This is from Flag, released in 1979.
MP3 File
Monday, April 30, 2007
Too Old to Work: Joe Glazer
One of my favorite Keep the Coffee regulars sent this to me, and it felt just perfect for today.
This is a copy of part of Mr. Glazer's obituary from The Washington Post.
"Joe Glazer, the troubadour of the U.S. labor movement who performed, composed and collected the songs of work and protest for 60 years around the globe, died Sept. 19, 2006 at his home in Chevy Chase. He was 88.
His songs were meant to rouse, and they did. With his booming baritone voice, a thumping guitar, a broad infectious smile and a natural exuberance, Mr. Glazer intended to light up the hall, and he did. He was in constant demand well into his eighties and found it hard to turn down an invitation, whether for a crowd of thousands or a gathering of friends, for anniversaries or, in later years, for memorial services.
Mr. Glazer wrote three songs that became labor classics: "Automation," "The Mill Was Made of Marble" and "Too Old to Work." He recorded more than 30 albums and became a leading collector, publisher and historian of labor and protest songs, helping establish the Labor Heritage Foundation in Washington.
His recordings, along with those of Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, and the Almanac Singers, among others, are now included in the Smithsonian Institution's Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage."
This is a copy of part of Mr. Glazer's obituary from The Washington Post.
"Joe Glazer, the troubadour of the U.S. labor movement who performed, composed and collected the songs of work and protest for 60 years around the globe, died Sept. 19, 2006 at his home in Chevy Chase. He was 88.
His songs were meant to rouse, and they did. With his booming baritone voice, a thumping guitar, a broad infectious smile and a natural exuberance, Mr. Glazer intended to light up the hall, and he did. He was in constant demand well into his eighties and found it hard to turn down an invitation, whether for a crowd of thousands or a gathering of friends, for anniversaries or, in later years, for memorial services.
Mr. Glazer wrote three songs that became labor classics: "Automation," "The Mill Was Made of Marble" and "Too Old to Work." He recorded more than 30 albums and became a leading collector, publisher and historian of labor and protest songs, helping establish the Labor Heritage Foundation in Washington.
His recordings, along with those of Pete Seeger, Woody Guthrie, and the Almanac Singers, among others, are now included in the Smithsonian Institution's Center for Folklife and Cultural Heritage."
This song can be found at Smithsonian Folkways on an album called Classic Labor Songs. The link to Smithsonian is to the right of this.
MP3 File
"Retirement is wonderful. It's doing nothing without worrying about getting caught at it."
Another raw, bone chilling day greeted me this morning. As the sun has barely shone since I bought the deck furniture, I keep expecting superstitious villagers carrying wooden torches to storm my house.
Each morning, when I first wake, I figure out the day of the week and try to remember if I have anything planned. Beyond knowing today is Monday, I drew a blank. No grand plans popped into my head, no scheduled chores and no appointments. Today is a blank tablet waiting to be filled. What shall I do?
Reading is a great way to spend the day. Nestled on the couch in an afghan with Gracie at my feet and a new book to read is about the nicest way to spend a gloomy day, or I could catch a few of those fifties black and white science fiction movies I've been saving. I'll watch an octopus or a variety of mutants born from desert atomic testing attack a great metropolis while our love struck hero risks his own life to save his girl who tripped as she was running from whatever monster is currently ravaging her city. I love those movies. A few plants need re-potting, but that task seems to require more energy than I'd choose to muster today. I haven't even decided whether or not to get dressed.
It seems I have finally figured out the best part of being retired: I can do whatever I want even if it's nothing.
Each morning, when I first wake, I figure out the day of the week and try to remember if I have anything planned. Beyond knowing today is Monday, I drew a blank. No grand plans popped into my head, no scheduled chores and no appointments. Today is a blank tablet waiting to be filled. What shall I do?
Reading is a great way to spend the day. Nestled on the couch in an afghan with Gracie at my feet and a new book to read is about the nicest way to spend a gloomy day, or I could catch a few of those fifties black and white science fiction movies I've been saving. I'll watch an octopus or a variety of mutants born from desert atomic testing attack a great metropolis while our love struck hero risks his own life to save his girl who tripped as she was running from whatever monster is currently ravaging her city. I love those movies. A few plants need re-potting, but that task seems to require more energy than I'd choose to muster today. I haven't even decided whether or not to get dressed.
It seems I have finally figured out the best part of being retired: I can do whatever I want even if it's nothing.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Dear Doctor: The Rolling Stones
If you're scratching your head and wondering today's theme, there really isn't one. Today is leftover day. If this were a meal, I'd throw it all into a meatloaf and hope for the best.
Today I'm using songs left by themselves in files like sick and bells. I figured if I'm cleaning the house...
MP3 File
Today I'm using songs left by themselves in files like sick and bells. I figured if I'm cleaning the house...
MP3 File
"Housework, if it is done right, can kill you."
One thing always seems to lead to another. The simple act of using my sleeve to dust around the TV was my first mistake. Mind you, I'm not talking the sleeve here as the mistake. Nope, I'm talking about the act of dusting itself. I just couldn't leave well enough alone. All of a sudden I was smack dab in the middle of an undertaking. I knew I needed essential tools. Out came the dust rags, the polish and the handy dandy extended duster. Soon the shelves, the books, the desk, computer and just about every other surface shined. Now I look at the rug and know what's next.
You'd think watering the plants would be a simple task, quickly and easily accomplished. Well, it wasn't. Somehow I spilled more than a bit of water on the bathroom floor which required a mop for clean-up. Thinking this a grand opportunity, I decided to use a mop and soap and wash the floor as it was pretty well drenched anyway. The bathroom floor looked so good I did the hall outside the bathroom which leads to the kitchen. You with me here? Yup, I then washed the kitchen floor.
I am afraid of going upstairs.
You'd think watering the plants would be a simple task, quickly and easily accomplished. Well, it wasn't. Somehow I spilled more than a bit of water on the bathroom floor which required a mop for clean-up. Thinking this a grand opportunity, I decided to use a mop and soap and wash the floor as it was pretty well drenched anyway. The bathroom floor looked so good I did the hall outside the bathroom which leads to the kitchen. You with me here? Yup, I then washed the kitchen floor.
I am afraid of going upstairs.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
"Language is the blood of the soul into which thoughts run and out of which they grow."
Today I have no deep thoughts, no memories hovering. If this were a piece of paper, I would have filled it by now with my doodling, and I do not doodle well. My female stick figures have triangular dresses and hair with single line upswings, a sort of That Girl do. I sometimes add a bow right in the middle of their heads but only when I'm feeling fanciful. Even in grammar school, art was torture for me. I'd watch my fellow students take pencils or crayons in hand, and they'd create masterpieces while my best efforts were generally unrecognizable. I learned to live with yet another lack of talent.
By the fifth grade, I knew I would never be a singer or an artist. Dancing didn't interest me so the Bolshoi was next to be crossed from the list. Sadly, my future prospects were dwindling so rapidly I was close to being a wash out by the eighth grade.
In high school my back kept getting closer to the wall. I tried the guitar figuring a busker might be hiding within. All I got were sore fingers and a couple of chords. Joni could stop worrying.
My journal became my refuge, and, when I finally woke up, it became my salvation. Writing down all my frustrations and dreams and hopes made me realize I love language. I love the pictures words can draw and the way language flows across a page. I love finding just the right word and how words have strength and power beyond our imaginings. It was time for a parade with bugles blaring and flags waving. I had found my niche.
By the fifth grade, I knew I would never be a singer or an artist. Dancing didn't interest me so the Bolshoi was next to be crossed from the list. Sadly, my future prospects were dwindling so rapidly I was close to being a wash out by the eighth grade.
In high school my back kept getting closer to the wall. I tried the guitar figuring a busker might be hiding within. All I got were sore fingers and a couple of chords. Joni could stop worrying.
My journal became my refuge, and, when I finally woke up, it became my salvation. Writing down all my frustrations and dreams and hopes made me realize I love language. I love the pictures words can draw and the way language flows across a page. I love finding just the right word and how words have strength and power beyond our imaginings. It was time for a parade with bugles blaring and flags waving. I had found my niche.
Friday, April 27, 2007
"...Let the rain sing you a lullaby."
Rainy days with lit rooms invite coziness, a feeling of comfort. I can hear the drops steadily batting the windows and rivulets run down each pane. I am warm and dry and still dressed in my night clothes. There is no hurry. I love the rain, and when the noise of the storm drowned out the sounds of my house, I went to the window to watch. The rain plops when it hits the puddles, and reminds me of coffee percolating. The dog, never a lover of rain, sleeps on the chair curled in a ball. She is quietly snoring. The cat, curled on the couch, has a slight wheeze when she breathes. I feel protected by my house.
I used to keep my calendars filled. Every appointment, every meeting was duly noted both upstairs and in my portable date book. Each Sunday I'd check the week ahead. Yesterday I happened to notice my pocket datebook was three weeks behind the time, and the one upstairs has had no notations for months. I stopped bothering. My life no longer gets ahead of me. It's a wonderful thing.
