Okay, I heard this on the radio and liked it, but I know absolutely nothing about Mason Jennings. Those of you in the know, please leave some info in the comments. I'd look it up, but I hate having to do that. Thanks
MP3 File
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
"If we had no faults of our own, we would not take so much pleasure in noticing those of others."
Being in line behind a driver who believes that the speed limit is a mere suggestion and open to interpretation drives me crazy because around here drivers espouse the slower the better theory of driving. I'm talking about drivers who have shrunk so much their cars look pilot-less from behind or drivers who think any speed beyond twenty causes G force. They take corners so slowly traffic jams form behind them. I have come to believe it is my destiny to be the car right behind one of these drivers, and we are going to the same place for which there is no alternative route. I figure it must be some sort of test from a higher authority, and I fail miserably each time.
Sitting anywhere near constant whisperers at a movie is another one of those drive me crazy moments. I try the turn around and glare approach, but it's dark so I've generally wasted a perfectly good glare. I then try the polite approach which sometimes works, at least with reasonable people. A couple of times the suggestion was made I change my seat if I didn't like the noise. That went over really well! During another movie there were seven people in the whole theater for the matinee. The eight person, who was at least seven feet tall, came in and sat right in front of me. I moved.
Supermarket lines are another place where frustration abounds. When it says twelve items or less, I believe it. The other day a guy with half a carriage full was in that line. He was getting the looks but didn't notice, and when it was finally pointed out to him, he explained he had fewer than twelve items. Didn't people realize ten cans of tomato sauce count as a single item as do multiples of the same items? I guess I missed that memo.
I am constantly amazed by people. They make me laugh, frustrate me and sometimes give me pause. Often, in the strangest ways, people add dimension and color to my life. I'll just have to remind myself of that as I travel the roads of life at around fifteen or twenty miles per hour.
Sitting anywhere near constant whisperers at a movie is another one of those drive me crazy moments. I try the turn around and glare approach, but it's dark so I've generally wasted a perfectly good glare. I then try the polite approach which sometimes works, at least with reasonable people. A couple of times the suggestion was made I change my seat if I didn't like the noise. That went over really well! During another movie there were seven people in the whole theater for the matinee. The eight person, who was at least seven feet tall, came in and sat right in front of me. I moved.
Supermarket lines are another place where frustration abounds. When it says twelve items or less, I believe it. The other day a guy with half a carriage full was in that line. He was getting the looks but didn't notice, and when it was finally pointed out to him, he explained he had fewer than twelve items. Didn't people realize ten cans of tomato sauce count as a single item as do multiples of the same items? I guess I missed that memo.
I am constantly amazed by people. They make me laugh, frustrate me and sometimes give me pause. Often, in the strangest ways, people add dimension and color to my life. I'll just have to remind myself of that as I travel the roads of life at around fifteen or twenty miles per hour.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Lightning Bar Blues: Arlo Guthrie
Hobo's Lullaby is a great Arlo Guthrie album with this and another favorite Ukelele Lady. The album dates from the early 70's and the song is by Hoyt Axton.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Somebody Stole My Gal: Jim Kweskin & the Jug Band
This song is on a few different albums including 1998's Acoustic Swing & Jug and 1970's Greatest Hits.
Jim Kweskin is the lead singer for this song, and the album includes Bill Keith and both Muldaurs (Geoff and Maria).
MP3 File
Jim Kweskin is the lead singer for this song, and the album includes Bill Keith and both Muldaurs (Geoff and Maria).
MP3 File
"The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light."
A perfect day for me is a whole lot of different days. Today the perfect day is just hanging out in my grubbies, drinking freshly brewed coffee and reading a good book. The other day was perfect too when I went shopping with my friend and actually found a few neat items and a stocking stuffer for one sister. Sometimes my perfect day is just riding around and stopping at any store which strikes my fancy. Once I had lunch in my car and watched the wind wreak havoc with the ocean. That was exhilarating and perfect. Being by myself is sometimes perfect and so is being with friends. I love cooking, and a perfect meal is when my guests chose to eat and not speak except for a few hmms. At night, I am awed by the moon and the sky. Add the songs of night birds and a firefly or two, and we'll have reached perfection. Give me a morning when every bird feels compelled to sing. Make the rain gentle, almost a whisper, or make it so fierce it pounds the windows and twists the branches. Give me a winter day with a hint of spring in the air and the first shoots of crocus and daffodil. Let the world smell of summer or laundry dried by the sun. Let me end my perfect day by being thankful for what I've been given.
Monday, February 26, 2007
From Clare to Here: Nanci Griffith
This is a fallback as the song I wanted wouldn't post. I'm screaming in frustration.
This is from Other Voices, Other Rooms, my favorite of her albums.
MP3 File
This is from Other Voices, Other Rooms, my favorite of her albums.
MP3 File
Long Way: Antje Duvekot
My friend Robert is our guest commentator today though he has no idea. This is from an e-mail he just sent after having heard Antje in concert.
"Seriously, this young woman is a talented songwriter and musician. Do you have any of her stuff that you could share on your site? She needs to be made known. What a great show she put on with just her guitar and voice. I bought her first cd and when I played it on the way home, I realized that she is better solo than with accompaniment. Post a song of hers if you can."
This is from that first cd, Little Peppermints, released in 2002.
MP3 File
"Seriously, this young woman is a talented songwriter and musician. Do you have any of her stuff that you could share on your site? She needs to be made known. What a great show she put on with just her guitar and voice. I bought her first cd and when I played it on the way home, I realized that she is better solo than with accompaniment. Post a song of hers if you can."
This is from that first cd, Little Peppermints, released in 2002.
MP3 File
“Getting an inch of snow is like winning 10 cents in the lottery.”
If I haven't posted by noon, my sisters think I'm lying unconscious at the foot of the stairs, but I really just haven't had the time to sit and write. It has been a run around do errands to get the kitchen cabinets ready for staining day. The plumber still hasn't come, but I am getting used to the toilet in the middle of my bedroom. If it's there much longer, I'll figure some decorative use.
We had snow this morning, a couple of inches. It was thick and perfect for snowballs so I threw a few up in the air for the dog to catch. Throwing snowballs is just something I never grew out of doing. My arm isn't as strong as it used to be, but my aim is still darn good. I was hoping a neighbor might walk by but no such luck.
Being a kid and having a snow day was just below Christmas, birthdays and Easter on my favorite days of the year list, and in one way it was even better: it was always a surprise. Every kid in my neighborhood was always outside in a flash. We'd build forts, prepare our ammunition and attack. The snowball fight lasted for hours, stopped only for lunch and bathroom breaks. I don't remember how we figured winners. Maybe it was one of those last man standing sort of battles where the last guy to go inside to get warm was declared the winner.
My favorite fort was the one we made after a really huge snowfall. It had tunnels, and you could move unseen from one area of the fort to the other. We had reinforced the walls and ceilings of the tunnels with water so it was really a series of ice caves. I remember bringing in stuff to sit on so our butts wouldn't get too cold. We even ate lunch in our cave. When the sun came out, the ice shined and twinkled like the wall was filled with stars. That cave lasted a really long time, but I remember watching it slowly melt away. Each day the fort got smaller and smaller. The walls were the last to go and almost looked liked the ruins of some lost civilization. I don't remember ever again building a fort as good as that one. It was our biggest triumph, our Fort Apache, our Panama Canal.
We had snow this morning, a couple of inches. It was thick and perfect for snowballs so I threw a few up in the air for the dog to catch. Throwing snowballs is just something I never grew out of doing. My arm isn't as strong as it used to be, but my aim is still darn good. I was hoping a neighbor might walk by but no such luck.
Being a kid and having a snow day was just below Christmas, birthdays and Easter on my favorite days of the year list, and in one way it was even better: it was always a surprise. Every kid in my neighborhood was always outside in a flash. We'd build forts, prepare our ammunition and attack. The snowball fight lasted for hours, stopped only for lunch and bathroom breaks. I don't remember how we figured winners. Maybe it was one of those last man standing sort of battles where the last guy to go inside to get warm was declared the winner.
My favorite fort was the one we made after a really huge snowfall. It had tunnels, and you could move unseen from one area of the fort to the other. We had reinforced the walls and ceilings of the tunnels with water so it was really a series of ice caves. I remember bringing in stuff to sit on so our butts wouldn't get too cold. We even ate lunch in our cave. When the sun came out, the ice shined and twinkled like the wall was filled with stars. That cave lasted a really long time, but I remember watching it slowly melt away. Each day the fort got smaller and smaller. The walls were the last to go and almost looked liked the ruins of some lost civilization. I don't remember ever again building a fort as good as that one. It was our biggest triumph, our Fort Apache, our Panama Canal.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
"Books - the best antidote against the marsh-gas of boredom and vacuity."
