Thursday, May 31, 2007
“Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.”
In a blue moon was an answer I sometimes heard from my mother. I'd walk away dejected knowing all was lost because no matter how many times I looked, the moon never turned blue. We figured it was just one of those deceptions mothers practiced to get their ways. I was shocked to found out there is actually a blue moon though I was disappointed to find it wasn't really blue. That would have been really neat and sort of Ray Bradburyish.
My mother used all the stock lines on us, and we believed her. Our mother could never be guilty of subterfuge so we accepted what she told us as the God's honest truth. Gum never got swallowed. We didn't wanted a cannon ball size of gum rolling around in our stomachs while it was spending years being digested. My legs would resemble those of my distant ape cousins, dark and really hairy, if I started shaving them. Better the hair I had then the hair I'd get. We all got the one about lunch, water and cramps, but that one even my mother believed. If chocolate caused acne, my face would be unrecognizable. How about lockjaw and rusty nails? That scared me more than most. Cracking knuckles was out as we didn't dare court the possibility of arthritis. Besides, who wanted knuckles the size of tennis balls?
My mother believed in preventive medicine, and we all know the health tales: carrots and better eyesight, television and loss of eyesight, fish as brainfood, apples as doctor deterrents and the oft-used feed a cold, starve a fever school of medicine. There was also one about bread crust, but I'm hazy about its benefits. I just know I sat way far from the TV, ate my carrots and devoured my Friday fish sticks. One can never be too careful.
By the way, give your mothers a call. It's time to cash in on all those childhood promises. Tonight is a blue moon.
My mother used all the stock lines on us, and we believed her. Our mother could never be guilty of subterfuge so we accepted what she told us as the God's honest truth. Gum never got swallowed. We didn't wanted a cannon ball size of gum rolling around in our stomachs while it was spending years being digested. My legs would resemble those of my distant ape cousins, dark and really hairy, if I started shaving them. Better the hair I had then the hair I'd get. We all got the one about lunch, water and cramps, but that one even my mother believed. If chocolate caused acne, my face would be unrecognizable. How about lockjaw and rusty nails? That scared me more than most. Cracking knuckles was out as we didn't dare court the possibility of arthritis. Besides, who wanted knuckles the size of tennis balls?
My mother believed in preventive medicine, and we all know the health tales: carrots and better eyesight, television and loss of eyesight, fish as brainfood, apples as doctor deterrents and the oft-used feed a cold, starve a fever school of medicine. There was also one about bread crust, but I'm hazy about its benefits. I just know I sat way far from the TV, ate my carrots and devoured my Friday fish sticks. One can never be too careful.
By the way, give your mothers a call. It's time to cash in on all those childhood promises. Tonight is a blue moon.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Heart Like a Wheel: Kate and Anna McGarrigle
When I hear Kate and Anna McGarrigle sing this song, I get the chills. It's that beautiful to me.
Heart Like a Wheel comes from their debut album released in 1994. Linda Ronstadt had a hit with this song written by Anna, but the Garrigles sing it with such fragility the words seem to fill with meaning.
I listened twice this morning before I posted it.
MP3 File
Heart Like a Wheel comes from their debut album released in 1994. Linda Ronstadt had a hit with this song written by Anna, but the Garrigles sing it with such fragility the words seem to fill with meaning.
I listened twice this morning before I posted it.
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The Long Ride Home: Patty Griffin
This is from Patty Griffin's 2002 album 1000 Kisses. The album has a few cover songs, including a great Springsteen's Stolen Car, and some Patty originals, like this song. Emmylou adds her vocals.
The album was nominated for the 2003 Grammy Awards for Best Contemporary Folk Album.
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The album was nominated for the 2003 Grammy Awards for Best Contemporary Folk Album.
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“Childhood is a short season.”
All summer long we stayed outside and whiled away the hours playing games. What we played depended only on the numbers of kids in the neighborhood. Red Rover, Red Rover meant we had managed to round up a crowd. We'd hold that line and call out the smallest kids trying to build our sides until we were stuck calling a brute who always plowed right through us. Red light/green light was another crowd favorite. To win that game you were either really reckless or really cautious. Fast didn't hurt either.
For hopscotch, we needed a piece of chalk and just the right pebble, the flatter the better. We'd draw our grid on the sidewalk and use it until the next rainstorm. My favorite parts of the game were the double numbers. Holding my balance on one foot and picking up my stone was always my eventual downfall.
Hide and seek was the most fun just before we had to go inside the house. The shadows gave us more hiding places, and, if you were about to get caught, you could always jump out and scare the it person.
I loved jacks. Every Christmas meant a new set in my stocking and a winter spent practicing on the cellar floor. My mother was the best jacks player I ever knew. Another stocking stuffer was always that red rubber ball connected by elastic to the wood paddle. That was the most frustrating toy I ever got. The ball went sideways and forwards, never up for more than four or five bounces.
Sometimes we'd play Wonder Ball. It seemed every time we'd get close to O-U-T the pace got frantic. I still remember that song: The wonder ball goes round and round. To pass it quickly you are bound. If you're the one to hold it last, I fear for you the game is past and you are out. O-U-T, out.
Playing games was always the best part of every summer. We were never inside, never watched TV during the day and always fell exhausted into bed every night. The worst thing that could happen to us was a rainy day. I think I remember my mother feeling the exact same way.
For hopscotch, we needed a piece of chalk and just the right pebble, the flatter the better. We'd draw our grid on the sidewalk and use it until the next rainstorm. My favorite parts of the game were the double numbers. Holding my balance on one foot and picking up my stone was always my eventual downfall.
Hide and seek was the most fun just before we had to go inside the house. The shadows gave us more hiding places, and, if you were about to get caught, you could always jump out and scare the it person.
I loved jacks. Every Christmas meant a new set in my stocking and a winter spent practicing on the cellar floor. My mother was the best jacks player I ever knew. Another stocking stuffer was always that red rubber ball connected by elastic to the wood paddle. That was the most frustrating toy I ever got. The ball went sideways and forwards, never up for more than four or five bounces.
Sometimes we'd play Wonder Ball. It seemed every time we'd get close to O-U-T the pace got frantic. I still remember that song: The wonder ball goes round and round. To pass it quickly you are bound. If you're the one to hold it last, I fear for you the game is past and you are out. O-U-T, out.
Playing games was always the best part of every summer. We were never inside, never watched TV during the day and always fell exhausted into bed every night. The worst thing that could happen to us was a rainy day. I think I remember my mother feeling the exact same way.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Sunny Goodge Street: Donovan
FROM CHAPTER 6 OF TURN! TURN! TURN!:
"When I heard jazz, classical music, Billie Holiday and [classical cellist] Pablo Casals, and read poetry and new wave literature, I saw all these merging into one sound," he reminisces. "Musically, 'Sunny Goodge Street' was a jazz fusion even when I played it acoustic. The fusion of the musical styles announced the breaking down of barriers and categories in music. I not only introduced a Celtic-rock fusion. I absorbed and merged world music as a whole, in keeping with the truth that all music is one, as all humans are one race on the one planet."
"'Sunny Goodge Street' anticipates the spiritual journey which generations would follow," Donovan adds. "The lyric may just be the first mention of a spiritual path in popular music, with the lines 'the magician he sparkles in satin and velvet, you gaze at his splendour with eyes you've not used yet' -- referring to the opening of awareness which was growing in the generation of the late '50s and early '60s. Folk-rock is not only a sound. It is a manifesto of change."
MP3 File
"When I heard jazz, classical music, Billie Holiday and [classical cellist] Pablo Casals, and read poetry and new wave literature, I saw all these merging into one sound," he reminisces. "Musically, 'Sunny Goodge Street' was a jazz fusion even when I played it acoustic. The fusion of the musical styles announced the breaking down of barriers and categories in music. I not only introduced a Celtic-rock fusion. I absorbed and merged world music as a whole, in keeping with the truth that all music is one, as all humans are one race on the one planet."
"'Sunny Goodge Street' anticipates the spiritual journey which generations would follow," Donovan adds. "The lyric may just be the first mention of a spiritual path in popular music, with the lines 'the magician he sparkles in satin and velvet, you gaze at his splendour with eyes you've not used yet' -- referring to the opening of awareness which was growing in the generation of the late '50s and early '60s. Folk-rock is not only a sound. It is a manifesto of change."
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Sisters of Mercy: Leonard Cohen
This song brings me back to 1968 and my junior year in college in an illegal off-campus apartment. I played The Songs of Leonard Cohen until the album just about lost its grooves. With Suzanne, Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodby, So Long, Marianne and this song, I was hooked by Cohen's voice and music.
Time has deepened my appreciation for this album and the hauntingly beautiful melodies of Cohen's music.
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Time has deepened my appreciation for this album and the hauntingly beautiful melodies of Cohen's music.
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"Always go to the bathroom when you have a chance."
My world is green, lime green. The pine pollen covers every surface. The dog's outside water dish had a green film floating on the water this morning. I polished the table yesterday, but the green is back today. I have taken a leave it alone until the green disappears stand. Besides, this is the best excuse not to clean.
My downstairs bathroom has a school theme. The walls are covered with class pictures, an old child's desk holds the guest towels, a Ding Dong School bell sits by the sink and an old plaid school bag hangs off the back of the door. One of those chalk boards with rolling pictures sits beside the sink. Resting on its outstretched board are a globe bank, ink bottles and a couple of pencil boxes. Underneath it are boxes of old games. One game is Go to the Head of the Class, and another is a box of rhythm band instruments from Ding Dong School. That really brings me back as I was an accomplished stick player in my school rhythm band. My eighth grade class picture hangs over the sink. I doubt guests using the sink realize its significance. All the boys have short haircuts, mostly wiffles, and are wearing jackets and ties. The girls, including me, are in pouffy dresses, the style of the day. It's a great picture though a bit dated. The desk has some old school books on its shelf and a few report cards. One report card is mine from the first grade. Though the front is filled with S's for satisfactory, a couple of no's jump out at me on the backside. It seems by third quarter I had gotten messy and lazy. Does Careful Work and Puts Forth Best Effort have no's beside them. I figure I must have been getting cocky, knowing how to read and all. Fourth quarter I bounced back and have an I beside each for improved. I was promoted to grade two.
A strange theme for a bathroom was an observation from a guest. I actually think just about every theme for a bathroom might be strange, but in mine, if you have to spend some time there, there's lots to keep your interest. Pick up a grammar book and see how you do. Practice sticks or the triangle. Check out the pencil box and remember those first few days of school when it was fun. Don't forget to check out my picture. No comments, please.
