rises to new heights with her sense of poetry wrapped into prose. This song is from Love Sweet Love on Rounder Records.
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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.
What I didn't mention is how her songs are stories and how the commonplace rises to new heights with her sense of poetry wrapped into prose. This song is from Love Sweet Love on Rounder Records.
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"What a child doesn't receive he can seldom later give. "
When I was a kid, our dishes never broke. They just faded. My mother had this Melmac set with a light brown wheat stalk pattern, and it was indestructible. When a dish fell off the table, it spinned and wobbled as if auditioning for an act on the Ed Sullivan show. The food would be strewn in a circular pattern across the floor, but the plate remained intact. Over the years, most of those dishes were finally replaced, but my mother still had a few of them in her cupboard. I remember she used one for her toast in the morning, not because of sentimentality but because it was the perfect size. I don't remember when these dishes were no longer set on the table, but I wish I had recognized that the move from Melmac to china signaled my mother's acceptance of our rite of passage from childhood into adulthood from dropping plates to keeping them on the table, but I missed it entirely.
I never had a curfew. My parents trusted I would use good judgment and be home at a reasonable hour. I really hated that. It usually meant I'd go home early as I feared abusing the privilege. As I got older, though, I'd get home a bit later when my parents were sometimes in bed. They'd leave a note asking me to sign in with the time of my arrival. I'd write down the exact time. Later, they never asked about it or even mentioned it so I always wondered the purpose of the sign in sheet. A small part of me suspected they might be lying awake in bed holding a stopwatch to check my veracity, but my parents were really never that devious. They were just trusting.
I never had a curfew. My parents trusted I would use good judgment and be home at a reasonable hour. I really hated that. It usually meant I'd go home early as I feared abusing the privilege. As I got older, though, I'd get home a bit later when my parents were sometimes in bed. They'd leave a note asking me to sign in with the time of my arrival. I'd write down the exact time. Later, they never asked about it or even mentioned it so I always wondered the purpose of the sign in sheet. A small part of me suspected they might be lying awake in bed holding a stopwatch to check my veracity, but my parents were really never that devious. They were just trusting.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Jug Band Music: Geoff Muldaur
This process today has been a nightmare. Old songs got reposted with new names, and I lost one entirely. This song is a fallback tune.
One of the comments notes I forgot to mention that Geoff here is the lead singer for Jim Kweskin's Jug Band so I thought I rectify my omission.
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One of the comments notes I forgot to mention that Geoff here is the lead singer for Jim Kweskin's Jug Band so I thought I rectify my omission.
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Lay Down Your Weary Tune: Bob Dylan
This song was recorded for Times They Are A-Changin, Dylan's 1964 release, but was cut from the album.
The Byrds released their cover of this song in 1965.
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The Byrds released their cover of this song in 1965.
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"Winter dawn is the color of metal, The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves."
We have snow, barely enough to cover the ground, but we do have white. My neighbor, the obsessive shoveler, has already been out to clear his driveway. He has never been my inspiration for I am a charter member of the push it aside with your foot school of snow removal.
I sit here trying to type but find myself drawn to the window. In my backyard, the trees seem to be silhouettes framed within a world of white. A squirrel runs across branches shaking the snow as he leaps from tree to tree. A few birds fly to my nearly empty feeders. Guilt will get me outside to fill them. The birdbath is clear of ice. The heater is keeping it at bay. The dog has left her prints all over the front yard. She felt the need to romp. Snow is never an inconvenience to a dog. I wish I felt the same way.
We'll go out later, Gracie and I. The world looks different after snow, and I don't want to miss the view. We'll go to the beach where the wind piles the snow beside the rocks and along the grasses. Seagulls will be there. They never mind weather. They fly back and forth along the shore and across the surf. If I bring bread, I'll be rushed by the gulls. Their wings will beat about my head as they wait to swoop for a morsel.
My house feels cold today though the inside temperature is the same as it was before the snow. I've turned up the heat a bit, and the hot air is already rushing to warm the house. I'll bundle up when I leave, and Gracie will have to bear wearing the coat she got for Christmas. She is a little dog without much fur, and the coat will keep her warm despite her misgivings.
After the ride, I'll make some cocoa with a dollop of marshmallow. This first snow needs a celebratory drink and cocoa is perfect.
I sit here trying to type but find myself drawn to the window. In my backyard, the trees seem to be silhouettes framed within a world of white. A squirrel runs across branches shaking the snow as he leaps from tree to tree. A few birds fly to my nearly empty feeders. Guilt will get me outside to fill them. The birdbath is clear of ice. The heater is keeping it at bay. The dog has left her prints all over the front yard. She felt the need to romp. Snow is never an inconvenience to a dog. I wish I felt the same way.
We'll go out later, Gracie and I. The world looks different after snow, and I don't want to miss the view. We'll go to the beach where the wind piles the snow beside the rocks and along the grasses. Seagulls will be there. They never mind weather. They fly back and forth along the shore and across the surf. If I bring bread, I'll be rushed by the gulls. Their wings will beat about my head as they wait to swoop for a morsel.
My house feels cold today though the inside temperature is the same as it was before the snow. I've turned up the heat a bit, and the hot air is already rushing to warm the house. I'll bundle up when I leave, and Gracie will have to bear wearing the coat she got for Christmas. She is a little dog without much fur, and the coat will keep her warm despite her misgivings.
After the ride, I'll make some cocoa with a dollop of marshmallow. This first snow needs a celebratory drink and cocoa is perfect.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Judge Not Your Brother: Eric Bibb
This was released on a Putumayo collection called American Folk.
Bibb, the son of folksinger Leon Bibb, began his career in England where he performed at folk and blues festivals. His music isn't limited to folk or blues but also includes gospel, spiritual and soul.
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Bibb, the son of folksinger Leon Bibb, began his career in England where he performed at folk and blues festivals. His music isn't limited to folk or blues but also includes gospel, spiritual and soul.
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Rowing Song: Patti Griffin
Patti Griffin is a local, or at least a Boston folk artist. Her 2004 album, Impossible Dream, from which this song comes was nominated for a Grammy as Best Contemporary Folk Album. This song can also be heard in Loggerheads.
Her voice is the power here.
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Her voice is the power here.
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"If a man watches three football games in a row, he should be declared legally dead. "
Today is dark and overcast which is exactly what I expected, it being a Monday, seldom a bright spot in any week especially the Monday following the Pat's loss yesterday. There is no joy in New England. The skies should open and pour rain upon us. We are forsaken.
My dad was always a football fan. Before the Patriots came into existence, he was a Giant's fan. He would sit in front of that set every Sunday and yell, scream and moan as he watched. That he was watching alone never fazed my dad. He was, after all, a fan. When an especially good or an especially bad play happened, he'd yell into the kitchen and tell us we should have seen that play. I don't remember what we'd yell back, but my dad was probably not listening anyway, or at least not enough to hear what we'd said. He was, after all, a fan and nothing detracted from the game. When the Patriots won their first Superbowl, we all thought of my dad and how excited he'd have been. He'd stood by his team year after year though he often screamed at the TV after poorly executed plays and mumbled a lot during especially poor seasons.
My mother made an event for that first Super Bowl. She, who never liked any sport, made all kinds of food and cheered the Pats to victory. She'd yell and cheer even when the other team had the ball. It didn't matter: it was more than enough she'd made the effort. My dad would have been proud.
My dad was always a football fan. Before the Patriots came into existence, he was a Giant's fan. He would sit in front of that set every Sunday and yell, scream and moan as he watched. That he was watching alone never fazed my dad. He was, after all, a fan. When an especially good or an especially bad play happened, he'd yell into the kitchen and tell us we should have seen that play. I don't remember what we'd yell back, but my dad was probably not listening anyway, or at least not enough to hear what we'd said. He was, after all, a fan and nothing detracted from the game. When the Patriots won their first Superbowl, we all thought of my dad and how excited he'd have been. He'd stood by his team year after year though he often screamed at the TV after poorly executed plays and mumbled a lot during especially poor seasons.
My mother made an event for that first Super Bowl. She, who never liked any sport, made all kinds of food and cheered the Pats to victory. She'd yell and cheer even when the other team had the ball. It didn't matter: it was more than enough she'd made the effort. My dad would have been proud.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."
