People Are Strange: The Doors

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Strangers in a Car: Marc Cohn

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Stranger in Paradise: Tony Bennett

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Hello Stranger: Barbara Lewis

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"In Seattle you haven't had enough coffee until you can thread a sewing machine while it's running."

Other than a few buttons and maybe a hem or two, I don't sew. I find the stapler works just as well and is much easier to wield. My mother could sew. She made my high school prom dress, and it was utterly beautiful. A long while back, my mother gave me her sewing machine, an old one carefully tended through the years, but I have used it sparingly. One Christmas, I made a few cloth gift bags and backed some ornaments. I also vaguely remember mending a sheet and a couple of pillow cases. All my efforts were just straight stitching, but my lines waved and curled a bit. The stitches looked like a design and gave my efforts a bit of flair. The House and Garden channel has now inspired me. Those designers whip up entire rooms in eight minutes and make curtains and a zillion pillows to accent the room and pull the colors together. Well, I'm ready to work a bit of that designer magic. I'm going to make pillows for the bed in my newly painted bedroom. The room is yellow, not just any yellow but two coats of pure sunshine, and the bedspread needs some color. I actually have a sewing project, but just in case, I'd best make sure I have a box of staples handy and maybe a few band-aids. In my hands, a needle could be lethal.

A Song for You: Gram Parsons

Gram Parsons died a few months short of his twenty-seventh birthday. He recorded two solo albums, GP released in 1973 and Grievous Angel released in 1974, after his death. Parsons merged his love of country music with rock and roll and called this new genre Cosmic American Music. We first heard the sound on Gram Parsons one album with The Byrds, Sweetheart of the Rodeo, then later when he and Chris Hillman became The Flying Burrito Brothers.

This is from GP. The back-up singer for the album is Emmylou Harris and they make beautiful harmony.


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Cook With Honey: Judy Collins

This was a favorite song of mine in the seventies. I hadn't heard it in a long time, but an old Best of Judy arrived yesterday, and this was on it. It just had the right upbeat sound for the day.


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“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”

Inside I am twenty, and the old woman I saw bent over like the old sometimes are is probably twenty too. My mirror reflects an image with lines around her eyes and white hairs outnumbering the brown, but it must be a trick of lighting, a vision of who I might become.

When I am older was always the beginning of my childhood visions of the future. When I am older, I will travel the world. When I am older, I will stay up as late as I want. When I am older, I will never eat green vegetables, and I won't have to listen to you. I am older now, and I have traveled to places from my dreams. I go to bed when I want which is usually early unless I nap. I love green vegetables except for Brussel sprouts, lima beans and string beans. I would give anything to have my mother and father tell me what I can and cannot do again.

Visions of the future still fill my dreams. I'm hoping for the wisdom I thought came with age, but I'm guessing I'm not quite old enough yet. The world beckons, and my heart longs for travel and adventure. I want surprises that make me say WOW right outloud. I want a perfect spring day with the hint of a breeze, the smell of flowers and the sounds of birds rejoicing in being alive. I want to stay twenty.

Loch Lomond: Dan Zanes

This is from the album Catch that Train, another Dan Zanes and Friends. His friend here is Natalie Merchant.


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When a Man Loves a Woman: Karen Dalton

This song is from the album From My Own Time. Karen Dalton was a Greenwich Village folk legend who played a long-necked banjo and jammed with Bob Dylan. She was prey to addiction and destitution and led a tragic life.


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"The Possible's slow fuse is lit by the Imagination."

Getting the house in order has been consuming my day. Just writing for my blog, listening to some music and staying grubby are perfect goals for me; instead, I'm moving furniture, boxing books, dusting and hanging pictures. My life has, of late, taken a strange turn.

Even when I was little, I was never a girly, girl. Frills and bows just didn't seem to go well with walking the railroad tracks, making a raft or exploring the backside of the swamp. My playing with dolls didn't last too long either. Betsy Wetsy lost her appeal when she speedily dispersed the contents of her bottle all over my shirt and leg. The doll that danced with me was fun as I could float my way across the ballroom with my partner in perfect sync. That it was really a living room never interfered with my Ginger Rogers' moves. My dollhouse was the most fun. My family had all sorts of adventures, and a few of them could easily have been the plots for a few Twilight Zone episodes.

My imagination ran full tilt when I was a kid. It went back in time, forward in time and just about everywhere in the known world and well into the realm of the unknown. I saved Black Beauty long before the end of the book and tasted milk right from Heidi's goats. My ride down the Nile was under the stars during the time of the great Pharaohs. Standing with Jim on the deck, I could smell the sea and taste salt on my face. My imagination can create kingdoms and fields brilliant with flowers. It makes my spirit soar to ride the wind.

I Think It's Going to Rain Today: Cass Elliot

This is another song covered by so many. I'm a bit partial to Judy Collins but I also like this one.


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Everybody's Talking: Stephen Stills

This is the great song by Fred Neil which was a hit for Harry Nilsson, my least favorite of the covers. I like this one. Stephen Stills seems to get it.


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"I've never known any trouble that an hour's reading didn't assuage."

That missing object I mentioned yesterday has returned, but its reappearance so scared local fauna they ran as if from a brush fire. My mind conjured an image of herds of African animals fleeing across the veldt like something from an old Johnny Weismueller movie. We have sunlight but a brisk wind keeps the warmth away. I look out my window and see this beautiful new deck and long to be sitting on it with book in hand and ice coffee on the table beside me. I want the chance to complain about being too hot even if for a single day.

Someone once asked me my favorite book. I had no answer as I couldn't imagine narrowing the choice to one. That goes the same for song, movie and even dessert though I'd answer ice cream or maybe grapenut custard if hard pressed. The Bobbsey Twins were my favorite books when I was nine. Nancy Drew hit the big time when I got a little older. Then I went through this classic kick and inhaled Robert Lewis Stevenson and Dickens and Hawthorne and Poe and too many more to mention. When I hear kids tell me they hate to read, I'm so flabbergasted I don't even know what to say. Hating books is like hating dessert or Saturday cartoons or Christmas. The pleasure of being totally immersed in a book defies description. Not enough words exist in my lexicon to describe this loss of awareness of the world around me when I am whisked away by the written word, the pages of a book. Sometimes I just read all day, stopping only for a bite or a bathroom break. I hate to reach the end of a good book.

Give me a cozy nook, an afghan, a hot cup of coffee and a good book, and I'll have an earthly treasure beyond measure.

We Dreamed Our Dreams: Cathie Ryan

I always consider this singer my namesake, but one who can hold a tune.

The song is from The Music Of What Happens and was released in 1998. Cathie Ryan's songs seem to be a mixture of traditional Irish music and the modern. She has this lovely voice and sings songs with almost a mournful beauty. She includes percussion, electric bass, and occasionally a drum set in her arrangements.


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PS All the MP3 links now work, even on the older songs.

Love Was Easy: Bill Staines

This is from Journey Home released in 2004. It was Bill Staines' 24th record and is a collection of traditional folk songs and covers of folk songs written by others plus a few new Staines' originals. This song was written by Paul MacNeil .


