Woodstock: Joni Mitchell

Being sick, I need comfort food in any form but most especially in music. The songs today are like tea, dry toast and chicken soup.


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Hush Little Baby: Peter, Paul and Mary

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There comes a time when autumn asks,'What have you been doing all summer?"

I'm sitting here listening to the rain, one of my favorite summer sounds. It is cascading from the roof in rivulets. I can hear the drops as they land on each leaf. Sometimes it's a popping sound, sometimes a plop. The room is dark, a comforting dark. The dog is deep asleep on the chair. It is a day for feeling better, lying on the couch and taking a nap.

This is the last great weekend of the summer. Kids will be starting back to school and the traffic will become manageable, even on a rainy day.

When I was in high school, the Cape closed its doors the day after Labor Day. The motels went dark. Main Street in Hyannis went back to two way. The movie theaters except for ones in Hyannis and Harwich closed. Now, though, the tourist season seems to go on and on. Tour buses make the scene, and the motels stay open to accommodate everyone. I miss the old days.

We Dreamed Our Dreams: Cathie Ryan

Cathie Ryan, a former member of Cherish the Ladies, was born in Detroit of Irish parents which explains the influence of Celtic music. This is from her second album, The Music of What Happens, released in 1998. The song is Dick Farrelly's.


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Changes: Gordon Lightfoot

This song is from Lightfoot's first album, Lightfoot, released in 1966. It's a Phil Ochs song.


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"Sometimes I get the feeling the aspirin companies are sponsoring my headaches."

I have been sick the last few days. Each time I cough, I hold the top of my head to keep it intact. I slept all afternoon yesterday and still managed nine hours last night. I went from being sweaty to having the chills. It has not been pleasant. Being sick is the only time I regret living alone. No one is here to call me poor baby or wait on me hand and foot. My friend brought juice and will bring anything I need so I am not bereft, but I miss having someone here to administer to my every need. I miss my mother.

When I was little and got sick, my mother would make sure I stayed in bed all day. She would bring me tea and dry toast for breakfast. In my head I still connect tea and being sick which is probably why I seldom drink hot tea. My mother swore by dry toast. For lunch she would bring up a tray, and I'd get soup, often chicken noodle. She'd fluff the pillows so I could sit up, and we'd talk while I ate. It was a special time, just my mother and me. My dad would bring home ice cream when one of us was sick. That was his contribution to the cause. I loved it.

When I became an adult, I still called my mother when I was sick. She said all the right words and made me feel better. She'd call periodically during the day for an update as to how I was feeling, and the calls made me feel better. Once, when I had surgery, she stayed down here with me. I was ten again. I know I had soup for lunch.

I called my sisters yesterday to tell them I was sick. I wanted a few poor baby's, and they obliged. One sister called today for an update. It was like having my mother back for a bit.

You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go: Maria Muldaur

This song is from Heart of Mine: The Love Songs of Bob Dylan released last year. I never used to buy cover albums, but I've found I like to hear and compare the different interpretations of familiar music. I am also a Maria Muldaur fan.


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Box of Rain: Grateful Dead

This is from American Beauty, a 1970 release. The album was reviewed by Rolling Stone:
"A complete contentment shines through the vocal work on this album. A full contentment. The instrumentation is rich with sound that moves through, under, and into the listener. Damn it all, the album is American beauty, of the best possible kind.

"Box of Rain" takes plenty of time, and moves surely. The band isn't in any great hurry. Layers of music weave in seemingly simple patterns—deceptively simple patterns. Phil Lesh's singing is just right. The chorus is fine: "A box of rain will ease the pain/And love will see you through." "Believe it if you need it/If you don't just pass it on." Praised be Bob Hunter. Countrified Dead is so nice to listen to."


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"There are people who have money and people who are rich."