I used to keep my calendars filled. Every appointment, every meeting was duly noted both upstairs and in my portable date book. Each Sunday I'd check the week ahead. Yesterday I happened to notice my pocket datebook was three weeks behind the time, and the one upstairs has had no notations for months. I stopped bothering. My life no longer gets ahead of me. It's a wonderful thing.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
If Not Now: Tracy Chapman
This is from her self-titled debut album which I must have played hundreds of times. It is still my favorite, and I hadn't heard it in a while.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Thought I knew Ya: Martin Sexton
This is from Martin Sexton's newest release Seeds. All but one of the songs was written by Sexton. I went looking for more information on this album and found this:
"Since then he's left a major label, started his own label, toured extensively and taken Al Gore's "An Inevitable Truth" to heart, deciding to "think green" while recording this album and planning the tour. The "Seeds" tour will run on bio-diesel fuel, recycled paper and all sorts of eco-friendly perks. "
MP3 File
"Since then he's left a major label, started his own label, toured extensively and taken Al Gore's "An Inevitable Truth" to heart, deciding to "think green" while recording this album and planning the tour. The "Seeds" tour will run on bio-diesel fuel, recycled paper and all sorts of eco-friendly perks. "
MP3 File
"I dip my pen in the blackest ink, because I'm not afraid of falling into my inkpot."
I miss my fountain pen. In grade school, when most kids were still using pencils, I found fountain pens. I loved the feel of the pen in my hand and the way it fit perfectly in my fingers. It wrote so fluidly, so effortlessly and so beautifully. The first ones I used sucked up ink from a bottle when you pulled the tiny levers. They always made a mess. Well, a bit of a correction there, I always made a mess. Ink got on my hands and everywhere on the pens and sometimes on my clothes though those marks resembled fingerprints rather than interpretive ink blots. Later, the cartridge pen became my favorite. Just pop out the old and pop in the new. Black ink was always my color of choice though I'd used blue rather than do without. My first few pull the lever pens were inexpensive, and I used Schaeffer ink, still have a few of my old bottles with a bit of ink in them. Later, I bought expensive fountain pens, the kind you find in glass cases in jewelry stores or give as gifts on only the most momentous of occasions. I would never lend my pen to anyone. I'd explain that fountain pens took on the writing characteristics of their owners and seldom worked for strangers. When I lost one of my pens, I mourned. Once I dropped my pen right on its nib which then bent in on itself. It was a tragic sight but such were the pitfalls of fountain pen users. We knew what we were getting into from the first.
It wasn't long ago that cheap throwaways began to flood the market. They were deluxe executive styling, convenient, wrote fluidly, were guaranteed smooth and came in too many colors to name. I held fast to my fountain pen and scoffed at these formally dressed ball points, but I admit it wasn't long before I too was taken in by all their tawdriness. When I lost my last fountain pen, I never replaced it. I gave in to the dark side.
It wasn't long ago that cheap throwaways began to flood the market. They were deluxe executive styling, convenient, wrote fluidly, were guaranteed smooth and came in too many colors to name. I held fast to my fountain pen and scoffed at these formally dressed ball points, but I admit it wasn't long before I too was taken in by all their tawdriness. When I lost my last fountain pen, I never replaced it. I gave in to the dark side.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Furry Sings the Blues: Joni Mitchell
This song is from Hejira, Joni's 1976 album, which was a bit of a departure from her earlier albums. Here Joni moves from folk into jazz, a Joni kind of jazz. It is a collaboration with Jaco Pastorius. I'd describe the album as extraordinary.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Annie's Going to Sing Her Song: Tom Paxton
This is from Even on a Grey Day which was originally released in 1983 and re-released in 1992. All the songs were written by Paxton and are new recordings from his out-of-print '60s albums.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day."
The sights, the smells and the sounds of spring now greet me every morning. I awaken to the songs of birds filling my bedroom from the opened window. I lie in bed just a bit to listen, their songs still new to my ears. When I go to get the paper from the driveway, I can smell earth and grass and flowers, each with a distinctive scent borne by early morning breezes. The sun feels warm on my face unlike the familiar coldness of winter light. When I read the paper on the deck, I watch the dog running through the yard. Gracie runs joyously. Every now and then something catches her attention, and she takes the time to sniff and hunt through pine needles. She sometimes finds a treasure, a tennis ball or a forgotten toy, and then parades through the yard in triumph with the find in her mouth. She'll show it to me on the deck hoping for adulation and praise at her uncanny ability to locate lost objects. I never disappoint her.
Each day seems brighter than the day before. The buds have begun to appear on the backyard trees, and I can hear the humming of insects on the warmer afternoons. Even here, so close to the ocean, spring is finally taking hold.
Each day seems brighter than the day before. The buds have begun to appear on the backyard trees, and I can hear the humming of insects on the warmer afternoons. Even here, so close to the ocean, spring is finally taking hold.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
All These Things: Stephen Speaks
All I know is Stephen Speaks has been an indie band since 1999, and this is from Doubting Thomas.
"The band has managed to sell over 40,000 albums, played for tens of thousands of people, topped radio charts, had the number 1 video on MTV Asia and MYX for weeks, and had literally millions of MP3s downloaded from their Web-site."
MP3 File
"The band has managed to sell over 40,000 albums, played for tens of thousands of people, topped radio charts, had the number 1 video on MTV Asia and MYX for weeks, and had literally millions of MP3s downloaded from their Web-site."
MP3 File
Hello Stranger: The Carter Family
This is from an album called An Anthology of American Folk Music. It probably sounds familiar as Emmylou has a great cover of this song.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"I still have a full deck; I just shuffle slower now."
It always makes me wince more than a bit when I roam through antique shops and see my childhood price tagged. Not only do I find familiar dolls, games and a variety of toys, I see pieces that had to have come from my mother's kitchen, boxes of the same ornaments I haphazardly hung on the ends of our Christmas tree branches and valentines I got in the third grade. The clothes I wore seem to drift in and out of style. The names have changed, but the clothes are still easily recognizable. Pedal pushers are still pedal pushers no matter what they are called. This all makes me feel my life is on some sort of a loop. My music already hawks merchandise. I'm guessing they figure we're getting too old to recognize it.
I can see me in my waning years shopping for saddle shoes, the latest craze, and short white socks. They'll go great with my sweater set and puffy skirt. My friends and I will be sitting at our tables in the assisted living facility eating our minced meat and mushed vegetables. The piped music will be a Beatles tune converted to soothing elevator music. Turn on will mean our hearing aids. I won't venture a guess as to what drop out could possibly mean.
I can see me in my waning years shopping for saddle shoes, the latest craze, and short white socks. They'll go great with my sweater set and puffy skirt. My friends and I will be sitting at our tables in the assisted living facility eating our minced meat and mushed vegetables. The piped music will be a Beatles tune converted to soothing elevator music. Turn on will mean our hearing aids. I won't venture a guess as to what drop out could possibly mean.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Watching the Apples Grow: Stan Rogers
I figured I'd make today Canadian folk music day with two of the best.
Stan Rogers found his voice when he began singing about his home, Canada. He sang about the people who worked the mines or the nets or the vast farmlands. He sang of the universals common to us all, especially love and hope. His voice was just beginning to be heard more loudly and beyond the confines of Canada when he died tragically on June 2, 1993 in a fire aboard an Air Canada DC-9 at the Greater Cincinnati Airport.
MP3 File
Stan Rogers found his voice when he began singing about his home, Canada. He sang about the people who worked the mines or the nets or the vast farmlands. He sang of the universals common to us all, especially love and hope. His voice was just beginning to be heard more loudly and beyond the confines of Canada when he died tragically on June 2, 1993 in a fire aboard an Air Canada DC-9 at the Greater Cincinnati Airport.
MP3 File
Black Flowers: Lynn Miles
This is the second Lynn Miles posting on Coffee. She is a Canadian singer-songwriter whose first album, Slightly Haunted, was touted as one of the best folk albums of the year when it was released in 1996. She writes the most wonderful songs and seems to bring a touch of folk and country to most of them. This song seems a throwback to the older folk tunes when singers like Woody Guthrie sang of misery and tragedy. Here she sings of the deaths of miners, the Black Flowers.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful."
My house is busy. Each room holds at least one of my collections. This room, the den, is filled to the brim. The wall shelves are loaded. Old horns and noise makers are lined one after another on the second shelf. Old hats hang on nails in no particular order. An old toy jeep is a bookend while cigar boxes hold small treasures. In one box are old postcards; in another are old photos, some old Christmas cards and some valentines from the fifties. Political buttons are stuck to one shelf. One announces I am a member of the immoral minority while another admits I am an effete snob for peace. A toy airplane, a swan boat and a Christmas ornament hang from shelf holders. Books are on each shelf, mostly cook books. Some are up so high I have to stand on the couch to grab them. When I do, I generally knock down a few items from at least one of the shelves. My dog Maggie used to run when she'd see me standing and grabbing. Items fell on her often enough that she knew what was coming and ran for her life. My snow globes are spread throughout the room and piles of music and movies fill one wall. Old souvenirs, another collection, are displayed on the tops of wooden crates filled with books. Old records stand in another box. I have great plans for them some time in the future so I'd hate to move them. A few plants are grouped in front of one window. The dog's toy box is on the floor and is filled to the top. Gracie pulls out the toys one at a time until she finds the one she wants.