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"Kids: they dance before they learn there is anything that isn't music."

We seemed to have lost something very valuable. Maybe you've seen it and can send it back this way. Though my recollections are a bit fuzzy, I'll do my best to describe it. The object is round and yellow, but not too yellow. It radiates heat and light and is sometimes so bright you have to shield your eyes. It usually hangs in the sky, and this time of the day I used to see it out my front window. I don't remember the last time I saw it, but it's been a while. If you or anyone you know has information regarding this missing item, please let me know. Better yet, please return it to these parts. We've had enough grey.

The truisms we had as kids don't hold up as we get older which is too bad as life was pretty simple back then. Mud was great stuff, and the best thing was how it oozed through your fingers. Puddles were made for stomping and splashing water in every direction. If someone got wet in the process and yelled about it, all the better. Being dirty meant nothing, and clothes could match or not, depending on what was clean in your drawer. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were haute cuisine, and the best bread could be rolled into a ball and flicked at your brother. Birthdays were always special, and the best piece of cake had the most frosting. Moaning about bedtime and wanting just five minutes more was de rigeur even though falling asleep took only about a minute and a half. Getting wet in the rain was never an inconvenience, and no one owned an umbrella except one prissy girl I knew. Even if you liked school, you'd never admit it publically, not if you wanted to avoid endless teasing. Speaking of teasing, the best was done in rhyme. Sheila peeler and Georgie Porgie are prime examples and just happen to refer to my siblings. Crying was never done in public unless you were really little. Taunts meants using silly words like na-na and pointing, and they were pretty darn effective.
The rules never got broken. It was as if every kid spit and shook on it, and a promise is a promise. Too bad we lost that along the way.

Let it Die: Feist

From the album of the same name


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Moments of Soft Persuasion: Peter, Paul and Mary

Thanks to a friend for sending me this.


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"Childhood is the fiery furnace in which we are melted down to essentials and that essential shaped for good."

I do apologize for the lateness of the hour. I just didn't have access to the computer until too late then I went tutoring for three hours.
It seemed strange not to be writing Coffee this morning, and I had pangs of guilt all afternoon. Writing is a catharsis of sorts for me. It also serves to pry open the deepest recesses of my memory drawers. Images flood my mind, and I am filled with wonder as I remember what I had long thought forgotten. My childhood comes back in a rush, and I am no longer a retired woman bordering on sixty but a ten year old getting my first bike and a twelve year old wrestling with a garter belt. I remember lying on the soft grass watching the clouds pass by and dreaming of life when I am older. Never did I see myself old but just old enough.

Everyone I knew was a joiner. We were all connected by myriad tendrils to each other. My neighborhood had slews of brownies, cub scouts and girl and boy scouts. We joined church groups and drill teams. I played basketball every Saturday and softball all summer. The girl who sat beside me in school was in my brownie troop and with me at drill on Saturday, but my childhood world never seemed small to me. I never felt limited. I always knew the rest of the world was out there just waiting until I was ready, and I'd know when the time was right. When I left, all of my friends, all my adventures and every exploration came with me. I keep them close because I know they helped define me, and I am thankful.

Never Can Say Goodbye: Isaac Hayes

Today the music is just a bit different. All are from the same album recently released: Stax 50th Anniversary Celebration.

Stax Records electrified R&B. The studio bands were as famous as the stars, like Isaac Hayes, Eddie Floyd and Otis Redding, they backed up. Now the recording studio is a museum, and the music and the stories of Stax live on in this two disc release.


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I Forgot to be Your Lover: William Bell

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I've Been Loving You Too Long: Otis Redding

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Gee Whiz (Look at His Eyes): Carla Thomas

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"Cards are war, in disguise of a sport."

Today has been a day of rest. Gracie and I just woke up from our Sunday nap, a long time tradition in the Ryan family. My dad used to curl up on the couch every Sunday afternoon, usually after the football or baseball game. He'd snore and drive the rest of us to the kitchen for some afternoon game playing, maybe a few hundred games of Big Boggle or cribbage or casino. We'd pull out a few snacks then let the games begin. My mother was a Boggle fiend. We'd sit and play for hours, stopping only so we could stand and stretch. My dad was the cribbage player. If he was the loser, we'd play until he'd won. If he was the winner, we'd be subjected to a few humorous taunts about his superior ability. A cribbage board always traveled with us: for plane rides, nights in hotel rooms and a few boat rides. We bought a new one in Ireland once as we'd left ours somewhere en route. That board was always warped and wiggled back and forth when we pegged.

My memories of my parents are filled with images of us playing games. My dad seems to be the central character in most of them. He once fell off the bench and twisted his back in the fall but never let go of his cards. We tried Jeopardy but my dad always answered even if he hadn't clicked. He just couldn't stop himself. Uno was his undoing. He just never remembered to say Uno at his last card so he made a rule that the matchbook he then placed in the middle of the table represented his saying Uno. He knew by our burst of laughter that it just wasn't going to work. Dad wasn't above changing rules in the middle of the game. He'd swear it had always been the rule. We'd just snort in derision and keep playing.

My closet is still filled with games. When friends come by, we have tounaments. Cribbage and dominoes are still favorites and so is Sorry. Somehow you never outgrow the fun of saying sorry in that I'm really sorry tone of voice when you knock off your opponent's piece.

Each time I play a game and each time I tease my opponent, I remember my parents and that makes me smile.

It Might as Well Be Spring: Blossom Dearie

I know the MP3 links aren't working. I have sent an inquiry to hipcast hoping for an answer and some help. If I find a solution, I'll repost. Sorry about this.

I didn't figure a solution but Marc did and posted it as a comment. I tried and it works fine. Here is the solution: "Well if you want to get the mp3, here's what I did. I clicked the link for the mp3. Which brought me to the Hipcast Page (404 error not found). I then went up to my browser address bar and put a . right before mp3 on the address and it downloaded."



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When It's Springtime in Alaska: Johnny Horton

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Some Other Spring: Billie Holiday

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Rambles of Spring: Tommy Maken and Liam Clancy

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“You can tell all you need to about a society from how it treats animals and beaches.”

It was warm enough to leave the bedroom window open all night. For the first time this season, I woke to the sounds of birds, and the clear cold air gave my room the smell of an early spring morning. It's just a bit too chilly still for coffee on the deck, but soon that will be my morning ritual.

Today is perfect for a ride with Gracie and maybe a walk on the beach. Watching Gracie run up and down the sand trying to catch seagulls is like watching pure joy in motion. She exults in every sight, smell and sound. Seaweed is a world to be explored, and a seashell is a toy to be tossed in the air and chased. Castoff pieces of crab deserve a smell and maybe a push or two with that Boxer paw of hers. Every now and then she finds a treasure like the worn tennis ball she chased all over the beach before carrying to the car and home. It was her memento like the shells and small pieces of wood I had found to fill my pockets. We walk until I am tired. Gracie never is.

It's a Wonder: Catie Curtis

This song just seems so joyous to me and a perfect play for today. It is from Long Night Moon, Catie's release from last August. You'll find her friend Mary Chapin Carpenter on it as well as Mark Erelli and Kris Delmhorst, one of my favorites.