My downstairs bathroom has a school theme. The walls are covered with class pictures, an old child's desk holds the guest towels, a Ding Dong School bell sits by the sink and an old plaid school bag hangs off the back of the door. One of those chalk boards with rolling pictures sits beside the sink. Resting on its outstretched board are a globe bank, ink bottles and a couple of pencil boxes. Underneath it are boxes of old games. One game is Go to the Head of the Class, and another is a box of rhythm band instruments from Ding Dong School. That really brings me back as I was an accomplished stick player in my school rhythm band. My eighth grade class picture hangs over the sink. I doubt guests using the sink realize its significance. All the boys have short haircuts, mostly wiffles, and are wearing jackets and ties. The girls, including me, are in pouffy dresses, the style of the day. It's a great picture though a bit dated. The desk has some old school books on its shelf and a few report cards. One report card is mine from the first grade. Though the front is filled with S's for satisfactory, a couple of no's jump out at me on the backside. It seems by third quarter I had gotten messy and lazy. Does Careful Work and Puts Forth Best Effort have no's beside them. I figure I must have been getting cocky, knowing how to read and all. Fourth quarter I bounced back and have an I beside each for improved. I was promoted to grade two.
A strange theme for a bathroom was an observation from a guest. I actually think just about every theme for a bathroom might be strange, but in mine, if you have to spend some time there, there's lots to keep your interest. Pick up a grammar book and see how you do. Practice sticks or the triangle. Check out the pencil box and remember those first few days of school when it was fun. Don't forget to check out my picture. No comments, please.
Monday, May 28, 2007
"On thy grave the rain shall fall from the eyes of a mighty nation!"
The Bivouac of the Dead
By Theodore O'Hara, 1847
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo'
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few;
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread;
But Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
By Theodore O'Hara, 1847
The muffled drum's sad roll has beat
The soldier's last tattoo'
No more on life's parade shall meet
That brave and fallen few;
On Fame's eternal camping ground
Their silent tents are spread;
But Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
"A hippie is someone who looks like Tarzan, walks like Jane and smells like Cheetah."
Lately I've watched several programs about the summer of love, 1967, and tried to see where I fit. My friends and I never had a love-in, a sit-in or any other in. We seemed to have missed that whole scene. I do remember lots of friends, good times and plenty of parties with a few classes sandwiched in somewhere.
We never made it to San Francisco though the song made me wish we could. One of my favorite jackets had fringes on the sleeves which was just about my only hippie garb of note. I loved that jacket and wore it until it fell apart. Picketing and marching we did, but it was during the fall and winter. My friends and I picketed at the produce center to support the grape workers. We march from 4 to 7 each Friday morning. I actually met Cesar Chavez. We picketed George Wallace in his 1968 bid for president and rallied against the war with marches and chants. I still remember several chants referencing President Johnson or LBJ as he was more familiarly called in some of the more rhythmic chants. No one I knew ever burned a draft card. My college never had a strike. The school was just so conservative women weren't even allowed to wear pants until the fall of 1967. We did try to stir everyone up the next year, my senior year, but failed miserably. My class was never into drugs, but we surely could drink. By senior year we had happy hour every Friday at a bar owned by a classmate's father. The place was so crowded you couldn't move. We all helped to take drink orders and pass out appetizers; we were never classy enough for hors d'oeuvres. I remember the juke box playing Old Friends and several of us singing along in tears as graduation neared.
We were involved and active. We just stayed home and didn't wear flowers in our hair. The one regret might be we missed the love-in.
We never made it to San Francisco though the song made me wish we could. One of my favorite jackets had fringes on the sleeves which was just about my only hippie garb of note. I loved that jacket and wore it until it fell apart. Picketing and marching we did, but it was during the fall and winter. My friends and I picketed at the produce center to support the grape workers. We march from 4 to 7 each Friday morning. I actually met Cesar Chavez. We picketed George Wallace in his 1968 bid for president and rallied against the war with marches and chants. I still remember several chants referencing President Johnson or LBJ as he was more familiarly called in some of the more rhythmic chants. No one I knew ever burned a draft card. My college never had a strike. The school was just so conservative women weren't even allowed to wear pants until the fall of 1967. We did try to stir everyone up the next year, my senior year, but failed miserably. My class was never into drugs, but we surely could drink. By senior year we had happy hour every Friday at a bar owned by a classmate's father. The place was so crowded you couldn't move. We all helped to take drink orders and pass out appetizers; we were never classy enough for hors d'oeuvres. I remember the juke box playing Old Friends and several of us singing along in tears as graduation neared.
We were involved and active. We just stayed home and didn't wear flowers in our hair. The one regret might be we missed the love-in.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
"Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it."
The dog knows best. She spent yesterday lying outstretched in the shade. Taking my cue from her, I postponed my planting until later today when it will be cooler. I watered the flowers and herbs then cleaned and refilled my birdbath. There must have been a line waiting as a robin immediately jumped in and began fluffing and splashing.
If I didn't live here, I'd be tempted to drive down this weekend. All that sun needs a beach and an ocean. I think I'd find a place by the water with a small balcony. I'd lie on the beach all afternoon with my book then walk to find shells and driftwood. Tonight I'd go to the restaurant by the marina for fresh seafood, a cool breeze and some boat watching. Tomorrow I'd just have to hit the beach again. Before I go, I'll stop for the makings of a picnic, some ice and plenty of cold drinks for the cooler. The cribbage board and some cards are a go. Tomorrow night I'll go to the drive-in, haven't been in the longest time. Bug spray, just as a precaution, snacks and something to drink are on the menu. I'm thinking chips, a dip or two, crackers and cheese, and I can't forget chocolate and Twizzler's. Monday morning means a really early breakfast and hitting the road to avoid the traffic or, if I'm having too much fun, I'll just hang around all day then leave late in the coolness of the evening.
I really do get why people make the trek down here every weekend.
If I didn't live here, I'd be tempted to drive down this weekend. All that sun needs a beach and an ocean. I think I'd find a place by the water with a small balcony. I'd lie on the beach all afternoon with my book then walk to find shells and driftwood. Tonight I'd go to the restaurant by the marina for fresh seafood, a cool breeze and some boat watching. Tomorrow I'd just have to hit the beach again. Before I go, I'll stop for the makings of a picnic, some ice and plenty of cold drinks for the cooler. The cribbage board and some cards are a go. Tomorrow night I'll go to the drive-in, haven't been in the longest time. Bug spray, just as a precaution, snacks and something to drink are on the menu. I'm thinking chips, a dip or two, crackers and cheese, and I can't forget chocolate and Twizzler's. Monday morning means a really early breakfast and hitting the road to avoid the traffic or, if I'm having too much fun, I'll just hang around all day then leave late in the coolness of the evening.
I really do get why people make the trek down here every weekend.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Someday Soon: Ian and Sylvia
Ian and Sylvia sound outdated if judged by today's music standards, but that would be an injustice. When they recorded their first album in 1962 for Vanguard, their harmonies and vocals influenced young folksingers who would later eclipse Ian and Sylvia in popularity. I'm talking Joni Mitchell and Gordon Lightfoot here.
Ian and Sylvia recorded their last album for Vanguard in 1967 and by the 1970's they had gone solo, both personally and professionally. This song is from The Best of the Vanguard Years.
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Ian and Sylvia recorded their last album for Vanguard in 1967 and by the 1970's they had gone solo, both personally and professionally. This song is from The Best of the Vanguard Years.
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“The events of childhood do not pass, but repeat themselves like seasons of the year”
It's almost run through the sprinkler season. Summer just wasn't official until the days were so hot you needed the instant relief only a cold sprinkler could bring.
Kids never depend on calendars. They have events which determine the beginnings and ends of seasons. I always knew summer was coming to a close when it was my birthday in August. Halloween began the magic season, a kid's favorite time of year. Thanksgiving meant a couple of days off from school and came with a turkey and a parade, but, for us, even a parade couldn't compete with the all important start of the great what I want for Christmas hunt. My brother and I would spend many an afternoon in front of the TV, lying on our stomachs while we pored through the Sears catalogue to make our lists. The revision, editing and rewriting of that oh so wonderful list would bring us as close to Christmas as we dared. We knew that letter needed time to get to Mr. Claus. The school fair was the start and end of my Christmas shopping. With a dollar in hand, I'd walk up and down the aisles hoping to find the perfect gift for my mother and father. Christmas vacation began the countdown to the longest night in a kid's year, Christmas Eve. New Year's was never the start of something. It was the end of Christmas vacation, a sad day, not a day for streamers and horns. On Memorial Day we got to march in the parade and wave at everyone we knew. I was a brownie when I first marched and proudly told my parents everyone was out of step except me. June was third in line for favorite time of year, behind Halloween and Christmas. We'd race out of school screaming in joy at being free. We knew it would soon be sprinkler time and the start of another year.
Kids never depend on calendars. They have events which determine the beginnings and ends of seasons. I always knew summer was coming to a close when it was my birthday in August. Halloween began the magic season, a kid's favorite time of year. Thanksgiving meant a couple of days off from school and came with a turkey and a parade, but, for us, even a parade couldn't compete with the all important start of the great what I want for Christmas hunt. My brother and I would spend many an afternoon in front of the TV, lying on our stomachs while we pored through the Sears catalogue to make our lists. The revision, editing and rewriting of that oh so wonderful list would bring us as close to Christmas as we dared. We knew that letter needed time to get to Mr. Claus. The school fair was the start and end of my Christmas shopping. With a dollar in hand, I'd walk up and down the aisles hoping to find the perfect gift for my mother and father. Christmas vacation began the countdown to the longest night in a kid's year, Christmas Eve. New Year's was never the start of something. It was the end of Christmas vacation, a sad day, not a day for streamers and horns. On Memorial Day we got to march in the parade and wave at everyone we knew. I was a brownie when I first marched and proudly told my parents everyone was out of step except me. June was third in line for favorite time of year, behind Halloween and Christmas. We'd race out of school screaming in joy at being free. We knew it would soon be sprinkler time and the start of another year.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
We Shall Not Be Moved: Mavis Staples
I loved Mavis Staples when I heard her at Mountain Stage so I figured I might just play a song from her newest album. The album is We'll Never Turn Back, released last April, which is a collection of music from the 50's and 60's and the struggles for racial equality.
Backing here is from the original Freedom Singers and Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
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Backing here is from the original Freedom Singers and Ladysmith Black Mambazo.
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Old Cape Cod: John Prine and Mac Wiseman
Standard Songs for Average People was released in April. The title alone would make me want to buy the album, but I love the music, the song choices. It is the first collaboration for Prine and Wiseman and makes me hope they'll be more. It is as if these two voices were made to be matched.
In the background are the Carol Lee Singers from the Grand Ole Opry.
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In the background are the Carol Lee Singers from the Grand Ole Opry.
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"Why do we love the sea? It is because it has some potent power to make us think things we like to think."
My favorite cup broke last night. It and I have been together for thirty years. That cup held just the right amount of coffee and fit perfectly in my hand. Over the years both of us have aged. Its rim had a few chipped spots, but that only gave it character, the essence of old age for a cup. This morning I had to find a substitute, not a replacement as we have had far too much history together. First I poured a cup of coffee into my trusty friend then pulled possibilities from the cabinet. I poured the coffee into a few cups hoping for success. The first few were two big for that perfect cup of coffee. One was the right size but didn't fit in my hand with the same sense of comfort. My sink began to fill with barely dirty cups. Finally, around cup seven, I found it. It is green pottery, has Chinese characters on the front, keeps the coffee hot and fits my hand as if the potter knew me. We are sharing a third cup of coffee as I type, and I think we'll do just fine together.