I was daydreamer when I was a kid, still am for that matter, and school was my favorite woolgathering spot. The key was to look at the book as if intently reading. That way the nun couldn't see my totally glazed eyes, and I could travel oceans or even dimensions away from that small classroom. Sometimes I was a poor little orphan found quite by accident by my rich grandfather. That was during my Oliver Twist period. Other days I was the intrepid astronaut blasting off to uncertainty. Most times I was the co-pilot. I had unconsciously put myself in the minor role of the 50's woman, but never fear, it was usually I who saved us from flesh eating aliens. The men were brave and foolish; I was resourceful. As I got older, I got braver and took to hiding real books in my textbooks. While the class was learning the chief exports of Paraguay, I had taken to the main with Long John and the crew or was trying to survive with the Robinsons. This was a bit tricky as I had to hold the textbook up to shield the real book. I must have been really good, though, because I never got caught.
I brought my reading habit with me into high school. The biology teacher just about quoted the book word for word as we followed along with her, or so she thought. I was in Salem with Hepzibah and Clifford and the family curse or following the convict and the story of Pip. One of my most intriguing characters, Madame LaFarge, appeared during an especially scintillating lecture on genetics and chromosomes. I almost wanted to stop the class to tell them all about her and her knitting. Instead, I just gave the teacher a look to keep her off track and went back to the guillotine.
If anyone ever asks me, I can truly say I read the classics in school.
I brought my reading habit with me into high school. The biology teacher just about quoted the book word for word as we followed along with her, or so she thought. I was in Salem with Hepzibah and Clifford and the family curse or following the convict and the story of Pip. One of my most intriguing characters, Madame LaFarge, appeared during an especially scintillating lecture on genetics and chromosomes. I almost wanted to stop the class to tell them all about her and her knitting. Instead, I just gave the teacher a look to keep her off track and went back to the guillotine.
If anyone ever asks me, I can truly say I read the classics in school.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
"Every man's memory is his private literature."
Another blog block day is upon me. Everywhere around the house are dust and dirt, and they have overridden rational thought. I could write an entire novel or at least a short story on just about every surface. Maybe I should just leave the mess as the painter is starting this week, and I'd just end up cleaning again, but my trembling hands won't be stilled. They need a cloth, a can of polish and a spray bottle. I've decided to don that frilly apron, high heels, pearls and Donna Reed dress. I'm putting my kitchen to rights.
My friend and I will do some shopping today for absolutely nothing practical. We will stop in at a few antiques shops, maybe a potter or two then have a late lunch. I love these little jaunts. Many times I buy nothing, but the day is more to be with my friend, to catch up on each other's lives.
Sometimes I wonder how I know a strange word or remember a date. I figure the back drawers of my mind must hold amazing bits of information which have little relevance. These tidbits seem to jump out of my mouth at just the right time, involuntarily. People give me odd looks, and my sisters call me vulgar names. I just laugh knowing that I can still drive them crazy, just in different ways.
My friend and I will do some shopping today for absolutely nothing practical. We will stop in at a few antiques shops, maybe a potter or two then have a late lunch. I love these little jaunts. Many times I buy nothing, but the day is more to be with my friend, to catch up on each other's lives.
Sometimes I wonder how I know a strange word or remember a date. I figure the back drawers of my mind must hold amazing bits of information which have little relevance. These tidbits seem to jump out of my mouth at just the right time, involuntarily. People give me odd looks, and my sisters call me vulgar names. I just laugh knowing that I can still drive them crazy, just in different ways.
Friday, February 23, 2007
When You Know: Shawn Colvin
This song is from the Serendipity soundtrack album. I don't remember the movie, but I love the music.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Oh My Sweet Carolina: Ryan Adams
This is from Heartbreaker, Ryan Adams' first solo recording after he left Whiskeytown. It was released in 2000. Oh My Sweet Carolina is, for me, the most soulful song on the album, and Emmylou's vocals just give this song so much more grace and beauty.
MP3 File
MP3 File
“Why buy good luggage? You only use it when you travel.”
My first trip to Europe was in the backpacking days. With my framed pack and sleeping bag, I joined the thousands of other early twenty somethings and went from hostel to hostel. Using my Let's Go guidebook, I found the cheapest places to sleep and eat and the restaurants silly enough to offer salad bars and other free food. Once, in Denmark, we actually slept in the woods because the hostel was filled. That, for me, was exactly the adventure I'd hoped. Instead of eating in restaurants, we'd often buy cheese, bread and cold cuts. The mustard we bought was in a toothpaste-like tube which I thought was so European. Some nights we slept on trains to save hotel bills and arrived at our destinations much the worse for wear. I did cut myself with my Swiss Army knife when the train lurched, but that's par for the course. The ritziest digs were college dorms for rent, empty for the summer. We actually had our own room though we did share a bathroom. The hostel in Helsinki had once been part of the 1952 Summer Olympic complex, and it was my favorite because of its history.
Part of that trip was spent in Russia. When we got to the hotel, they wanted my passport. All I could think of was they would take it, spirit me away, and I'd spend the next years of my life slaving at some gulag from which I hoped would come an international best seller. I'd call it something like An American Woman's Gulag. Of course, that didn't happen, and I got my passport back, but the trip was not without a bit of adventure. We actually had a spy travel with us. The last night of our trip many of us sat in one of our hotel rooms drinking copious amounts of vodka and discussing our spy. We each had some anecdote which had given him away to us so it was no surprise when he was taken away by two soldiers with rifles when we were at airport customs ready to leave the next day. The group of us decided to take a stand and refused to leave until we knew what was happening to our travel mate. The officials told us they would seize our tickets. We just shrugged. Then two guys pointed rifles at us and we meekly went to the departure lounge. It was there we figured they weren't really going to shoot us so we would wait until we knew what was happening. The officials promised our spy, as we affectionately called him, would be on board. We said we would wait and board after him. Sure enough, two soldiers escorted our James Bond aboard and we followed a bit later. When we landed in Copenhagen, we ran to get the low down from Mr. Bond. It was then we learned he worked with the Zionist Organization and had been in Russia to contact various underground Jewish groups, and he learned what an awful spy he actually was though having been taken away was already a giant clue.
My first trip to Europe has always been my favorite. I got to be a backpacking hippie and knew a real spy. The next summer I would backpack through Europe for the last time. On the trip following, it was sort of sad packing my first suitcase. I felt I was leaving behind something never to be recaptured. I haven't slept on a train or in the woods since. My back feels better, but I feel a lot older.
Part of that trip was spent in Russia. When we got to the hotel, they wanted my passport. All I could think of was they would take it, spirit me away, and I'd spend the next years of my life slaving at some gulag from which I hoped would come an international best seller. I'd call it something like An American Woman's Gulag. Of course, that didn't happen, and I got my passport back, but the trip was not without a bit of adventure. We actually had a spy travel with us. The last night of our trip many of us sat in one of our hotel rooms drinking copious amounts of vodka and discussing our spy. We each had some anecdote which had given him away to us so it was no surprise when he was taken away by two soldiers with rifles when we were at airport customs ready to leave the next day. The group of us decided to take a stand and refused to leave until we knew what was happening to our travel mate. The officials told us they would seize our tickets. We just shrugged. Then two guys pointed rifles at us and we meekly went to the departure lounge. It was there we figured they weren't really going to shoot us so we would wait until we knew what was happening. The officials promised our spy, as we affectionately called him, would be on board. We said we would wait and board after him. Sure enough, two soldiers escorted our James Bond aboard and we followed a bit later. When we landed in Copenhagen, we ran to get the low down from Mr. Bond. It was then we learned he worked with the Zionist Organization and had been in Russia to contact various underground Jewish groups, and he learned what an awful spy he actually was though having been taken away was already a giant clue.
My first trip to Europe has always been my favorite. I got to be a backpacking hippie and knew a real spy. The next summer I would backpack through Europe for the last time. On the trip following, it was sort of sad packing my first suitcase. I felt I was leaving behind something never to be recaptured. I haven't slept on a train or in the woods since. My back feels better, but I feel a lot older.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Sea of No Cares: Great Big Sea
This song is taken from the album by the same name released in 2002. The album is bright and fun and filled with the neat sounds of Great Big Sea.
Great Big Sea is Canadian, from Newfoundland. They mix traditional and modern sounds backed by guitars and the less common bodhran, drums, accordion and mandola. They sing of the sea more often than not and their songs are rich in harmony.
MP3 File
Great Big Sea is Canadian, from Newfoundland. They mix traditional and modern sounds backed by guitars and the less common bodhran, drums, accordion and mandola. They sing of the sea more often than not and their songs are rich in harmony.
MP3 File
"More than Santa Claus, your sister knows when you've been bad and good."
Having younger sisters was an irksome chore while I was growing up, but it was also the source of much amusement. If I got stuck babysitting, which seemed to happen far too often, I'd complain, stamp my foot and whine. My mother, trying to provide a bit of comfort, used to tell me I'd appeciate having sisters when I got older, but, to a teenager stuck at home babysitting, older was far too long away to matter. My brother and I were in a constant battle as to whose turn it was to stay home, and we knew it was all because we were stuck with younger sisters. If my parents had been a bit more thoughtful, they would have just stayed home and eliminated the problem.
My brother and I found having sisters provided our own in-house amusement. We'd sit on either side of my youngest sister and just point at her. We'd never touch her. Pointing was more than enough to get her screaming to my mother who wanted to know what we were doing. We would innocently tell her we weren't even touching my sister and had no idea why she was screaming. My brother once took it upon himself to hide under the bed and scare my sister. That was a step too far, and, though she is now a grandmother, I think she still checks under her bed before turning out the light.