With only a few houses on my street, a car driving by is an event. At night, with no streetlights, the neighborhood is lit only by the lights shining from front windows. Most of my neighbors go to bed early. I know this because I often see no lights at all when I let Gracie outside any time after ten. In the darkness, my mind does its imaginative leap, and I figure the world would look much the same way in any science fiction movie where mankind has been reduced to a handful of people immune from the plague or saved from the comet. The movie would have zombies or plague ridden cannibals waiting outside, but I only have the jingle of Gracie's collar and the sound of the wind. They are quite enough.
If I kept a diary, I'd have to embellish to make today in any way interesting. I can see it now. Dear Diary, Ed McMahon showed up with balloons and the check or Dear Diary, That knock on my door was George Clooney looking for directions. Instead, the truth would look like this: Dear Diary, I slept late today and didn't get dressed all day. Pizza was delivered, and I got my usual. I watched the Pat's game, and they won (okay, here I take author's license), but the day was more ordinary than not.
I am looking forward to today despite my tongue in cheek diary entry. Every now and then a day with nothing planned is a great plan.
If I kept a diary, I'd have to embellish to make today in any way interesting. I can see it now. Dear Diary, Ed McMahon showed up with balloons and the check or Dear Diary, That knock on my door was George Clooney looking for directions. Instead, the truth would look like this: Dear Diary, I slept late today and didn't get dressed all day. Pizza was delivered, and I got my usual. I watched the Pat's game, and they won (okay, here I take author's license), but the day was more ordinary than not.
I am looking forward to today despite my tongue in cheek diary entry. Every now and then a day with nothing planned is a great plan.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
"Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things."
The first plane ride I ever took was from Boston to Hyannis. I was a freshman in college on my way home for Easter, and my dad surprised me with the plane ticket as an Easter gift. The flight was amazing. From my small window I could see white caps rolling across the tops of waves. Birds flew sideways below us. Kettle ponds and marshes dotted the shore, and I found familiar roads and landmarks as we approached Hyannis. We landed, and, as we taxied, I could see my dad waving at the plane. He was standing at the fence and had the biggest grin on his face. We hugged, and he wanted to hear all about my flight. It took almost as long to tell him as I was in the air. That first flight outshines all the others which have followed, but what shines even brighter is the thoughtfulness of my father and the joy we shared.
Memory is a bit peculiar. Sometimes my word retrieval skills go on vacation, and the spellings of common words escape me. I forget peoples' names, and I wonder what I wanted that prompted me to walk to the kitchen. Things put in safe places are lost until stumbled upon while looking for something entirely different. Memories of long ago surface with such clarity they seem fresh,
Memory is a bit peculiar. Sometimes my word retrieval skills go on vacation, and the spellings of common words escape me. I forget peoples' names, and I wonder what I wanted that prompted me to walk to the kitchen. Things put in safe places are lost until stumbled upon while looking for something entirely different. Memories of long ago surface with such clarity they seem fresh,
brand new.
I'm beginning to think of these tricks of memory as gifts. Now that I'm growing older, I sometimes forget today. That's just fine as I'm remembering all the yesterdays and so enjoying the trip.
Friday, January 19, 2007
The Cat Came Back: Cisco Houston
This appeared on Coffee a long while ago so I thought I'd repost. It is from the abum The Folkway Years 1944-1961.
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MP3 File
Bottle of Wine: Tom Paxton
This is from my newest cd: The Best of Tom Paxton I Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound.
If I thought this would help, I'd.....
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If I thought this would help, I'd.....
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"When it comes to housework the one thing no book of household management can ever tell you is how to begin. Or maybe I mean why."
Today is finish cleaning downstairs and clean my bedroom day. I long ago circled this date on my calendar and have counted and crossed off, barely able to contain my excitement. The vacuum is standing tall in the kitchen, and the other cleaning tools sit ready to do battle against dust and grime. My mind was so boggled by the excitement I nearly forgot to write Coffee.
I'm trying to count my lucky stars, but they are so numerous they nearly defy calculation. The reason for such good fortune you wonder. Well, I also get to go to the dump and the grocery store. Could any other day be filled with such wonder? Not in my memory, for sure. I see myself humming a happy tune as I stroll the grocery aisles looking for bargains and marveling over such bounty. I'll smile at my fellow shoppers and think myself lucky to be among them. My basket will fill with life giving essentials, and I will feel humbled.
The dump, ah the dump! Here I get to wander from bin to bin with my sorted recyclables. Green bottles, you go here. Cans, over there. Hey, cardboard, to the smasher. My steps will be a bit jaunty as I walk up and down the row of green containers. The best, however, will be last. I'll drive over to the giant green bins, park my car, grab the trash bags and toss them into one of the large openings. Then, if I'm lucky, I'll get to watch the truck move a bin or two. But, I ask you, can one person really be that lucky?
My fingers are itching to start the vacuum cleaner, and my feet are tapping in anticipation. I think I'll just whistle while I work because when hearts are high the time will fly!
I think I might have a high fever.
I'm trying to count my lucky stars, but they are so numerous they nearly defy calculation. The reason for such good fortune you wonder. Well, I also get to go to the dump and the grocery store. Could any other day be filled with such wonder? Not in my memory, for sure. I see myself humming a happy tune as I stroll the grocery aisles looking for bargains and marveling over such bounty. I'll smile at my fellow shoppers and think myself lucky to be among them. My basket will fill with life giving essentials, and I will feel humbled.
The dump, ah the dump! Here I get to wander from bin to bin with my sorted recyclables. Green bottles, you go here. Cans, over there. Hey, cardboard, to the smasher. My steps will be a bit jaunty as I walk up and down the row of green containers. The best, however, will be last. I'll drive over to the giant green bins, park my car, grab the trash bags and toss them into one of the large openings. Then, if I'm lucky, I'll get to watch the truck move a bin or two. But, I ask you, can one person really be that lucky?
My fingers are itching to start the vacuum cleaner, and my feet are tapping in anticipation. I think I'll just whistle while I work because when hearts are high the time will fly!
I think I might have a high fever.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
I Ain't Marching Any More: Phil Ochs
Talk of fringe and tie dye and fading memories got me to thinking, and Phil Ochs came to mind. His songs aren't play much anymore, and his voice and message needn't fade.
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Water From Another Time: John McCutcheon
This is such a pretty song from John's 1989 album of the same name. The album is a bit of a retrospective and includes songs from a a variety of labels. The most famous track from this album is his Christmas in the Trenches.
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MP3 File
"If living conditions don't stop improving in this country, we're going to run out of humble beginnings for our great men. "
Bobby pins went upbeat when glitter and flowers were added. Clamdiggers became pedal pushers then leapt to upscale when they became capri pants. Something old becomes, at one time or another, something new. When bell bottoms reappeared, I figured shawls with fringe might just be next. They weren't, didn't make the fashion cut I suspect. Tie dye is still around as a fashion statement, but the politics disappeared long ago. While fashion seems to be on a time loop, innovations and inventions are not. Once a bigger, better anything has been found, what was is consigned to a wastebin, and all memories of its existence fade with each successive generation. Those time boxes buried over the decades better include instruction sheets.
We laughed at my sister because her son, when he was in kindergarten, couldn't identify an iron. He had never seen one and would probably still be hardpressed to pick one out of a lineup of obsolete appliances. My first hair dryer was portable and came with a plastic headcover and a long plastic hose. Both were pink. I could travel as far as my cord would let me. That hairdryer replaced having to go to bed wearing those brush curlers which left permanent holes in my scalp when I put my head on the pillow. My first transistor radio was huge. I remember it was brown leather with two nobs: one for volume and the other for tuning into my favorite am stations. When I got an instamatic, I couldn't believe how easy it was to load the film. Our first television had the tiniest screen in a huge cabinet. I remember rabbit ears. Ours had aluminum foil wrapped around them because my dad swore the foil gave us better reception. I still hear people say icebox though the days of the ice truck are long gone.