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Tanglewood Tree: Dave Carter & Tracy Grammer

Dave Carter died of a heart attack in 2002. He was only 49. He and Tracy had made three albums together before his death. One other, Seven Is the Number, was released after his death.
The two met in 1996 when Tracy saw Dave performing and she introduced herself. They recorded their first album together, Tanglewood Tree, in 1998, and this is the title song from that album.


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"Science has never drummed up quite as effective a tranquilizing agent as a sunny spring day."

The guys and I are on a first name basis at the hardware and paint stores. It seems my painter needs something every day. Today I also went to Benny's to buy a few storage containers. As I was walking down an aisle, I could hear humming. It was so pretty and so unexpected I stood a bit to listen. In the next aisle, a woman was stacking shelves and humming as she worked. I suspect most people would grouse at the monotony of the task; instead, that woman found joy and shared it with me and anyone who stopped to notice. It was a lovely gift.

Gracie found an open gate yesterday and disappeared. I was frantic. Luckily she also found my neighbor who was walking her son and their dog, Gracie's pal Cody. Gracie, the younger and wilder of the two dogs, got the leash and was led back to the yard. Today, Gracie must think me eccentric and annoying. She has been out in the beautiful spring weather most of the morning, and I keep going out to check that she's still in the yard. I call her. She comes running. I tell her what a good dog she is then go back inside the house. A bit ago, I called but she didn't come. I got that awful feeling again, but she was already lying in the sun on the deck. It's a good thing she can't talk.

I'm not especially chatty today. The sun is shining, and spring is in the air, and both are interferring with my thought processes. All I can think of is that sun warming my face. It's time to grab my book and join Gracie. She is already way ahead of me, no dumb animal there!

Wild Flower Honey: The Burns Sisters

This is from Wild Bouquet, their newest album which was released last year. The Burns Sisters originally began as a quintet featuring five sisters of a family of fourteen children. Older sisters Terry and Sheila dropped out to devote more time to their families while Annie, Marie and Jeannie continued as a trio.


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Frankie and Johnny: Jimmie Rogers

Jimmie Rogers is the father of country music. He's also the singing brakeman and the Mississippi blue yodeler. He was country music's first superstar, selling more than twenty million records during the Great Depression.

His career was short-lived and Jimmie died of TB in 1933 just six years after cutting his first record. He left 111 recorded songs, and in 1961 he was elected to the Country Music Association's Hall of Fame as "the man who started it all."


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“Childhood is short, maturity is forever”

The first time I wore nylons I knew I had grown up, if only a bit, but it was a start. Back then, the idea of being older, more mature, had an edge of excitement, and I could only guess at the marvels adults knew. I felt the same way when I went to my first night movie, not the drive-in, but the regular movie theater up town. No candy flew by my head and Al, the owner, never once patrolled the aisles. Being allowed out later than the streets lights coming on was yet another milestone. We'd sit on the steps, my friends and I, and chat in the early evening darkness with the house light shining on us. Getting my first bra, albeit a training bra, was another event for my diary pages. My first heels were these pudgy, squat little heels which felt a mile high, and I remember I got them to wear at Easter. When I walked into church, I was sure everyone noticed how grown up I was.

Graduating from the eighth grade marked, for me, the official end of my childhood. We were scattering, my friends and I. Most would attend the local high school while I was going to one in another town. I had to wear nylons to school every day as part of my uniform which made them just another thing to wear. The novelty and excitement were gone. My world became wake up early, get the bus, go to school, come home and do homework. Life just wasn't as much fun anymore. We still had a few more firsts left, but each one would lead us further away from childhood and deeper into adulthood. I wish I had known back then to take it slowly.

Brady Street Stroll: Peter Mulvey

This is from the album The Knuckleball Suite. The memories of my times in the city brought this song to mind, and I just love the guitar.


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Sweet Is the Melody: Iris Dement

This is from Iris Dement's second album, My Life, released in 1994. It is the opening cut on what is a beautiful collection of music.


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“The great big city's a wond'rous toy just made for a girl and boy”

My mother used to tell us stories about her childhood. She lived in the city. She told us how the tar would get so hot you could pull off pieces. She and her sister would pull off a hunk and chew it like gum. When I was a kid, that seemed perfectly reasonable. After all, I used to buy giant red wax lips and chew them and also those wax bottles with the sweet liquids. The only way to get all the juice was to chew the bottle. Going from wax to tar just wasn't a giant leap.

My grandmother lived in the city all the time I knew her. We'd visit on Sunday, and I loved exploring her neighborhood. All the houses were close together, separated only by these little, dark alleyways. On every corner was a store. Some were jammed packed grocery stores while others sold square pizza by the slice. In the summer, the pizza stores sold slush. I'd buy it in these white paper cones which always seemed to get a hole at the bottom. The slush would drip down and around my arm leaving a band of color, usually red, and it always felt sticky. Sometimes my grandfather would give us each a dime to spend, and I felt rich beyond measure. We'd play stickball on the street with a broom stick and a pink rubber ball, and sometimes we'd bounce balls against the steps to play a game of baseball. Once my uncle, who is only a couple of years older than I am, took my brother and me all the way to Logan Airport so we could watch the planes. My mother was frantic because we were gone so long, and we had failed to tell her where we were going. That was, of course, on purpose as she would have said no. I remember it took us a long time to walk there and we had to climb a couple of fences.

To us, the city was a mysterious, exotic place filled with alleyways to explore and street after street to roam. I still love cities and love walking through neighborhoods and still stop at any small bakery to buy my slice of cold, square pizza. I have also perfected my slush technique: no more drips!

A Different Kind of Gone: Mary Gauthier

From her very first album, I have been a Mary Gauthier Fan. Her voice is amazing and filled with feelings and emotions which sometimes just seem to cut and slash. This is from an album called Respond filled with music by the most amazing singers, all of whom are women and many from New England. The profit from this album goes to Respond, Inc., a non-profit organization offering free services for battered women and their children for the past twenty-five years.


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Only Then Will Your House Be Blessed: Harry Manx

This is from 2002's Wise and Otherwise. Harry Manx is a musician who blends blues, folk music, and Hindustani classical music. He plays the slide guitar, harmonica, six-string banjo, and Mohan veena. His music is described as where west meets east.


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"Everything is funny as long as it is happening to somebody else."

Today will be a short post as I have important errands. I need toilet paper and half and half, a strange combination but each essential in its own way. My house continues to bustle with activity. The landscaper cleared the backyard of ground debris, dead trees and poison ivy. I can now spot the dog when she's running in the yard. The deck will be finished today. The painter is not here today but will finish this week as well. My house will be back to peace and quiet, at least until the new windows go in sometime next month. Now I want warm days so I can loll on my deck and survey the lower forty.