My sisters tattled. My brother and I had an understanding, a sort of blackmail scheme which worked well for us. If he told on me, I'd tell on him. What that didn't taken into account was my sisters. They'd tell just for the joy of giving us up to our parents. Their voices were gleeful when they squealed on my brother and me.
It has been many years since my sisters last needed to be babysat. That far too long away happened just as my mother predicted it would. I can't imagine my life without my sisters and all the joy they give me. Now, about my brother.....
My brother and I found having sisters provided our own in-house amusement. We'd sit on either side of my youngest sister and just point at her. We'd never touch her. Pointing was more than enough to get her screaming to my mother who wanted to know what we were doing. We would innocently tell her we weren't even touching my sister and had no idea why she was screaming. My brother once took it upon himself to hide under the bed and scare my sister. That was a step too far, and, though she is now a grandmother, I think she still checks under her bed before turning out the light.
My sisters tattled. My brother and I had an understanding, a sort of blackmail scheme which worked well for us. If he told on me, I'd tell on him. What that didn't taken into account was my sisters. They'd tell just for the joy of giving us up to our parents. Their voices were gleeful when they squealed on my brother and me.
It has been many years since my sisters last needed to be babysat. That far too long away happened just as my mother predicted it would. I can't imagine my life without my sisters and all the joy they give me. Now, about my brother.....
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Bimbombey: Jimmie Rogers
Today we go back in time for some earlier folk. This song was on the flip side of Kisses Sweeter Than Wine and was released in 1958.
MP3 File
MP3 File
The Minstrel Boy: The Limeliters
It is still a source of amazement to me that The Limeliters never had a record make it to the top ten. Their harmony and the voice of Glenn Yarbrough combine to make a unique sound which I still love.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Women are afraid of mice and of murder, and of very little in between."
The dog and I have lots to do today, and we'll be up and down the Cape getting our errands finished. For Gracie, it is the journey; for me it is the destination. She watches from the windows, barks at dogs we see along the way and falls asleep once boredom settles. I drive from one spot to the other thinking ahead to the best route for my next stop all the while checking items off my mental list. The day is sunny and warm and almost lends itself to leisure. Today I'll take a Gracie view of the world. Today it will be the journey.
When the old fridge was removed, a mouse was living behind it. I saw the brown beastie and tried to catch it, but it was faster than I have ever been. The cats had been watching a cabinet for the last few weeks so I knew a mouse had taken up residence in my kitchen, but this was my first view. Yesterday, I removed all the books from the bookcase in the kitchen and found a stash of dog food. I think it was the mouse's safe house. The cabinet doors are off, the old fridge is gone, the safe house is no more. Where in the heck is that mouse hiding and why are my cats upstairs asleep on the bed?
When the old fridge was removed, a mouse was living behind it. I saw the brown beastie and tried to catch it, but it was faster than I have ever been. The cats had been watching a cabinet for the last few weeks so I knew a mouse had taken up residence in my kitchen, but this was my first view. Yesterday, I removed all the books from the bookcase in the kitchen and found a stash of dog food. I think it was the mouse's safe house. The cabinet doors are off, the old fridge is gone, the safe house is no more. Where in the heck is that mouse hiding and why are my cats upstairs asleep on the bed?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Mardi Gras Mambo: The Hawkettes
In French, Mardi Gras means "Fat Tuesday" and is celebrated the day before Ash Wednesday as a last "fling" prior to the 40 days of Lent which precede Easter.
The word "carnival" comes from an old Italian word that means to "go without meat" or "removal of meat." Festivals like Mardi Gras sprang up throughout parts of Europe as a means to prepare for the coming times of self-denial. The three days before Ash Wednesday is also known as "Shrovetide," where shrove is an Old English word meaning "to repent." In England, the Tuesday just before Ash Wednesday is called Shrove Tuesday and is celebrated by eating of rich food, that won't be used during Lent.
MP3 File
The word "carnival" comes from an old Italian word that means to "go without meat" or "removal of meat." Festivals like Mardi Gras sprang up throughout parts of Europe as a means to prepare for the coming times of self-denial. The three days before Ash Wednesday is also known as "Shrovetide," where shrove is an Old English word meaning "to repent." In England, the Tuesday just before Ash Wednesday is called Shrove Tuesday and is celebrated by eating of rich food, that won't be used during Lent.
MP3 File
"I've developed a new philosophy... I only dread one day at a time."
I sit in front of you and freely admit I am a picture straightener, and I know there are many of us. It doesn't matter to us whose pictures or whose walls. We just zero in on crooked. My doctor's office is the worst, and while I interminably wait, I straighten all her degrees. Besides, it's always nice to know exactly how qualified she is. My house never has a crooked picture. I doubt my psyche could tolerate it. My brother used to come in when I wasn't home and make a few pictures crooked just to let me know he'd been here. I'd have preferred a note.
My house is in total upheaval. The kitchen cabinet fronts are gone and soon everything on the kitchen floor, including the stove and refrigerator, will be in the dining room. Nothing is straight and nothing is where it belongs. Not so long ago I would have become faint and taken to my bed. I would have been lying in the dark waving my frilly handkerchief, with the scent of lilac, in front of my face to ward off the vapors. I should also have a rash or a full blown case of the hives, but nope, nothing, no redness and no itching. Instead, I have this so what attitude. The only reason for this, I suspect, is I am in some kind of shock, maybe a sort of sensory deprivation.
I doubt I am cured of my picture straightening hang-up (ouch!), but with this upheaval I have taken some huge steps. I can now walk by my dining room without getting queasy. The next test will be in May when I have my annual physical. I'll let you know how I do, about the pictures I mean.
My house is in total upheaval. The kitchen cabinet fronts are gone and soon everything on the kitchen floor, including the stove and refrigerator, will be in the dining room. Nothing is straight and nothing is where it belongs. Not so long ago I would have become faint and taken to my bed. I would have been lying in the dark waving my frilly handkerchief, with the scent of lilac, in front of my face to ward off the vapors. I should also have a rash or a full blown case of the hives, but nope, nothing, no redness and no itching. Instead, I have this so what attitude. The only reason for this, I suspect, is I am in some kind of shock, maybe a sort of sensory deprivation.
I doubt I am cured of my picture straightening hang-up (ouch!), but with this upheaval I have taken some huge steps. I can now walk by my dining room without getting queasy. The next test will be in May when I have my annual physical. I'll let you know how I do, about the pictures I mean.
Monday, February 19, 2007
"We cannot destroy kindred: our chains stretch a little sometimes, but they never break."
One summer, my friends, their six kids, three apiece, my nephew and I went camping at Nickerson State Park in Brewster, about twenty minutes from here, for a few days. My friends had a gigantic tent which slept all eight of them while my nephew and I bunked in a two person tent. The kids did what all kids do when camping. They fished, swam and got really dirty. We did what any sane adults do; we drank a lot of wine. We devised scavenger hunts which kept the kids occupied for hours and had enough marshmallows and Hershey Bars so all seven kids could sit in front of the fire each night and individually make and consume hundreds of s'mores. Every day the kids dined on hot dogs or hamburgers or macaroni and cheese, your typical camping fare. We'd put the kids to bed and have our dinner: steak tips in a wine sauce or fish with lobster sauce. It was heavenly. Every day I'd go home to feed my cats, no dog then, and take a shower. I didn't mind sleeping in the tent, smelling like the fire or eating while bugs swarmed around my head, but I did mind staying dirty.
That was nineteen years ago and all the kids are grown. Four have kids of their own, but I can still see in my mind's eye all of the seven kids sitting on one log in front of the fire. They were so little then.
I hope they remember that camping trip as well as I do and hope they remember staying as dirty as they wanted, at least until dinner, and fishing right by our camp site and chasing each other through the trees. I hope they laugh at the vision of us running in every direction when the skunk wandered in during dinner and how the squirrels were so bold they stole from our table. I hope they remember falling asleep to the sound of the crackling fire and the songs of night birds. Most of all I want them to remember a family vacation when family didn't mean we had to be related.
That was nineteen years ago and all the kids are grown. Four have kids of their own, but I can still see in my mind's eye all of the seven kids sitting on one log in front of the fire. They were so little then.
I hope they remember that camping trip as well as I do and hope they remember staying as dirty as they wanted, at least until dinner, and fishing right by our camp site and chasing each other through the trees. I hope they laugh at the vision of us running in every direction when the skunk wandered in during dinner and how the squirrels were so bold they stole from our table. I hope they remember falling asleep to the sound of the crackling fire and the songs of night birds. Most of all I want them to remember a family vacation when family didn't mean we had to be related.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Chinese Bamboo Flute Music: Kitaro
Chinese New Year is the longest and most important celebration in the Chinese calendar. The Chinese year 4705, the year of the pig, begins today.
Legend has it that in ancient times, Buddha asked all the animals to meet him on Chinese New Year. Twelve came, and Buddha named a year after each one. He announced that the people born in each animal's year would have some of that animal's personality. Those born in pig years tend to have excellent manners, make and keep friends, work very hard, and appreciate luxury. They are very loving and make loyal partners.