My mother's generation lived through the most mindboggling changes, but it was her stories about growing up and what her life was like during the war which held us enthrall. I know, during the war, my mother used to paint the backs of her legs with lines so she'd look as if she were wearing seamed stockings. My niece has never seen stockings. My own story begins with my memory of the middle fifties and moves on from there, but my stories are beginning to fade. They will be replaced soon by the next generation's. I can hear my nephew now as he explains to his son that they didn't always have tivo and MP3 players. His son will probably gasp at how backward his father's life must have been.
We laughed at my sister because her son, when he was in kindergarten, couldn't identify an iron. He had never seen one and would probably still be hardpressed to pick one out of a lineup of obsolete appliances. My first hair dryer was portable and came with a plastic headcover and a long plastic hose. Both were pink. I could travel as far as my cord would let me. That hairdryer replaced having to go to bed wearing those brush curlers which left permanent holes in my scalp when I put my head on the pillow. My first transistor radio was huge. I remember it was brown leather with two nobs: one for volume and the other for tuning into my favorite am stations. When I got an instamatic, I couldn't believe how easy it was to load the film. Our first television had the tiniest screen in a huge cabinet. I remember rabbit ears. Ours had aluminum foil wrapped around them because my dad swore the foil gave us better reception. I still hear people say icebox though the days of the ice truck are long gone.
My mother's generation lived through the most mindboggling changes, but it was her stories about growing up and what her life was like during the war which held us enthrall. I know, during the war, my mother used to paint the backs of her legs with lines so she'd look as if she were wearing seamed stockings. My niece has never seen stockings. My own story begins with my memory of the middle fifties and moves on from there, but my stories are beginning to fade. They will be replaced soon by the next generation's. I can hear my nephew now as he explains to his son that they didn't always have tivo and MP3 players. His son will probably gasp at how backward his father's life must have been.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Alberta Bound: Gordon Lightfoot
Alberta Bound appears on a few Lightfoot albums but this is from Songbook, a four disc anthology from Rhino.
Gordon Lightfoot is a favorite of mine who appears often on Coffee. Though this is not of one his big hits, it is still among his better known songs. Lightfoot sings of winter which just happens to be sitting right outside my window.
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Gordon Lightfoot is a favorite of mine who appears often on Coffee. Though this is not of one his big hits, it is still among his better known songs. Lightfoot sings of winter which just happens to be sitting right outside my window.
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The Kind of Love You Never Recover From: Christine Lavin
Christine Lavin writes music which describes us. She sings of lost loves and of growing old. Her songs are poignant. Her songs are funny. She sings about relationships and growing old. Christine Lavin sings about life.
This is from Attainable Love.
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This is from Attainable Love.
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“Cold! If the thermometer had been an inch longer we'd have frozen to death.”
A blue sky and the first sun in a few days isn't enough to fool me. I know how bitterly cold it is. Old Man Winter has finally arrived, and I swear I heard a fanfare just before the icy wind blew across the tundra. Lying in bed last night, I heard the cold and imagined, for just a bit, I was on the top of Mount Washington instead of snuggled under my down comforter. This morning I needed cozy so I'm wearing my sweatshirt, flannels, warm socks and new slippers. The coffee tastes especially good, and the steam rising from the cup is almost comforting. Every few minutes I can hear the rumble of the furnace as it builds up for that next blast of hot air.
On days like today, when I was a kid, I used to sit by the radiator. With book in hand and a blanket covering my legs, I'd snuggle as close as I dared. I remember the hiss of steam, and in my mind's eye I can still see the black topped knob on the side which turned the heat on and off. The radiator was on the wall at the foot of my bed, and I'd test how hot it was by touching the top as quickly as possible. I guess I thought speed would keep my fingers from burning. The radiators were the best spots for drying mittens but the worst for drying shoes. I'd put my wet shoes underneath, and they'd dry with a bit of a curve to the toes, like a genie's, and would feel strange to my feet for a while after that, sort of tight and ill-fitting. Really wet mittens would leave puddles on the floor, and I could see the steam rising from them as they dried. I loved the mittens newly dried and hot from the radiator.
Today I have a few errands. I'll warm the car first then run to it really fast so the cold won't catch me.
On days like today, when I was a kid, I used to sit by the radiator. With book in hand and a blanket covering my legs, I'd snuggle as close as I dared. I remember the hiss of steam, and in my mind's eye I can still see the black topped knob on the side which turned the heat on and off. The radiator was on the wall at the foot of my bed, and I'd test how hot it was by touching the top as quickly as possible. I guess I thought speed would keep my fingers from burning. The radiators were the best spots for drying mittens but the worst for drying shoes. I'd put my wet shoes underneath, and they'd dry with a bit of a curve to the toes, like a genie's, and would feel strange to my feet for a while after that, sort of tight and ill-fitting. Really wet mittens would leave puddles on the floor, and I could see the steam rising from them as they dried. I loved the mittens newly dried and hot from the radiator.
Today I have a few errands. I'll warm the car first then run to it really fast so the cold won't catch me.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
Tom Dooley: Doc Watson
DOC WATSON: "In the 1860s, when this story takes place, my great-grandparents were neighbor's of Tom Dooley's family, and my grandparents, when they were just children, knew Tom's parents. As the story goes, Tom Dooley was not guilty of the murder of Laura Foster, although he was an accomplice in covering up the crime. Instead of the "eternal triangle" mentioned in the Kingston Trio's version, it was a quadrangle sort of thing. There were two men and two women involved in the whole affair. Mr. Grayson, the sheriff, had courted both Miss Laura Foster and Miss Annie Melton, as had Tom Dooley. Almost everyone around affirmed that Annie Melton had stuck the knife in Miss Laura's ribs and then hit her over the head. Tom Dooley, however, actually buried the girl, making himself an accomplice. Annie Melton was with Tom at Laura's burial, so she, too, was strongly suspected and was jailed. While in jail she bragged and told everyone that her neck was too pretty to put a rope around and that they'd never hang her. Of course, they never did.
Sheriff Grayson had quite a crush on Annie Melton, and he later married her. Near the end of her life Annie became very ill, and on her deathbed she called her husband in and told him something that seemed to really crush his spirit and reason for living. What Miss Annie told her husband was what she had told the neighborhood women -- that she had actually murdered Laura Foster and had let Tom Dooley go to the gallows without saying one word on his behalf. Grayson was so upset that he took his remaining family and moved completely out of this part of North Carolina and went over the edge of Tennessee, which was just being settled.
The murder of Laura Foster happened just at the end of the Civil War, and Tom Dooley, I believe, had been a hero during the war. Dooley was the kind of guy who grows up very quickly; at the age of fourteen, he was the size of a grown man. He went into the Civil War lying about his age and came back a hero. He was an unthinkably good old-time fiddler, and many people think that the original version, which I learned from my grandmother, has such a lilting, happy-sounding tune because the composer had tried his or her best to get into the song a little of Tom Dooley's personality as a fiddler. "
The Songs of Doc Watson, New York, NY, 1971, p. 20
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Sheriff Grayson had quite a crush on Annie Melton, and he later married her. Near the end of her life Annie became very ill, and on her deathbed she called her husband in and told him something that seemed to really crush his spirit and reason for living. What Miss Annie told her husband was what she had told the neighborhood women -- that she had actually murdered Laura Foster and had let Tom Dooley go to the gallows without saying one word on his behalf. Grayson was so upset that he took his remaining family and moved completely out of this part of North Carolina and went over the edge of Tennessee, which was just being settled.
The murder of Laura Foster happened just at the end of the Civil War, and Tom Dooley, I believe, had been a hero during the war. Dooley was the kind of guy who grows up very quickly; at the age of fourteen, he was the size of a grown man. He went into the Civil War lying about his age and came back a hero. He was an unthinkably good old-time fiddler, and many people think that the original version, which I learned from my grandmother, has such a lilting, happy-sounding tune because the composer had tried his or her best to get into the song a little of Tom Dooley's personality as a fiddler. "
The Songs of Doc Watson, New York, NY, 1971, p. 20
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One Love: Cheryl Wheeler
Cheryl Wheeler is a local, a transplant to New England. I've been to two of her concerts, and they are extraordinary. She makes you laugh with her stories and her silly songs then sings one that just stops you in your tracks. You sit and listen and can feel all of the emotion of that song whirling inside your heart and mind.