This is my favorite room, the room where I spend all my time. The computer is here as is my CD player and the TV. The couch is pretty comfy and is a great spot for naps. Gracie loves the chair and snoozes there most afternoons. It is close to the bathroom and a short way down the hall from the kitchen. I feel cozy and warm in this room, and when I have guests, the room sort of invites them to take off their shoes. They always do.
This is my favorite room, the room where I spend all my time. The computer is here as is my CD player and the TV. The couch is pretty comfy and is a great spot for naps. Gracie loves the chair and snoozes there most afternoons. It is close to the bathroom and a short way down the hall from the kitchen. I feel cozy and warm in this room, and when I have guests, the room sort of invites them to take off their shoes. They always do.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
"Most horror movies are certainly that."
Dragging myself inside was a struggle. The day is brilliant. I closed my eyes and let the sun warm me to the bone. It took a parched throat to get me inside so I decided while I'm here, I might as well write a bit about the day. Gracie joined me for a few minutes then went back outside, hasn't been back inside yet. I check on her every now and then and just watched her use her new outdoor fountain. She lifted her head and triggered the sensor, did it twice to keep the water running. Smart dog is my Miss Gracie.
Yesterday, from my deck, I heard conversations, the whirring of machinery, Irish music and hammering. Today, the loudest sounds were a woodpecker and a few barking dogs. One neighbor rode back and forth on his bicycle, and I could see another walking her dogs. The day invites relaxation and calls us to be outside soaking up spring. I'm thinking an afternoon nap on my new lounge might be just what I need.
Plan 9 from Outer Space is on right now. I shake my head in disbelief every time I watch it, but I can't help myself. The dialogue is wonderful. "The big man is felled right now," is said by the alien to describe the end of the ghoul who was the inspector. Who uses verbs like felled, besides aliens? Visible string hangs from the saucers and shower curtains are used liberally on aircraft and space ships as walls. Women swoon. We are just getting to the dramatic and fiery ending so I have to finish. I don't want to miss a single line of dialogue or any piece of those amazing sets.
Yesterday, from my deck, I heard conversations, the whirring of machinery, Irish music and hammering. Today, the loudest sounds were a woodpecker and a few barking dogs. One neighbor rode back and forth on his bicycle, and I could see another walking her dogs. The day invites relaxation and calls us to be outside soaking up spring. I'm thinking an afternoon nap on my new lounge might be just what I need.
Plan 9 from Outer Space is on right now. I shake my head in disbelief every time I watch it, but I can't help myself. The dialogue is wonderful. "The big man is felled right now," is said by the alien to describe the end of the ghoul who was the inspector. Who uses verbs like felled, besides aliens? Visible string hangs from the saucers and shower curtains are used liberally on aircraft and space ships as walls. Women swoon. We are just getting to the dramatic and fiery ending so I have to finish. I don't want to miss a single line of dialogue or any piece of those amazing sets.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
"April prepares her green traffic light and the world thinks Go."
We are on the deck, Gracie and I, though she keeps leaving to explore the back yard. The sun is bright and warm, and the sky is so blue it defies my feeble attempts to describe it. The neighbors are out in force. Behind my house, my neighbor, wearing a ski cap, is singing as he works on his boat. He has music playing, and it sounds like zydeco. Beside me, my neighbors, who don't live here full time, are spring cleaning. They are hopeful as I just saw the deck set being brought from the cellar. We chatted a bit, and they admired Gracie who was pulling the branches of a small tree. They thought her well behaved. I laughed.
My plans for the day include one quick trip to the dump and the drug store. After that I sit on the deck, maybe drink a little wine and read. Today is a day to be savored, a day to feel the sun, to see the world bright and clear, to listen to the sounds of people who have escaped their four walls and of birds who know perfection inspires song.
I noticed the smallest buds have started to appear on the tree beside the deck. They tell me the wait is over.
My plans for the day include one quick trip to the dump and the drug store. After that I sit on the deck, maybe drink a little wine and read. Today is a day to be savored, a day to feel the sun, to see the world bright and clear, to listen to the sounds of people who have escaped their four walls and of birds who know perfection inspires song.
I noticed the smallest buds have started to appear on the tree beside the deck. They tell me the wait is over.
Friday, April 20, 2007
The Village Green Preservation Society: The Kinks
I was actually trying to find the Kate Rusby cover of this, but it hasn't been released. She sings this song at the beginning of my favorite new TV program, Clatterford, on BBC America. I laugh out loud at least once each time I watch. Well, I decided it is a Kinks' song after all.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Josie: Ed McCurdy
"...during the late 1950s and early 1960s, Ed McCurdy was one of the most popular solo singers of the folk revival. In addition to recording two extremely popular albums, When Dalliance Was In Flower, Vols. 1 and 2, McCurdy was also the author of "Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream," a song that was widely covered by other singers."
This is from an album called The Greatest Stars of Folk Music.
MP3 File
This is from an album called The Greatest Stars of Folk Music.
MP3 File
"Martyrdom is the only way in which a man can become famous without ability."
I have never met anyone really famous, seen a few up close but was never formally introduced. I'm not talking concerts or plays here but those other encounters. When I was a kid, Big Brother Bob Emery was a local kids' show host. He played a ukulele and sang The Grass is Always Greener, which I didn't get until I was older. During the show we'd raise our glasses filled with milk to toast President Eisenhower, whose picture was on Bob's wall, while Hail to the Chief played. One July 4th, during the festivities, I was standing right behind him. I remember two things: he was wearing the same jacket he always wore and a fly landed on his neck. At another event, the grand opening of Pleasure Island, a theme park in Wakefield, Massachusetts, I got a fake million dollar bill from the guy who played Michael Anthony, John Beresford Tipton's secretary. He looked just like he did on TV, black suit and all. When I was around ten or eleven, Miss Kitty was at a fund raiser for which I had collected money so I got to shake her hand as I went through the line. Barry Manilow and his body guards passed by me once on Newbury Street, but I've never been a Barry fan so it was no big deal. My sister and I think we spoke to James Taylor, but we're iffy on that. He certainly looked like James Taylor. I should have requested he sing a few lines from Sweet Baby James, but that would have been a bit too forward. No one I grew up with is famous but none went to prison either so for that last part I should be thankful. I guess I should just count my blessings that I got to watch a fly on Big Brother Bob's neck. It was a memorable occasion indeed.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Tiny Bubbles: Don Ho
Not my usual music for a week day, but Don Ho died last Saturday. He was 76.
This is from CNN.com:
"Ho entertained Hollywood's biggest stars and thousands of tourists for four decades. For many, no trip to Hawaii was complete without seeing his Waikiki show -- a mix of songs, jokes, double entendres, Hawaii history and audience participation.
Shows usually started and ended with the same song, "Tiny Bubbles." Ho mostly hummed as the audience enthusiastically took over the song's swaying, silly lyrics: "Tiny bubbles/in the wine/make me happy/make me feel fine."
Ho also became a television star and hosted the "The Don Ho Show" on ABC from 1976 to 1977. One of Ho's most memorable TV appearances was a 1972 cameo on an episode of "The Brady Bunch."
MP3 File
This is from CNN.com:
"Ho entertained Hollywood's biggest stars and thousands of tourists for four decades. For many, no trip to Hawaii was complete without seeing his Waikiki show -- a mix of songs, jokes, double entendres, Hawaii history and audience participation.
Shows usually started and ended with the same song, "Tiny Bubbles." Ho mostly hummed as the audience enthusiastically took over the song's swaying, silly lyrics: "Tiny bubbles/in the wine/make me happy/make me feel fine."
Ho also became a television star and hosted the "The Don Ho Show" on ABC from 1976 to 1977. One of Ho's most memorable TV appearances was a 1972 cameo on an episode of "The Brady Bunch."
MP3 File
I'll Be Your Lover Too: Van Morrsion
This is early Van Morrison, released on the album His Band and the Street Choir in 1970. This is the Van Morrison we all first remember.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Let us dance in the sun, wearing wild flowers in our hair..."
I feel like a character in Bradbury's All Summer in a Day. It is as if I too have waited the whole year for today, a whole year for the sun. It has been gone so long I feel guilty sitting inside and posting when I should be on the deck letting each and every ray rejuvenate my spirits. The sun is struggling though. It appears, disappears and then reappears. The cat is not taking any chances and is sprawled on the door mat hoping to catch each reappearance. The blue sky is even beginning to break through what seemed endlessly grey. Today is a day for exploring.
Most winter days I laze a bit before I get dressed. The cold convinces me to stay close to home and hearth, and some days I don't go out at all but find ways to stay busy around the house or not, depending on my mood. I am learning how to purge my guilt at being indolent and am getting better and better at ignoring the occasional pang. But the summer is coming, and I haven't yet figured how to rid myself of warm season guilt. My mother had this summer mantra which I still hear in my head, "It's too nice to be inside. Get out and play!" Whether we wanted to or not wasn't part of the directive. We went.