The papers gave me a few chuckles today. One of the inside sections of the Globe had the following: "Ex-hitman looks to lead quiet life." I want to be among the first wishing him well in any new endeavors. If he wouldn't mind a few suggestions, I might offer that he do no contract work, and if he gets into sales, a soft pitch will work best. The next chuckle came from the Cape Cod Times. It was an article about an accident. Please don't think I find accidents amusing, but it was the description of the vehicle which made me chuckle. "....drove her blue, four-door Ford F-350 truck, with all leather interior, out onto the town fish pier and then into 30 feet of water." I'm guessing for resale value the all leather interior is important.

Our world is a funny place.

Farewell to the Old Me

This cut is from Dar's 2003 album The Beauty of the Rain.


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Crayon Angel: Judee Sill

This song was sent to me, and I've listened to it several times and knew it needed to be shared. It was myy friend Ralph who introduced me to Judee Sill. When I first posted her, I used a quote from a web site, and I'm going to repost it. This song is from her first album.

"On the day after Thanksgiving 1979, Judee Sill, a 35-year-old, deeply depressed and physically broken singer-songwriter, took an overdose of opiates and cocaine in her North Hollywood apartment. The Los Angeles coroner ruled Sill's death a suicide, but those who knew her better have always contended that the "note" found near her body -- a meditation on rapture, the hereafter and the innate mystery of life -- may just have been part of a diary entry or, perhaps, another one of her haunted, haunting songs beginning to take shape.

When Sill died, both of her albums for Asylum Records -- "Judee Sill" (1971) and "Heart Food" (1973) -- were long out of print; eight tracks recorded in 1974 for a third album had never been finished. Such was the obscurity to which Sill had fallen in 1979 that no obituary was published, and a number of her friends never knew what happened to her until many years had passed. "

You can read the rest of the article here:
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/12/29/AR2006122901782.html?referrer=emailarticle


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“When you finally go back to your old hometown, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood”

The late posting today is due to no particular reason. Sometimes I just let the morning lie fallow. But as the day is past two, I decided I'd best write before my sisters called rescue.

We never had a lot of money when I was growing up. No one I knew did. We lived in the project. It was not one of those brick megabuildings you see but rather a series of duplexes with lawns and pictures windows. The backyards all faced each other and a hill. The hill was where the little kids went sledding, and where we'd put the slip and slide during the summer. It seemed we were all responsible for our front lawn and for our own section of the back. My dad mowed and probably fertilized, but I'm guessing on that last part. He'd get mad if we rode the bikes down the small hill in front of the house. We did it anyway, and the tire tracks across the plush green were a dead giveaway. The family up the hill behind us were lawn fanatics. They had the best back lawn of anyone, and you took your life into your hands if you used their yard as a short cut. Across the street from our house was the largest oak tree I've ever seen. Its trunk was so wide you knew it had lived forever. A hurricane took it down, and we all heard the crash above the wind from inside the house.

All the mothers stayed home, and all the fathers worked. No family had two cars. This was, after all, the fifties. Every Friday night my dad would drive my mother to the grocery store. She'd shop; he'd wait. My mother kept budget envelopes and always had a Christmas club account. The milk man delivered to the backdoor, and the ice cream man came the same time every summer day. We never wanted for playmates. Every house had at least two. We had four. Every weekday morning kids flowed from the front doors and turned left to go to the East School or kept straight ahead for St. Pat's. All summer you could hear the voices of kids shouting and playing from the backyards. At the bottom of the street was a playground and a ball field, and the railroad tracks were just a bit beyond.

I am filled with the memories of our home and our neighborhood. Every now and then I drive by the house and am always amazed that it looks so small. In my memory, it has turrets and flags, moats and hundreds of rooms. At least it seemed that way when I was young.

You Give Me Fever: Peggy Lee

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Dear Doctor: The Rolling Stones

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Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu: Johnny Rivers

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I Haven't Got Time for the Pain: Carly Simon

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"My mom is a neverending song in my heart of comfort, happiness, and being. I may sometimes forget the words but I always remember the tune."

I'm feeling much better today, and the corn beef and cabbage was postponed until tonight which helped put me on the mend. I have yet to make my soda bread, but that will be next. One of the best smells in the world is bread baking, and even a single whiff sets my mouth watering. I'll just have to avoid the temptation to taste the bread.

My mind is drawing a blank today. With all the sleeping I did, I had little time for thinking and remembering. My book sat unopened on the table, and any conversation was peppered with wheezes and sneezes. Sick people just aren't fun.

My mother loved events and built whole parties around them. She did her St. Patrick's day parties with all the fixings, and one year had a great D-Day party. She had World War II music on the CD player and The Longest Day on TV. There were even maps of the Normandy landing decorating the walls. I don't remember what she served, but no question it was delicious. My mom loved a good time. One time, she gave a clam bake in the backyard for the whole family and booked a Sinatra lookalike complete with soft hat to sing during the meal. She loved music and would sometimes sit in the kitchen with the music on low and sing along. When she prepared meals, she sang. My mother had a lovely voice, and I used to like to listen to her sing. If she didn't know the words, she'd use her own or just hum. When she got sick, she started singing quite often, usually to answer a questions or make an observation. Somehow she'd find just the right words for the moment. She shared her taste in music with all of us. We all know the standards and can sing along with Frank or Rosemary or even Jo Stafford. My mother gave us so much and music is but one of her gifts.

Molly Malone: The Clancy Brothers and The Dubliners

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The Wild Rover: The Irish Rovers

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Song for Ireland: The Corrs

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When Irish Eyes Are Smiling: Foster and Allen

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Happy St. Patrick's Day: Maireann croí éadrom i bhfad.

So much for spending the evening with my friends and devouring corn beef and cabbage. I'm sick. I woke this morning and managed a moan and a wheeze followed by coughing. The couch is my refuge, and I'm covered in afghans. Gracie has made my day as she just lets herself in and out so I don't have to move. When she comes in, she jumps on the couch and keeps my feet warm. This is when I most regret living alone. I have no one to grouse to, no one to make soothing sounds or rub my brow and no one to serve me chicken soup and crackers. I did call my friends and left a moaning message, but it just wasn't the same.

St. Patrick's Day has always been a big event for the Ryan clan. Every year, my mother made a huge pot of corned beef and cabbage and sometimes another pot filled with all the fixings and a smoked shoulder. Even my dog Shauna got a plate, compliments of my dad. When the relatives filled the house, there was always the singing of Irish songs. My mother had Irish whiskey for those so inclined and Irish coffee always ended the meal. One year my mother put the potatoes in too early and they disintegrated which made my dad a bit grouchy. He did love his potatoes.

May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you

Some Days Are Diamonds: John Denver

Erin, this is thanks to you!


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Until It's Time for You to Go: Buffy Sainte-Marie

This song was never released as a single but is still of her most popular and is the song I most associate with her. According to Buffy Sainte-Marie's official site, the lyrics to the song are about "honesty and freedom inside the heart."


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"Each snowflake in an avalanche pleads not guilty."