Cheryl Wheeler has written a million songs, okay not a million, but she is a prolific songwriter, and her songs have been covered by some of the best.
This song is from Mrs. Pinocci's Guitar.
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Cheryl Wheeler has written a million songs, okay not a million, but she is a prolific songwriter, and her songs have been covered by some of the best.
This song is from Mrs. Pinocci's Guitar.
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"I like the word "indolence." It makes my laziness seem classy."
Life surprises me in small ways almost every day. Gracie let me sleep beyond seven this morning, and I'm still reeling. One sock from a favorite pair went missing, but I found it under the couch three days later. A few old pictures were stuffed in the bottom of a basket. Ice cream was free with my grocery order. I bought mint chocolate chip. None of these are earth shattering events. They lean far more toward the serendipitous, but all these events made me smile just a bit because they were bright spots in ordinary days, and I noticed. I didn't used to notice because my days were filled, and only momentous events had the strength to break through busy. I can't begin to imagine how many of these small wonders I missed.
I had lived with guilt all my life. It was something drummed into me by an assortment of nuns who dangled hell as an incentive for good behavior. They made us memorize all the various sins. It must have been a know your enemy sort of exercise, and sloth is a general in the army of sin. The devil loves idle hands. I tried to stay busy every day of my retirement hoping to stave off one or more of those deadly sins. I'd write lists of chores and errands and cross them off as complete with a huge flourish and a smug sense of satisfaction. The nuns would have been proud.
Losing the guilt took more time than I expected, but I am now able to fritter away my days. Lists no longer rule my life. The dust just lies there gathering mass, and I don't care. Okay, okay, I still make my bed every day. A lifetime of guilt does leave a bit of residue, and if I squint my eyes, that residue looks a lot like a nun I had in the eighth grade.
I had lived with guilt all my life. It was something drummed into me by an assortment of nuns who dangled hell as an incentive for good behavior. They made us memorize all the various sins. It must have been a know your enemy sort of exercise, and sloth is a general in the army of sin. The devil loves idle hands. I tried to stay busy every day of my retirement hoping to stave off one or more of those deadly sins. I'd write lists of chores and errands and cross them off as complete with a huge flourish and a smug sense of satisfaction. The nuns would have been proud.
Losing the guilt took more time than I expected, but I am now able to fritter away my days. Lists no longer rule my life. The dust just lies there gathering mass, and I don't care. Okay, okay, I still make my bed every day. A lifetime of guilt does leave a bit of residue, and if I squint my eyes, that residue looks a lot like a nun I had in the eighth grade.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Blowin' in the Wind: Peter, Paul and Mary
Peter, Paul and Mary and Joan Baez were two of the folk singers who performed during the March on Washington in 1963. Each performed the songs posted today.
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“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
The 20th century's most influential civil rights leader, Martin Luther King Jr., was born on January 15, 1929, in Atlanta, Ga. King entered the civil rights movement in 1955. That same year, he led a bus boycott that was initiated by Rosa Parks in Montgomery, Ala., where blacks were made to sit at the back and give up their seats to whites. In 1963, King participated in the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. From the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, he delivered his famous "I Have A Dream" speech to a crowd of 250,000.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was a vital personality of the modern era. His lectures and remarks stirred the concern and sparked the conscience of a generation; the movements and marches he led brought significant changes in the fabric of American life; his courageous and selfless devotion gave direction to thirteen years of civil rights activities; his charismatic leadership inspired men and women, young and old, in the nation and abroad.
Dr. King's concept of somebodiness gave black and poor people a new sense of worth and dignity. His philosophy of nonviolent direct action, and his strategies for rational and non-destructive social change, galvanized the conscience of this nation and reordered its priorities. The Voting Rights Act of 1965, for example, went to Congress as a result of the Selma to Montgomery march. His wisdom, his words, his actions, his commitment, and his dreams for a new cast of life, are intertwined with the American experience.
Dr. King was shot while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee on April 4, 1968
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was a vital personality of the modern era. His lectures and remarks stirred the concern and sparked the conscience of a generation; the movements and marches he led brought significant changes in the fabric of American life; his courageous and selfless devotion gave direction to thirteen years of civil rights activities; his charismatic leadership inspired men and women, young and old, in the nation and abroad.
Dr. King's concept of somebodiness gave black and poor people a new sense of worth and dignity. His philosophy of nonviolent direct action, and his strategies for rational and non-destructive social change, galvanized the conscience of this nation and reordered its priorities. The Voting Rights Act of 1965, for example, went to Congress as a result of the Selma to Montgomery march. His wisdom, his words, his actions, his commitment, and his dreams for a new cast of life, are intertwined with the American experience.
Dr. King was shot while standing on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee on April 4, 1968
Sunday, January 14, 2007
“The best weather instrument yet devised is a pair of human eyes.”
Today is damp and chilly, a raw day as my mother, the amateur meterologist, used to say. My mother, you see, had her own way to describe just about any weather. Spitting rain is still the one I like the best. When I was a kid, it appealed to that part of every kid which takes delight in the gross and rain resembling spit filled the bill. When it was freezing, she'd assure us it was too cold to snow, and I believed that rule of thumb for the longest time. I was actually quite shocked when it snowed on a day of single digit temperatures and finally decided it must have been an anomaly. Raining cats and dogs may be a common term, but the first time I heard it was from my mother. My imagination went wild until she explained it meant lots and lots of heavy rain, but that never did make a lot of sense, still doesn't. From her I learned, "Rain, rain, go away, and come again another day." We used to look out the window and say it together, like a mantra. She taught me all about angels bowling when it thundered so I was never afraid. I don't remember my mother and snow but I'm sure she must have had a perfect description based on amounts. I know she was the first to tell me that each each snowflake is a singular beauty. I'd stand under a streetlight to watch the snow fall and open my hands to catch a few flakes so I could marvel at their singularity, still do.
It is always a source of wonder how much I learned from my mother and I find myself using her words as my own. Today it's spitting rain.
It is always a source of wonder how much I learned from my mother and I find myself using her words as my own. Today it's spitting rain.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
"If it weren't for Philo T. Farnsworth, inventor of television, we'd still be eating frozen radio dinners."
I am part of the television generation. My parents bought their first when I was a toddler, and I grew up watching, but I also read books, played ball, rode my bike and used my imagination to go a million places both here and off-world.
I remember hurrying home each night to watch Superman be faster than a speeding bullet and Mickey lead the band and a complaining Donald. I knew the words to the theme song from every western, and every Saturday you'd find me and my cereal bowl in front of the screen elbowing my brother for the best spot. I can list every famous cowboy's horse and sidekick. My lexicon is rife with television generated vocabulary, and my head is filled with an endless list of words for which I have no use. If you want to hear about the value of an ion trail, I'm your expert. If the initial dampers are off line, I know exactly what the chief engineer should do. Are you experiencing matter/antimatter problems? Drop me a line. How about medical emergencies? I know when you might need a saline drip and the word thoracomy just rolls off my tongue. If you need an angioplasty, I'll make the call. Did you know banana bag has nothing to do with yellow fruit despite its name? Trace evidence is a good thing, but a gap in the chain of evidence is not. Hair and fiber should never be left at the crime scene so bring along a vacuum to your next house robbery and remember not to dump the dust within a mile radius of the house and especially not in any dumpster. My last hint to would be felons is never, never keep your weapon because they sure as heck will find it and match the rifling.
Television still entertains me though I no longer hurry home for my favorite programs. I just take my time and let the box record. Anyone remember what time Yancy Derrenger starts?
I remember hurrying home each night to watch Superman be faster than a speeding bullet and Mickey lead the band and a complaining Donald. I knew the words to the theme song from every western, and every Saturday you'd find me and my cereal bowl in front of the screen elbowing my brother for the best spot. I can list every famous cowboy's horse and sidekick. My lexicon is rife with television generated vocabulary, and my head is filled with an endless list of words for which I have no use. If you want to hear about the value of an ion trail, I'm your expert. If the initial dampers are off line, I know exactly what the chief engineer should do. Are you experiencing matter/antimatter problems? Drop me a line. How about medical emergencies? I know when you might need a saline drip and the word thoracomy just rolls off my tongue. If you need an angioplasty, I'll make the call. Did you know banana bag has nothing to do with yellow fruit despite its name? Trace evidence is a good thing, but a gap in the chain of evidence is not. Hair and fiber should never be left at the crime scene so bring along a vacuum to your next house robbery and remember not to dump the dust within a mile radius of the house and especially not in any dumpster. My last hint to would be felons is never, never keep your weapon because they sure as heck will find it and match the rifling.