Yesterday I wandered the herb section of the local garden shop dragging my wagon behind me. It took longer than I expected as I had to keep stopping to inhale the glorious scent of the herbs. The rosemary was so inviting I ran my hand up the stem infusing my fingers with the sweet smell. Onto the cart went rosemary. The curry reminded me of dinners with friends and chicken curry with odd toppings. Two of those were added to the cart. Years ago, when I fell from a ladder, broke my shoulder and knocked myself unconscious, I woke up in my herb garden and couldn't image where I was and what smelled so lovely. It was lemon verbena. A few of those, for old times sake, joined the other herbs on the cart. I bought some of my regulars: dill, sage, thyme, chives, basil, only a couple as my friend gave me her extra, and oregano. I also added a few new ones: fennel, savory and lovage. I picked the lovage as I had once seen the play Lettice and Lovage, loved every minute of it and wanted to add it just for the sake of theater. In case I missed something, I'll need to check out one more garden shop before tomorrow, planting day, when I get to be down and dirty.
Today I'm having lunch at an inn by the water. It is a time machine, a piece of the old Cape. I love the pine sitting room, the old wicker furniture and the black and white pictures on the wall. If I close my eyes, I hear wagons bringing guests from the train station, rowboats with oars cutting in and out of the water and kids flying kites on the lawn. It is a lovely spot for lunch.
Yesterday I wandered the herb section of the local garden shop dragging my wagon behind me. It took longer than I expected as I had to keep stopping to inhale the glorious scent of the herbs. The rosemary was so inviting I ran my hand up the stem infusing my fingers with the sweet smell. Onto the cart went rosemary. The curry reminded me of dinners with friends and chicken curry with odd toppings. Two of those were added to the cart. Years ago, when I fell from a ladder, broke my shoulder and knocked myself unconscious, I woke up in my herb garden and couldn't image where I was and what smelled so lovely. It was lemon verbena. A few of those, for old times sake, joined the other herbs on the cart. I bought some of my regulars: dill, sage, thyme, chives, basil, only a couple as my friend gave me her extra, and oregano. I also added a few new ones: fennel, savory and lovage. I picked the lovage as I had once seen the play Lettice and Lovage, loved every minute of it and wanted to add it just for the sake of theater. In case I missed something, I'll need to check out one more garden shop before tomorrow, planting day, when I get to be down and dirty.
Today I'm having lunch at an inn by the water. It is a time machine, a piece of the old Cape. I love the pine sitting room, the old wicker furniture and the black and white pictures on the wall. If I close my eyes, I hear wagons bringing guests from the train station, rowboats with oars cutting in and out of the water and kids flying kites on the lawn. It is a lovely spot for lunch.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Scarborough Fair: Simon and Garfunkel
Simon and Garfunkel still play as a duo on my CD player. I have every album, and I think Bridge Over Troubled Water, their last album together, is one of the finest albums recorded.
When a friend's daughter said she had never heard of them, I was amazed. What I was forgetting is that their last album was released thirty seven years ago. I forget that these artists who are so familar to me are strangers to a couple of generations. Most times I avoid playing my favorites thinking that we've all heard them so often. Come to find out, I don't play them enough.
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When a friend's daughter said she had never heard of them, I was amazed. What I was forgetting is that their last album was released thirty seven years ago. I forget that these artists who are so familar to me are strangers to a couple of generations. Most times I avoid playing my favorites thinking that we've all heard them so often. Come to find out, I don't play them enough.
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Carefree Highway: Gordon Lightfoot
Long a favorite, I also have just about every album Lightfoot made, dating back, as do my Simon and Garfunkel, to vinyl.
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"Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do on a rainy Sunday afternoon."
Two robins have been frequent visitors to my yard. Gracie touches her feline side by chasing them, but they are not deterred. This morning, having the leisure of time, I watched the birds and realized they aren't visiting. They are my newest neighbors who have taken residence in a fir tree. Gracie and I watched from the deck as one of the birds, I'm guessing the female, jumped from branch to branch until settling on one in the thickest part of the tree. Her mate watched from the top of a picket then both flew off, presumably to choose furniture.
The door screens are up from the cellar as I have decided to replace the winter storms with the summer screens. Two days of morning coffee and papers on the deck have made me hopeful. It's time to join Herb.
The winter shoes have long been stored in the back of the closet, and my summer sandals have replaced them. My feet get a bit chilly these cool spring mornings, but I am stubborn so the sandals stay.
This is the time of year when two unwelcomed arrivals make their on Cape appearances. The first are the tourists, and the long weekend begins their summer odyssey. While I don't begrudged sharing the beaches with visitors, I do hate the congestion they bring. New rules are in effect: no shopping from Friday to Monday, and rainy days mean staying home to avoid the roads clogged with families hoping to find distractions for the kids. The second unwelcome visitor is the lime green pine pollen which covered my table this morning. Its arrival means closed windows or constant dusting. I, of course, choose to close my windows. The floor by the screen doors gets so thick with pollen that Gracie leaves paw prints. I wouldn't be surprised to find "Clean me," scrawled across the threshold. My black car gets an unhealthy pallor this time of year.
Today is dump and pizza day.
The door screens are up from the cellar as I have decided to replace the winter storms with the summer screens. Two days of morning coffee and papers on the deck have made me hopeful. It's time to join Herb.
The winter shoes have long been stored in the back of the closet, and my summer sandals have replaced them. My feet get a bit chilly these cool spring mornings, but I am stubborn so the sandals stay.
This is the time of year when two unwelcomed arrivals make their on Cape appearances. The first are the tourists, and the long weekend begins their summer odyssey. While I don't begrudged sharing the beaches with visitors, I do hate the congestion they bring. New rules are in effect: no shopping from Friday to Monday, and rainy days mean staying home to avoid the roads clogged with families hoping to find distractions for the kids. The second unwelcome visitor is the lime green pine pollen which covered my table this morning. Its arrival means closed windows or constant dusting. I, of course, choose to close my windows. The floor by the screen doors gets so thick with pollen that Gracie leaves paw prints. I wouldn't be surprised to find "Clean me," scrawled across the threshold. My black car gets an unhealthy pallor this time of year.
Today is dump and pizza day.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Sweet Afton: Nickel Creek
Nickel Creek is Chris Thile, Sara Watkins and her brother Sean though it didn't quite start out that way. The group started in 1989 with Scott Thile, the father of Chris, who still sits in as a fourth member.
Their first couple of albums were a limited release. It wasn't until the album from which this song comes, their self-titled release of 2000, that they started to have a following. It received two Grammy nominations.
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Their first couple of albums were a limited release. It wasn't until the album from which this song comes, their self-titled release of 2000, that they started to have a following. It received two Grammy nominations.
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Darkness Between the Fireflies: Mason Jennings
This is from Jennings first album, a self-titled, self-release from 1998. I love the label: indie folk pop singer-songwriter. All that's missing is the kitchen sink.
I have a feeling Jennings is one of those love him/hate him sort of singers. I fall into the former category.
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I have a feeling Jennings is one of those love him/hate him sort of singers. I fall into the former category.
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"Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you."
This morning I had coffee on the deck. The house was cold, but I ventured outside hoping that I could finally move my mornings. I found a glorious day, warm with sun. I brought the paper, but found the sun too inviting. I sat with eyes closed tilting my head into the warmth. The paper took almost as long to read as the Sunday Times. I was hard-pressed to come inside to write, but I have a special place in my heart for Coffee so I'm giving up some sun time. Gracie, being the smarter animal, stayed outside. She is lying on the grass in back with the sun basking on her fur.
When I first came out, I heard birds, an occasional truck, usually a landscaper, and a noisy elementary school bus making its way up the street. I watched my neighbor bring her daughter to the stop and wait to wave goodbye. I decided to etch the view in my memory so I can recall this first morning on my new deck.
I can see only a corner of the house across the street. The grass is lush and green and neatly trimmed. My neighbor, Herb, loves his yard and the grass never grows too high. I tease him about this obsession, but he doesn't seem to mind. His wife often works in the garden and always wears a hat. They celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary this year.
I can look all the way down the backyards of my neighbors' houses to my friends' house on the opposite corner of the street. Last week, from his deck, Tony could hear Clare and me catching up from their latest vacation, but we couldn't hear the phone ring inside my own house. Tony brought dinner, and we sat on the deck making plans for summer and barbecues. Every now and then I check to see if they too are outside soaking in spring.
The trees are filled with leaves and have started to hide my deck. I can barely see the house behind mine and am glad for the privacy.
The usual day is quiet, but today a dog is barking and a truck made rumbling noises as it dropped what sounded like giant boulders. I never went to investigate. The truck is gone now, only the birds and barking dog remain.
In the backyard the Tibetan prayer flags and Mexican fiesta flags are hung between trees and lie still, undisturbed. The Tibetan flags bring happiness and long life to me and my neighbors, and I have hung them each year for the last several. The Mexican fiesta flags are new to my yard and add a bit of whimsy and color. From trees by the deck hang small mirrors suspended from string. They reflect the sun and send dots of light dancing through my yard as if Tinker Bell has brought all her friends. Also hung from branches are candle holders just waiting for my first evening soiree.
I love my new deck.
When I first came out, I heard birds, an occasional truck, usually a landscaper, and a noisy elementary school bus making its way up the street. I watched my neighbor bring her daughter to the stop and wait to wave goodbye. I decided to etch the view in my memory so I can recall this first morning on my new deck.
I can see only a corner of the house across the street. The grass is lush and green and neatly trimmed. My neighbor, Herb, loves his yard and the grass never grows too high. I tease him about this obsession, but he doesn't seem to mind. His wife often works in the garden and always wears a hat. They celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary this year.
I can look all the way down the backyards of my neighbors' houses to my friends' house on the opposite corner of the street. Last week, from his deck, Tony could hear Clare and me catching up from their latest vacation, but we couldn't hear the phone ring inside my own house. Tony brought dinner, and we sat on the deck making plans for summer and barbecues. Every now and then I check to see if they too are outside soaking in spring.
The trees are filled with leaves and have started to hide my deck. I can barely see the house behind mine and am glad for the privacy.
The usual day is quiet, but today a dog is barking and a truck made rumbling noises as it dropped what sounded like giant boulders. I never went to investigate. The truck is gone now, only the birds and barking dog remain.
In the backyard the Tibetan prayer flags and Mexican fiesta flags are hung between trees and lie still, undisturbed. The Tibetan flags bring happiness and long life to me and my neighbors, and I have hung them each year for the last several. The Mexican fiesta flags are new to my yard and add a bit of whimsy and color. From trees by the deck hang small mirrors suspended from string. They reflect the sun and send dots of light dancing through my yard as if Tinker Bell has brought all her friends. Also hung from branches are candle holders just waiting for my first evening soiree.
I love my new deck.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Butler Field: Caroline Aiken
Emily Saliers and Amy Ray of The Indigo Girls are the other half of this duet. Butler Field is the cover song from Caroline Aiken's first studio album which was released in 1997.
I often reminise about my childhood, and I wish I could sing my story in the same way as Caroline. She is singing about her childhood softball field, but it is more a song about memories, about those places which stay in our minds even after we have left them behind us.