Okay, I don't understand this need to fill the larder at the first mention of snow. Any prediction over a few inches triggers a rush to the grocery store. I have to believe it is an instinct which has survived since the dawn of mankind. The weatherman mentions snow and an overwhelming need for milk and bread bubbles up from every coil of the double helix. Today I needed buttermilk for my Irish soda bread. Thinking to avoid the hoarders, I went to a smaller store. It made little difference as I still ended up waiting at the door in a line behind two women with walkers as they debated the heat potential of fake logs. Meanwhile, the snow has already turned to sleet, but it is too late to save the bread.

Radio personalities made me cringe today. I heard on the weather forecast that the snow would be falling heavy at times. I can only hope that those underneath will be well protected and can avoid injury. I also heard that one issue was more grey than another, but I do have a favorite from a discussion on NPR. The speaker mentioned a strange anomaly. The mere thought of what that must be has sent me reeling.

Okay, I stand before admitting I bought a few supplies though I'd like to think I was a bit more imaginative. Let's See: an individual lemon meringue pie, onion rolls, a couple of pieces of barbecue chicken pizza and root beer. Come on storm. I'm hankering for that pie!

No Regrets: Tom Rush

Any day is a Tom Rush day, but this seemed to be a perfect song. It's from The Circle Game.


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My Tennessee Hills: Janis Ian

This was offered for download on Janis Ian's home page as are several others. Thanks to my cousin Erin for sending me over there. That's Dolly Parton joining Janis, and the song is from the album Billie Bones.


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"She glances at the photo, and the pilot light of memory flickers in her eyes."

The day is dismal and damp. Tomorrow, winter will return bringing some sleet and maybe a bit of snow. My dad always said that snow this time of year is poor man's fertilizer. Come to find out, he was right. The snow brings nutrients and a lot of moisture, reedeemable qualities which have given me kinder feelings toward the white stuff.

I like to roam antique stores hoping for a bargain or a special find. Lately I've seen more and more of my childhood on the shelves. The other day I saw a Ginnie doll just like the one I used to have. Mine had her own room with a pink bed, armoire and vanity. She had these great outfits, many made by my mom. My Ginnie was a bit frillier than I would ever have been, but she could carry it off better than I. My brother's green army men now sit in boxes on antique store shelves. I remember he used to set up these mock battles in the dirt or on the grass. He made all the sound effects himself, and I could hear his bombs blasting and guns rat-tatting. The games we used to play are sometimes marked as is or parts missing. That's the way it should be as we were always losing parts and having to make do. My sister gave me a whole set of appliances one Christmas similar to the set Santa left under the tree, and I have a dollhouse which I might just have played with when I was around eight. I used to get a bit annoyed to think my childhood was fodder for antique stores, but I'm over that now. When I find a beloved toy for sale, I hold it for a bit and just let the memories wash over me. I drift back to sitting on that living room rug playing with my toys, and I remember tucking my Ginnie into bed and kissing her goodnight. I now love finding my old toys for sale on the shelves because I get to find my memories as well.

Ain't Life a Brook: Greg Brown & Bill Morrissey

This is from Friend of Mine, an album made by two wonderfully close friends singing together and making the best music.


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St. James Infirmary: Ramblin' Jack Elliott & Dave Van Ronk

When I listen to this, wow just jumps from my lips.


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“If you are content, you have enough to live comfortably”

Not finding my morning papers in the driveway this morning was almost as painful as that time I ran out of coffee. I felt bereft but brightened when I decided to start writing Coffee. Somehow, though, I had secured my keyboard and couldn't unsecure it. It's good to know I can frustrate anyone by making them press little keys to no avail and that it doesn't take long before all the keys get pounded just a bit. Finally, I hit upon the old remove the batteries and disconnect the keyboard trick. It worked splendidly except now the tips of my fingers are a bit sore from their earlier efforts.

Today I will be speaking at the high school where I spent so many years of my life. I'll be speaking about the Peace Corps. This is the third school year since I retired, and it's strange to think that only the seniors will know who I am. It used to be I knew just about every kid who walked the halls either by sight or by name. I loved my job and really thought I'd miss it when I retired, but it wasn't the job I missed. No, it was the people I missed: the kids and all those wonderful daily interactions. Being retired is amazing, but some days go by when my only conversation revolves around ordering carmelized onions on my pizza. I know exactly why Robinson Crusoe got so close to his parrot and Tom Hanks had his Wilson. I do have my Gracie, but sometimes I'd love to hear a different side to my conversation. Maybe I can be the first 900 number dedicated to the fine art of conversation. People who want to chat can give me a call. We can talk about the books we're reading, how Lost should never have taken a hiatus and the latest political crisis in any numbers of places. I'd even be open to grandchildren stories but might have to draw the line at surgeries and hospital nightmares.

My house is quiet today. The carpenter finished yesterday, the painter is running late, and I have no idea where the mason or deckman is. I'm okay with their being missing. I'm going to delight in the sounds of my chimes, pour another cup of coffee and read for a bit. I know bliss when I find it.

The Calling: Mary Chapin Carpenter

This is the title track from her newest album.


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Jolene: Ray LaMontagne

Ray LaMontagne did an interview and concert last December on NPR. Here are some of the quotes from that interview.

"Unlike a lot of artists, LaMontagne did not grow up in a musical family. He was raised mostly by his mother; they moved around a lot, and there was virtually no music played or heard in his home, not even on the radio. LaMontagne decided to pursue a life in music only after high school when he was working at a shoe factory in Maine. That's where he first heard the music of Stephen Stills.
LaMontagne tells NPR's Scott Simon,'It was 'Treetop Flyer' off a solo record that Stills had done, which really knocked me out. But then, when I went to the record store to find his stuff, I found the Manassas record. And that is really what clinched it. It's an absolutely stunning record."
LaMontagne seeks to craft songs that are both personal and universal. "It's so easy to get caught up in your own experiences," he says. "They can seem so important. But there are billions and billions of other experiences going on. I guess the album is just me trying to look at things beyond myself, wondering what it is to be alive and what it's all about. I do get into my own experiences — I put the blinders on, in that sense, just dealing with my own life events. But then I try to open the blinders back up again, at the end."


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

When I was a little kid, I didn't want my life to be average. I wanted to have adventures, to eat strange foods and go places I couldn't pronounce. I wanted to be a spy or some covert agent who needed her passport on a moment's notice to catch a plane leaving in two hours. I wanted to read all the greatest books and know my favorite poems by heart. At cocktail parties I would be the witty one who made people think of Dorothy Parker, though I didn't know this last part until high school. Dorothy Parker wasn't in any of my elementary texts. I had so many plans.

Well, I'm looking back now and realizing that the spy bit might have been just a little over the top, but for the rest I have been wonderfully lucky. Oops, I didn't get that cocktail chatter down too pat either. But despite these shortcomings, my life is an adventure and has been for as long as I can remember. Each day brings something new or something old wrapped like new.

I have traveled to the most amazing places, ridden a runaway camel in the desert, stood at the equator with a foot in each hemisphere and been to the Arctic Circle during the endless days of summer. I was even on a boat that went through one of the locks of the Panama Canal. Some of the foods I've eaten bordered on the disgusting, but I was still game to give them a try though insects have since been scratched from the list. I saw the mountains and statues which graced the pages of my geography books. I know at least four poems by heart though I have to admit they're pretty darn short as one is an Ogden Nash which probably shouldn't count. More books than I can remember have been a part of my life, and I read all the great ones except War and Peace though I have started it more than a few times.