Television still entertains me though I no longer hurry home for my favorite programs. I just take my time and let the box record. Anyone remember what time Yancy Derrenger starts?
Friday, January 12, 2007
Another Train: The Poozies
This is a haunting song which I never listen to only once in a single setting. The words pull at me and I think I listen a few times because the words set me thinking and wondering.
This is from The Poozies album, Raise Your Head: A Retrospective, the first with Kate Rusby.
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This is from The Poozies album, Raise Your Head: A Retrospective, the first with Kate Rusby.
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Lonesome Traveler: The Limeliters
The Limeliters were one of the most successful folk trios of the late 50's into the early 60's. They had this great harmony but managed only one minor hit, A Dollar Down.
Their albums were far more popular than their singles. Glenn Yarbrough, Alex Hassilev and Leo Gottlieb stayed together until 1963. The Limeliters still exist, though they have gone through many reincarnations. Alex Hassilev of the original trio remains.
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Their albums were far more popular than their singles. Glenn Yarbrough, Alex Hassilev and Leo Gottlieb stayed together until 1963. The Limeliters still exist, though they have gone through many reincarnations. Alex Hassilev of the original trio remains.
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"Wandering re-establishes the original harmony which once existed between man and the universe."
The morning is mild even without the sun. The sky is a pale grey, almost white, and the bare branches are silhouetted against its light. Winter is expected to arrive with a bit of force this weekend though we've had hints it was waiting in the wings. The birdbath had the thinnest layer of ice the past two mornings so it's time for the heater. On the coldest mornings, with the heater working, I can see a bit of steam rising from the center of the birdbath, and birds stop by for a drink and a dip. The robins especially seem to enjoy winter baths. The feeders too need a bit of attention, especially the one with thistle. The finches have been frequent visitors, and they love their thistle. Gracie and I will drive to the feed store and stock up on all our bird essentials.
We'll drive along 6A today so we can meander. Gracie seems to love watching the road and stands on the console. She's more the where are we going sort of dog. I suspect a few side roads will beg to be explored, and we can't forget all those shops caling my name. It's been a while since we last took a ride, too long if Gracie were to venture her opinion.
We'll drive along 6A today so we can meander. Gracie seems to love watching the road and stands on the console. She's more the where are we going sort of dog. I suspect a few side roads will beg to be explored, and we can't forget all those shops caling my name. It's been a while since we last took a ride, too long if Gracie were to venture her opinion.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Tomorrow Is A Long Time : Judy Collins
This is early Judy Collins, when I first heard her and couldn't get enough of her music. Fifth Album was released in 1965. This was before she began writing her own songs, but she always sang cover songs as if they were her own. The album is filled with the most beautiful songs written by Phil Ochs, Dylan, Eric Andersen, Richard Farina and Gordon Lightfoot.
The song later reappeared on 1969's Recollections: The Best of Judy Collins, another favorite of mine.
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The song later reappeared on 1969's Recollections: The Best of Judy Collins, another favorite of mine.
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In the Pines: Dave Van Ronk
The Mayor of MacDougal Street was a founding father of the 1960's folk and blues revivals, and he influenced and inspired too many musicians to begin to list here.
I miss Dave Van Ronk and miss thinking that a new album might just be in the works.
In the Pines appears on the album The Folkways Years 1959-61.
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I miss Dave Van Ronk and miss thinking that a new album might just be in the works.
In the Pines appears on the album The Folkways Years 1959-61.
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"Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside."
Never have I had a discerning palate, an appreciative one maybe but not discerning. When I was a kid, my mother made concoctions meant to stretch her food budget, and we loved them. The ingredients were thrown together in her electric skillet, and even she would have been hard pressed to identify the individual parts. Only on Saturday's and Sunday's did the meat stand alone. On Saturday's we had hot dogs while on Sunday's it was generally a chicken or roast beef. I remember once our dog, Duke, stole the roast off the counter where it was defrosting. My brother and I wrestled it away from him, smoothed away the teeth marks and never said a word about it, but I recognize I'm digressing here. Anyway, if I do decide to cook something, it generally lasts a few meals so I try to be original. My meatloaves are truly mystery meats which can never be replicated as I use bits and pieces of whatever is in my refrigerator. A chicken is a roast, a leftover reheated, a sandwich, a salad and maybe a soup. I won't get into what I do with turkey leftovers, not enough space.
I'm drawn to hole in the wall restaurants as I believe a big part of travel is eating foods both unknown and unrecognizable. I'm always willing to try native dishes so mostly I just point and don't ask. I have to admit, though, that I'm not all drawn to bugs and have turned down a few insect tid-bits. Goat is a bit too fatty, but I've had my share. I've tried reindeer and rabbit and grasscutter, boar and kid. Eating octupus was a bit like eating an elastic, but eel wasn't too bad. I didn't try the fermented shark in Iceland, couldn't get passed the description.
Trying new foods is fun, adventurous and sometimes a bit gross. I've learned never to leave home without my Tums.
I'm drawn to hole in the wall restaurants as I believe a big part of travel is eating foods both unknown and unrecognizable. I'm always willing to try native dishes so mostly I just point and don't ask. I have to admit, though, that I'm not all drawn to bugs and have turned down a few insect tid-bits. Goat is a bit too fatty, but I've had my share. I've tried reindeer and rabbit and grasscutter, boar and kid. Eating octupus was a bit like eating an elastic, but eel wasn't too bad. I didn't try the fermented shark in Iceland, couldn't get passed the description.
Trying new foods is fun, adventurous and sometimes a bit gross. I've learned never to leave home without my Tums.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Gentle Arms of Eden: Dave Carter & Tracy Grammer
Dave Carter died of a heart attack in 2002. He was only 49. He and Tracy had made three albums together before his death, and this was their last. One other, Seven Is the Number, was released after his death.
The two met in 1996 when Tracy saw Dave performing and she introduced herself. They recorded their first album together, Tanglewood Tree, in 1998.
This song is from 2001's Drum Hat Buddah, an album filled with amazing songs and the most beautiful vocal harmonies.
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The two met in 1996 when Tracy saw Dave performing and she introduced herself. They recorded their first album together, Tanglewood Tree, in 1998.
This song is from 2001's Drum Hat Buddah, an album filled with amazing songs and the most beautiful vocal harmonies.
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Sweet Tequila Blues: Chip Taylor and Carrie Rodriquez
Chip Taylor is the songwriter of Wild Thing and Angel of the Morning. He and Carrie first started singing together in 2001. She is a fiddle player who hadn't sung before Chip Taylor encouraged her to give it a try.
She is young and he is not, an odd combination. He is also the brother of Jon Voight. Both have made solo albums as well as the many they made together. This song is from Let's Leave This Town.
Together these two make mighty fine music.
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She is young and he is not, an odd combination. He is also the brother of Jon Voight. Both have made solo albums as well as the many they made together. This song is from Let's Leave This Town.
Together these two make mighty fine music.
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"...Do, every day, something no one else would be silly enough to do. It is bad for the mind to continually be part of unanimity."
I live with two cats and a dog. With no other humans on the premises, certain problems have come to light, and certain of my behaviors merit comment.
I've noticed that my back always itches in the exact spot I can't reach by myself. Not owning a back scratcher, I've had to improvise. A ruler works well and a wall works almost as well, much in the same way the bears used trees in a Disney nature movie. Meal times tend to be fluid. I eat when I'm hungry, and I'm not choosy as to what I make. Eggs work well for any and all meals, and cheese is a frequent menu item. Cooking is something I generally do for company, not myself; consequently, the local pizza and Thai restaurant owners greet me by name and never offer a bill of fare. They figure I'll just want the usual. I go to the grocery store when I'm nearly out of animal food as the two cats and the dog are much more discernable diners than I.