Today there is sun, and I can't wait to go outside and play.
Most winter days I laze a bit before I get dressed. The cold convinces me to stay close to home and hearth, and some days I don't go out at all but find ways to stay busy around the house or not, depending on my mood. I am learning how to purge my guilt at being indolent and am getting better and better at ignoring the occasional pang. But the summer is coming, and I haven't yet figured how to rid myself of warm season guilt. My mother had this summer mantra which I still hear in my head, "It's too nice to be inside. Get out and play!" Whether we wanted to or not wasn't part of the directive. We went.
Today there is sun, and I can't wait to go outside and play.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Rogues in a Nation: Steeleye Span
This song is the standard English translation of a Robert Burns poem and is the title song from a 1973 album. The song is almost a cappella as the drum is the only instrument you hear. This is one of my favorite albums filled as it is with traditional music. This is Steeleye Span when they were at their best.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Lord Franklin: Pentangle
This is from 1970's Cruel Sister, an album with only five songs and all of them traditional. It was the first album which was not entirely acoustic, and you can hear the electric guitar in A Maid That's Deep in Love.
If you recognize the voice here, it is indeed Bert Jansch who was posted a few days ago.
MP3 File
If you recognize the voice here, it is indeed Bert Jansch who was posted a few days ago.
MP3 File
“You can't be friends with a squirrel! A squirrel is just a rat with a cuter outfit.”
Today is the tale of two rodents, make that three rodents for I have a mouse living in cabinets and drawers. I know this because I was hunting through a drawer and found piles of shredded napkins. It appears the mouse is nesting in a bottom drawer in my kitchen. Dry dog food was hidden there as well, stocking up I'd say. Two cats live here. It seems they have defined their lives by food and sleep and occasional runs at Gracie. Hunting rodents is not on their list. I have seen mice running across the floor while one of the cats slept in the same room. I think I heard the mouse snicker, but that may have been my imagination. I was thinking of finding pictures of mice and making flash cards, but that would only work if I could keep the two of them awake long enough.
The next tale is from Monday. I was sitting in a bakery, at the counter, having a cup of coffee when I noticed a rat run across the floor. Mice I know, and this was no mouse. I told the man working at the counter that a rat just ran by and showed him where it disappeared. He didn't appear shocked and merely mentioned it was the big dig's fault as the rats were unearthed from their usual haunts by construction. It occurred to me this rat would have to have taken the subway and changed lines to make it this far, but I chose not to mention this. The man said the exterminators had been by not long before, and this rat was a new one. He also told me that I should drop by all day if I wanted coffee. It was on the house.
The last tale, also from Monday, has a squirrel as its central character. I heard a girl scream and turned around in time to see the rear end of a squirrel as it crawling up the girl's pant leg, her capri pant leg. The bushy grey tail hung down below the bottom hem and kept swishing back and forth. I was guessing the squirrel was as frightened as the girl. She kept stamping her foot, and the squirrel finally crawled out and ran toward me. It hid behind some trash. I looked and saw a baby squirrel obviously still learning the characteristics of tree trunks. The squirrel caught its breath and then ran back toward the girl who jumped away, but that squirrel just kept going. I think it was running home to mom to tell his tale. One laughing spectator told the girl it was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. I suspect that was small comfort, but the girl appeared none the worse for wear, had an amazing story to tell and just walked away with her friends. I think I saw her shake her leg a couple of times just as a precaution.
The next tale is from Monday. I was sitting in a bakery, at the counter, having a cup of coffee when I noticed a rat run across the floor. Mice I know, and this was no mouse. I told the man working at the counter that a rat just ran by and showed him where it disappeared. He didn't appear shocked and merely mentioned it was the big dig's fault as the rats were unearthed from their usual haunts by construction. It occurred to me this rat would have to have taken the subway and changed lines to make it this far, but I chose not to mention this. The man said the exterminators had been by not long before, and this rat was a new one. He also told me that I should drop by all day if I wanted coffee. It was on the house.
The last tale, also from Monday, has a squirrel as its central character. I heard a girl scream and turned around in time to see the rear end of a squirrel as it crawling up the girl's pant leg, her capri pant leg. The bushy grey tail hung down below the bottom hem and kept swishing back and forth. I was guessing the squirrel was as frightened as the girl. She kept stamping her foot, and the squirrel finally crawled out and ran toward me. It hid behind some trash. I looked and saw a baby squirrel obviously still learning the characteristics of tree trunks. The squirrel caught its breath and then ran back toward the girl who jumped away, but that squirrel just kept going. I think it was running home to mom to tell his tale. One laughing spectator told the girl it was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. I suspect that was small comfort, but the girl appeared none the worse for wear, had an amazing story to tell and just walked away with her friends. I think I saw her shake her leg a couple of times just as a precaution.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Simple Song of Freedom: Tim Hardin
This song appears on Person to Person. It was written by Bobby Darin in 1969 and is one of Tim's biggest hits. It was a sort of song reversal as Hardin wrote If I were a Carpenter, Darin's biggest hit.
Tim Hardin is one of folk's tragic figures. He had far too many demons. His heroin addiction killed him in 1980.
MP3 File
Tim Hardin is one of folk's tragic figures. He had far too many demons. His heroin addiction killed him in 1980.
MP3 File
"He conquers who endures."
My body is reminding me I am no longer young. Yesterday the rain, the cold and the wind were not any problem. I was pretty well dressed for weather. My feet did get soaked through to my socks, and I did squish a bit when I walked, but that wasn't really a problem either; however, I did find that standing for over four hours holding out your right hand with a cup of water set for grabbing and then turning the same direction each time to get more cups is not the ideal way for your body to spend the day. The sentiment of volunteering is wonderful, but the aftermath is painful. My back had spasms during the night, and it took me forever to get to the bathroom. I decided it would be a better idea just to go and wait in the bathroom in case I needed to get there at some undetermined future time. This morning, I couldn't wait to get downstairs for the Aleve. I now can walk and turn without pain. I haven't tried dancing yet but I'll give it a go later. I was thinking a tango maybe or a fox trot.
The marathon runners were amazing to watch. The early runners were earnest and quick. They whizzed right by our water station intent on running those last three miles as quickly as possible. As the day got longer, the runners who began to appear were slower, more visibly exhausted, many of them walking, chatting and using cell phones. One was wearing a superhero outfit; another in a tuxedo was quite dashing. The women all dressed alike in boas were perfect fashion plates. One runner had such a cramp on his calf I could see it, but he limped on regardless. It was amazing to watch all of these runners, to know how far they had come and how determined they were to finish. That was what they all had in common: the need to finish, to say I ran the Boston Marathon.
I'd like to think that maybe, just maybe, my cup of water helped a few to that line.
The marathon runners were amazing to watch. The early runners were earnest and quick. They whizzed right by our water station intent on running those last three miles as quickly as possible. As the day got longer, the runners who began to appear were slower, more visibly exhausted, many of them walking, chatting and using cell phones. One was wearing a superhero outfit; another in a tuxedo was quite dashing. The women all dressed alike in boas were perfect fashion plates. One runner had such a cramp on his calf I could see it, but he limped on regardless. It was amazing to watch all of these runners, to know how far they had come and how determined they were to finish. That was what they all had in common: the need to finish, to say I ran the Boston Marathon.
I'd like to think that maybe, just maybe, my cup of water helped a few to that line.
Monday, April 16, 2007
The Water Is Wide: Carolyn Hester
I apologize for the short posts this morning, but I need to be dressed and on my way in ten minutes!
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Any proverbs about weather are doubly true during a storm."
I don't wear a watch, haven't in a long while. One used to be pinned to the inside of my bag but the battery died, and I didn't replace it. That watch is lost now. Mostly I leave early enough to be on time. If I'm in the car, I can check the radio. On the street or in planes, people are quite happy to give me the time, or I just surreptitiously check their wrists. I don't like to be late, and if I'm early, I get comfy and read.
My alarm woke me at the ungodly hour of 5: 30, and my back-up alarm, my friend Pat, called me fifteen minutes later, good thing too as I had already hit the snooze button, a reflex action from days past when 5: 15 was my usual wake up time. This time of the morning is barbaric.
The wind is tremendous. The noise of whoosing trees and jumping chimes fills my house. When I looked outside, I saw a small fence lying in the driveway, not where it was once placed. The dog went out with ears flat to her head and would have deferred if she hadn't chosen to defer last night.
All my bags are packed. There's my lunch, extra socks, extra batteries, my bright yellow foul weather gear, a rake, dry shoes, my camera, a hat and crossed fingers though I'll just carry that last item with me. Setting up a water station in this wind will be a test of fortitude. My water station this year is at mile 23 so I'll probably see the winner leading what should be a straggling pack by that point.
The Boston Marathon is on TV for those of you wiser than I. If you see a really soaked woman wearing bright yellow, that would be me!
My alarm woke me at the ungodly hour of 5: 30, and my back-up alarm, my friend Pat, called me fifteen minutes later, good thing too as I had already hit the snooze button, a reflex action from days past when 5: 15 was my usual wake up time. This time of the morning is barbaric.