MP3 File
Legend has it that in ancient times, Buddha asked all the animals to meet him on Chinese New Year. Twelve came, and Buddha named a year after each one. He announced that the people born in each animal's year would have some of that animal's personality. Those born in pig years tend to have excellent manners, make and keep friends, work very hard, and appreciate luxury. They are very loving and make loyal partners.
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“Be not sick too late, nor well too soon”
My father was a confirmed vapor rub fan who even had a special sweatshirt for his vapor rub evenings. The sweatshirt was a bit tight from all the washings and had a permanent mark across the chest, a vapor rub map which looked liked a sideways South America. If one of us got sick, he'd pull that jar out of the medicine cabinet. To him it cured cold, cough, pneumonia and any other illness which could strike the upper half of the body. If we declined his kind offer, he was always visibly disappointed and would warn us of the dire consequences to our health and well-beings. Woebetide to any of us who hadn't bounced back by morning because my dad would wear his I told you so look as we coughed and blew our noses.
The other rub my dad always used was Bengay but only on his back. We tried to explain that heat was not always good for his sore back, but dad refused to listen. For him, Ben Gay was another miracle cure. He'd get my mom to rub it on his back then don his rub sweatshirt and let Bengay do its magic. Both of these, my dad's cure-alls, have distinctive odors, and my parents' living room often smelled like the trainer's room at some local gym.
I can still picture my dad wearing that smelly sweatshirt, unmatched to his sweatpants, and sitting on his favorite corner of the couch. His glasses would have fingerprints you could see, but he never minded. He'd light his favorite vanilla candle and pull off the sides as the wax melted. The smoke from his cigarette curled into the lamp, and he'd dip into the candy bowl filled with his favorite Hershey miniatures. He'd always ask, "How about a game of cribbage?" I never refused no matter what rub he was wearing at the time.
The other rub my dad always used was Bengay but only on his back. We tried to explain that heat was not always good for his sore back, but dad refused to listen. For him, Ben Gay was another miracle cure. He'd get my mom to rub it on his back then don his rub sweatshirt and let Bengay do its magic. Both of these, my dad's cure-alls, have distinctive odors, and my parents' living room often smelled like the trainer's room at some local gym.
I can still picture my dad wearing that smelly sweatshirt, unmatched to his sweatpants, and sitting on his favorite corner of the couch. His glasses would have fingerprints you could see, but he never minded. He'd light his favorite vanilla candle and pull off the sides as the wax melted. The smoke from his cigarette curled into the lamp, and he'd dip into the candy bowl filled with his favorite Hershey miniatures. He'd always ask, "How about a game of cribbage?" I never refused no matter what rub he was wearing at the time.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
"So long as there's a jingle in your head, television isn't free."
My life has begun to mirror commercials. The music I hear in the background while goods are being hawked is my music, the music of my youth. Medicine ads highlight my contemporaries fighting off the ravages of age. We baby boomers are now being assailed on all sides with ways to keep us young, get us back to looking young or mending what's already broken. Four friends, all looking about my age, chat about osteoporosis and the ease of taking weekly pills. Who does that? Commercials aimed at the young have flashing colors and hip music. I get moaning people rubbing sore wrists, grabbing their backs, barely breathing and suffering from just about any and all dysfunctions.
My favorite part of all those medical commercials, though, is the list of side effects. They either come at the end of the commercial or are sneaked in by one of the long-suffering users. Most of the side effects scare the heck out of me; however, I do have a favorite. It's for a sleep aid. The commerial warns us the medicine could cause drowsiness.
Today is in the mid-20's and feels almost balmy.
My favorite part of all those medical commercials, though, is the list of side effects. They either come at the end of the commercial or are sneaked in by one of the long-suffering users. Most of the side effects scare the heck out of me; however, I do have a favorite. It's for a sleep aid. The commerial warns us the medicine could cause drowsiness.
Today is in the mid-20's and feels almost balmy.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Love Has No Pride: Bonnie Raitt
Bonnie Raitt released the album Give It Up in 1972. This song was written by Eric Kaz, but Bonnie sings it with a whole lot of ownership. I think this one of the best of all Bonnie Raitt albums.
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Hey How My Johnny Lad: The Poozies
This song originally appeared on Dansoozies, the Poozies' second album released in 1995 with 4 part harmony. You'll also find Sally Barker playing that rhythmic guitar, Karen Tweed on accordion and Mary McMaster & Patsy Seddon on acoustic and electric harp. The song was re-released on 2000's Raise Your Head: A Retrospective.
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"Effort is only effort when it begins to hurt."
The flat got fixed, the carpenter measured, the dog settled, the kitchen is back to rights so, as with Pippa Passes, all's right with my world. I have one day of tranquility before the hordes descend.
My father was never a handyman though that never stopped him from trying. Painting meant falling off a ladder. Working with electricity meant a few shocks, a few curl your hair sort of shocks. He once built a bookcase with two shelves: one too high to reach, the other too low to the ground. He fixed the toilet once, and the plumber wanted to know who destroyed the workings. When he barbecued, we kept the hose handy for those times he'd set himself on fire. Usually it was his shoes. He once sawed himself out of a tree. That came from sitting on the wrong end of the limb. When my dad retired, they gave him hand tools having heard he liked to putter around the house. To us my dad's puttering meant washing pans or emptying ashtrays. My mother wanted to hide the tools before my dad really hurt himself.
My sisters claim my dad lives in me. I fractured my shoulder falling off a ladder, knocked myself out too. I was simply washing windows. I fell off the stairs from my deck and knocked myself out yet again, no broken bones this time though. If there is something to trip over, my feet will find it. My adult knees have been scraped far more than my childhood knees ever were. Unlike my father, though, I stopped trying. I pick up the phone and hire an expert: a carpenter, a plumber, a painter, a floorer and a fence man. I know that I risk life and limb if I dare pick up a tool, climb a ladder or run fast down the stairs.
Yesterday the carpenter asked my if I would stain and poly the cabinets. I just laughed.
My father was never a handyman though that never stopped him from trying. Painting meant falling off a ladder. Working with electricity meant a few shocks, a few curl your hair sort of shocks. He once built a bookcase with two shelves: one too high to reach, the other too low to the ground. He fixed the toilet once, and the plumber wanted to know who destroyed the workings. When he barbecued, we kept the hose handy for those times he'd set himself on fire. Usually it was his shoes. He once sawed himself out of a tree. That came from sitting on the wrong end of the limb. When my dad retired, they gave him hand tools having heard he liked to putter around the house. To us my dad's puttering meant washing pans or emptying ashtrays. My mother wanted to hide the tools before my dad really hurt himself.
My sisters claim my dad lives in me. I fractured my shoulder falling off a ladder, knocked myself out too. I was simply washing windows. I fell off the stairs from my deck and knocked myself out yet again, no broken bones this time though. If there is something to trip over, my feet will find it. My adult knees have been scraped far more than my childhood knees ever were. Unlike my father, though, I stopped trying. I pick up the phone and hire an expert: a carpenter, a plumber, a painter, a floorer and a fence man. I know that I risk life and limb if I dare pick up a tool, climb a ladder or run fast down the stairs.
Yesterday the carpenter asked my if I would stain and poly the cabinets. I just laughed.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
You Are Not Alone: Patty Griffin
I apologize for the lateness of the posting but it has been a day. First the counter, then the plumber then my second flat tire in two days. I am off now to get it fixed. I'm sorry for writing nothing about the songs, but I have to run or I will really have to run!
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"Home is a shelter from storms - all sorts of storms."
When I find disorder, I search for order. If I find none, I try to make my own before the rash starts to itch. This morning I found chaos here, in my own house. My kitchen and dining rooms were in complete disarray. What used to be the kitchen had taken up residence in the dining room, except for the stove. It was in the hall. Four guys were here to tear up the old and put in a new kitchen counter, a granite one. The new counter is just beautiful but has presented its own set of problems. Now that the counter looks great, the floor is next to be done. I've already chosen the tile. That rickety bookcase is being replaced by a built-in one. This morning I stood surveying the new counter and realized I need to refinish my cabinets and replace the refrigerator. They no longer fit the counter. President Eisenhower was right. First one falls then before you know it the next then the next until nothing is left.
My house and I both seem to be aging at just about the same rate. I have lived here for thirty years, and I remember that signing my name to the mortgage was the scariest thing I ever did. The house and I are just so intertwined. It is my refuge when I need to be alone. It fits crowds when I entertain. At Christmas it is so pretty I drive by a few times just to look. It is filled with memories. Last October it finally became mine.
My bathroom floors are also due to be tiled, but since I've found myself starting to wonder about new bathroom sinks and faucets, I've decided to walk around the rest of my house wearing blinders.
My house and I both seem to be aging at just about the same rate. I have lived here for thirty years, and I remember that signing my name to the mortgage was the scariest thing I ever did. The house and I are just so intertwined. It is my refuge when I need to be alone. It fits crowds when I entertain. At Christmas it is so pretty I drive by a few times just to look. It is filled with memories. Last October it finally became mine.
My bathroom floors are also due to be tiled, but since I've found myself starting to wonder about new bathroom sinks and faucets, I've decided to walk around the rest of my house wearing blinders.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
"Nobody has ever measured, even poets, how much a heart can hold."