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I often reminise about my childhood, and I wish I could sing my story in the same way as Caroline. She is singing about her childhood softball field, but it is more a song about memories, about those places which stay in our minds even after we have left them behind us.
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Shady Grove: Dana Robinson
Dana's voice, his pure acoustic guitar and the beautiful vocals by Lui Collins remind me why I love folk music. This is the album you put on when you just want to sit and appreciate the joy of music.
Shady Grove is a traditional folk song which seems to have several lyric variations. Some refer to a place while others speak of unrequited love for Shady Grove, a prostitute.
When I first heard this album, Midnight Salvage, I knew Dana Robinson reminded me of someone else. It took a while before Cat Stevens popped into my head.
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Shady Grove is a traditional folk song which seems to have several lyric variations. Some refer to a place while others speak of unrequited love for Shady Grove, a prostitute.
When I first heard this album, Midnight Salvage, I knew Dana Robinson reminded me of someone else. It took a while before Cat Stevens popped into my head.
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"As a child my family's menu consisted of two choices: take it or leave it."
Gracie and Fern, the cat, fought for the sun this morning. I can understand their possessiveness. That ole sun hadn't been seen in these parts for a long while, and they were figuring to take in all they could. Gracie won. Fern went elsewhere, but I don't worry about Fern. She was built for comfort.
We could never eat meat on Friday's when I was a kid which meant a lot of tuna fish sandwiches in my lunchbox. We'd never abide peanut butter and jelly as the jelly looked gross by lunch time and made the bread soggy and purple. Once in a while my mother would give us money for subs, and we'd leave school to go to Santoro's. Somehow, a tuna sub tasted far better than a regular old tuna sandwich. I don't eat tuna anymore. I think I consumed a lifetime full by the time I was thirteen.
We never ate fresh fish. I forget how old I was before I realized fish didn't naturally grow in sticks. Paired with French fries, fish sticks were a common Friday night supper. Our favorite Friday supper was fried dough, a rare treat. I remember my mother stretching out that dough, plopping it into the electric frypan and being unable to keep up with demand. We'd argue over turns. Fried dough was always a big hit.
We could never eat meat on Friday's when I was a kid which meant a lot of tuna fish sandwiches in my lunchbox. We'd never abide peanut butter and jelly as the jelly looked gross by lunch time and made the bread soggy and purple. Once in a while my mother would give us money for subs, and we'd leave school to go to Santoro's. Somehow, a tuna sub tasted far better than a regular old tuna sandwich. I don't eat tuna anymore. I think I consumed a lifetime full by the time I was thirteen.
We never ate fresh fish. I forget how old I was before I realized fish didn't naturally grow in sticks. Paired with French fries, fish sticks were a common Friday night supper. Our favorite Friday supper was fried dough, a rare treat. I remember my mother stretching out that dough, plopping it into the electric frypan and being unable to keep up with demand. We'd argue over turns. Fried dough was always a big hit.
Saturday night meant hot dogs, baked beans and brown bread. I don't like beans, never have. I like my brown bread toasted. I always thought brown bread and cranberry sauce were related. I think it was the rings.
All week we had supper, except Sunday. On Sunday, we had dinner. My mother served a roast, beef or pork, or a stuffed chicken with all the trimmings. My favorite was always roast beef, gravy, mashed potatoes and peas. When I'd come home from college for the weekend, my mother always served it for our Sunday dinner, just before I'd have catch the bus back to school. It was the last meal she cooked for me before I went in the Peace Corps. I'd have to say it's still my favorite. Old taste buds die hard.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
"The flowers of late winter and early spring occupy places in our hearts well out of proportion to their size."
The world is still awash. The rain I generally love has become a nuisance. Each day is damp and cold. When I crawled out of my cozy bed yesterday morning, the house was only 61 degrees so out came the sweatshirt, the socks and the warm slippers. In the winter, if the house is this cold, the heat blasts, but until yesterday morning I thought the heat wrong, out of place in May, but I finally decided comfort is more important and May be damned so I cranked the thermostat.
The world is thick with spring. Every lawn is lush with growth. The gardens are filled with early arrivals, and the lilacs have flowered. With Gracie out back, in the newly fenced yard, I can finally grow a lawn and redo the flower beds, and I've loved walking the garden center's aisles dragging my wagon behind me as I chose my garden's flowers. The front yard is filled with pots waiting to be planted, and I have yet to choose my herbs. How lucky! I have another excuse to roam the aisles.
The grey day will keep most people close to hearth and home, but today draws me out, and Gracie and I will roam a bit. Being a puppy is hard work so she is now gathering strength for the journey and is snoring away on the chair. I'll post then we'll be out and about and maybe, just maybe, we'll stop at the garden store.
The world is thick with spring. Every lawn is lush with growth. The gardens are filled with early arrivals, and the lilacs have flowered. With Gracie out back, in the newly fenced yard, I can finally grow a lawn and redo the flower beds, and I've loved walking the garden center's aisles dragging my wagon behind me as I chose my garden's flowers. The front yard is filled with pots waiting to be planted, and I have yet to choose my herbs. How lucky! I have another excuse to roam the aisles.
The grey day will keep most people close to hearth and home, but today draws me out, and Gracie and I will roam a bit. Being a puppy is hard work so she is now gathering strength for the journey and is snoring away on the chair. I'll post then we'll be out and about and maybe, just maybe, we'll stop at the garden store.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
“Isn't it interesting that the same people who laugh at science fiction listen to weather forecasts and economists?”
I have become a scoffer and a huffer. It didn't start out that way, and my huffing is limited mostly to politicians, but it never occurred to me I'd end up this way. I have always been an idealist who grabs the smallest shred of hope and holds on for dear life. Most times I still do, but every now and then that cynic surfaces and the huffing begins. This is a strange place to find myself.
The sun has left for warmer climes and it is my neighbor's fault. Since he put the screen in his front door, it has been really cold and rainy. He is, of course, oblivious to having been the trigger for climate shifts in this neighborhood. I'd tell him, but the guilt would be overwhelming for the poor man.
All the aliens in every black and white science fiction movie speak English. I'm thinking universal translators here, but it's only a guess. Every space ship, whether alien or terrestrial, is so enormous block parties could be held in the control rooms. Just about every alien who arrived before ET was hellbent on world domination and lost, and they all seemed to come from Mars. The Day the Earth Stood Still was an exception, but if Klaatu had just watched one Saturday Creature Feature, he'd have known our guns would be blazing. Lately the new batch of aliens also see Earth as ripe for the picking, but we are a resilient race who will thwart their evil plans. Aluminum foil hats might just be the key.
The sun has left for warmer climes and it is my neighbor's fault. Since he put the screen in his front door, it has been really cold and rainy. He is, of course, oblivious to having been the trigger for climate shifts in this neighborhood. I'd tell him, but the guilt would be overwhelming for the poor man.
All the aliens in every black and white science fiction movie speak English. I'm thinking universal translators here, but it's only a guess. Every space ship, whether alien or terrestrial, is so enormous block parties could be held in the control rooms. Just about every alien who arrived before ET was hellbent on world domination and lost, and they all seemed to come from Mars. The Day the Earth Stood Still was an exception, but if Klaatu had just watched one Saturday Creature Feature, he'd have known our guns would be blazing. Lately the new batch of aliens also see Earth as ripe for the picking, but we are a resilient race who will thwart their evil plans. Aluminum foil hats might just be the key.
Friday, May 18, 2007
What Kind of Person: Salamander Crossing
This is from Bottleneck Dreams, the last of three albums released by Salamander Crossing. The group started in 1991, and their bluegrass sound belies their Massachusetts' origins.
Five of the songs from this album are original. This song was written by Les Thompson and Stephanie DeLage with Tim O'Brien sitting in on mandolin and harmony vocal.
The group disbanded in late 1999.
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Five of the songs from this album are original. This song was written by Les Thompson and Stephanie DeLage with Tim O'Brien sitting in on mandolin and harmony vocal.
The group disbanded in late 1999.
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Little Musgrave: Eileen McGann
McGann is a Canadian singer with Irish roots which she explores in her 1997 album Heritage, the source of this cut. The album celebrates traditional music from Ireland, Scotland, England and Canada.
This song may sound a bit familiar as Fairport Covention did a version called Matty Groves.
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This song may sound a bit familiar as Fairport Covention did a version called Matty Groves.
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"A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams."
Today is a dark, cold, rainy day. It's an I doubt I'll get dressed sort of day. It's a perfect day to keep the coffee hot and the pages turning. I will, however, make a few concessions, mostly for the sake of personal hygiene. I'll brush my teeth and wash my face. I might make my bed, but I'm not making any promises. Gracie has yet to go out: the rain has given her the most amazing stamina and control. She is sleeping on the couch, her most strenuous activity so far today. She is my role model.
Last night I saw Mountain Stage. Lucy Kaplansky, Todd Snider, Lori McKenna, Mavis Staples and Judy Collins were the bill. I was in heaven. The time passed quickly, and I was amazed it was three full hours of music. The crowd was an older one, with many around my age. More grey heads than not walked through the doors. We were the generation who had been fortunate enough to be part of the 60's folk explosion, and we were drawn to folk concerts just as we had been in our teens and twenties. Last night did not disappoint.
By the time I got home last night, I was too pumped to sleep. It was well after two before I dragged myself upstairs to bed. Long, long ago, two was an average time for bed after a night of youthful debauchery. Some weekends, my friends and I would crash around daybreak only to wake up in the early afternoon to begin all over again. As I grow older, the bewitching hour gets earlier and earlier. At the rate I'm going, a glass of wine and eight o'clock will the cause of my older age dissipation, unless, of course, I take a nap first.
Last night I saw Mountain Stage. Lucy Kaplansky, Todd Snider, Lori McKenna, Mavis Staples and Judy Collins were the bill. I was in heaven. The time passed quickly, and I was amazed it was three full hours of music. The crowd was an older one, with many around my age. More grey heads than not walked through the doors. We were the generation who had been fortunate enough to be part of the 60's folk explosion, and we were drawn to folk concerts just as we had been in our teens and twenties. Last night did not disappoint.
By the time I got home last night, I was too pumped to sleep. It was well after two before I dragged myself upstairs to bed. Long, long ago, two was an average time for bed after a night of youthful debauchery. Some weekends, my friends and I would crash around daybreak only to wake up in the early afternoon to begin all over again. As I grow older, the bewitching hour gets earlier and earlier. At the rate I'm going, a glass of wine and eight o'clock will the cause of my older age dissipation, unless, of course, I take a nap first.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
If You Lose Your Money: Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee
This song is from a new Smithsonian Folkways album called If You Ain't Got the Do-Re-Mi. It is filled with songs about one of my usual problems: the lack of money, of the do-re-mi. Many of the songs were born after the crash of 1929 and most are from the original Folkways catalogue.
Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee are always favorites on Coffee.
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Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee are always favorites on Coffee.
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Penny's Farm: Pete Seeger
If the theme sounds familiar, think Dylan and Maggie's Farm as Dylan adapted the theme of this song for his composition. It was also recorded early on by Gil Tanner and the Skillet Lickers and has had a few other incarnations over the years.