The wind is tremendous. The noise of whoosing trees and jumping chimes fills my house. When I looked outside, I saw a small fence lying in the driveway, not where it was once placed. The dog went out with ears flat to her head and would have deferred if she hadn't chosen to defer last night.
All my bags are packed. There's my lunch, extra socks, extra batteries, my bright yellow foul weather gear, a rake, dry shoes, my camera, a hat and crossed fingers though I'll just carry that last item with me. Setting up a water station in this wind will be a test of fortitude. My water station this year is at mile 23 so I'll probably see the winner leading what should be a straggling pack by that point.
The Boston Marathon is on TV for those of you wiser than I. If you see a really soaked woman wearing bright yellow, that would be me!
Sunday, April 15, 2007
"It's always the badly dressed people who are the most interesting."
Breakfast out this morning was perfect. The eggs were just right with enough yolk to keep the toast occupied, and the bacon was crispy. The restaurant, a small diner, was empty except for my friend and me. The waitress ventured every one had bunkered down because of the storm. I smiled.
The Sox game was cancelled early, and rain is predicted every day until Friday. April showers bringing May flowers is hardly comforting. Yesterday I bought my foul weather gear for tomorrow's Marathon. It makes me look a bit like Tweety's much larger relative, more on the scale of Leghorn Foghorn, but I am more than willing to trade style for comfort. Actually, I suspect that most of my life has followed that same pattern.
When we were kids, if our mother put on fresh lipstick, we always wanted to know where she was going. She and her contemporaries always wore lipstick, and a fresh application meant a trip outside the house. My mother also had red toenails which entertained my niece and nephews when they were little. Colored toes were such a novelty.
My sisters and I were cut from the same cloth. We aren't big on make-up, our toes are natural and we all wear our grey hair with pride. Comfy clothes are favored. My youngest sister seldom takes notice and often wears hers inside out while my other sister wears her flannel nightgowns to the disintegration point. We do clean up nicely for big events, but they are few and far between. Life was built for comfort.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
"Our language is funny - a fat chance and slim chance are the same thing."
Today I have to go down cape to buy foul weather gear. On Monday, Patriot's Day in these parts, I'm working a water station at the Boston Marathon and a nor'easter with really nasty weather is predicted. Last year was warm and dry, and I still got soaked. My imagination refuses to make the leap to the predicted weather out of desperation and fear.
Galoshes is one of those words which has begun to fade away and will soon disappear, except in dictionaries under archaic language. Most men wore black galoshes with snappish sort of closures. Stylish was never part of the package. To get them off took effort and sometimes help. They were worn mostly in snow and heavy rain as rubbers were fine for light rain. In my mind's eye I picture a guy in a long fabric raincoat with galoshes on his feet and a fedora on his head. He'd be wearing glasses, black rimmed and carry a leather briefcase.
The word rubber seems to have drifted a bit from feet, and I suspect most younger people wouldn't describe one as protection for a shoe. I know in England rubbers are erasers. Here pitchers stand on them during baseball games, and a rubber game breaks a tie. Don't even speak to me about rubber stamping. We've seen more than our share of late.
Language is enchanting.
Galoshes is one of those words which has begun to fade away and will soon disappear, except in dictionaries under archaic language. Most men wore black galoshes with snappish sort of closures. Stylish was never part of the package. To get them off took effort and sometimes help. They were worn mostly in snow and heavy rain as rubbers were fine for light rain. In my mind's eye I picture a guy in a long fabric raincoat with galoshes on his feet and a fedora on his head. He'd be wearing glasses, black rimmed and carry a leather briefcase.
The word rubber seems to have drifted a bit from feet, and I suspect most younger people wouldn't describe one as protection for a shoe. I know in England rubbers are erasers. Here pitchers stand on them during baseball games, and a rubber game breaks a tie. Don't even speak to me about rubber stamping. We've seen more than our share of late.
Language is enchanting.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Someday One Day: The Seekers
This song was written by Paul Simon whom The Seekers had met in England in the mid-1960's.
It was a hit for The Seekers, reaching number 11, and the first big hit for Paul Simon.
MP3 File
It was a hit for The Seekers, reaching number 11, and the first big hit for Paul Simon.
MP3 File
Wayward Child: Bert Jansch
Though little known in the U. S., Pentangle leader Bert Jansch's influence on the contemporary folk movement in Britain was phenomenal. This cut is from his album Rosemary Lane.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Don't knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if it didn't change once in a while."
Cape Cod is beginning to remind me of the rainy season in Ghana where the rains fell every day. The sky would darken then the rain would fall in sheets. Lightning bolts visibly hit the ground, and thunder shook my metal roof so much it sounded like the storm from some radio drama. We are right smack dab in the middle of a Cape rainy season. It rained all day and much of the night yesterday. During the early evening, lightning lit the sky, and the thunder was so loud the dog bolted from her deep sleep and barked several times. Today is another dark, damp day. Rain is predicted for Sunday and a nor'easter is due on Monday. The sun is on vacation and hasn't bothered to send a postcard. It would have been nice to know we were missed.
Coffee seems to be getting later and later because of my leisurely approach to the day. I sleep in a bit then linger over the papers and morning coffee. A good day is when I can stay home, happy and comfortable in my grubbies. Each day I try to do a bit of housecleaning just to keep the board of health at bay. I have in mind a bit of a nap later. After sweeping, making the bed and emptying the dishwasher, I'm exhausted.
Coffee seems to be getting later and later because of my leisurely approach to the day. I sleep in a bit then linger over the papers and morning coffee. A good day is when I can stay home, happy and comfortable in my grubbies. Each day I try to do a bit of housecleaning just to keep the board of health at bay. I have in mind a bit of a nap later. After sweeping, making the bed and emptying the dishwasher, I'm exhausted.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
At The Codfish Ball: The Chenille Sisters
This cut is from Kids, Cars and Campfires which I was surprised to find also had I Had An Old Coat.
The Chenelle Sisters are Cheryl Dawdy, Grace Morand and Connie Huber. The three first came together on the stage of an Ann Arbor bistro in 1985.
MP3 File
The Chenelle Sisters are Cheryl Dawdy, Grace Morand and Connie Huber. The three first came together on the stage of an Ann Arbor bistro in 1985.
MP3 File
I Had an Old Coat: Sally Rogers & Claudia Schmidt
This song is from While We Live released in 1991. These two have been favorites of mine for a while though I really don't know much about them though I know Sally is from Connecticut. It is really just their music I know.
MP3 File
MP3 File
“Man is a tool-using animal”
The chimes are jumping off the branches, and their tones are running together. The rain stops and starts, but the wind is steady. The day, cold enough by itself, didn't need the help of an icy wind. When I look out my window, I see the greys of winter, dead leaves still hanging from brown branches and a darkening sky. Today is for afghans and books, for hearth and home and the warmth of a dog at my feet.
My errands were completed this morning. It seems each day means a trip to the paint store or the hardware store. The guys and I are tight. We greet each other with a familiarity born of frequent visits and a variety of questions, all mine. My memory boggles with all the new information wandering around looking for storage spots. Where do I put the information about which paint works best over an oil primer or what's the best finish? I know names for objects which I never realized existed. My eyes saw them but I just didn't take notice. Door sweep is part of my working vocabulary now as is jam screw. My mind thinks in fractions like 2 and 2/3rd's. I, however, know better than to work with tools. Last night I drew blood uncorking a wine bottle.
My new front door is being put in, and I can hear cursing, never a good sign.
My errands were completed this morning. It seems each day means a trip to the paint store or the hardware store. The guys and I are tight. We greet each other with a familiarity born of frequent visits and a variety of questions, all mine. My memory boggles with all the new information wandering around looking for storage spots. Where do I put the information about which paint works best over an oil primer or what's the best finish? I know names for objects which I never realized existed. My eyes saw them but I just didn't take notice. Door sweep is part of my working vocabulary now as is jam screw. My mind thinks in fractions like 2 and 2/3rd's. I, however, know better than to work with tools. Last night I drew blood uncorking a wine bottle.
My new front door is being put in, and I can hear cursing, never a good sign.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Morning Song
Ian Matthews released two albums in 1971. This is from one of them: Tigers Will Survive. Ian had left Freeport Convention in 1969 and drifted away from the British traditional direction where Fairport was headed, gravitating more toward the American singer/songwriters that were the sources for much of the group's material in their early days.
This is, for me, one of his prettiest songs.
MP3 File
This is, for me, one of his prettiest songs.
MP3 File
Pallet on the Floor: John Hurt
Smithsonian Folkways recently came out with a most remarkable three disc set called Friends of Old Time Music. Earlier, I featured some songs from the collection. This song is from an earlier Folkways, now Smithsonian Folkways, collection of the same name. It was released in 1964.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"A hot dog at the ballgame beats roast beef at the Ritz."
The sun is warm. With book, sandwich and drink in hand, I headed for the deck. Gracie joined me and slept on the lounge while I read and dined al fresco for the first time on my new deck. With sleet expected tomorrow, it seemed a perfect day to regenerate in the sun. It felt so good to have sun on my face, and I sat for a while with my eyes closed and took in every ray.