I can't imagine why I have been so blessed.

Hollow of Your Hand: Jeff Black

This is from 2005's Tin Lily.


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Scotch and Soda: The Kingston Trio

This was one of the first songs I posted when I started Coffee, and it was so long ago I figured it is time to play it again.

I am singing along with this song as I write. It's just the day for it!


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“Acquiring a dog may be the only opportunity a human ever has to choose a relative.”

This will be quick. I can sense the weather calling me to be outside to enjoy the day before its beauty and warmth disappear. The sun is just brilliant and is framed by the darkest blue sky. Not a branch or hanging brown leaf moves in the stillness. Today is a day for taking a ride, for open windows and for singing along with the radio. Today is a day for my favorite oldies station and for songs to which I know every word.

Gracie loves a ride and looks to the road with a glee you can see on her face. She misses nothing and moves from the front to the back windows to make sure she has all directions covered. The drivers behind us must think it just a bit strange to see a dog watching them from the rear window. She presses against the glass and leaves nose prints. Anyone giving my car even a casual look knows a dog rides along.

The usual phalanx of workmen is missing today. The roof is finished; the painter, carpenter and stonemason won't be back until tomorrow. Only the deckman will work here today, and he is off getting materials. Soon the hammering will start anew. The cats will hide while Gracie will whine to go outside to be in the middle of the action.

Well, I have a dump run today and a few errands around town. My mistake was taking out a trash bag. Gracie is impatiently waiting at the front door, and I do hate keeping my best friend waiting.

Sun King: The Beatles

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I'm Henry the VIII, I Am: Herman's Hermits

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King of Nothing: Seals & Crofts

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King of the Surf Guitar: Dick Dale

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“The key to winning baseball games is pitching, fundamentals, and three run homers.”

It is so behind my time even the Sunday papers lay unopened, still in their rainproof sleeves. I went out for breakfast, sat for a long while chatting with my friends then did a bit of shopping. This morning's rainy day has since turned into the sort of day which makes you believe that old man winter has packed his bags and decided to take his leave. The air even smells of spring. But I'm not fooled by this one warm day for I know that around here weather turns quickly. I will just revel in today's sun.

Gracie is running around the backyard with a squeaky ball in her mouth, a really filthy ball which has seen the last of the inside of the house. She loves the newly fenced yard though I worry when I can't see her. That brown fur of hers blends too well with winter's drabness so I go out on the porch and call her. She looks up wondering what in the heck I want then goes back to running around the yard. She too loves this weather and will stay out for hours. Only hunger forces her back inside.

I am watching the Red Sox play an exhibition game. It won't matter how cold it might get tomorrow or even if it snows a bit. When the Sox play, can spring be far behind?

Her Royal Majesty: James Darren

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Queen Jane Approximately: Bob Dylan

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Queen Bee: Taj Mahal

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Roller Derby Queen: Jim Croce

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“I see something that has to be done and I organize it.”

My sticky notes have been running rampant. They hang off both sides of the monitor, stick to the desk top glass, decorate lamp shades and lie in rows across the table. Last night I decided to winnow and toss. With a huge pile of these bright yellow and pink stickies in front of me, I checked both sides before deciding to toss or not to toss. Phone numbers were written on more than a few, but the people connected to these numbers weren't listed. I saved these just in case I find out the numbers are really important. Names of songs and a variety of singers were listed on others. These I also saved so I can listen to the songs, many suggested by you. One had numbers for the paint colors I want to use upstairs. My choice was either to memorize the numbers or save the slip. My mind is already occupied with far too much minutiae so I saved those. Another has a list of appointments which are also listed on my calendar, but this sticky is my really don't forget reminder so it went back on the monitor. The grocery list stays, but I moved it to the kitchen and considered it my first toss. This went on from the yellow through the pink. By the time I'd finished, counting the one I moved, I was able to toss two stickies. I felt so much better having cleaned that little mess.

Conversation: Joni Mitchell

Every day should start this way!


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To Live Is To Fly: Guy Clark

Clark began his music career in Houston folk clubs, where he met lifelong friends and colleagues like Townes Van Zandt.

This is a Van Zandt song.


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"To teach is to learn twice."

After I learned I couldn't be a priest, I decided to be a teacher. Professional women in my younger days were generally teachers or nurses, but I didn't know I was bound by these choices. I just figured you could be whatever it was you wanted to be, and I wanted to be a teacher. These women were my heroes. They had such power they could bring me back to attention with a single look or word. They also had these amazing talents like being able to see behind them, identifying whisperers without looking up from their desks and writing straight and beautifully on the blackboard. That was the one I envied the most. No matter how hard I concentrated, my blackboard writing tended to angle up so high I almost couldn't reach it, and the letters were so cramped you couldn't read them. Teachers always knew all the answers. Stump the teacher was a game doomed to failure. I knew by the time I was ten that I would be a teacher.

I started college on the teaching track but got sidelined junior year. The law grabbed me with such intensity that teaching faded from my memory. I saw myself as a female Perry Mason confounding my Hamilton Burger with legal tricks pulled from my magician's hat, tricks which always showed the innocence of my client and exposed the guilty.

Senior year I applied to law school and to the Peace Corps, even got an offer for a teaching job, but it was the Peace Corps pulling me. It just seemed the right thing to do: to give a paltry two years for the life I'd had and the opportunities I'd been given. When I was accepted, I was so joyful I wanted to run up and down the streets announcing my good fortune to the world. I was also accepted into law school but decided to defer if I could for the two years. I could, and I did.

I taught for those two years and couldn't imagine spending my life doing anything else. I never went to law school though I still think Perry Mason and I have a lot in common. Instead, I chose to teach, and "...that has made all the difference."

One True: Uncle Earl

Here is a sneak preview song from Uncle Earl's newest album, waterloo, tennessee.

You're hearing bluegrass from Kristin Andreassen, Rayna Gellert, KC Groves, and Abigail Washburn.


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I'm the Fool: Mark Knopfler

You'll find this on golden heart so you be so inclined.


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"In the grim undertow; naked the trees confront Implacable winter's long, cross-questioning brunt."

My posts are later because I leave the house to avoid the noise and mayhem. The banging is endless, and the whole place shakes when they drop one of those packs of shingles. The dog paces or barks and the cats have taken to hiding under the bed, but the roofer is just about done, and the painter is quiet so peace will soon reign.

It is so cold outside that Gracie barely gets beyond the front step when she needs to go, and tonight has single digits predicted. This is most decidedly winter's revenge for all those warm days in November and December.

I don't remember feeling cold when I was a little kid. Leaving school, we'd fling on our jackets and take off running. We didn't button up, put on hats or even mittens. Some of our classmates, the daintier sorts, did put on their wool hats and matching mittens, but I'm not sure if it was the cold or the need for an elementary school fashion statement. I don't think I ever had matching hats and mittens, unless a set showed up at Christmas, because sets didn't last long. One mitten would get lost and soon the hat would be left somewhere, and we'd be back to mismatched and whatever we could find. Mittens are mittens.