This song too comes from Smithsonian Folkways If You Ain't Got the Do-Re-Mi.
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This song too comes from Smithsonian Folkways If You Ain't Got the Do-Re-Mi.
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“There is a third dimension to traveling, the longing for what is beyond.”
During my travels, I have had some amazing experiences which I keep close in the front drawers of my memory. They fuel my wanderlust.
I remember traveling through the Ardennes in a car with my parents and sister. The day was foggy and damp, and we saw no other cars. The fog gave the forest an eerie look, an unreal look, and my mother said quietly it was like a scene from The Twilight Zone. She expected to see tanks come barreling out of the woods in the middle of a battle, and, had it happened, none of us would have been surprised.
Standing at the Equator with one foot in each hemisphere is on my list of favorite memories as is eating dinner in the Arctic Circle in northern Finland with the sun shining most of the night. I saw a Kung Fu movie dubbed in English with Spanish subtitles at a midnight showing in Asuncion. On a train traveling across Europe, a little old woman from England fed us the most wonderful food from her picnic basket. She said she always carried extra to share. On a local bus in Ecuador, at every checkpoint, the passengers sent our passports over their heads, hand to hand and up and back to save us from leaving the bus. When the camel took off on me, I was as scared as I'd ever been. It was a long way down. Standing in the Hall of Mirrors, I swore I saw Marie Antoinette. We walked from Salisbury to Stonehenge. I was hot and exhausted, but the view as we kept getting closer and closer was amazing. My parents and I had dinner in a restaurant where no one spoke English. The waiter just brought us his choice for drinks and dinner. It was the best meal of the whole trip.
The memories I hold dear are not epic. They are kindnesses and the unexpected. They are family.
I remember traveling through the Ardennes in a car with my parents and sister. The day was foggy and damp, and we saw no other cars. The fog gave the forest an eerie look, an unreal look, and my mother said quietly it was like a scene from The Twilight Zone. She expected to see tanks come barreling out of the woods in the middle of a battle, and, had it happened, none of us would have been surprised.
Standing at the Equator with one foot in each hemisphere is on my list of favorite memories as is eating dinner in the Arctic Circle in northern Finland with the sun shining most of the night. I saw a Kung Fu movie dubbed in English with Spanish subtitles at a midnight showing in Asuncion. On a train traveling across Europe, a little old woman from England fed us the most wonderful food from her picnic basket. She said she always carried extra to share. On a local bus in Ecuador, at every checkpoint, the passengers sent our passports over their heads, hand to hand and up and back to save us from leaving the bus. When the camel took off on me, I was as scared as I'd ever been. It was a long way down. Standing in the Hall of Mirrors, I swore I saw Marie Antoinette. We walked from Salisbury to Stonehenge. I was hot and exhausted, but the view as we kept getting closer and closer was amazing. My parents and I had dinner in a restaurant where no one spoke English. The waiter just brought us his choice for drinks and dinner. It was the best meal of the whole trip.
The memories I hold dear are not epic. They are kindnesses and the unexpected. They are family.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Chelsea Morning: Joni Mitchell
Today is favorite singers day, and I'm stretching back to the 60's for both songs.
This song has appeared here before and will again. It is on my favorite list of her music. It is from her album Clouds.
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This song has appeared here before and will again. It is on my favorite list of her music. It is from her album Clouds.
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Colours
This is from 1965, Donovan's first album.
I heard Donovan's music used for a car commercial the other night. I hated it.
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I heard Donovan's music used for a car commercial the other night. I hated it.
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"There is a strange reluctance on the part of most people to admit that they enjoy life."
My social calendar is beginning to fill. All winter it sat with pages so pristine you'd think the calendar newly bought from a half price table. Had it been lost, the finder would have wondered why such a pitiful outcast needed a calendar at all. Tomorrow night is Mountain Stage, and that is just the beginning of a summer already filled with music and theater. My summer reading stack is big on murder and mayhem, quick reads for a lazy day on the deck. Throw in a few dinners with friends and I'm a busy woman. My calendar runneth over.
When I first got to my station in Ghana, I was really alone for the first time in my life. If I needed to talk to someone, there was no one. I thought of leaving but, instead, I found an outlet. I started to write. It was the only way I could acknowledge my homesickness and my sadness. I found that writing down and then reading my feelings somehow gave me a release. By Christmas that first year I began to find company an intrusion. I then searched for and found a middle ground.
In my twenties, I was never alone. Working in a large building meant seeing hundreds of people each day. When I went home, I had a roommate. I craved my alone time and used to take long rides in my car.
When I bought my house, I found the perfect balance. During the day I saw people. At night I was alone. If I wanted or needed to talk, all I had to do was call.
Now there are days when I neither see nor talk to another person. I am not lonely nor do I miss the sound of another human voice. I am perfectly content with my life.
When I first got to my station in Ghana, I was really alone for the first time in my life. If I needed to talk to someone, there was no one. I thought of leaving but, instead, I found an outlet. I started to write. It was the only way I could acknowledge my homesickness and my sadness. I found that writing down and then reading my feelings somehow gave me a release. By Christmas that first year I began to find company an intrusion. I then searched for and found a middle ground.
In my twenties, I was never alone. Working in a large building meant seeing hundreds of people each day. When I went home, I had a roommate. I craved my alone time and used to take long rides in my car.
When I bought my house, I found the perfect balance. During the day I saw people. At night I was alone. If I wanted or needed to talk, all I had to do was call.
Now there are days when I neither see nor talk to another person. I am not lonely nor do I miss the sound of another human voice. I am perfectly content with my life.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
"That destructive siren, sloth, is ever to be avoided."
Yesterday's sun has given way to today's clouds. The day is breezy and cold, an inside sweatshirt kind of day, and the chimes are just jumping off my tree and filling the air with their melodies which, so far, are all that are saving the day. The sun has vainly attempted a few peeks through the clouds, but I think it got scared off by the cold. All this weather came just when I had decided it was time to move to the deck for the summer.
I never bothered to get dressed yesterday, and my bed never got made. It was embrace your favorite deadly sin day, and I chose sloth. The lounge chair was my spot, and my most strenuous activities were cooking lunch on the grill and turning the pages of my book. I never came inside to stay until after five. It was glorious.
Today is perfect for that trip to the grocery store I've been putting off for a few days. The dog needs food, and I too am down to the bare necessities. Unlike yesterday, the bed was made early, and I got dressed, no avoiding the inevitable. It's time to bite the bullet.
I never bothered to get dressed yesterday, and my bed never got made. It was embrace your favorite deadly sin day, and I chose sloth. The lounge chair was my spot, and my most strenuous activities were cooking lunch on the grill and turning the pages of my book. I never came inside to stay until after five. It was glorious.
Today is perfect for that trip to the grocery store I've been putting off for a few days. The dog needs food, and I too am down to the bare necessities. Unlike yesterday, the bed was made early, and I got dressed, no avoiding the inevitable. It's time to bite the bullet.
Monday, May 14, 2007
All My Days: Alexi Murdoch
Alexi Murdoch is mostly known for his song, Orange Sky, which seems to pop up on a variety of TV programs as background music, but he is so much more than background.
He is London born and Scottish bred and has been compared to Nick Drake, which isn't really all that bad. He was picked by Rolling Stone for their Ten Artists to Watch in 2006.
This song and Orange Sky are both from Time Without Consequences, his full-length debut, released on his own label, Zero Summer.
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He is London born and Scottish bred and has been compared to Nick Drake, which isn't really all that bad. He was picked by Rolling Stone for their Ten Artists to Watch in 2006.
This song and Orange Sky are both from Time Without Consequences, his full-length debut, released on his own label, Zero Summer.
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It'll Never Happen Again: Tim Hardin
Such a voice had Tim Hardin.
This is from Person to Person Essential Classic Hardin 1963-1980.
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This is from Person to Person Essential Classic Hardin 1963-1980.
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"I go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order."
It's spring I know, and the world, as it does each year, is waking up and shaking itself off from the dead of winter. Every morning is a miracle and so brand new, so spectacular, that I'm bordering on giddy. The sun makes everything it touches glow. The sky hurts my eyes it's so blue. The air smells of flowers and mown grass, and every single bird within hearing distance sings for the new day. Different flowers are making their appearances, and the lilacs have blossoms. I sit on my deck with eyes closed and let the sun wash over me. I can hear chimes and birds and Gracie rummaging through the leaves. Not a branch stirs.
Coming inside was a struggle. Please do excuse me for a shortened post today as I can't wait to get back outside. That lounge is just calling my name. Well, actually it calls mine and Gracie's names as she came in with me, but she will follow me outside and probably fall asleep on her part of the lounge. She even snores just a bit as the warmth of the day and the quiet of the yard lull her into the deepest sleep. I'm hoping to follow!
Coming inside was a struggle. Please do excuse me for a shortened post today as I can't wait to get back outside. That lounge is just calling my name. Well, actually it calls mine and Gracie's names as she came in with me, but she will follow me outside and probably fall asleep on her part of the lounge. She even snores just a bit as the warmth of the day and the quiet of the yard lull her into the deepest sleep. I'm hoping to follow!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
“Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible.”
Today I celebrate my mother. This was written last year for our first Mother's Day without her.
My mother used to sing. She favored the standards and was a Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Johnny Mathis fan. A line in a conversation or on television prompted her to burst into song. She loved to do crossword puzzles. There were always books of them around the house, and I used to try and fill in some of the spaces. My mother loved crime: before, during and after. She watched every crime program and loved Law and Order. One program was a repeat we had both seen so many times I called her at the beginning of the first scene and said gypsy cab. She knew exactly what I meant. We laughed. She watched all those TV judges because they made her laugh. Disasters too were tops on her list of must watch programs. She watched just about every tornado touch down and hurricanes wreak havoc up and down the coast. We used to play games and games of Big Boggle at the kitchen table. She would hum to distract me. My mother loved Christmas and always found just the right presents. Our stockings were the stuff of legends. She'd buy a new ornament or decoration and comment every time that it was the last one she'd buy then she'd find another. She was generous. She spent weeks here when I was ill. That's what mother's do I was told. She took the whole family on a cruise through the Panama Canal. The laugh was if we'd misplaced her, check the slots. We played Jeopardy every night on the phone. Our last trip together was when she, my sister and I flew to Colorado as a surprise for my other sister's fiftieth birthday. We had the best time.
I thank my mother for all she taught me, all she gave me and for her endless love.
Happy Mother's Day!
My mother used to sing. She favored the standards and was a Sinatra, Tony Bennett and Johnny Mathis fan. A line in a conversation or on television prompted her to burst into song. She loved to do crossword puzzles. There were always books of them around the house, and I used to try and fill in some of the spaces. My mother loved crime: before, during and after. She watched every crime program and loved Law and Order. One program was a repeat we had both seen so many times I called her at the beginning of the first scene and said gypsy cab. She knew exactly what I meant. We laughed. She watched all those TV judges because they made her laugh. Disasters too were tops on her list of must watch programs. She watched just about every tornado touch down and hurricanes wreak havoc up and down the coast. We used to play games and games of Big Boggle at the kitchen table. She would hum to distract me. My mother loved Christmas and always found just the right presents. Our stockings were the stuff of legends. She'd buy a new ornament or decoration and comment every time that it was the last one she'd buy then she'd find another. She was generous. She spent weeks here when I was ill. That's what mother's do I was told. She took the whole family on a cruise through the Panama Canal. The laugh was if we'd misplaced her, check the slots. We played Jeopardy every night on the phone. Our last trip together was when she, my sister and I flew to Colorado as a surprise for my other sister's fiftieth birthday. We had the best time.