Even though I was a girl, I got to play in neighborhood pick up games of baseball. We all had gloves and one or two of us had bats, wooden of course, and balls. The bases were cardboard, someone's jacket or whatever else we could scrounge. The spaces between the bases were measured by sight or sometimes by counting one foot in front of the other. If we didn't have enough players, we'd do without a right fielder or a shortstop or both. We were all umpires who called the opposing player out in any close call. A short shouting match would follow before we resumed play. The word field perfectly described where we played, and balls lost in the tall grass were ground rule doubles, same with the woods. No batter, no batter, no batter could be heard along with a variety of name calling taunts meant to put off the batter. To whiff was the greatest tragedy of all. We loved to slide and did so even when there was no possible way we could get tagged. It was just fun. What we wore was unimportant except for the baseball cap, the wool baseball cap. It was essential. Its brim had to be carefully folded and molded. For a while the trend was to have perfect sides on the brim, almost as if the material had been ironed straight down and had creases. A dirty hat was a badge of honor.
I don't remember a summer day when we didn't play ball. We'd have a game if we could get enough kids or play pepper or just toss the ball back and forth. We'd alternate being pitcher and catcher and call strikes for each other. I had a great wind-up and a sort of Luis Tiant kick.
For us, summer meant baseball, still does for me.
Even though I was a girl, I got to play in neighborhood pick up games of baseball. We all had gloves and one or two of us had bats, wooden of course, and balls. The bases were cardboard, someone's jacket or whatever else we could scrounge. The spaces between the bases were measured by sight or sometimes by counting one foot in front of the other. If we didn't have enough players, we'd do without a right fielder or a shortstop or both. We were all umpires who called the opposing player out in any close call. A short shouting match would follow before we resumed play. The word field perfectly described where we played, and balls lost in the tall grass were ground rule doubles, same with the woods. No batter, no batter, no batter could be heard along with a variety of name calling taunts meant to put off the batter. To whiff was the greatest tragedy of all. We loved to slide and did so even when there was no possible way we could get tagged. It was just fun. What we wore was unimportant except for the baseball cap, the wool baseball cap. It was essential. Its brim had to be carefully folded and molded. For a while the trend was to have perfect sides on the brim, almost as if the material had been ironed straight down and had creases. A dirty hat was a badge of honor.
I don't remember a summer day when we didn't play ball. We'd have a game if we could get enough kids or play pepper or just toss the ball back and forth. We'd alternate being pitcher and catcher and call strikes for each other. I had a great wind-up and a sort of Luis Tiant kick.
For us, summer meant baseball, still does for me.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Did You See Jackie Robinson Hit That Ball: Count Basie and His Orchestra
Why this, you ask. Well, I'm sitting here watching the pre-game festivities for the Red Sox home opener. They are celebrating the Impossible Dream team of 1967 with Yaz, the last triple crown winner, Lonborg, Tony C. and so many more. I remember every game of that season. It was amazing.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Ordinary Day: Great Big Sea
What could possibly be better than a CD from Great Big Sea. How about a CD and a DVD? This song can be found on, and I love the title, 2004's Great Big DVD & CD and 1997's Play .
Great Big Sea is from Newfoundland, and this have this great Celtic sound and use the most amazing array of instruments like the bodhran and mandola.
MP3 File
Great Big Sea is from Newfoundland, and this have this great Celtic sound and use the most amazing array of instruments like the bodhran and mandola.
MP3 File
“For retirement brings repose, and repose allows a kindly judgment of all things.”
Being retired means I should be on a warm beach relaxing on a lounge under an umbrella while sipping drinks from coconuts and oogling the cabana boys. Instead, I find myself doing all those silly chores I used to put off as my precious weekend time was too valuable to waste. This morning I had absolutely no ambition and wracked my brain to find excuses, but I don't feel like doing them wasn't enough. My internal guilt meter would just not accept that as an answer so I did silly chores.
Cleaning a bookcase was the first. Sounds simple but it meant culling, dusting, packing and restacking. Two boxes sit waiting for someone stronger than I to haul them to the reuseable building at the dump. I then sat for the longest time making a cat hole in a doggy gate. Using my wire cutters, I kept trying to measure the hole by sight to get it big enough for the cats but too small for the dog. It is the new barrier in the cats only bedroom upstairs, and it took five attempts of pulling and pushing to get the gate tight enough in the door opening; of course, both cats would not even try it. I decided my best bet was the Hansel and Gretel method using Temptations. Both cats took the bait and jumped through the hole. Next, I cleaned the fronts of all the appliances. CSI would have had trouble identifying all the fingerprints. The washing machine is now spinning its little heart out doing rugs. My bed has been changed, and the bathroom and staircase were swept. I have done enough to silence any pricks from my conscience. Now where did that cabana boy go?
Cleaning a bookcase was the first. Sounds simple but it meant culling, dusting, packing and restacking. Two boxes sit waiting for someone stronger than I to haul them to the reuseable building at the dump. I then sat for the longest time making a cat hole in a doggy gate. Using my wire cutters, I kept trying to measure the hole by sight to get it big enough for the cats but too small for the dog. It is the new barrier in the cats only bedroom upstairs, and it took five attempts of pulling and pushing to get the gate tight enough in the door opening; of course, both cats would not even try it. I decided my best bet was the Hansel and Gretel method using Temptations. Both cats took the bait and jumped through the hole. Next, I cleaned the fronts of all the appliances. CSI would have had trouble identifying all the fingerprints. The washing machine is now spinning its little heart out doing rugs. My bed has been changed, and the bathroom and staircase were swept. I have done enough to silence any pricks from my conscience. Now where did that cabana boy go?
Monday, April 09, 2007
Killing the Blues: Chris Smither
Chris Smither released his first album in 1970 and his second in 1972. His next album wouldn't be released for over a decade as he battled alcoholism.
He has released twelve albums, and I could listen to them one right after the other. I love this man's voice. He has the most intimate sound and that guitar.....
This song is a Roland Salley cover and is one of my favorites.
MP3 File
He has released twelve albums, and I could listen to them one right after the other. I love this man's voice. He has the most intimate sound and that guitar.....
This song is a Roland Salley cover and is one of my favorites.
MP3 File
Arrow: Cheryl Wheeler
Cheryl Wheeler has long been a favorite of mine. She is the most remarkable talent who can write songs that make you grin or even laugh right outloud. She can also write songs which pull at all those emotions you keep at bay because they hurt or, like this one, remind you that "Maybe love is not as gentle as my memory."
This song is among her most requested and is her most recorded. It first appeared on Cheryl Wheeler, her first album, in 1986.
MP3 File
This song is among her most requested and is her most recorded. It first appeared on Cheryl Wheeler, her first album, in 1986.
MP3 File
"The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month."
The day is brilliant, and the sun felt warm upon my face as I sat on the deck for a short while. I had my eyes closed and was drifting into reverie when two downy woodpeckers grabbed my attention. I located them on different branches of an old pine tree where they seemed to be tapping with the same beat. I watched one sitting on the end of a broken limb while the other rapped on a branch close to the trunk. Off to my left, I could hear hammering sounding almost like some human's response to my two woodpeckers. Gracie was running through the yard below me, and I could hear her crunching leaves and pine needles. She has a new bunny, an Easter gift from friends which she now carries everywhere. The poor bunny is filthy. It went out in the yard ysterday and came to bed with us last night. She left it to come downstairs but went back to collect it before she went out this morning. The bunny is right now sitting on the deck stairs waiting to be reclaimed when Gracie comes back inside the house. Perhaps we'll all nap together later.
The water in the outside dog bowl freezes every night. Every morning my heat starts blasting to rid the house of the cold left by night temperatures in the 20's. If I don't wear socks around the house, my feet get cold. A day of 45 degrees seems almost a heat wave. When it is warm in winter, we rejoice at our luck and speak glowingly of the weather. When it is cold in spring, we complain and moan and wonder if it will ever get warm. The warmest day so far this spring, according to the weatherman, was last January when it reached 69 degrees.
The water in the outside dog bowl freezes every night. Every morning my heat starts blasting to rid the house of the cold left by night temperatures in the 20's. If I don't wear socks around the house, my feet get cold. A day of 45 degrees seems almost a heat wave. When it is warm in winter, we rejoice at our luck and speak glowingly of the weather. When it is cold in spring, we complain and moan and wonder if it will ever get warm. The warmest day so far this spring, according to the weatherman, was last January when it reached 69 degrees.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Peter Cottontail: Gene Autry
Easter would not be Easter without Coffee's two traditional songs. This year I've even added a new one, destined, I'm sure, to become a favorite.
MP3 File
MP3 File
My Ship Will Sail: Johnny Cash
This and the next two songs are from the recently released Johnny Cash album called Ultimate Gospel, and today seemed a perfect day to highlight the album. All 24 tracks are favorites of Johnny's. The sanctified hymns and traditional folk spirituals, contemporary church ballads, and evangelical evergreens were the cornerstones of every show he ever performed. The earliest tracks date from 1957 and the latest from the 1980's. This song is being released for the first time. The album is on Columbia/ Legacy.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"For I remember it is Easter morn, And life and love and peace are all new born."