Happy Valentine's Day! Happy cold, wet, sleety Valentine's Day. Beat down the winter drab and wear red, lots and lots of red. Greet your valentine with smiles and laughter, make your own sun. No valentine? No big deal. Do something special for yourself. I have in mind a bit of shopping and finding something perfectly frivolous. Do something for someone else. My friends made my day special by giving me flowers and heart cookies. Today is all about loving and being loved. Pass it around.
A little about the day: the beginnings of Valentine's Day are a bit murky, but the legend I like to believe is that Valentine himself actually sent the first 'valentine' greeting. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men, his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with a young girl, who may have been his jailor's daughter, who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed 'From your Valentine,' an expression that is still in use today. Valentine was heroic, and he was romantic. No wonder he became just about the most popular saint of the Middle Ages.
A little about the day: the beginnings of Valentine's Day are a bit murky, but the legend I like to believe is that Valentine himself actually sent the first 'valentine' greeting. When Emperor Claudius II decided that single men made better soldiers than those with wives and families, he outlawed marriage for young men, his crop of potential soldiers. Valentine, realizing the injustice of the decree, defied Claudius and continued to perform marriages for young lovers in secret. When Valentine's actions were discovered, Claudius ordered that he be put to death. While in prison, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with a young girl, who may have been his jailor's daughter, who visited him during his confinement. Before his death, it is alleged that he wrote her a letter, which he signed 'From your Valentine,' an expression that is still in use today. Valentine was heroic, and he was romantic. No wonder he became just about the most popular saint of the Middle Ages.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Tomorrow Is a Long Time: Rosalie Sorrels
Both songs today are from A Nod to Bob: An Artists' Tribute to Bob Dylan on His Sixtieth Birthday. Singer/songwriters from Red House records are the artists honoring Bob on this album.
Rosalie Sorrels is an anomaly: a female cowboy song singer. She has recorded over seventeen albums, and her latest, My Last Go Around, was nominated for Best Traditional Folk Grammy.
Rosalie tell a story when she sings her own music.
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Rosalie Sorrels is an anomaly: a female cowboy song singer. She has recorded over seventeen albums, and her latest, My Last Go Around, was nominated for Best Traditional Folk Grammy.
Rosalie tell a story when she sings her own music.
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Restless Farewell: Norman Blake & Peter Ostroushko
Of all the artists on this tribute, Norman Blake and Peter Ostroushko are the only ones who actually recorded with Dylan. Blake who played backup for Bob is, himself, a music legend who has been in the forefront of traditional bluegrass and old-time music for nearly half a century.
Peter Ostroushko is a mandolin and fiddle virtuoso who has been playing music for most of his life. Ostroushko's debut solo album was released in 1982 and reflected his Ukrainian roots, Sluz Duz Music.
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Peter Ostroushko is a mandolin and fiddle virtuoso who has been playing music for most of his life. Ostroushko's debut solo album was released in 1982 and reflected his Ukrainian roots, Sluz Duz Music.
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“I cannot rest from travel; I will drink Life to the lees”
In my elementary school days, I'd be making my valentine box tonight. First I'd assemble all my supplies then sit at the kitchen table to construct my masterpiece. I'd have a box about the size of a kleenex box, Elmer's glue, construction paper, scissors and a bit of lace. I'd cover that box in paper then cut out and glue the pink and red hearts. Getting a bit fancy, I might even make an arrow or two. The lace would be put around the edges of the box, the last step in construction. After I had completed my masterpiece, I'd write out my valentines then put them in the box for tomorrow. Today was always an exciting day.
Old man winter is getting feisty. I suspect we are facing retribution for all those warm December and January days. Revenge is best served cold.
Urge for Going is getting to be my theme song. My soul is aching for a trip. I choose a destination then read an article about a different place and change my mind. Off the usual path is the only constant in each choice. Africa has been tops on my list but might have been bumped in the meantime by Cambodia. That was yesterday's article.
I want a phone call which says grab your passport we have an evening flight to... It happens all the time in the movies. I wish just once it would happen to me.
Old man winter is getting feisty. I suspect we are facing retribution for all those warm December and January days. Revenge is best served cold.
Urge for Going is getting to be my theme song. My soul is aching for a trip. I choose a destination then read an article about a different place and change my mind. Off the usual path is the only constant in each choice. Africa has been tops on my list but might have been bumped in the meantime by Cambodia. That was yesterday's article.
I want a phone call which says grab your passport we have an evening flight to... It happens all the time in the movies. I wish just once it would happen to me.
Monday, February 12, 2007
My Darlin' Hometown: John Prine
I never need add anything when I post John Prine except to tell you where to find the song. This is from Fair and Square.
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Heading for Home: Gordon Bok
Gordon Bok is from Maine where he grew up around shipyards and later worked on a variety of different types of boats. It was there he learned the songs and ballads of the sea and heard the stories told of sea creatures.
His voice is warmth and feeling and his stories are touching. When he sings of the sea, I can think of no more beautiful a subject or a song sung as well. This song is from Apples in the Basket.
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His voice is warmth and feeling and his stories are touching. When he sings of the sea, I can think of no more beautiful a subject or a song sung as well. This song is from Apples in the Basket.
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"Those that say you can't take it with you never saw a car packed for a vacation trip."
The ride to Boston is boring, and, as I drove this morning, my mind wandered just a bit. I remembered the more leisurely vacation trips my family used to take long before there were multi-lane highways. During my childhood, Route 1 was the biggest, most heavily traveled highway. It led to the vacation lands of New Hampshire and Maine and had lots to see along the way to beckon the weary traveler. Our car, always a sedan, would get hot and airless, crammed as it was with one dog, six people, all their luggage, stuff to occupy us during the ride and the sun streaming through the windshield. All the windows would be opened, in vain. I used to stick my hand out the window and direct the breeze toward my face hoping for a little relief.
Restaurants were announced for miles by billboards. We'd read each billboard and ask each time if we could stop. My father always said no and warned us to quit asking. My mother would have packed a lunch, and a meal eaten out was too big an extravagance in those days. I'd stare out the window and see small cabins for rent, candy stores and souvenir shops. One store had a teepee in front, and I always wished we could stop there, but we never stopped except for bathroom breaks, and they always made my dad grumble. I really think he believed we colluded to make him miserable by needing breaks at different times. The exchange always went this way,"Why didn't you go when we stopped before this?" Our answer was always the same, "I didn't have to go then." He'd grumble, stop and warn us to hurry.
As we'd get closer to the ocean my dad always said the same thing, "Doesn't the air feel cooler now that we're near the water?" I now say that when I'm driving anyone to the Cape. As we get closer, I tell them to put their hands out the window to feel the cool air. "Makes a difference near the water, doesn't it?" comes out of my mouth in the same way it came out of my father's. I, however, will always stop for a teepee.
Restaurants were announced for miles by billboards. We'd read each billboard and ask each time if we could stop. My father always said no and warned us to quit asking. My mother would have packed a lunch, and a meal eaten out was too big an extravagance in those days. I'd stare out the window and see small cabins for rent, candy stores and souvenir shops. One store had a teepee in front, and I always wished we could stop there, but we never stopped except for bathroom breaks, and they always made my dad grumble. I really think he believed we colluded to make him miserable by needing breaks at different times. The exchange always went this way,"Why didn't you go when we stopped before this?" Our answer was always the same, "I didn't have to go then." He'd grumble, stop and warn us to hurry.
As we'd get closer to the ocean my dad always said the same thing, "Doesn't the air feel cooler now that we're near the water?" I now say that when I'm driving anyone to the Cape. As we get closer, I tell them to put their hands out the window to feel the cool air. "Makes a difference near the water, doesn't it?" comes out of my mouth in the same way it came out of my father's. I, however, will always stop for a teepee.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
"Be careless in your dress if you will, but keep a tidy soul."
Sunday morning breakfast has always been just about my favorite meal, excepting holidays of course, and I just got back from breakfast with friends. It was wonderful. We ate, had seconds and then sat around chatting over coffee. I can think of no better way to have begun a day.
My socks need replacing. As I put them on this morning, I noticed the holes had reached epic proportions. For less visible clothing, though, the latitude is much wider so socks, like underwear, don't get replaced too often. Besides, my mother never warned me about accidents and socks. I have no real working principle for sock replacement. I'm thinking if the holes can be seen, buy new socks. This would be clothing rule number 9, just below the wet shoes/wet feet rule. I like it. It gives me a while yet for this pair.
My mother always did our laundry when we were kids. I don't remember holey socks or ragged underwear. Her standards were always higher than mine, and clothes not meeting her standards got tossed. New socks or new underwear would magically appear in my drawers. I think that's why I'm so reluctant to shop. I'm waiting for the magic.
My socks need replacing. As I put them on this morning, I noticed the holes had reached epic proportions. For less visible clothing, though, the latitude is much wider so socks, like underwear, don't get replaced too often. Besides, my mother never warned me about accidents and socks. I have no real working principle for sock replacement. I'm thinking if the holes can be seen, buy new socks. This would be clothing rule number 9, just below the wet shoes/wet feet rule. I like it. It gives me a while yet for this pair.