I still wear mittens, have several pairs, and each mitten has its match. It seems that when you get older, mittens stay around a lot longer. I still don't have matching hats, not being a hat person. I let all of that warmth escape willy nilly from the top of my head just as my mother feared. She'd be reassured, though, that I do button my coat.

I Love This Town: Nanci Griffith

Jimmy Buffett is featured on this song. He gets his name in ( ).


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The Highwayman: Phil Ochs

Phil Ochs appears here often because I believe it important that we remember him and the beauty of his song.


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"Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there."

March has more than atoned for its gentle arrival. Yesterday set a new temperature record for coldest on that date, and today is barely a wee bit better. The wind gives the cold a bite which gnaws at your bones. Today is a day for staying inside and reading while keeping your feet warmed by a mighty fire, a Hollywood fire as my dad called them. I, however, have to venture forth to do a few errands, the ones I ignored yesterday. This morning I will layer. This afternoon I will warm my feet.

Well, I ended up doing my errands in between paragraphs. I am most decidedly out of my element in a store with paint supplies, hardware and anything else for which you need a real, manual labor sort of tool. My idea of a tool has always been one of those peelers which makes fruit decorative or a food processor.The shopping cart was just about the only familiar item as I wheeled through and completed my list.

My house is still abuzz. The roofers are at work removing the old and nailing the new and will finish tomorrow. The fence guys measured and then dug holes. They'll be back tomorrow to put in the new fence. My painter is finishing up the kitchen and will move upstairs tomorrow. The only major work left will be the new deck and the front of the house siding.

The banging noise is driving me crazy, and Gracie keeps running to the door expecting company. My plans for a roaring fire and a good book have given way to a bit of shopping. I'm going to finish here, leave and soothe my spirits by a stop or two.

Suzanne: Leonard Cohen

The talk of books got me to thinking about old friends. I decided to play two today. My guess is they were played a long while back, too long back.


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Both Sides Now: Judy Collins

One of my oldest folk friends!


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If you have never said "Excuse me" to a parking meter or bashed your shins on a fireplug, you are probably wasting too much valuable reading time.

I have been a sloth the last few days. The mistake I made was buying new books with magical powers. Once I opened their covers and began to read, I was unable to move my legs except for bathroom breaks and walks to the kitchen for nourishment. I should have known this would happen as books have had this power over me since I was little. The pages pull me in and nothing breaks the trance except the last word. I have read and not noticed the night slipping away to morning. I have taken planes rides only to find us landing almost as soon as we had left. When I was young, I couldn't hear my mother calling me. She always thought I was caught in some adolescent loop and had ignored her, but the book's magical powers had sealed my ears and captivated all my attention. Last night I hated being too tired to read the words. This morning, I didn't read the papers but went right back to the book. Stopping to write this has been a huge sacrifice on my part.

During one of my trips, I remember hiking miles and miles to find the only English language bookstore in Quito at the time. I was getting almost tired enough to give up, but I decided to slog through, and when I walked through the door and saw the stacks and stacks of books, I was in heaven, maybe even Disneyland during the parade of lights. On those backpacking trips of mine, trading books was always part of the journey. I'd finish a couple of books and hold on to them until the next hostel then I'd trade. Sometimes I'd end up with books by authors I would never have read, given a choice. Other times I was introduced to the most amazing writers who then became favorites. I know I read Harold Robbins on one trip, haven't read a book of his since, but I was desperate. I remember it was in Finland where the second language is Swedish.

When I travel now, choosing the right books is part of packing. They need to be really long paperback books. I no longer stop at hostels so trading isn't part of the journey any more; instead, I leave them when I'm done. Sometimes I leave them in hotel rooms, other times in train or bus stations. I figure they don't hang around too long for finding a book is finding a treasure of inestimable value.

Talk to Her: Piers Faccini

This review is from Tucson Weekly. I figure it has a whole lot more to say than I do.

"Piers Faccini, born in Britain to Italian parents but a current resident of Paris, incorporates a world of musical influences into his incredibly mellow but, at the same time, textured songs. Each song maintains a tension between an utter outpouring of emotion and silence.

If "Talk to Her" is reminiscent of Ben Harper, there's good reason: Some of Faccini's backing musicians are also members of Harper's the Innocent Criminals, and you can even hear Harper's own voice on "Each Wave That Breaks."

It's Faccini's use of traditional instruments from a variety of musical cultures that gives this record its earthy texture; it's a regular education in world instruments. (I'd never heard of an erhu before, nor a kamancheh.) But Faccini manages to make the use of these instruments sound perfectly natural within each song. Nothing on Tearing Sky is forced or done for any reason other than to make an excellent piece of music. Hence, even in its quietness, Tearing Sky fills up houses. "


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How Will I Ever Be Simple Again: Richard Thompson

This song was written by Richard Thompson and is one of my favorites. It appears on 1986's Daring Adventures.


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“The best thing about a man is his dog.”

Today I beg off from my usual long windedness. The roofmen are busy dropping rolls of paper and piles of shingles on my house. The painter is staining the new cabinet fronts, and three fencemen will be here later to give estimates for the Gracie blockade around the backyard. I can hear the music blaring from the outside radio, and I don't recognize a single song. It is near time to hit the road.

The kitchen redo is nearly redone. A built in bookcase needs to be put in, and once the cabinets are finished, the kitchen needs to be painted. I have been living in such chaos I need to close my eyes when passing through the dining room-kitchen combination or my whole body starts to itch. The dog's crate sits in the middle of my living room floor leaving space for little else. I have hopes that Gracie is getting beyond the eating my house when left alone stage and can be weaned from the crate. Once the workmen are gone, I'll try leaving her for short lengths of time. I'm figuring this redo will cost me nearly as much as the house did.

My friends' dog passed away this morning, and I was at a loss for words. I know that even the kindest sentiment or bit of comfort goes right to the hurt and pain. Pets love us with such depth that I often wonder what in the heck we have ever really done to deserve them.

Diamond Girl: Seals & Crofts

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Golden Earrings: Peggy Lee

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Charms: Bobby Vee

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This Diamond Ring: Gary Lewis and the Playboys

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"Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week."

The eclipse last night was beautiful. The moon was situated conveniently for viewing from my front door, and the night was chilly and clear. I didn't pull myself away until the moon has just about completely reappeared. Leaving too soon makes me feel guilty at wasting any bit of such marvels.