The Easter bunny was always my first thought on Easter Sunday during my tender years. This morning, though, coffee took center stage. I had a couple of cups then opened my Easter basket. The gifts were all wrapped and went from the gaudy to the whimsical. The fuzzy chick makes the sweetest sound though I still haven't figured out how I triggered him. A basket with a chick wearing a necklace is amazingly gaudy with a fluffy pink border and tinsel around the handle. It doesn't just light, it's fiber optics. The coffee plaque is perfect for the kitchen, and there were two cardboard rabbits my sister happened to find in an antique store. We always call them uglies as that perfectly describes them. Candy, of course, was in the basket, and my sister was thoughtful enough to buy the peeps early. She opened them so they'd be hard as rocks, the only way I like them. She also included a cookbook I had given my mother for Christmas a long while ago, signed by the author, and a chick cookie stamp, also once my mother's. My mom is never far from my thoughts, especially on these special days. My sister gave me the gift of a fun morning filled with wonderful surprises.
It's time to don those new outfits and join the parade. Happy Easter!
It's time to don those new outfits and join the parade. Happy Easter!
Saturday, April 07, 2007
"Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings."
On Saturday we'd leave the house, my brother and I, and be gone all day. My mother would ask us what we did all day, and we'd just say stuff. This morning I did stuff. It didn't start out that way, but somehow I got caught up in going from one thing to another. It all began when I decided to place those beautifully ironed bureau scarves back where they belonged. They've been spread on the couch since the ironing marathon of a few days ago. Carefully carrying them so they wouldn't wrinkle, I started in the guest room. First I did the bureau. That sounds simple enough, but it took me close to twenty minutes. I ended up reading the book then went to the old cards in the dish, the kind you'd leave at the house when visiting. Finally I was able to move on to the table between the beds. Taking everything off was quick; putting it back took forever. I had to look through the old photo book and even more of those cards at the back of the book. I then checked the drawer. In there is my collection of old hankies. Some are souvenirs from World War II and were probably sent to wives and mothers. A few are old souvenirs from places like Paris and Havana. One is an old girl scout hanky, my era, but not mine. I looked at everyone and found a couple I figured I'd display. Finally I finished and moved on to the next room.
In my room, I made the bed then removed the bureau stuff. Once the scarf went down, I had to make room for the few things I'd moved over from the guest room. I spent time rearranging, stepping back, taking a look then rearranging, stepping back and on and on until it looked just right. I then had to find the perfect place to put the hankies I'd decided to display. I took one last look around and decided everything was in its right spot, for now anyway. I then rolled all the scarves I hadn't used and put them away. Rolling seems to work best to keep them from wrinkling, a packing technique I've been using since backpacking day. I then came back down here with a souvenir scarf perfect for the kitchen hook empty since the room had been painted.
I was upstairs well over an hour. If anyone asks me what I did all morning, stuff is the simplest description.
In my room, I made the bed then removed the bureau stuff. Once the scarf went down, I had to make room for the few things I'd moved over from the guest room. I spent time rearranging, stepping back, taking a look then rearranging, stepping back and on and on until it looked just right. I then had to find the perfect place to put the hankies I'd decided to display. I took one last look around and decided everything was in its right spot, for now anyway. I then rolled all the scarves I hadn't used and put them away. Rolling seems to work best to keep them from wrinkling, a packing technique I've been using since backpacking day. I then came back down here with a souvenir scarf perfect for the kitchen hook empty since the room had been painted.
I was upstairs well over an hour. If anyone asks me what I did all morning, stuff is the simplest description.
Friday, April 06, 2007
When I First Came to Caledonia: Waterson:Carthy
This is from Waterson:Carthy released in 1994 and their first together. As with most of their albums, the vocals are pretty equally split between Waterson, Carthy, and daughter Eliza Carthy, with all three combining to make great harmony. Nancy Kerr adds some excellent fiddle work to go with Eliza's playing. I think When I First Came to Caledonia is one of their most beautiful songs.
MP3 File
MP3 File
To Live Is To Fly: Guy Clark
This is from Poet - A Tribute To Townes Van Zandt which was released in September 2001.
A group of Townes' friends and devotees came together to honor his music by recording this album. To Live Is to Fly is long-time friend Guy Clark.
MP3 File
A group of Townes' friends and devotees came together to honor his music by recording this album. To Live Is to Fly is long-time friend Guy Clark.
MP3 File
"To church each fair one goes; The old go there to close their eyes, The young to eye their clothes”
By this time, the new Easter outfits would have already been bought and would be hanging in the closets where my sisters would constantly sneak peeks. Their outfits were always dainty with fluffy dresses, matching hats and gloves. Their shoes would be patent leather, of course, and probably Mary Janes, and they'd wear white ankle socks. One of my sisters generously gave me her old Easter hat for my collection. It's white with a blue ribbon and looks like the kind Madeline and her classmates wore with the ribbon hanging from the back of the hat. My sister loved that hat. My brother and I favored a more casual Easter look. He did the tie bit with no jacket, and I wore the most comfortable dress and shoes I could find. My sisters could hardly wait and would hound my mother to let them try on their shoes or dresses. No was the usual answer.
We always had Good Friday off from school. When I was young, it was just a day off from school. When I was older, the nuns made us choose some time for a vigil at church. On Good Friday afternoon, the church was almost eerily quiet. Some people would be doing the Stations of the Cross, and I would surreptiously watch their progress as they went from station to station around the church. All the statues were covered in purple cloth, and the lit candles gave a glow to the front of the church. People were scattered singly or in twos; some prayed from books while others moved their lips as they fingered the rosary. My friend and I sat together and tried not to look at each other. We were at that age when anything could make us laugh. Once we had to move to separate pews to maintain our outward solemnity. We would do our half hour then slowly and piously take our leave. We'd get outside and laugh about our near misses. She'd accuse me of trying to make her laugh, and I'd accuse her. We'd giggle a bit then head for home. We'd talk and laugh all the way home. It was, after all, a day off from school, and we were young.
We always had Good Friday off from school. When I was young, it was just a day off from school. When I was older, the nuns made us choose some time for a vigil at church. On Good Friday afternoon, the church was almost eerily quiet. Some people would be doing the Stations of the Cross, and I would surreptiously watch their progress as they went from station to station around the church. All the statues were covered in purple cloth, and the lit candles gave a glow to the front of the church. People were scattered singly or in twos; some prayed from books while others moved their lips as they fingered the rosary. My friend and I sat together and tried not to look at each other. We were at that age when anything could make us laugh. Once we had to move to separate pews to maintain our outward solemnity. We would do our half hour then slowly and piously take our leave. We'd get outside and laugh about our near misses. She'd accuse me of trying to make her laugh, and I'd accuse her. We'd giggle a bit then head for home. We'd talk and laugh all the way home. It was, after all, a day off from school, and we were young.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Si Tu Dois Partir: Fairport Convention
This is Fairport's French version of Dylan's If You Gotta Go, Go Now. It appeared on the group's 1969 album Unhalfbricking and was a hit in England.
I couldn't find who did the translation.
MP3 File
I couldn't find who did the translation.
MP3 File
"The most wasted of all days is one without laughter."
On summer weekends, we'd go to the beach and stay the whole day. During the after lunch hour, when we couldn't go into the water, we'd play in the sand and throw shells or dead crabs at each other. My mother would inevitably yell at us to stop. Once, she yelled at us for hitting her. We hadn't thrown a thing and told her so. Come to find out, a seagull had taken aim and dropped his load right on my mother's head. Little kids love poop stories, and this was the best one yet. We ran to get a look while my mother gagged and ran to the water to have my dad wash it out of her hair. The day the seagull got my mother became an often told famous family story.
When we all get together, remember when starts so many of our sentences. We laugh so much we can barely get through telling a favorite story about growing up together. My sisters roar as they talk about getting caught by our dad while they were sneaking back into the house in the wee hours after swimming at the pond. When one of us displays the family clumsy gene, dad stories come to mind. My sisters swear he lives in me, and I have too many bruises to dispute. When my parents left for one weekend, we had a party. They found out as the house was too clean.
My sisters make me laugh. That's about the best gift.
When we all get together, remember when starts so many of our sentences. We laugh so much we can barely get through telling a favorite story about growing up together. My sisters roar as they talk about getting caught by our dad while they were sneaking back into the house in the wee hours after swimming at the pond. When one of us displays the family clumsy gene, dad stories come to mind. My sisters swear he lives in me, and I have too many bruises to dispute. When my parents left for one weekend, we had a party. They found out as the house was too clean.
My sisters make me laugh. That's about the best gift.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Apple Tree: Boo Hewerdine
"Boo Hewerdine first surfaced in 1983 in the Cambridge, England-based group the Great Divide; two years later, he founded cult favorites the Bible, releasing a pair of acclaimed albums (Walking the Ghost Back Home and Eureka) and scoring a minor hit single with "Honey Be Good" before disbanding the group in 1988. From there Hewerdine teamed with Texas performer Darden Smith for 1989's well-regarded Evidence, followed in 1992 by his true solo debut, Ignorance."