My mother always did our laundry when we were kids. I don't remember holey socks or ragged underwear. Her standards were always higher than mine, and clothes not meeting her standards got tossed. New socks or new underwear would magically appear in my drawers. I think that's why I'm so reluctant to shop. I'm waiting for the magic.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
"Can we conceive what humanity would be if it did not know the flowers?"
I have decided to spend my day in leisurely pursuits, maybe doing a bit of shopping for a gewgaw or a trifle or roaming a few antique stores hoping something will tickle my fancy. Later, I will read then settle in for a nap on the couch under the warmth of a cozy afghan. Bonbons and a frilly bedjacket would be just perfect.
The day is cold and overcast with a white grey sky. No breeze stirs the trees, and the birds stand huddled within themselves trying to stay warm. I'm wearing my usual in-house winter ensemble: sweatshirt, flannel pants, socks and slippers. The TV, not generally on in the daytime, is tuned to HGTV where a landscaper is planting a tropical garden. The scene makes me long for the warm sun and the scent of flowers. I want a profusion of colors.
My flamingo has arrived in all its pinkness and will join the palm tree on my deck. I have a new Martin Denny album and a bunch of those drink umbrellas. Might just be a mai tai in my future.
As I drift off to sleep this afternoon, I will think of warm sun, the sound of a waterfall, the songs of birds and hazy summer days.
The day is cold and overcast with a white grey sky. No breeze stirs the trees, and the birds stand huddled within themselves trying to stay warm. I'm wearing my usual in-house winter ensemble: sweatshirt, flannel pants, socks and slippers. The TV, not generally on in the daytime, is tuned to HGTV where a landscaper is planting a tropical garden. The scene makes me long for the warm sun and the scent of flowers. I want a profusion of colors.
My flamingo has arrived in all its pinkness and will join the palm tree on my deck. I have a new Martin Denny album and a bunch of those drink umbrellas. Might just be a mai tai in my future.
As I drift off to sleep this afternoon, I will think of warm sun, the sound of a waterfall, the songs of birds and hazy summer days.
Friday, February 09, 2007
Trouble in Mind: Snooks Eaglin
Snooks Eaglin was born in 1936 and raised in New Orleans. When he was a year and a half, surgery for a brain tumor left him blind. Eaglin's father, a harmonica player, gave him a guitar at the age of five, and young Snooks taught himself to play by replicating songs off the radio and phonograph. Eaglin's first regular gig was with the Flamingoes in 1952, a seven-piece horn combo started by 13-year-old Allen Toussaint on piano. Snooks recorded for Folkways in 1958 then for Imperial. He still lives in New Orleans and still plays a great guitar.
This is a cut from the Smithsonian Folkways album Snooks Eaglin New Orleans Street Singer originally released in 1959 but now in re-release.
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This is a cut from the Smithsonian Folkways album Snooks Eaglin New Orleans Street Singer originally released in 1959 but now in re-release.
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The Train: The Roches
"We are Maggie and Terre and Suzzy
Maggie and Terre and Suzzy Roche
we don't give out our ages
and we don't give out our phone numbers
give out our phone numbers
sometimes our voices give out
but not our ages and our phone numbers"
This song, The Train, by Suzzy Roche, is on the album The Roches released in 1979, their first album together. The first song on the album, We, where the sisters introduce themsleves is quoted above.
What comes across in this and all the songs on this album is the absolute beauty of their harmony. Their songs are clever and sometimes quite funny. They have their own style which I think is never better than on this album.
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Maggie and Terre and Suzzy Roche
we don't give out our ages
and we don't give out our phone numbers
give out our phone numbers
sometimes our voices give out
but not our ages and our phone numbers"
This song, The Train, by Suzzy Roche, is on the album The Roches released in 1979, their first album together. The first song on the album, We, where the sisters introduce themsleves is quoted above.
What comes across in this and all the songs on this album is the absolute beauty of their harmony. Their songs are clever and sometimes quite funny. They have their own style which I think is never better than on this album.
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"In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone..."
The nights are so beautifully clear that the sky is awash with stars. Last night I risked losing extremities as I stood outside for a bit looking up in amazement at the lighted sky. More than a few wows escaped from my lips as I stood there. The cold drove finally me inside far sooner than I wanted. Tonight I'll bundle up, bring a blanket to wrap around me and take a ride to the beach where the heavens span as far as my eyes can see.
Gracie and I will be out doing errands today. She is a fine traveling companion who stands on the console beside me and listens intently to my every word. Every now and then I get a lick which I hope is her way of staying involved, not a request for my silence. If I have to leave her in the car, I lock all the doors to keep her safe and give me piece of mind. As I walk back to the car, I always see her at the window watching for my return. It feels good.
The day is brilliantly beautiful with searing cold light under a deep blue sky. It brings a clarity that makes my eyes hurt.
Gracie and I will be out doing errands today. She is a fine traveling companion who stands on the console beside me and listens intently to my every word. Every now and then I get a lick which I hope is her way of staying involved, not a request for my silence. If I have to leave her in the car, I lock all the doors to keep her safe and give me piece of mind. As I walk back to the car, I always see her at the window watching for my return. It feels good.
The day is brilliantly beautiful with searing cold light under a deep blue sky. It brings a clarity that makes my eyes hurt.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Reno, Nevada: Richard and Mimi Farina
Richard Farina was still married to Carolyn Hester when he met Mimi Baez, Joan's sister. They were married when she was 17. Together they produced just three albums, one of which was released after Richard's death from a motorcycle accident. His most well known song is Pack Up Your Sorrows, but Richard is probably better known for his novel Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me.
After His death Mimi kept recording and was the founder of Bread and Roses. She passed away in 2001 of cancer.
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After His death Mimi kept recording and was the founder of Bread and Roses. She passed away in 2001 of cancer.
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"Coffee makes us severe, and grave, and philosophical."
When I watch television, I espouse the suspension of disbelief theory. Of course, the thief, murderer or assassin will have left a clue or maybe some DNA in a drop of sweat or even a business card with, "Call me. I'm guilty," written on the backside. The bomber will have left an exposed wire our hero will find with mere seconds left before an entire city block is totally annihilated, to say nothing of our hero. The show is only an hour long and needs closure, and our TV heroes always get their men or women. I check the clock at ten to the hour and know the guilty party. Too little time remains for it to be anyone else.
When coffee is involved, though, I have problems suspending my disbelief. "You're a better man than I, Gunga Din," runs through my head when I watch TV characters drinking coffee from take-out cups. They hoist their cups with such confidence and ease I ooze envy. My cups seem so much heavier and often have coffee rolling around the outside rim waiting for any opportunity to drip on my shirt, jacket or pant leg. My first sip is so hot I check my lips to make sure they haven't disintegrated. TV characters never seem to have that problem. They drink to the cup's halfway mark while I'm still hunting pieces of my lip. This has got to stop. It's no never mind to me if little else on television makes any sense, but they must stop messing with coffee. Those take-out cups need respect. I want to see that NCIS guy grab his mouth after the first scalding sip or Lorelei Gilmore spill just a bit on the front of her shirt. All I ask is a bit of reality.
When coffee is involved, though, I have problems suspending my disbelief. "You're a better man than I, Gunga Din," runs through my head when I watch TV characters drinking coffee from take-out cups. They hoist their cups with such confidence and ease I ooze envy. My cups seem so much heavier and often have coffee rolling around the outside rim waiting for any opportunity to drip on my shirt, jacket or pant leg. My first sip is so hot I check my lips to make sure they haven't disintegrated. TV characters never seem to have that problem. They drink to the cup's halfway mark while I'm still hunting pieces of my lip. This has got to stop. It's no never mind to me if little else on television makes any sense, but they must stop messing with coffee. Those take-out cups need respect. I want to see that NCIS guy grab his mouth after the first scalding sip or Lorelei Gilmore spill just a bit on the front of her shirt. All I ask is a bit of reality.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Shanty: Jonathan Edwards
This is the day for songs from debut albums and this comes from Jonathan Edwards' self-titled solo album released in 1971. The big song from this album was Sunshine which earned Edwards a gold record in 1971 though I've always thought this song the better one.
I played this when I first started Coffee but think it deserves another listen as Jonathan Edwards just doesn't get the air play and attention he deserves. Maybe we can change that.
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I played this when I first started Coffee but think it deserves another listen as Jonathan Edwards just doesn't get the air play and attention he deserves. Maybe we can change that.
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Empty Pocket Blues: The Incredible String Band
This is from the first Incredible String Album, self-named and released in 1966. Mike Heron and Robin Williamson were there at the beginning and so was a guy named Clive Palmer. This song is by Palmer and is considered one of the album's best tracks.
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"I knew this was the way it would be. They got cold feet."