Sunday has changed so much from when I was a kid. In those days, nothing was open except a corner store for anyone needing milk or bread. For us it was the red store. I don't know if it ever had a name. It just had a color to distinguish it from the white store, not opened on Sunday. We all went to church; my dad went early as he was an usher, and if we were up, we'd go with him. He'd give us each a quarter to put into the basket. I used to love it when he did my row as he'd shake the basket just a bit to say hello as he passed it up and down. After church we'd go home, and he'd make breakfast. It was always bacon and eggs. Sometimes we'd go on a Sunday drive with all six of us crammed into the car. It seemed all the cars on the road back then were filled with parents and kids going no where in particular. During the summer, we'd sometimes head to the beach for the day. Other times, we'd just hang around the house watching the Sunday matinee. That appeared when I was around ten, and I remember the very first Sunday movie was Lassie Come Home. During football season, we were stuck with finding our own sources of amusement as my dad took over the TV. We always had a big Sunday dinner, usually around two. My favorite was roast beef, mashed potatoes and peas, but we didn't have that too often. Chicken was big in our house on Sunday. The rest of the afternoon we'd sometimes go out and play or just hang around if it was cold. Sunday night meant early to bed so we'd be bright and chipper for school on Monday.

We lost far too much when we lost Sunday. We lost a day of rest, a day to be together as a family and a day when no where is a perfect destination.

Across the Universe: Rufus Wainwright

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What the World Needs Now: Dionne Warwick

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The End of the World: Skeeter Davis

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A World Without Love: Peter and Gordon

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"Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet."

The early morning was a marvel. The yards and roofs were twinkling with frost, and steam rising from the heated birdbath drifted across the yard. A bit later, the sun warmed the air, and steam rose from the fences, roofs and tree trunks. The world looked mystical.

Having lived with a pet of one sort or another as long as I can remember has blessed my life. Each dog, each cat has a niche in my heart filled with loving memories. I smile when I think of Max who hated just about everyone and would suffer being held only for bug hunts. She got old and friendly. We figured it was senility. One of our cats was the neighborhood Lothario. He had double paws and so did every kitten for streets around being offered free to a good home. Our dog Duke was our protection. We always felt safe if Duke was with us. He was also smart and crafty. When I was in elementary school, he often followed us in the morning. I'd yell stay and Duke would sit. I'd walk a bit and turn around quickly. Duke would still be sitting down, but the distance between us hadn't lengthened; he was not only smart but also quick.

My sisters and I all have pets, multiple pets. Growing up with dogs and cats and even assorted rodents taught us that pets complete a home, add a whole dimension of love. We could never imagine a home without one. They are family too, just hairier with less enticing table manners.

Mississippi River Blues: Leon Redbone

Something about Leon Redbone's voice takes me away from the drabness of winter and brings me to a summer day with light breezes, sheets drying on the line and white curtains blowing from windows.


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Party on the Mountain: The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band has been around since the mid 1960's. Jeff Hanna and Bruce Kunkel formed a folk group while both were in high school in the early '60s. By the time the two were college students, they were having informal jams at a Santa Monica, CA, guitar shop called McCabe's. It was there that they met Ralph Barr, Les Thompson, Jimmie Fadden and Jackson Browne. This lineup became the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band in late 1965 and began playing jug band music at local clubs. Browne left after a few months to pursue a solo career and was replaced by John McEuen, the younger brother of the group's new manager, Bill McEuen. The group landed a recording contract with Liberty Records and released their debut album, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, in April of 1967. Their first single, Buy for Me the Rain, became a small hit and got the band some television appearances.

Their second and third albums were commercial failures, and the group split but started back up six months later and has been making music since though in a variety of configurations of different singers and musicians.


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“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”

The rain hitting the roof was the first sound I heard this morning. Right away the nursery rhyme Rain rain go away, come again another day popped into my head. I knew all the nursery rhymes when I was little, probably still do. I loved their sing songy sound. The ones like Itsy, Bitsy Spider, Pat a Cake, Pat a Cake and Trot Trot to Boston were the most fun because you got to say them and do stuff at the same time. My sister already has her grandson roaring laughing when she trot, trot trots him to Boston. He's just waiting for that last part. We used to tease my brother, George, by yelling Georgie Porgie at him. We'd barely get the first few words out of our mouths before he'd be chasing us. Old Dan Tucker was a favorite of mine. I loved that he was just so dirty and combed his hair with the leg of a chair. It made no sense which was why it was perfect. I never could figure out A Diller, a Dollar. If he used to come at ten and now comes at noon, why does he come so soon?

Nursery rhymes got displaced by fairy tales as I got older. The Three Billy Goats Gruff was a favorite because of that troll, and I loved the Brothers Grimm with their witches, wolves and evil queens. I'm guessing that Stephen King probably read the same fairy tales I did. The Ugly Duckling was a cute story with a great moral but lacked excitement. Now if there were a sea monster in the pond, it would have kept my attention.

I bought Henny- Penny as a gift for a friend's grandson. My mother had told me it was always my favorite story, and she could never read it only once to me. I remembered the gist of the story about Henny Penny, the alarmist, and how much fun the names were like Cocky-locky, turkey-lurkey and Ducky-daddles, but I'd forgotten the ending. It was brutal. Foxy-woxy did in everyone but Henny Penny who heard the death warning from Cocky-locky and ran. I have to think I didn't process the ending too well at that age or maybe my mother changed it a bit.

It would seem that we who grew up in the 50's missed all that violence on television. We were too busy reading those children's books.

Sugar Babe: Mark Spoelstra

Date: 26 Feb 07 - 01:29 PM
From Mark Spoelstra's son Joshua:

Dear Friends,
Today my father passed away here in his lovely but modest home in the Sierra Foothills of California. There was snow on the ground and we could see the trees which surround the house like sentinels sway with the force of another approaching storm. We held him as he left us and I know he had no fear and felt no pain, and even though his life was cut short he found the strength to remind each of us that he loved us. I will miss him greatly.

Regretfully,
Joshua Spoelstra


MP3 File

The Civil Defense Sign: Mark Spoelstra

Mark Spoelstra was a major figure in the folk music scenes of Greenwich Village and Cambridge, Massachusetts, during the 1960s. Born in Kansas City, Missouri, Spoelstra was raised in California. He moved to New York City where Mark landed his first recording contract with Moses Asch and Folkways Records. While there, he played in coffeehouses and at various clubs as a duo with Bob Dylan.

"The Civil Defense Sign" was written during the Cuban missile crisis of October 1962. The yellow-and-black fallout shelter sign was a ubiquitous sight during the Cold War. "We in New York City really were scared, we felt this was it. We let it be known to our enemies that we were preparing for war instead of peace, and the preparation for war was an invitation for it to happen," said Spoelstra (personal communication, 2000).


MP3 File

“Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.”

March chose not to roar in like a lion this morning. Instead, it brought one of those days which calls us outside, one of those days when the air hints of spring and the sun warms our faces, but I am not deceived. I know better. March has chosen to wear a guise. Our ocean harbors winter, and a Cape spring is elusive. It brings a few warm, even hot, days in April and a few more in May but never really makes a stand, and we slide quickly into summer. But we have learned to take advantage of each spring-like day. We know the cold and wintry wind waits in the wings ready to pounce on the unsuspected. The buds still have long to sleep.

The dead leaves and the bare branches are out of place today. The sun gives them a shabby look, a dusty old coat with moth holes look. My eyes are aching for color. They've had enough of brown. I want to see people wearing yellows and bright oranges. I want the world to be a carnival when all the lights are lit and music fills the air. I know. I know I have to wait; I know I need to be patient, but I can still daydream.