I thank my mother for all she taught me, all she gave me and for her endless love.
Happy Mother's Day!
Saturday, May 12, 2007
"Other things may change us, but we start and end with the family."
Today is cool, and tonight will be cold, the high 30's. I knew this was going to happen as my neighbor put in his door screens yesterday. If there had been snow this morning, I wouldn't have been surprised. It's the old for every action there's a reaction story. I wish he had waited until Monday then I'd be put on my deck right now soaking up the sun.
The last few mornings I've been up and about early, before six one day and just after six another. Both days, I had to rouse Gracie who looked a bit groggy and disgruntled at having to get out of bed. You see, Miss Gracie was perfectly comfortable. She is a bed hog who seems to prefer the middle of the bed. I tried explaining about sides but she wasn't buying it. I think it's a dog thing.
One of the best vacations I ever had was a gift from our mother. She took the whole family on a cruise which included traveling through one of the locks of the Panama Canal. The ship was an old one which had been refurbished. It had wooden decks, one dining room and a musty movie theater. I loved it. The only rule from my mother was we all eat dinner together, all twelve of us, but most of us also met every afternoon in the bar for a drink or two before dressing for dinner. The ship started from Jamaica then went to Columbia, Panama and Costa Rica. My favorite excursion was when we all went snorkeling off one of the smaller San Blas Islands. The water was filled with fish of every color, and right off the island, below a small reef, was a sunken boat covered with coral. It was a magnificent adventure.
That cruise is one of the best trips I've ever taken. My mother probably never realized she had given us far greater gifts than a cruise. She had given us time together as a family which doesn't happen often as we are scattered. She gave us opportunities to laugh often and get to know each other better, confined as we were. She gave us memories.
The last few mornings I've been up and about early, before six one day and just after six another. Both days, I had to rouse Gracie who looked a bit groggy and disgruntled at having to get out of bed. You see, Miss Gracie was perfectly comfortable. She is a bed hog who seems to prefer the middle of the bed. I tried explaining about sides but she wasn't buying it. I think it's a dog thing.
One of the best vacations I ever had was a gift from our mother. She took the whole family on a cruise which included traveling through one of the locks of the Panama Canal. The ship was an old one which had been refurbished. It had wooden decks, one dining room and a musty movie theater. I loved it. The only rule from my mother was we all eat dinner together, all twelve of us, but most of us also met every afternoon in the bar for a drink or two before dressing for dinner. The ship started from Jamaica then went to Columbia, Panama and Costa Rica. My favorite excursion was when we all went snorkeling off one of the smaller San Blas Islands. The water was filled with fish of every color, and right off the island, below a small reef, was a sunken boat covered with coral. It was a magnificent adventure.
That cruise is one of the best trips I've ever taken. My mother probably never realized she had given us far greater gifts than a cruise. She had given us time together as a family which doesn't happen often as we are scattered. She gave us opportunities to laugh often and get to know each other better, confined as we were. She gave us memories.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Are You Tired of Me Darling: Nanci Griffith & Iris Dement
I just happen to have this hanging around from I don't know where, and I didn't go looking. Just a bit lazy today I suspect.
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Oh Susanna: The Be Good Tanyas
Frazey Ford, Samantha Parton, and Trish Klein are The be Good Tanyas, and this is from Blue Horse, their debut album. It was released in 2001.
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"Methinks it is a token of healthy and gentle characteristics, when women of high thoughts and accomplishments love to sew..."
The other day I fixed the rips in my comfiest pants. It took all of two minutes to staple shut the holes along the seams, and the pants looked great when I was done. Staples have long been the chief weapon in my sewing arsenal. I also use duct tape, but because that tends to be stiff and uncomfortable, I don't use it as often. Obviously I am not a seamstress though I do have a sewing box filled with thread, most of it unused. I tend to grab whatever thread is already in the needle. Matching is of no importance. I am of the stitch in time saving nine school of thought, and no where does that mention matching the thread. Once I even made curtains for my bedroom when I lived in Africa. I cut along one side of the material, turned the cut side over, sewed it and then pulled string through and knotted the ends to nails. They looked just fine. I also made a lamp shade from a basket, but that was just cutting, no sewing involved, but I still thought myself quite clever.
My mother could sew. She made me the most extraordinarily beautiful prom dress when I was in high school, and my most cherished gifts are the ones she made for me. For some reason, she never passed this sewing gene on to me or my two sisters. Moe is known for wearing clothes with holes, and Sheila wears hers until they are so worn you can just about see through the fabric. In that way, the three of us are alike. I too hate to part with my well worn favorites, and mending them never really occurs to me. It's along the lines of an as is style.
I have tons of material. When I see an old fabric, I buy it. From it I envision pillows and curtains, napkins and even table cloths. I'm beginning to think velcro.
My mother could sew. She made me the most extraordinarily beautiful prom dress when I was in high school, and my most cherished gifts are the ones she made for me. For some reason, she never passed this sewing gene on to me or my two sisters. Moe is known for wearing clothes with holes, and Sheila wears hers until they are so worn you can just about see through the fabric. In that way, the three of us are alike. I too hate to part with my well worn favorites, and mending them never really occurs to me. It's along the lines of an as is style.
I have tons of material. When I see an old fabric, I buy it. From it I envision pillows and curtains, napkins and even table cloths. I'm beginning to think velcro.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
I'll Be Your Baby Tonight: Maria Muldaur
I chose the Dylan first and this seemed a fine accompaniment. The song is from Heart of Mine Love Songs of Bob Dylan
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" It would take a polyester derivative of an organic hydroxide molecule."
This poor old body was spent last night. Putting stuff back in place, going up and down the cellar stairs and cleaning the window mess did a number on me, and I was in bed by 10:15. In the old days, I could go all day and half the night, sometimes even the whole night, and I remember pulling a few all-nighters around this time of year. They were the meat and potatoes of the unprepared test takers when I was in college. We'd study until just about test time then shuffle into the room puffy eyed from lack of sleep sipping coffee for all we were worth. Our heads were filled with facts crammed in for last minute retrieval. After the test, we'd celebrate.
I used to wish I was Samantha on Bewitched. It wasn't the riches which attracted me, but the one blink and be anywhere ability. I could have lunch in Fez and wander the narrow streets of the market then finish off the day with dinner in Istanbul. Nothing on the social calendar? No problem, I'll just check out that local market in Accra. Nothing to wear? Still no problem, I'll just hop over to Rome or Paris for a new frock. I wouldn't be greedy, and only a few people would live for a bit of time as reptiles.
Another TV character I would love to be is the Professor. Not ever being called by my name would be a small price to pay for the ability to create anything from a few coconuts and a bit of wire. He even got those radio batteries to last the full run of the show. Watching him all those years, it never occurred to me to wonder why he didn't just get them off the island. That would have spoiled all the fun of marveling at his inventiveness and ingenuity.
Okay, I would love to be Miss Kitty. I'd own my own saloon, my boyfriend would be the big strong sheriff, and I'd have this great, sexy wardrobe. Put me down for the red boa!
I used to wish I was Samantha on Bewitched. It wasn't the riches which attracted me, but the one blink and be anywhere ability. I could have lunch in Fez and wander the narrow streets of the market then finish off the day with dinner in Istanbul. Nothing on the social calendar? No problem, I'll just check out that local market in Accra. Nothing to wear? Still no problem, I'll just hop over to Rome or Paris for a new frock. I wouldn't be greedy, and only a few people would live for a bit of time as reptiles.
Another TV character I would love to be is the Professor. Not ever being called by my name would be a small price to pay for the ability to create anything from a few coconuts and a bit of wire. He even got those radio batteries to last the full run of the show. Watching him all those years, it never occurred to me to wonder why he didn't just get them off the island. That would have spoiled all the fun of marveling at his inventiveness and ingenuity.
Okay, I would love to be Miss Kitty. I'd own my own saloon, my boyfriend would be the big strong sheriff, and I'd have this great, sexy wardrobe. Put me down for the red boa!
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
"Every spring is the only spring - a perpetual astonishment."
Spring arrived today though summer seems to be nudging just a bit as it is so hot. Naturally, today is the day they put in my new windows. They couldn't have come when it was 40 degrees. They waited just so I could sweat like the proverbially pig as I put curtains back and climb chairs for the high stuff. The guys are gone so I am now trying to put rooms back to right with three more rooms to go before I can call it a day. This is break time.
Gracie and I left the house this morning for a couple of hours to do a bit of touring, and our ride was filled with spring. Street sweepers were out, and dust was flying. The police bike patrol was training in a parking lot filled with orange cones, and I swear every Cape landscaper was out in force. On every street was someone mowing. A few boats were motoring down the river, and short sleeves was the dress uniform of the day. I stopped at a garden shop and bought a couple of pots to be filled later then wandered up and down the rows just taking in the color and the scents. I decided red and yellow will be this year's colors for my garden.
Tonight I will sit on my deck and watch the sun set.
Gracie and I left the house this morning for a couple of hours to do a bit of touring, and our ride was filled with spring. Street sweepers were out, and dust was flying. The police bike patrol was training in a parking lot filled with orange cones, and I swear every Cape landscaper was out in force. On every street was someone mowing. A few boats were motoring down the river, and short sleeves was the dress uniform of the day. I stopped at a garden shop and bought a couple of pots to be filled later then wandered up and down the rows just taking in the color and the scents. I decided red and yellow will be this year's colors for my garden.
Tonight I will sit on my deck and watch the sun set.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
I Don't Want Your Millions Mister: The Almanac Singers
Both of today's songs are from a Smithsonian Folkways album called If You Ain't Got the Do-Re-Mi. It was released in collaboration with the Museum of American Finance in New York and is a collection of songs about money and the evils of money. Many of the songs date from the Great Depression. I couldn't help buying this when I saw the great line-up of artists. You'll find Woody Guthrie, Joe Glazer, Pete Seeger and Hoyt Axton among them. It is one of the the Woody songs which gives the album its title.
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"The two offices of memory are collection and distribution."
In the square where I grew up was the Spa, a sort of malt shop. It had wooden booths, swivel stools at the counter, yellowed signs on the walls and famous lime rickeys. It was the hot spot for the generation before mine. Afternoons after school it was jumping, at least that's what my mother told me. I remember going there with my aunt and loving the place. The spa always seemed crowded, but my aunt knew everyone. I loved sitting there and watching as people moved from booth to booth to chat and catch up on the latest gossip. It was at the spa where my aunt gave my my Cinderella watch, a seventh birthday gift. I felt so grown up sitting in the booth as if I was one of the crowd and wearing my very own watch.