Jason Ankeny, All Music Guide
This is from Anon released in 2002.
MP3 File
Jason Ankeny, All Music Guide
This is from Anon released in 2002.
MP3 File
Enjoy Yourself: Todd Snider
Todd Snider has fought continuous battles against various addictions and depression so sometimes it seems each album might just be his last. Snider sings about his life and its addictions and his own observations about the world. He keeps his own mortality close.
This is from East Nashville Skyline.
MP3 File
This is from East Nashville Skyline.
MP3 File
“I'm eighteen years behind in my ironing”
Last night, the weatherman said the warmest day thus far this spring was in January when it reached 69 degrees. We're now at about 40 degrees with that raw, cold wind the ocean seems to send just about every day this time of year. Gracie and I did errands and have a few more yet to do. She gets to nap in between cozily curled on the couch with her head on a pillow. I am tempted.
It is my fault that spring has not yet appeared. Building my deck kept spring at bay and buying deck furniture sealed spring's fate. It will sit in the wings for weeks more.
Each day I do a few household chores. I make my bed though that takes a while as the dog and one cat keeps jumping on it. I keep pushing them off, but they just jump up the other side. I sweep the kitchen floor gritty with dog borne sand, and I wash off the counter and clean the coffee pot. But today, for the first time in I can't remember how long, I'm going to iron. Before I start, it will take a bit of time to remove all the dust from my iron, the evidence of years of neglect. The ironing board, long stored away, makes such a noise when it opens you'd think this is a pig farm, and the pigs are running and squealing in fear. Ironing makes me feel as if I've been transported to an earlier time, and I should be wearing a dress, pearls and a frilly apron. At any moment, I'll hear, "Honey, I'm home," and in will walk Ward.
It is my fault that spring has not yet appeared. Building my deck kept spring at bay and buying deck furniture sealed spring's fate. It will sit in the wings for weeks more.
Each day I do a few household chores. I make my bed though that takes a while as the dog and one cat keeps jumping on it. I keep pushing them off, but they just jump up the other side. I sweep the kitchen floor gritty with dog borne sand, and I wash off the counter and clean the coffee pot. But today, for the first time in I can't remember how long, I'm going to iron. Before I start, it will take a bit of time to remove all the dust from my iron, the evidence of years of neglect. The ironing board, long stored away, makes such a noise when it opens you'd think this is a pig farm, and the pigs are running and squealing in fear. Ironing makes me feel as if I've been transported to an earlier time, and I should be wearing a dress, pearls and a frilly apron. At any moment, I'll hear, "Honey, I'm home," and in will walk Ward.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
You Can Never Hold Back Spring: Tom Waits
There's not much more you can ask for from a Tom Waits' song. That raspy voice is why I love him and how about that clarinet. This song is on the soundtrack of La Tigre e la Neve and also on Waits' box set Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers and Bastards
MP3 File
MP3 File
New Favorite: Alison Krauss & Union Station
This is the title song from a 2001 album. Even if you couldn't understand the words, Alison's voice on this song is filled with sadness, a coldness of loss.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years.”
The smell of baking bread is one of my favorites. One sniff, and I see a hot slice slattered with butter working its way from my hand to my mouth. Lavender is in bunches around my house so I can get a whiff as I walk through any room. Soap that smells like fruit has become a favorite. I also love orange polish cloths and orange cleaning oil. Spring mornings smell fresh like new grass and flowers. I can sniff rain in the air long before it gets here, and a summer rain smells of hot pavement. The aroma of cookies baking sweetens the entire house. Christmas is sights but also the best smells like the tree and anything baking in the oven. Flowers and wine each have a bouquet and which I prefer at any given time depends on my mood. Clothes dried outside are the best. The salt smell makes it as far as my house on damp mornings, and I'm surprised any is left after I get my fill.
The cat using the litter box gets me out of the room quicker than anything, and I know when my neighbor composts his yard. A relative who shall remain nameless has sneakers which could be declared bio-hazards. After working in the yard on a really hot day, I need to jump into the shower before my house is declared a quarantine area.
I find smell and aroma can be used interchangeably for something really pleasant or something totally noxious, but you're never confused if something reeks or stinks though reek seems to have fallen out of favor of late. A stench means cover your nose, and redolent doesn't always have to do with smell.
It is amazing how complex it gets to describe a simple olfactory sensation.
The cat using the litter box gets me out of the room quicker than anything, and I know when my neighbor composts his yard. A relative who shall remain nameless has sneakers which could be declared bio-hazards. After working in the yard on a really hot day, I need to jump into the shower before my house is declared a quarantine area.
I find smell and aroma can be used interchangeably for something really pleasant or something totally noxious, but you're never confused if something reeks or stinks though reek seems to have fallen out of favor of late. A stench means cover your nose, and redolent doesn't always have to do with smell.
It is amazing how complex it gets to describe a simple olfactory sensation.
Monday, April 02, 2007
How Can I Miss You When You Won't Go Away: Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks
Who's been around since the 1960's, with a huge break in between? Who writes songs filled with wit and humor, think Last Train to Hicksville? Dan Hicks and The Hot Licks disbanded in 1973, but, luckily for us, Dan Hicks reincarnated this group.
This song is from 2001's Alive and Kicking and is some of that Hicks' humor.
MP3 File
This song is from 2001's Alive and Kicking and is some of that Hicks' humor.
MP3 File
I Am a Weary and Lonesome Traveller: Barbara Dane
This is from a 1966 album called Barbara Dane and The Chambers Brothers. It was released by Folkways, now Smithsonian Folkways.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."
My friends and I used to take mystery trips where the driver alone knew the destination. The passengers were responsible for food and drink and witty conversation. Once we went to Nantasket and spent the day riding the roller coaster. We were making a lasting memory as the coaster would soon be demolished. I had bruises on both legs from my friends crashing against me at the turns, and I still remember the excitement borne from fear as we chugged up that first big hill. Another ride was to Plymouth where we pretended to be from Philadelphia and snapped each other's pictures looking down at Plymouth Rock. Once we drove all the way to Vermont, shopped a bit and had dinner at a church supper. One of my favorite stops was a slide show on old Bourne by the Historical Society followed by a turkey dinner. The evening was such fun we joined the society. We went to an amusement park one time and a water slide another. During the ride, we'd pepper the driver with requests for hints though none ever really helped. We'd try to guess our destination and weren't successful at that either. The food was road food, finger food, and always delicious. We'd stop if somewhere caught our eyes, and we posed at strange and different spots for pictures. We always made faces for the camera. It has been a long time since a surprise road trip. One of those friends is gone now, and I miss her company and her willingness to be dragged to unknown places at the strangest hours without once asking a single question.
It is time to bring back the surprise ride. I still have the cooler and the picnic basket and plenty of friends willing to chance the ride. My hints will still be as cryptic and the food will be just as delicious. That first trip I'll dedicate in memory of my friend and the roller coaster and the glider and Newport and Vermont and on and on and on....
It is time to bring back the surprise ride. I still have the cooler and the picnic basket and plenty of friends willing to chance the ride. My hints will still be as cryptic and the food will be just as delicious. That first trip I'll dedicate in memory of my friend and the roller coaster and the glider and Newport and Vermont and on and on and on....
Sunday, April 01, 2007
"I have a great deal of company in the house, especially in the morning when nobody calls."
Today I'm on hiatus, but not all of me, just the part of my brain which forms ideas and recalls memories. My mind just can't seem to hold on to a thought long enough. I look out the window and see the sun and Gracie who's sprawled on the deck luxuriating in the sun's warmth. I'm in here. This is another of those times when the so called dumb animal is smarter than I.
The Cape of my younger days was a quiet place. Motels and gift shops never opened until after Memorial Day, and they closed on the Tuesday after Labor Day. Route 28 went dark. No mall existed, and only two movie theaters within a reasonable distance were open during the winter. All summer, downtown Hyannis was the hot spot. Families in shorts and Cape Cod tee shirts wandered up and down main street slurping ice cream cones or eating popcorn. Cars filled the roads and caused traffic jams. Riding around a rotary was a dangerous spot to be as most visitors had no idea of the traffic laws ruling this circular part of the road.
Now, the Cape is filled with cars every day. Main Street has been eclipsed by the mall. Motels stay open all year, and the movie theater down the street has too many screens to remember. I miss the solitude of the old Cape.
The Cape of my younger days was a quiet place. Motels and gift shops never opened until after Memorial Day, and they closed on the Tuesday after Labor Day. Route 28 went dark. No mall existed, and only two movie theaters within a reasonable distance were open during the winter. All summer, downtown Hyannis was the hot spot. Families in shorts and Cape Cod tee shirts wandered up and down main street slurping ice cream cones or eating popcorn. Cars filled the roads and caused traffic jams. Riding around a rotary was a dangerous spot to be as most visitors had no idea of the traffic laws ruling this circular part of the road.
Now, the Cape is filled with cars every day. Main Street has been eclipsed by the mall. Motels stay open all year, and the movie theater down the street has too many screens to remember. I miss the solitude of the old Cape.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