Not working has limited my interaction with people so I've adjusted to having one-sided conversations. Making comments aloud has become common practice so much so that the animals stay asleep. I have also adjusted to being ignored by my pets.
My bedtimes are erratic. I sometimes stay up well into the wee hours while other nights I crash by nine. If I need a nap, I take one. Years ago, when last I had a roommate, she wanted company and thought naps a waste. But it is here, regarding the question of sleep, the animals and I most agree. When I suggest, aloud, that a nap might just be a wonderful idea, they follow and snooze right along. They also snooze quite a bit on their own, but I won't cast aspersions.
No one cares if I drink right out of the carton. Often, I just need a swig of juice, and why use a glass? My mother always yelled at us for doing the exact same thing when we were kids, but that had to do with a family of six, not a family of one. I admit, though, I still hear my mother when I lift that carton.
My wardrobe tends toward whatever I find in the drawer. Plaids and prints in combo work just fine for me as do socks with holes in the toes. Stuffed in a shoe or slipper, they look just fine. I wear a sweatshirt around the house on cold days. My favorite has bleach spots, stretched cuffs and a few permanent stains.
I realize that I have become just a bit eccentric, but only in the nicest ways.
I've noticed that my back always itches in the exact spot I can't reach by myself. Not owning a back scratcher, I've had to improvise. A ruler works well and a wall works almost as well, much in the same way the bears used trees in a Disney nature movie. Meal times tend to be fluid. I eat when I'm hungry, and I'm not choosy as to what I make. Eggs work well for any and all meals, and cheese is a frequent menu item. Cooking is something I generally do for company, not myself; consequently, the local pizza and Thai restaurant owners greet me by name and never offer a bill of fare. They figure I'll just want the usual. I go to the grocery store when I'm nearly out of animal food as the two cats and the dog are much more discernable diners than I.
Not working has limited my interaction with people so I've adjusted to having one-sided conversations. Making comments aloud has become common practice so much so that the animals stay asleep. I have also adjusted to being ignored by my pets.
My bedtimes are erratic. I sometimes stay up well into the wee hours while other nights I crash by nine. If I need a nap, I take one. Years ago, when last I had a roommate, she wanted company and thought naps a waste. But it is here, regarding the question of sleep, the animals and I most agree. When I suggest, aloud, that a nap might just be a wonderful idea, they follow and snooze right along. They also snooze quite a bit on their own, but I won't cast aspersions.
No one cares if I drink right out of the carton. Often, I just need a swig of juice, and why use a glass? My mother always yelled at us for doing the exact same thing when we were kids, but that had to do with a family of six, not a family of one. I admit, though, I still hear my mother when I lift that carton.
My wardrobe tends toward whatever I find in the drawer. Plaids and prints in combo work just fine for me as do socks with holes in the toes. Stuffed in a shoe or slipper, they look just fine. I wear a sweatshirt around the house on cold days. My favorite has bleach spots, stretched cuffs and a few permanent stains.
I realize that I have become just a bit eccentric, but only in the nicest ways.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
The Last Thing on My Mind: Tom Paxton
Old Blogger maintenance took longer than they thought which is the reason for my delay today. I sneaked in once then was locked out again. I was most decidedly impatient!
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"It's surprising how much memory is built around things unnoticed at the time."
This room has a bulletin board hanging in front of the closet door. It's the same bulletin board I had in my bedroom when I was young and later hung in my college apartment. It was a long ago Christmas present which I still cover with reminders and memories and things I'd hate to lose.
A few pins are stuck to the board. One is the same as the pin the prisoner wore in the program of the same name. It's a bicycle with number 6 in the wheel. Another pin has Mickey Mouse on it and celebrates Mousekeeter Week. One pin commemorates the last day of the famous parquet floor from the old Boston Garden while the last has a quote from Louisa May Alcott about being a free spinster and rowing my own boat. That one makes me laugh. I love the word spinster and all it conjures.
Family pictures take up the middle. My sister's family is there as are three of my nephews wearing tuxedos. A picture of my mother, my two sisters and me in San Antonio hangs off the bottom. A picture of the whole family standing in front of a restaurant is the other picture. It was taken the weekend we flew to Colorado to surprise my sister on her fiftieth birthday. In less than a year we'd find out how ill my mother was, but I remember how happy we were that day. A few postcards are pinned among the pictures. One is a funny picture of Bigfoot carrying a can of Spam which reminds me of my sister who likes Spam and the other is of the Spanish Steps in Rome, a trip my mother and I took together.
A luggage tag from Ghana Airways is there as are a Peace Corps patch and luggage tag. My name tags from the last two Peace Corps anniversary events hang off the corner of the board and hanging with them is my last school ID. They represent thirty five years of my life.
A Star Trek calendar of the original series takes up the most room. Captain Kirk is on the January page. A voucher from United Airlines is there, good for one trip. A lei from one of my famous dinners hangs off the corner as does an old paper hat hawking Hood Ice Cream. That last one reminds me of my dad as he once worked for Hood.
I really love my old bulletin board, and I cherish all the feelings and memories each piece brings to mind. Even the bulletin board itself is a memory of a long ago Christmas and the adolescent girl I used to be.
A few pins are stuck to the board. One is the same as the pin the prisoner wore in the program of the same name. It's a bicycle with number 6 in the wheel. Another pin has Mickey Mouse on it and celebrates Mousekeeter Week. One pin commemorates the last day of the famous parquet floor from the old Boston Garden while the last has a quote from Louisa May Alcott about being a free spinster and rowing my own boat. That one makes me laugh. I love the word spinster and all it conjures.
Family pictures take up the middle. My sister's family is there as are three of my nephews wearing tuxedos. A picture of my mother, my two sisters and me in San Antonio hangs off the bottom. A picture of the whole family standing in front of a restaurant is the other picture. It was taken the weekend we flew to Colorado to surprise my sister on her fiftieth birthday. In less than a year we'd find out how ill my mother was, but I remember how happy we were that day. A few postcards are pinned among the pictures. One is a funny picture of Bigfoot carrying a can of Spam which reminds me of my sister who likes Spam and the other is of the Spanish Steps in Rome, a trip my mother and I took together.
A luggage tag from Ghana Airways is there as are a Peace Corps patch and luggage tag. My name tags from the last two Peace Corps anniversary events hang off the corner of the board and hanging with them is my last school ID. They represent thirty five years of my life.
A Star Trek calendar of the original series takes up the most room. Captain Kirk is on the January page. A voucher from United Airlines is there, good for one trip. A lei from one of my famous dinners hangs off the corner as does an old paper hat hawking Hood Ice Cream. That last one reminds me of my dad as he once worked for Hood.
I really love my old bulletin board, and I cherish all the feelings and memories each piece brings to mind. Even the bulletin board itself is a memory of a long ago Christmas and the adolescent girl I used to be.
Monday, January 08, 2007
One Hundred Names: The Nields
Sisters Nerissa & Katryn are The Nields, and this song is from If You lived Here, You'd Be Home Now.
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Only Fools Rush In: Elvis Presley
Elvis Presley would have been seventy two today, but my mind just can't conjure a picture of a seventy two year old Elvis performing with hips aswivel.
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"Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day-- In sighing and dismay."
Miss Konopacka was my teacher in the fourth grade, the year my classroom was on the second floor of the old school building. I remember the windows were so tall the shades had to be pulled down using a stick with a hook at the end. The bathrooms were in the cellar, and it was a long trip from the top to the bottom. The girls' room was on the totally opposite side of the cellar from the boys' room and had a wooden door on each stall. The cloak room, right outside the classroom door, was lined with two rows of hooks. The windows were behind us, taking away any distractions, but my seat was in the back so I sneaked looks. My lunch box that year had a pattern instead of a character, and it was the exact same lunchbox as my friend Maryalyce's. She used to switch boxes, but when I opened mine for lunch, I always knew. My mother made the best lunches, and Maryalyce seemed to have far too many peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The staircase just beyond our classroom door was beautiful, all wooden and wide, and you could see the bottom from the top. Between floors, statues of saints were in little corner niches. I never really dared run from one floor to another as nuns would poke their heads out of classrooms to catch the speeders.