My generation never had the spa. It was gone by the time I was a teen, but we had the diner. The stools swiveled there too, and I remember their seats were red vinyl. Booths lines the sides, and each booth had its own jukebox. My dad sometimes took us there for breakfast, and he knew just about everyone. He'd give me a quarter then booth hop to say hello. I'd keep turning the cards until I found the perfect three songs. By the time the second one had played, my dad was back and we'd order. Breakfast at the diner always tasted better than breakfast at any other restaurant. My high school friends and I stopped often at that diner. We saw ourselves as regulars, townies. It wasn't too many years after I finished high school that the diner was torn down to make room for a hardware store.
The spa and the diner were unique to my town and were just as much town characters as the man who attended every funeral and wedding. The square still looks the same as it did in the 1920's but has lost its essence and only a couple of spots remain. Hank's Bakery has been in the same spot forever. My mother even worked there during high school. The movie theater looks the same but is now home to live theater. When I drive through the square, I love seeing the old marquee lit again.
I really do think I grew up during a perfect time in the neatest place.
My generation never had the spa. It was gone by the time I was a teen, but we had the diner. The stools swiveled there too, and I remember their seats were red vinyl. Booths lines the sides, and each booth had its own jukebox. My dad sometimes took us there for breakfast, and he knew just about everyone. He'd give me a quarter then booth hop to say hello. I'd keep turning the cards until I found the perfect three songs. By the time the second one had played, my dad was back and we'd order. Breakfast at the diner always tasted better than breakfast at any other restaurant. My high school friends and I stopped often at that diner. We saw ourselves as regulars, townies. It wasn't too many years after I finished high school that the diner was torn down to make room for a hardware store.
The spa and the diner were unique to my town and were just as much town characters as the man who attended every funeral and wedding. The square still looks the same as it did in the 1920's but has lost its essence and only a couple of spots remain. Hank's Bakery has been in the same spot forever. My mother even worked there during high school. The movie theater looks the same but is now home to live theater. When I drive through the square, I love seeing the old marquee lit again.
I really do think I grew up during a perfect time in the neatest place.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Diamonds on My Windshield: Tom Waits
Today is a day for early music, the beginnings. This is from The Early Years Vol. 2 and it appeared on 1974's The Heart of Saturday Night. It has been described as his jazzy beatnik, Jack Kerouac sort of song.
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500 Miles: Peter, Paul and Mary
This first appears on Peter, Paul and Mary, their first album, which was released in 1962, one year after they appeared together at The Bitter End on Bleeker Street in Greenwich Village.
I bought this album not all that long after it was released and just kept on buying them.
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I bought this album not all that long after it was released and just kept on buying them.
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"May is a pious fraud of the almanac."
Somehow it just doesn't seem right that the temperature be in the high 30's and low 40's at night. Even Gracie is feeling the cold and last night she nestled completely under the covers. When I woke up, she was a mere lump hidden by the spread, and the house was so downright cold I wanted to join her. May brings this impatience for spring. I look outside, and it has all the earmarks of a warm day. The sun is bright and everything it touches looks golden, but this sun is really just a ruse, a trap. I fall for it and am lured outside where a cold breeze sends me scurrying right back inside for something warm to wear. It should be sandals, not socks. The sweatshirts need to stay in the closet and give way to short sleeves and arms warmed by the sun. I want ice tea weather and a sweating glass. I want to sit on the lounge reading and feeling drowsy from the sun. I want to fall asleep to the sounds of birds, rustling trees and the humming of insects. Spring, get ready you're up next!
Sunday, May 06, 2007
“A Sunday well-spent brings a week of content.”
I didn't set myself on fire, the wine glass stayed full and the meat tasted wonderful. The evening was a success.
This morning, I went out for breakfast. On the road were only a few cars so I allowed myself to be distracted. The tulips have finally opened, and I saw rows and rows of dafs. On the river were quahoggers taking advantage of the tide, and I could see their wire baskets wrapped in tire tubes floating beside them while they raked. Golfers were on the putting green next to the road, and I watched one guy just miss the hole. The church parking lot was filled as were the lots at McDonald's and Dunkin' Donuts. The water was cascading down the falls so I knew the miniature golf course was open. The summer church isn't. The sign still says closed for the season. No dog walkers were out: the weather is chilly and damp. Sundays just always seem to take a bit longer to get started.
Taking it easy and watching the Sox are my plans for today.
This morning, I went out for breakfast. On the road were only a few cars so I allowed myself to be distracted. The tulips have finally opened, and I saw rows and rows of dafs. On the river were quahoggers taking advantage of the tide, and I could see their wire baskets wrapped in tire tubes floating beside them while they raked. Golfers were on the putting green next to the road, and I watched one guy just miss the hole. The church parking lot was filled as were the lots at McDonald's and Dunkin' Donuts. The water was cascading down the falls so I knew the miniature golf course was open. The summer church isn't. The sign still says closed for the season. No dog walkers were out: the weather is chilly and damp. Sundays just always seem to take a bit longer to get started.
Taking it easy and watching the Sox are my plans for today.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Cielito Lindo: Ana Gabriel
The holiday of Cinco De Mayo, The 5th Of May, commemorates the victory of the Mexican militia over the French army at The Battle Of Puebla in 1862. General Ignacio Zaragoza's Mexican troops defeated Napolean III's French forces. France, along with England and Spain, had occupied Mexico since mid-1861 as a result of President Benito Juarez' moratorium on foreign debt payments. Eventually England and Spain withdrew but the French remained in an attempt to create an empire in Mexico. The French began a military advance on Mexico and on May 5, 1862, about 5,000 Mestizo and Zapotec Indians defeated Napolean's army.
Many people confuse Cinco de Mayo with Mexican Independence Day (September 16, 1810). Cinco de Mayo is celebrated more in the United States than in Mexico and many people of Mexican descent celebrate with parades, music, and dancing.
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Many people confuse Cinco de Mayo with Mexican Independence Day (September 16, 1810). Cinco de Mayo is celebrated more in the United States than in Mexico and many people of Mexican descent celebrate with parades, music, and dancing.
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"The only time to eat diet food is while you are waiting for the steak to cook."
My new grill is ready for its first outing tonight. In honor of the occasion, my guests and I will dine on steak fajitas, corn souffle and Mexican rice. The flan is already made and in the fridge. It is the warmest day so far this spring so I'm hoping we can start with appetizers on the deck. Yesterday I hung lanterns from tree branches, and, tonight when I light them, they'll give the trees a bit of magic.
When I was young, we never had barbecues. We had cookouts. I don't remember too well the cookouts from when I was really young as I suspect I never hung around to watch, but I do remember the ones from when I was older. My dad always cooked. I think every dad always cooked. It is a rule still observed today that men, the mighty hunters of old, cook the meat. Find any picture of a barbecue, and there is a dad wearing an apron and even a silly chef's cap. Guys who had no idea how to turn on a stove or wash a dish cooked the meat. My mother, meanwhile, made the potato salad, the pasta salad or the regular salad. She stuffed eggs, cut up pickles, chopped onions, set the table, poured the drinks and washed the dishes. Anything my dad needed, she handed to him. He never left his post. Dad would poke his head through the open kitchen window making requests of my mom who would pass the items to him. When the meat was cooked, he'd triumphantly carry the platter to the table. Dad had provided his family with freshly cooked meat. His job was done.
I loved to watch my dad barbecue. He'd stand there with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other watching the meat cook. Every now and then he'd grab a fork and turn the meat. He sometimes set himself on fire and another time lit a tarp near the grill. We'd keep him a safe distance from the house but close enough to his window service. "Pop me," was a favorite request, and my mother would hand him another drink. Barbecuing was thirsty work.
As for me, I'll do the cooking tonight, and I'll hoist a glass of wine in my dad's honor. He would have loved my new grill and there's a window right behind it into the kitchen. I can hear him now, "Pop me."
When I was young, we never had barbecues. We had cookouts. I don't remember too well the cookouts from when I was really young as I suspect I never hung around to watch, but I do remember the ones from when I was older. My dad always cooked. I think every dad always cooked. It is a rule still observed today that men, the mighty hunters of old, cook the meat. Find any picture of a barbecue, and there is a dad wearing an apron and even a silly chef's cap. Guys who had no idea how to turn on a stove or wash a dish cooked the meat. My mother, meanwhile, made the potato salad, the pasta salad or the regular salad. She stuffed eggs, cut up pickles, chopped onions, set the table, poured the drinks and washed the dishes. Anything my dad needed, she handed to him. He never left his post. Dad would poke his head through the open kitchen window making requests of my mom who would pass the items to him. When the meat was cooked, he'd triumphantly carry the platter to the table. Dad had provided his family with freshly cooked meat. His job was done.
I loved to watch my dad barbecue. He'd stand there with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other watching the meat cook. Every now and then he'd grab a fork and turn the meat. He sometimes set himself on fire and another time lit a tarp near the grill. We'd keep him a safe distance from the house but close enough to his window service. "Pop me," was a favorite request, and my mother would hand him another drink. Barbecuing was thirsty work.
As for me, I'll do the cooking tonight, and I'll hoist a glass of wine in my dad's honor. He would have loved my new grill and there's a window right behind it into the kitchen. I can hear him now, "Pop me."
Friday, May 04, 2007
Fair and Tender Ladies: Dave Van Ronk
This song is from Inside Dave Van Ronk which was originally released in 1962. The album was then re-released in 2001 with the same title but also included the songs from another 1962 album called Dave Van Ronk, Folksinger LP. This newer combo CD has 25 tracks.
Arguably Dave Van Ronk was the best interpreter of traditional songs such as this one. His raspy voice seemed to be both gentle and passionate when he sang. He was an influence on so many young singers, Bob Dylan being among them.
I miss knowing a new Van Ronk is in the planning.
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Arguably Dave Van Ronk was the best interpreter of traditional songs such as this one. His raspy voice seemed to be both gentle and passionate when he sang. He was an influence on so many young singers, Bob Dylan being among them.
I miss knowing a new Van Ronk is in the planning.
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I Am a Weary and a Lonesome Traveler: Barbara Dane and the Chambers Brothers
This song is from a 1966 release now available from Smithsonian Folkways called, coincidentally enough, Barbara Dane and the Chambers Brothers.
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"Life is the sum of all your choices."
The blank page is daunting. Three times I've started writing and three times I've deleted. Lemons were first. I mentioned they are just about my favorite taste, but once that's said, what's left? I drifted into pineapples next, propelled, I suspect, by thoughts of the lemon. But, like the lemon, it is a limited topic. Decorating for holidays and dinner themes was my last deleted topic. It started out promising enough but died after a paragraph. Since then, I've stared at the screen, checked on the dog, started the dishwasher and answered e-mail, all the while hoping for inspirations. I've had none.
Today is a grocery shopping day with additional stops at the drug store for prescriptions and the grain store for dog food. No wonder I am not inspired. I have to make my bed yet and get dressed. Nope, nothing there either. Later I have to vacuum and decorate for tomorrow. It is Cinco de Mayo, and I am having guests for dinner so out come the Mexican theme decorations. Still nothing.