I have given people the cold-shoulder, suffered from the common cold, lived through the Cold War and have had cold feet on occasion. Having cold feet, I've discovered, is never a good thing, even when no feet are involved. Hands can go into gloves or mittens, in pockets, up sleeves or even inside a wool mitt, the kind you hang around your neck. Feet don't have the same opportunities and keeping feet warm in winter requires thought and planning, even inside the house. My grandmother wore slippers and rolled nylons. She'd flatten the backs of her slippers and always shuffled a bit as she walked. I could hear her as she moved about her kitchen. My mother wore slippers with open fronts and backs. I always figured calling her footwear slippers was a misnomer. Her choice of footwear gave her toes some prominence, and she always did them in red. My sister wears a couple of pairs of socks under a crocheted pair of slippers. Her feet are always cold. I once gave her a battery heated pair of socks which burned her feet. She looked like she was dancing and was so funny jumping up and down we laughed too hard to help. My friend carries her slippers with her when she visits. She likes being comfy. I lean toward slipper socks, a leftover preference from my childhood when we got a new pair every Christmas, but I was given a pair of clog slippers this Christmas which are pretty warm. I find layering with socks is best, and my feet stay toasty.
As for overcoming cold feet, I offer only sympathy and the advice to plow right in as I suspect those cold feet are much harder to warm.
As for overcoming cold feet, I offer only sympathy and the advice to plow right in as I suspect those cold feet are much harder to warm.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Crow Jane: Eric von Schmidt
"Eric von Schmidt was an influential folk-blues guitarist on the Cambridge, Massachusetts folk music scene in the late fifties and the sixties. Eric was born May 28, 1931, the son of Harold von Schmidt, who illustrated western stories for the Saturday Evening Post. Eric grew up in Westport, Connecticut and planned to follow in his father's footsteps as an artist at an early age. While he was in high school he first heard Ledbelly on the radio and was transformed by the experience. He bought a guitar, learned Ledbelly's songs, and also absorbed the influence of Woody Guthrie, Burl Ives, Josh White, Sonny Terry and Brownie McGee, Richard Dyer-Bennet, and John Jacob Niles. Eric's travels in New York city, Mississippi, the Caribbean, and the Library of Congress in Washington contributed to his musical education. He spent time in the army from 1952 to 1954, and in 1955 he won a Fulbright scholarship to spend a year painting in Italy. He taught at Sarasota School of Art in Florida for a while, then in the summer of 1957 he moved to Cambridge and discovered the bubbling folk music scene. His first solo album was The Folk Blues of Eric von Schmidt in 1963. He painted dozens of album covers for Joan Baez, Odetta, John Renbourn, and many other folk musicians. In June, 2000, he was presented with the the ASCAP Foundation Lifetime Achievement Award. He died February 2, 2007, at the age of 75."
MP3 File
MP3 File
"She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes."
Sometimes snatches of forgotten events bubble to the surface, and I grab hold.
When I think of my childhood, I can't recall ever being sick except for the measles and the mumps. They were milestones for most of us so they stuck in my memory. I won't ever forget my broken wrist, a trophy of sorts from a day spent learning to jump backwards off a high fence. I was four. When I had perfected my technique, my mother was invited to watch from our apartment window. She was horrified, and the pressure was so great I didn't nail the landing.
I remember when my friend Maryalyce wet her pants in the first grade. The puddle under her chair was a dead giveaway and Sister Redempta was none too pleased. My mind's eye still sees Sister Redempta grabbing Maryalyce and hauling her up the aisle. I don't believe Maryalyce's feet hit the ground. I think I didn't pee for weeks after that.
I remember my one schoolyard fight and being hauled in front of the principal. My explanation was filled with righteous indignation as I was defending my friend, and the guy bothering her deserved to be smacked. I was ten. The principal agreed though she thought my technique needed a bit of refining.
I remember the first play I ever saw was The Unsinkable Molly Brown in a summer circus theater. The seats were under a tent, and the theater was round with a revolving stage in the center. I was mesmerized by real people standing in front of me acting and fell madly in love with the theater that very day.
The first movie which scared me was The House of Wax with Vincent Price. When his face fell off, I darn near had a heart attack.
If I close my eyes, my mind can bring me back to places far away in distance and time. I remember what each of our houses looked like and can walk the rooms. For eight years the way to school never changed and each house, each landmark became frozen in my memories. Some houses no longer exist and the train tracks have been gone a long time, but I remember my walk exactly as it was.
I love the fun of remembering.
When I think of my childhood, I can't recall ever being sick except for the measles and the mumps. They were milestones for most of us so they stuck in my memory. I won't ever forget my broken wrist, a trophy of sorts from a day spent learning to jump backwards off a high fence. I was four. When I had perfected my technique, my mother was invited to watch from our apartment window. She was horrified, and the pressure was so great I didn't nail the landing.
I remember when my friend Maryalyce wet her pants in the first grade. The puddle under her chair was a dead giveaway and Sister Redempta was none too pleased. My mind's eye still sees Sister Redempta grabbing Maryalyce and hauling her up the aisle. I don't believe Maryalyce's feet hit the ground. I think I didn't pee for weeks after that.
I remember my one schoolyard fight and being hauled in front of the principal. My explanation was filled with righteous indignation as I was defending my friend, and the guy bothering her deserved to be smacked. I was ten. The principal agreed though she thought my technique needed a bit of refining.
I remember the first play I ever saw was The Unsinkable Molly Brown in a summer circus theater. The seats were under a tent, and the theater was round with a revolving stage in the center. I was mesmerized by real people standing in front of me acting and fell madly in love with the theater that very day.
The first movie which scared me was The House of Wax with Vincent Price. When his face fell off, I darn near had a heart attack.
If I close my eyes, my mind can bring me back to places far away in distance and time. I remember what each of our houses looked like and can walk the rooms. For eight years the way to school never changed and each house, each landmark became frozen in my memories. Some houses no longer exist and the train tracks have been gone a long time, but I remember my walk exactly as it was.
I love the fun of remembering.
Monday, February 05, 2007
If These Teardrops Had Wings: Vance Gilbert
Vance Gilbert's roots are in jazz, but he began singing folk around Boston in the early 1990's. He was asked on tour with Shawn Colvin, and he entranced audiences everywhere he sang. His first recordings were for Rounder beginning in 1994. He has since self-released albums. His latest, Angels Castles Covers, was released last summer.
I can only describe Vance Gilbert's voice as beautiful. I don't what more I need add.
MP3 File
I can only describe Vance Gilbert's voice as beautiful. I don't what more I need add.
MP3 File
Winter Wind: Patty Larkin
This is from the album On a Winter's Night which Christine Lavin put together. It was originally released in 1990 but has been re-released by Rounder.
Patty Larkin wrote this song. I am always struck not only by her words but also by her extraordinary guitar playing. She melds words and sound into a single, magnificient piece of music.
MP3 File
Patty Larkin wrote this song. I am always struck not only by her words but also by her extraordinary guitar playing. She melds words and sound into a single, magnificient piece of music.
MP3 File
"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape - the loneliness of it - the dead feeling of winter. "
Winter has been plotting its revenge for a long time. I know this because if I stay outside for even a short while I lose all feeling in my hands and feet and can hear laughter, maniacal laughter as the wind howls around me. It is no hallucination brought about by the extreme cold, but the laughter of pure joy as Old Man Winter gets the upper hand. The weatherman describes this as frigid air and says it will be around all week. He tried to provide a bit of comfort by reporting no snow in the near future, but that gave me no comfort at all. My definition of comfort has little to do with weather but rather revolves around hot soup, a thick afghan and Gracie keeping my feet warm.
We who live in New England have long been considered a hearty breed, and part of the joy of living here is having four distinct seasons with winter the most distinctive. Bring on the cold we say. Bring on the icy winds. Stamina has come down through time from our forefathers who braved winter's icy fingers to build homes, hunt for food and chop wood for fires. Winter was for them a mere inconvenience.
Wait a minute here! I'm not buying that old chestnut. I have to believe that they grumbled and groused even more than we do when it's this cold. After all, they didn't have central heating. The few people silly enough to go out in this cold are all talking about the weather. It is at the center of each conversation, and not a kind word is being spoken. Hunkering down seems to be the best way to survive this cold, and my animals are leading the way. All of them are sleeping near heating vents or under quilts. When I looked outside, I saw no birds by the feeders. I can hear no cars. The world has been silenced by a wind chill of below zero. The animals best be prepared. We are about to fight over vent rights, and I intend on winning.
We who live in New England have long been considered a hearty breed, and part of the joy of living here is having four distinct seasons with winter the most distinctive. Bring on the cold we say. Bring on the icy winds. Stamina has come down through time from our forefathers who braved winter's icy fingers to build homes, hunt for food and chop wood for fires. Winter was for them a mere inconvenience.
Wait a minute here! I'm not buying that old chestnut. I have to believe that they grumbled and groused even more than we do when it's this cold. After all, they didn't have central heating. The few people silly enough to go out in this cold are all talking about the weather. It is at the center of each conversation, and not a kind word is being spoken. Hunkering down seems to be the best way to survive this cold, and my animals are leading the way. All of them are sleeping near heating vents or under quilts. When I looked outside, I saw no birds by the feeders. I can hear no cars. The world has been silenced by a wind chill of below zero. The animals best be prepared. We are about to fight over vent rights, and I intend on winning.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
"It's a strange world of language in which skating on thin ice can get you into hot water. "
"Herb, Herb, come see. I think there's a flamingo with that palm tree!" Pink is the perfect color to drive away winter's chill, and the palm tree looked lonely standing there bravely facing the cold, dark night so I ordered a brightly lit flamingo. I'm beginning to think extravaganza here: maybe a hula girl, piped music, pineapples and a pig with a lit red apple. I wonder if Don Ho does deck appearances.