Every morning, as soon as I walked in the door, I could smell wood and years of chalk dust. On a rainy day I could smell wet wool coats hanging in the cloakrooms. I loved that old school, but that was the last year I would spent there. The next year the new school was opened, and grade five was permanently moved. That new school was bright and shiny but just didn't seem right somehow. It was too new.
When I drive by the new school, now quite old, I can see my seventh grade classroom windows. I hope, by now, the school has a personality and maybe, just maybe, smells of chalk dust, rubber boots and old wool coats.
Every morning, as soon as I walked in the door, I could smell wood and years of chalk dust. On a rainy day I could smell wet wool coats hanging in the cloakrooms. I loved that old school, but that was the last year I would spent there. The next year the new school was opened, and grade five was permanently moved. That new school was bright and shiny but just didn't seem right somehow. It was too new.
When I drive by the new school, now quite old, I can see my seventh grade classroom windows. I hope, by now, the school has a personality and maybe, just maybe, smells of chalk dust, rubber boots and old wool coats.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
"All happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast."
The day is warm enough so I have been in and out taking down the lights. The fence looks bare, and I'll miss all those colors brightening the darkness. Last night the whole neighborhood had on their Christmas lights, sort of a last hurrah.
Today is a perfect Sunday. The morning was sunny, and I had a fresh pot of coffee and my three newspapers. I read all the news, did crossword puzzles, read the travel ads and cut out coupons. Yesterday and Friday were busy days so I'm rewarding myself with a lazy afternoon so I'm still in pajamas and slippers and even wore them outside. Right now I'm watching the Pats play the Jets, and I'm cheering outloud. Gracie thinks I'm talking to her and keeps wagging her tail.
Yesterday was a wonderful day with my friends. The food tasted great, the mimosa were perfect, and my friends stayed well into the afternoon. We just sat and talked. We somehow went all over the place and got into nuclear energy, science fiction movies, golf, board games, and Christmas. The tree stayed lit the whole time and Christmas music played in the background. Little Christmas became an event.
The Pats are losing 10 to 7 so I need to get back to the game and cheer my boys on to victory. Go Pats!
Today is a perfect Sunday. The morning was sunny, and I had a fresh pot of coffee and my three newspapers. I read all the news, did crossword puzzles, read the travel ads and cut out coupons. Yesterday and Friday were busy days so I'm rewarding myself with a lazy afternoon so I'm still in pajamas and slippers and even wore them outside. Right now I'm watching the Pats play the Jets, and I'm cheering outloud. Gracie thinks I'm talking to her and keeps wagging her tail.
Yesterday was a wonderful day with my friends. The food tasted great, the mimosa were perfect, and my friends stayed well into the afternoon. We just sat and talked. We somehow went all over the place and got into nuclear energy, science fiction movies, golf, board games, and Christmas. The tree stayed lit the whole time and Christmas music played in the background. Little Christmas became an event.
The Pats are losing 10 to 7 so I need to get back to the game and cheer my boys on to victory. Go Pats!
Saturday, January 06, 2007
"It takes a long time to grow an old friend."
Today is a short post for I have friends arriving for brunch in a few hours. It seems every year my friends and I just don't seem to find the time to get together until well after the holidays, and I figured today, little Christmas, would be perfect. I'll light the Christmas tree in the dining room, and it will shine and glow through this gloomy, wet morning. The table is ready, and the champagne is chilling for those mimosas. The food was prepared yesterday and just needs to be popped into the oven. Gracie has been duly warned to behave, and I bought her a busy bone to keep her preoccupied just in case she ignores me.
These friends of mine date back thirty years. We were young together and are now growing older together. We were party people, and a casual get together often lasted well into the next morning. We still get together, but the magic hour keeps getting earlier and earlier. Two of us are retired and two others are grandparents. It is amazing to me when I actually stop and think about it.
These friends of mine date back thirty years. We were young together and are now growing older together. We were party people, and a casual get together often lasted well into the next morning. We still get together, but the magic hour keeps getting earlier and earlier. Two of us are retired and two others are grandparents. It is amazing to me when I actually stop and think about it.
Friday, January 05, 2007
Lady O: Judee Sill
My friend Ralph sent me this and one other song by Judee Sill. He figured she would be perfect for Coffee. He also sent me some background as an introduction, and I'm including it here.
"On the day after Thanksgiving 1979, Judee Sill, a 35-year-old, deeply depressed and physically broken singer-songwriter, took an overdose of opiates and cocaine in her North Hollywood apartment. The Los Angeles coroner ruled Sill's death a suicide, but those who knew her better have always contended that the "note" found near her body -- a meditation on rapture, the hereafter and the innate mystery of life -- may just have been part of a diary entry or, perhaps, another one of her haunted, haunting songs beginning to take shape.
When Sill died, both of her albums for Asylum Records -- "Judee Sill" (1971) and "Heart Food" (1973) -- were long out of print; eight tracks recorded in 1974 for a third album had never been finished. Such was the obscurity to which Sill had fallen in 1979 that no obituary was published, and a number of her friends never knew what happened to her until many years had passed. "
You can read the rest of the article here:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/12/29/AR2006122901782.html?referrer=emailarticle
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"On the day after Thanksgiving 1979, Judee Sill, a 35-year-old, deeply depressed and physically broken singer-songwriter, took an overdose of opiates and cocaine in her North Hollywood apartment. The Los Angeles coroner ruled Sill's death a suicide, but those who knew her better have always contended that the "note" found near her body -- a meditation on rapture, the hereafter and the innate mystery of life -- may just have been part of a diary entry or, perhaps, another one of her haunted, haunting songs beginning to take shape.
When Sill died, both of her albums for Asylum Records -- "Judee Sill" (1971) and "Heart Food" (1973) -- were long out of print; eight tracks recorded in 1974 for a third album had never been finished. Such was the obscurity to which Sill had fallen in 1979 that no obituary was published, and a number of her friends never knew what happened to her until many years had passed. "
You can read the rest of the article here:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/12/29/AR2006122901782.html?referrer=emailarticle
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My Old Friend: John Hiatt
I think this is John Hiatt at his best.
The song is from 2001's The Tiki Bar Is Open and is a reunion of John and the Goners and Sonny Landreth with his amazing slide guitar work.
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The song is from 2001's The Tiki Bar Is Open and is a reunion of John and the Goners and Sonny Landreth with his amazing slide guitar work.
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"After enlightenment, the laundry."
I remember when my mother had a washing machine with a wringer, and I remember it stood to the right of the cellar door. I'd watch my mother grab the clothes from the tub and push them through while she kept the wringer turning. She'd put those clothes through several times until she'd extracted just about every drop of water then she'd hang them out to dry. The backyards of all the houses had lines and, on most days, were filled with laundry. The clothespins were wooden and were kept in cloth bags which hung from the lines. Some of those bags were made like little animals, and the clothespins were taken out of what looked like mouths. I guess it was all about adding a touch of whimsy to a household chore.
I can still see the sheets hanging nearly to the ground. They were all white. When they were dry enough, the wind would lift them and they'd flap back and forth. It was then we'd run through the lines. My mother would yell at us from the window. We'd laugh then push our way through to the back of the laundry and run to get away. We'd try that a couple of times until we figured we'd reached the limits of my mother's patience.
We always thought her a bit shortsighted. She just kept missing the fun in all that laundry.
I can still see the sheets hanging nearly to the ground. They were all white. When they were dry enough, the wind would lift them and they'd flap back and forth. It was then we'd run through the lines. My mother would yell at us from the window. We'd laugh then push our way through to the back of the laundry and run to get away. We'd try that a couple of times until we figured we'd reached the limits of my mother's patience.
We always thought her a bit shortsighted. She just kept missing the fun in all that laundry.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Lay Down Your Burden: Mary Black
Mary Black can probably sing just about everything, but, to me, her voice sounds the most beautiful when she is singing traditional songs, especially Irish folk songs. She first started singing with her sister and brother in the 1980's, and her music continues to attract a following not only in Ireland but also here where her first American release was in 1990. Mary focuses on her homeland by singing songs by some of Ireland's best contemporary songwriters.