But then, after discussing the banality of my today, I realized how much each of our days is filled with banality. Many of our chores are mindless or just rote. We get up, we eat, we read the paper, we go to work or we do errands, we eat again and then, by late afternoon or early evening, we get into our comfy clothes, check out the mail, eat supper, read or watch TV, shower and then go to bed to get enough rest to do the same tomorrow. Sounds pretty boring but strangely it never is. I hate to grocery shop, but I sometimes meet people I haven't seen in a while, and we catch up on each other's lives. Often I buy flowers, and my whole day is brightened. The book I'm reading grabs my attention, and the Sox are on TV. I'll eat cheese and crackers for lunch or maybe an interesting spread with crackers. The one I had yesterday was chutney and spices, and it was a new taste. Some afternoons I fall asleep on the couch. Nothing is more luxurious than an afternoon nap. When I clean, I listen to some of my favorite singers, and the work goes quickly. I get to sing as loudly as I want and offend no one. I've always been a lover of life, but I never stopped to realize I love all of my life with its daily chores, its rote and repetition. I love the mornings and the quiet of the nights. I even love a made bed. I know to cherish each day, even if I have to grocery shop.
Today is a grocery shopping day with additional stops at the drug store for prescriptions and the grain store for dog food. No wonder I am not inspired. I have to make my bed yet and get dressed. Nope, nothing there either. Later I have to vacuum and decorate for tomorrow. It is Cinco de Mayo, and I am having guests for dinner so out come the Mexican theme decorations. Still nothing.
But then, after discussing the banality of my today, I realized how much each of our days is filled with banality. Many of our chores are mindless or just rote. We get up, we eat, we read the paper, we go to work or we do errands, we eat again and then, by late afternoon or early evening, we get into our comfy clothes, check out the mail, eat supper, read or watch TV, shower and then go to bed to get enough rest to do the same tomorrow. Sounds pretty boring but strangely it never is. I hate to grocery shop, but I sometimes meet people I haven't seen in a while, and we catch up on each other's lives. Often I buy flowers, and my whole day is brightened. The book I'm reading grabs my attention, and the Sox are on TV. I'll eat cheese and crackers for lunch or maybe an interesting spread with crackers. The one I had yesterday was chutney and spices, and it was a new taste. Some afternoons I fall asleep on the couch. Nothing is more luxurious than an afternoon nap. When I clean, I listen to some of my favorite singers, and the work goes quickly. I get to sing as loudly as I want and offend no one. I've always been a lover of life, but I never stopped to realize I love all of my life with its daily chores, its rote and repetition. I love the mornings and the quiet of the nights. I even love a made bed. I know to cherish each day, even if I have to grocery shop.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Song for Molly: Lucy Kaplansky
This is a truly heartbreaking song from Lucy Kaplansky's album Every Single Day. The album is a mix of Kaplansky songs and a few covers like You're Still Standing There, by Steve Earle.
Lucy's newest album, Over the Hill, was released in March. She'll be in Boston later this month doing Mountain Stage at the Berklee Performance Center, and I'll be there.
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Lucy's newest album, Over the Hill, was released in March. She'll be in Boston later this month doing Mountain Stage at the Berklee Performance Center, and I'll be there.
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Since You Went Away: Kris Delmhorst
This song is from Strange Conversation an album filled with songs adapted from poems by George Eliot, Walt Whitman, E.E. Cummings and Byron. The album opens with a beautiful waltz, Byron's We'll Go No More A-Roving. This album melds so well two different, yet not so different, genres. I always believe the best songwriters have poetry in their souls. It seems the best poets have music in theirs.
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"I'll tell you how the sun rose a ribbon at a time."
My camera fell out of my bag onto the car seat yesterday. I didn't see it, but Miss Gracie did. I went into a store, and, while I was shopping, Gracie ate my camera, well the lens part anyway. When I found her, she seemed to be having a grand old time gnawing on my Olympus. I really liked that camera.
The deck draws me each morning. I stand, leaning on the railing, and watch and listen. It is my perch, high off the ground, and, from it, I can see the buds on the trees, the stirrings of spring. I
watch the Tibetan prayer flags, on one side of the yard, fluttering in the breeze while Mexican fiesta banners, strung between trees on the other side, ripple with the breeze and sometimes get caught on twigs and small branches. Each day I walk the yard fixing the banners and collecting the dog's toys, the ones she surreptitiously brings outside. My neighborhood is weekday quiet. Everyone has gone to work. Only the songs of birds punctuate the silence. Gracie, playing in the yard, sees me and comes for a pat. We stand in the sun together. She leans against me. We both just stay there for a bit then Gracie goes back to the yard.
Ocean breezes keep the mornings cool, too cool for outside coffee, but by lunch, the deck is bathed in sunlight, and I sit, eat and read. Gracie waits on the lounge hoping I brought something for her. I always do, and she lies on the lounge and chews her treats. Soon she and I will do battle for that chair, but, for now, she is welcome to use it.
I have been too long inside today.
The deck draws me each morning. I stand, leaning on the railing, and watch and listen. It is my perch, high off the ground, and, from it, I can see the buds on the trees, the stirrings of spring. I
watch the Tibetan prayer flags, on one side of the yard, fluttering in the breeze while Mexican fiesta banners, strung between trees on the other side, ripple with the breeze and sometimes get caught on twigs and small branches. Each day I walk the yard fixing the banners and collecting the dog's toys, the ones she surreptitiously brings outside. My neighborhood is weekday quiet. Everyone has gone to work. Only the songs of birds punctuate the silence. Gracie, playing in the yard, sees me and comes for a pat. We stand in the sun together. She leans against me. We both just stay there for a bit then Gracie goes back to the yard.
Ocean breezes keep the mornings cool, too cool for outside coffee, but by lunch, the deck is bathed in sunlight, and I sit, eat and read. Gracie waits on the lounge hoping I brought something for her. I always do, and she lies on the lounge and chews her treats. Soon she and I will do battle for that chair, but, for now, she is welcome to use it.
I have been too long inside today.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
All That Is: Garnet Rogers
I have been forever a fan of Stan Rogers, Garnet's brother, and decided to give a listen to Garnet. I was so happy I had as he has become a favorite of mine (my favorite list keeps getting longer and longer). The songs he writes are passionate, and he has this baritone to which I could listen all day.
This is the title song of an album retrospective filled with songs written between 1990-1999 but it originally appeared on Sparrow's Wing.
MP3 File
This is the title song of an album retrospective filled with songs written between 1990-1999 but it originally appeared on Sparrow's Wing.
MP3 File
"Ghosts, like ladies, never speak till spoke to."
Mysteries abound in my every day world. The where-did-this sock go mystery is a common phenomenom. Once in a while I do find one stashed in the folds of a fitted sheet, but most of the time the sock has disappeared into some sock alternate reality. My glasses may have acquired the ability to move unaided. I look where I left them and then find them somewhere else. My original thought was a poltergeist, a theory I haven't quite abandoned as I have yet to catch my glasses sidling to a new spot. My keys must think it quite funny when they disappear from their usual spot. I, a creature of habit, always put my keys in the exact same place every time I come home. How is it, I ask, that they are in a different pocket of my bag? Pens go missing all the time. They sit on the table for days, and, just when I need them, they're not there. My bucket is gone. I have looked all over the cellar, but it is gone. Whether the scrub brushes were hijacked or just went along for the ride I haven't quite figured. The same thing happened to my bird bath heater. It was gone so I bought another. Wouldn't you just know it: the old one suddenly reappeared a few days later. I'm betting the bucket will do that same reappearing act as soon as I buy another.
Money seems to have perfected the skill of disappearing. I start out the day with $20 or $30, but when I get home, I have a few singles and some coins. I rack my brain to try and trace my spending spree and can account for a few of the missing dollars but the rest remain a mystery.
My car sometimes changes parking spaces. I look exactly where I left it, and it isn't there. It has moved a row or two over and a space or two down. It's strange that no one has reported the movements of a phantom car, yet another mystery.
I know for certain that my brain has been tampered with by some alien force bent on world subjugation. How else to explain my inabilty to remember certain facts and the loss of my word retrieval skills?
All of a sudden my life has become an episode of The Twilight Zone. I'm just waiting for Rod Serling to give the intro.
Money seems to have perfected the skill of disappearing. I start out the day with $20 or $30, but when I get home, I have a few singles and some coins. I rack my brain to try and trace my spending spree and can account for a few of the missing dollars but the rest remain a mystery.
My car sometimes changes parking spaces. I look exactly where I left it, and it isn't there. It has moved a row or two over and a space or two down. It's strange that no one has reported the movements of a phantom car, yet another mystery.
I know for certain that my brain has been tampered with by some alien force bent on world subjugation. How else to explain my inabilty to remember certain facts and the loss of my word retrieval skills?
All of a sudden my life has become an episode of The Twilight Zone. I'm just waiting for Rod Serling to give the intro.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Thin Red Line: Pierce Pettis
Pierce Pettis has had a twenty year career as a solo artist but has been writing songs a whole lot longer. Joan Baez covered Pettis' Song At the End of the Movie in 1979 which helped jump start his own career.
Pettis continues to write songs which other folk artists chose to cover. He also continues to release his own albums. This song is from While The Serpent Lies Sleeping released in 1992.
MP3 File
Pettis continues to write songs which other folk artists chose to cover. He also continues to release his own albums. This song is from While The Serpent Lies Sleeping released in 1992.
MP3 File
"What potent blood hath modest May."
This morning has already been busier than all of yesterday. The sun gives me the incentive to be up, moving and out to do a few errands. Gracie is lolling in the sun, and I want to join her.
I checked the stoop this morning but, alas, no May basket to be found. Perhaps, after I come back, a pretty basket filled with posies will be sitting on the step. Meanwhile, Gracie and I will do a bit of shopping for the garden. Yesterday the landscaper came, took out the front bushes and cut down two trees: a huge spruce tree and a smaller pine. The trees were dying and needed to be cut, but watching the spruce fall saddened me. It had been my second Christmas tree twenty nine years ago, but the tree had grown to dwarf the yard and several branches had died. I also need a tree in memory of Miss Maggie. A dogwood was planted for Shauna, who came before Miss Mags, so Magggie needs a dogwood of her own. Gracie is a perfect companion for the choosing.
Thoughts of flowers and trees and plantings give me hope. It seems all it takes is one sunny day to bring back all those spring is sprung feelings.
I checked the stoop this morning but, alas, no May basket to be found. Perhaps, after I come back, a pretty basket filled with posies will be sitting on the step. Meanwhile, Gracie and I will do a bit of shopping for the garden. Yesterday the landscaper came, took out the front bushes and cut down two trees: a huge spruce tree and a smaller pine. The trees were dying and needed to be cut, but watching the spruce fall saddened me. It had been my second Christmas tree twenty nine years ago, but the tree had grown to dwarf the yard and several branches had died. I also need a tree in memory of Miss Maggie. A dogwood was planted for Shauna, who came before Miss Mags, so Magggie needs a dogwood of her own. Gracie is a perfect companion for the choosing.
Thoughts of flowers and trees and plantings give me hope. It seems all it takes is one sunny day to bring back all those spring is sprung feelings.
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