A closer examination would seem to indicate the isolation of winter is beginning to have a strange influence on my psyche.
The small pond down the street is frozen enough for the season's first skaters. I used to love to skate and can remember cold Saturday afternoons and ice skating on the swamp or at the rink set up every winter in the park. I'd tie my skates together, throw one over my shoulder and walk with my friends to the rink. The walk was almost more fun than the skating. We'd get to the park, huddle in the small shack with the wood burning stove, put on our skates and then go outside to skate endless circles, always in the same direction. I'd fall every now and then, and I always marvelled at anyone who could skate backwards. By the time we'd leave, my feet had lost just about all feeling. I'd have the rosiest cheeks after a day outside, and I remember walking felt strange for a bit, but I also remember how much fun we had laughing and talking and skating in circles.
A closer examination would seem to indicate the isolation of winter is beginning to have a strange influence on my psyche.
The small pond down the street is frozen enough for the season's first skaters. I used to love to skate and can remember cold Saturday afternoons and ice skating on the swamp or at the rink set up every winter in the park. I'd tie my skates together, throw one over my shoulder and walk with my friends to the rink. The walk was almost more fun than the skating. We'd get to the park, huddle in the small shack with the wood burning stove, put on our skates and then go outside to skate endless circles, always in the same direction. I'd fall every now and then, and I always marvelled at anyone who could skate backwards. By the time we'd leave, my feet had lost just about all feeling. I'd have the rosiest cheeks after a day outside, and I remember walking felt strange for a bit, but I also remember how much fun we had laughing and talking and skating in circles.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
"I'd rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck. "
The browns and greys of winter are tiresome. I yearn for splashes of color so intense I need to shield my eyes, splashes of color so amazing they make me say wow right outloud. I want fields of summer with rolling grasses rippling to the breeze. I want them as far as my eyes can see. But, as my mother would say, if wishes were horses, beggers would ride so I bring summer to me. I buy tulips in reds and yellows and place them in every room. I buy daffodils and let their lights shine through the darkness of winter. I walk into any room, and my eyes are drawn to the flowers, drawn to a time of warm days, soft breezes, droning insects and butterflies of every color and stripe.
Today is cold. The sun slices through the trees. I sit here wearing a sweatshirt, warm socks, slippers and flannel pants. A cup of hot coffee keeps my innards insulated from the chill. My heat blasts a mighty wind. The animals are curled in balls, asleep. I don't know if they are cozy or trying to keep warm.
I have no plans for today, no errands, no chores. I'll just stay here and enjoy my day.
Today is cold. The sun slices through the trees. I sit here wearing a sweatshirt, warm socks, slippers and flannel pants. A cup of hot coffee keeps my innards insulated from the chill. My heat blasts a mighty wind. The animals are curled in balls, asleep. I don't know if they are cozy or trying to keep warm.
I have no plans for today, no errands, no chores. I'll just stay here and enjoy my day.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Oh! Susannah: Ruthie Foster
You gotta love Ruthie Foster! She is remarkable. She's blues, folk, gospel and even a little country. She has this strong voice that almost totally demands your attention. It's like you don't want to miss a single note.
MP3 File
MP3 File
The Miner's Song: Bill Staines
Bill Staines began singing in the early 60's in Cambridge and still lives in New England. His song Child of Mine is one of my all time favorites, and I played it here so long ago I might just have to replay it sometime soon.
Bill's song have become standards covered by singers like Nanci Griffith, Gordon Bok and Peter, Paul and Mary. He'll be in these parts on Sunday but will be back again in April at First Encounter, my favorite venue for folk listening. I've already marked the date on my calendar.
MP3 File
Bill's song have become standards covered by singers like Nanci Griffith, Gordon Bok and Peter, Paul and Mary. He'll be in these parts on Sunday but will be back again in April at First Encounter, my favorite venue for folk listening. I've already marked the date on my calendar.
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The Pennsylvania Polka: Frankie Yankovic
On each Feb. 2, thousands of people descend on Punxsutawney, a town of 6,100 people about 65 miles northeast of Pittsburgh, to celebrate what had essentially been a German superstition. The Germans believed that if a hibernating animal, in this case one named Phil, cast a shadow Feb. 2 — the Christian holiday of Candlemas — winter would last another six weeks. If no shadow was seen, legend said spring would come early.
Phil did not see his shadow this morning which means folks can expect an early spring instead of six more weeks of winter.
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Phil did not see his shadow this morning which means folks can expect an early spring instead of six more weeks of winter.
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"You don't have to suffer to be a poet; adolescence is enough suffering for anyone."
My palm tree was lit last night, and I drove home by the longer route so I could sneak a peek. I loved it. The palm tree was a bright light in a dark neighborhood, and the cold February night beamed with color and more than a bit of whimsy. I'm sure my neighbors across the street peered from behind their closed curtains and wondered what in the heck I was thinking. I can hear my neighbor now, "Herb, Herb, is that a palm tree? Why does she have a palm tree on her deck?"
When I was a kid, I liked being in school on dark, rainy days like today. The lights always seemed to make the room feel cozy, and the sound of the rain was so soothing that everyone seemed to speak in hushed tones, not wanting to spoil the mood. We'd stay inside during recess, and the nun would allow us to walk around the room after lunch to talk with our friends. Girls talked to girls and boys talked to boys. That was the way it was back then.
It wasn't until around the seventh grade that boys could garner enough courage to speak publicly with a girl, and even then it was mostly teasing, the first step into the mysteries of a female-male relationship. In the eighth grade the first of our couples emerged, and the rest of us boiled over with curiosity and a bit of jealousy. We asked for and got all the details, it being just too big to be kept secret. Besides, being the first girl to be in a couple was too huge not to flaunt. She told us, with the voice of experience, about handholding and kissing. We were floored.
But within a short time awe was replaced by ordinary as couple after couple began to emerge. The floodgates of adolescence had been opened by one boy brave enough to ask one girl to the movies who was brave enough to say yes.
When I was a kid, I liked being in school on dark, rainy days like today. The lights always seemed to make the room feel cozy, and the sound of the rain was so soothing that everyone seemed to speak in hushed tones, not wanting to spoil the mood. We'd stay inside during recess, and the nun would allow us to walk around the room after lunch to talk with our friends. Girls talked to girls and boys talked to boys. That was the way it was back then.
It wasn't until around the seventh grade that boys could garner enough courage to speak publicly with a girl, and even then it was mostly teasing, the first step into the mysteries of a female-male relationship. In the eighth grade the first of our couples emerged, and the rest of us boiled over with curiosity and a bit of jealousy. We asked for and got all the details, it being just too big to be kept secret. Besides, being the first girl to be in a couple was too huge not to flaunt. She told us, with the voice of experience, about handholding and kissing. We were floored.
But within a short time awe was replaced by ordinary as couple after couple began to emerge. The floodgates of adolescence had been opened by one boy brave enough to ask one girl to the movies who was brave enough to say yes.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Ain't Life a Brook: Ferron
This appeared on a few different Ferron albums, but I think the first was Testimony in 1980. I am a Ferron fan but not of all her music. Some of her songs just don't reach me, but this one does with its resigned dissolution of a relationship.
MP3 File
MP3 File
I Think It's Going To Rain Today: Randy Newman
This seemed a perfect song for my bored sort of day but not because of the singer. I like Randy Newman, but the song's sentiment seems to work perfectly. This is on a couple of albums, but I have it on The Randy Newman Song Book Vol. 1.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds."
A short post as I have absolutely nothing on my mind: no insights, no heartwrenching stories, no memories of an insignificant day when I was four and no weather updates. You are on your own today. Pick up and read a book, take a nap, use this extra time wisely (notice suggestions were left off the nothing on my mind list). I am going to Hyannis to get an allergy shot and have already cut my finger putting my palm tree together. That should make your day look a whole lot better than mine. Later today I have to tutor and will delve into manifest destiny. I can barely contain my excitement and am ready with my 54º40' or fight cheer. Should be fun. I will let Gracie in and out at least five more times, and the cat will meow at me whenever I'm near her treats. My larder is empty, but I'm saving the grocery store for another day. I can only take so much ebullience in a single day.
My bed is already made and has been for an hour. The trash is in the car, a day early. Both papers have been read, and their crossword puzzles finished or nearly finished. My current book is about a woman trying to find out who axed her and a friend while they were on a bike trip in Oregon in 1977. Uplifting doesn't come to mind. I have a bit of laundry, and my plants need to be watered so I have something to look forward to for later. The day is beginning to shape up better than I thought it would.
Got to go now. I think I hear a car coming down my street so I have to hurry to see who it is.
My bed is already made and has been for an hour. The trash is in the car, a day early. Both papers have been read, and their crossword puzzles finished or nearly finished. My current book is about a woman trying to find out who axed her and a friend while they were on a bike trip in Oregon in 1977. Uplifting doesn't come to mind. I have a bit of laundry, and my plants need to be watered so I have something to look forward to for later. The day is beginning to shape up better than I thought it would.
Got to go now. I think I hear a car coming down my street so I have to hurry to see who it is.
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