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Changes: Phil Ochs
Phil Ochs left his music behind for us when he died in 1976. It is still a tragedy and a huge loss.
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"What we remember from childhood we remember forever - permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen."
Sometimes, when I go to the town where I grew up, I drive through the square and around the streets which hold my memories. I drive by the homes where my friends used to live and try to remember their faces. Much of the town has changed but just as much seems to stand still as if caught in a timewarp. The house where I had my girl scout meetings looks exactly the same, and I can see through the back door to the kitchen where we always had our meetings. My friend Mickey's house is where we tried to keep the egg warm hoping the bird would hatch. It didn't. The house where I went to my first big party is now a doggie day care center. My friend Maggie's house is gone, replaced by an apartment building. The wonderful old house with the porch which gave out the best Halloween candy is an insurance company. The square is a shadow of itself now that all the best stores are gone. My grammar school looks exactly the same, but the nuns are gone. The bowling alley is a video store, but you can still play miniature golf down the street. Some of my friends still live in that town, and I visit, but infrequently. Once in a while we make the effort and get together, and, with some friends, time has changed nothing between us, but, with others, a gulf separates us, and we only share the past.
My sister once took her kids on the same kind of memory trip. They thought our old house seemed smaller than they imagined and maybe even a bit drab. I suspect they were right for it is only in our memories where everything is freshly painted.
My sister once took her kids on the same kind of memory trip. They thought our old house seemed smaller than they imagined and maybe even a bit drab. I suspect they were right for it is only in our memories where everything is freshly painted.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
You Don't Make It Easy Babe: Josh Ritter
I don't know quite why I haven't posted Josh Ritter before this. Maybe I figured he gets enough air time.
This song is from his 2003 album Hello Starling.
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This song is from his 2003 album Hello Starling.
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High Flying Bird: Judy Henske
Judy Henske started as a singer with Dave Guard and The Whiskeyhill Singers in the early 1960's. She was also a part of the Greenwich Village folk scene which included Fred Neil, Dino Valente and Karen Dalton. She is given credit for anticipating folk-rock by her addition of drums, bass and a heavy back-up rhythm, and it was this song which was one of the earliest of the new genre.
But Judy Henske is another of those artists not easy to label. Her selections included jazz, blues, ballads and folk standards. She never did get the recognition she deserved.
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But Judy Henske is another of those artists not easy to label. Her selections included jazz, blues, ballads and folk standards. She never did get the recognition she deserved.
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"Walls have mice and mice have ears. "
A mouse lives in my kitchen. One of the drawers must have been a perfect shopping spot for nesting material as napkins were shredded and potholders were missing corners and rows of yarn. The top of the refrigerator is its favorite spot for observing my world as I found evidence he or she had spent a bit of time there. Yesterday the cat sat for hours staring at the space between my refrigerator and dishwasher. I think that Miss Maddie must have finally caught a glimpse of our squatter. Cats are patient when it comes to mice, and Maddie will be back to that spot time and again and will sit quietly hoping.
I think it's time to bring out the trap. The last time I had mice, I caught seventeen of them, several generations of the same family. I could see the resemblance. I'd take the cage, drive a distance away, wish them well and let them loose. I figured they had a giant reunion in the woods, told stories and remembered the good old days.
Granted, these are darn cute mice, but I believe wild animals belong in their natural habitat, not my kitchen drawer.
I think it's time to bring out the trap. The last time I had mice, I caught seventeen of them, several generations of the same family. I could see the resemblance. I'd take the cage, drive a distance away, wish them well and let them loose. I figured they had a giant reunion in the woods, told stories and remembered the good old days.
Granted, these are darn cute mice, but I believe wild animals belong in their natural habitat, not my kitchen drawer.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
He Was a Friend: Dian and The Greenbrier Boys
The Greenbrier Boys started singing together in 1958 in Greenwich Village. Their first foray into the recording world was as the backup band for a couple of songs on Joan Baez's second album. Dian was Dian James, a country singer and Randy Newman's cousin, discovered by future Byrds manager Jim Dickson. This song, arranged by Hoyt Axton, is from their self-titled 1963 album and was the only time Dian sang with the band.
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She Sang Hymns Out of Tune: The Dillards
I know I've mentioned before that the first time I heard The Dillards they were the Darling Boys on The Andy Griffith Show. It took a bit longer to find out who they actually were.
The Dillards combined bluegrass with folk, rock and country and first recorded for Electra and later Capitol. They went electric in 1964 and drifted toward a half rock, half folk sound. This song, a Jesse Lee Kincade cover, is from their album Wheatstraw Suite released in 1968.
MP3 File
The Dillards combined bluegrass with folk, rock and country and first recorded for Electra and later Capitol. They went electric in 1964 and drifted toward a half rock, half folk sound. This song, a Jesse Lee Kincade cover, is from their album Wheatstraw Suite released in 1968.
MP3 File
"Winter is the time for comfort - it is the time for home."
The winter warmth has confused my daffodils. Their green shoots are peeking out of the ground in anticipation of spring's arrival. They don't get it's still winter, and I share their confusion. The other night was in the 20's. I figured winter had finally decided to make his appearance, but the cold lasted too short a time and today is back to sweatshirt weather. It rained all day yesterday, far too warm to muster even a single snowflake. I'm complaining here, not because I like winter or cold or shoveling snow, but I think each season deserves its due. This is January, and I should be muffled in a heavy coat, warm hat and mittens and bitterly complaining about how sick I am of winter. Instead, I'm longing for a bit of snow. I won't go overboard and wish for a tremendous storm to dump an entire winter's worth of snow on my lawn. Nope, I think a dusting would be just right. Snow is pretty, and there's no denying how wonderful trees look adorned with their winter white. The world is crisper and brighter after a snowstorm. The flakes glisten in the sun, and it seems as if stars have come to earth. The snow dampens sounds, and the world is a quiet place where the songs of birds echo in the stillness.
When the snow falls with a gentle grace, it is mesmerizing, even calming, but when a snowstorm blows with all the ferocity of winter, it is daunting. I watch from my window, warm and comfortable in my house. I like a blazing fireplace during any snowstorm, my way of telling winter that I have too have sway, but a winter storm always seems to have the last laugh. No matter how long I stay inside or how long I keep the fire burning, I eventually have to drag that shovel out of the cellar, bundle up against the cold and dig my way out of the house. I suspect old man winter has more than a bit of cosmic irony at our expense.
When the snow falls with a gentle grace, it is mesmerizing, even calming, but when a snowstorm blows with all the ferocity of winter, it is daunting. I watch from my window, warm and comfortable in my house. I like a blazing fireplace during any snowstorm, my way of telling winter that I have too have sway, but a winter storm always seems to have the last laugh. No matter how long I stay inside or how long I keep the fire burning, I eventually have to drag that shovel out of the cellar, bundle up against the cold and dig my way out of the house. I suspect old man winter has more than a bit of cosmic irony at our expense.
Monday, January 01, 2007
“"Old times" never come back and I suppose it's just as well. What comes back is a new morning every day in the year, and that's better.”
It is a wonderful day, the first of a bright new year filled with hopes and possibilities. Last year may not have been all I wished, but it was even more than I could have hoped. Each day the sun rose and set the same way, but, in between, my life had twists and turns and surprises. I was sometimes amazed, sometimes saddened, sometimes even confused, but I found life remarkable.
If, at twenty, I had been asked to describe myself at nearly sixty, I would have foreseen a porch, rocking chair and soft foods. The old just sat and waited or at least that's what I thought. Boy, was I wrong! My life is hardly complete. So much more awaits me. There are still people to meet, places to visit, books to read and fun and adventure enough to fill years and years. I still can't imagine what being old must be like.
Happy New Year!
If, at twenty, I had been asked to describe myself at nearly sixty, I would have foreseen a porch, rocking chair and soft foods. The old just sat and waited or at least that's what I thought. Boy, was I wrong! My life is hardly complete. So much more awaits me. There are still people to meet, places to visit, books to read and fun and adventure enough to fill years and years. I still can't imagine what being old must be like.
Happy New Year!
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