We never had much money when I was a kid, but we didn't notice. We ate a lot of hamburger, but my mother had a way with hamburger. She made this great meatloaf which she frosted with mashed potatoes. It was magnificent. She made American chop suey, and it is still a favorite of ours. Many of our vacations were day trips. We'd spend days at the beach and have the best times swimming, skimming rocks and chasing seagulls. Sometimes we'd go to a museum. I remember the one at Harvard with the gorilla heads in jars. That was about the neatest thing I'd ever seen. When I was in high school, I went back to that museum just to find the heads. We went to the MFA, and I loved the Egyptian room. Once my dad got Celtics tickets from his job, and there was a reception after the game. Bill Russell was there, and my dad stood behind him so we clould see how really tall Russell is. My dad came to about the small of his back. Another time we went to the Hood dairy farm. I remember the white fences and the cleanest barn I'd ever seen. We'd go to Maine and stay at the cottage of a friend of my dad's. Sometimes twelve people were crammed into the tiniest place. We thought it great fun. We never wore designer clothes. I don't even know if there were any back then. We went to Tom McCann for our shoes, and they were sturdy, last a school year shoes. Every afternoon we'd get home from school and take off our school clothes. Winter jackets were handed down. We never noticed. At Christmas my mother always outdid herself. We got the neatest presents. Her stocking stuffers are still the subjects of legend. We had everything we needed. We thought ourselves rich enough.

Close the Door Lightly When You Go: Eric Andersen

Eric Andersen weathers time well. His songs still work even though many were written in the sixties. I saw him at a concert last fall. He was superb.


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Since You Went Away: Kris Delmhorst

This is from the album Strange Conversation. All the songs are taken from the works of a number of poets and are either the original poems set to music or the original verse was the starting point for the song. This is a love song from James Weldon Johnson, a poet of the Harlem Renaissance.


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"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns."

The seasons were never important by themselves when I was a kid. They were given their meanings by events. Summer was the best season of all. We never noticed the lush green grass or the gardens filled with riots of colors. We just knew summer meant no school. It also meant an open pool, drive-in movies and spending all day just roaming. Summer meant baseball and barbecues. It meant staying out later because the streetlights didn't come on as early. Summer meant freedom.

Fall with its turning leaves and crisp mornings was the dreaded time. Back to school commercials would flood the airwaves around mid-August. These smiling kids would finger new lunch boxes and pencil cases. We were never deceived. We'd be dragged here and there to buy clothes and supplies. The inevitable would be too soon upon us. Going back to school had nothing to commend it. It meant the return of a bedtime curfew and being pulled from warm covers at an ungodly hour. Once at school, we were at the mercy of nuns who believed that homework developed quick minds and self-discipline and who saw talking out of turn as a flogging offense. The only redemption for fall was Halloween, the second best kids' holiday.

Winter still meant school but by then we had adjusted to the routine. Besides, winter had the possibility of a snow day, the most beloved unexpected event for a kid. I'd sit at the picture window watching the snow fall hoping there would be enough for a day of freedom. The announcement would send shivers of excitement. There may have been too much snow for school but there was just enough for making snowmen, building forts and having snowball fights. We'd be out all day long. By the time we'd get inside, we were soaked and exhausted. Winter had Thanksgiving, turkey and the parade, but it also had Christmas, about the best day of all. We spent weeks in anticipation. We thumbed through catalogs, made our own cards and decorated the house and tree. We'd help decorate the sugar cookies and put on so much frosting they were almost too heavy for one hand. Christmas made winter worthwhile.

Spring was the proverbial rebirth, but it was, for us, the start of baseball season. It was when we could start riding our bikes to school. We could also play longer outside in the growing light of the late afternoon. Spring had Easter which we appreciated more for the basket than the new clothes, but spring also meant summer was getting a whole lot closer.

The seasons now have different meanings for me, and I am tuned to their changes. I love summer still but love fall more. I love the feel of a crisp morning. I love to see the trees dressed in their glory. I love a garden full of mums with their muted colors. Fall has become my favorite season.

From Clare to Here: Nanci Griffith

This Ralph McTell song is from Nanci Griffith's Other Voices, Other Rooms. It won the folk Grammy in 1993.


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Last Thing on My Mind: Tom Paxton

This is a reach way back folk singer for me, one of those I found early on when I was first drawn by the folk sound. I like to pay homage.


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“Where there's smoke, there's usually strawberry Jello.”

I could never abide Jello, even when I was a kid. Adding fruit made it even less delectable, as if less delectable were possible. I can still visualize that fruit suspended in an oddly colored, wiggly Jello in a glass bowl in the middle of the table. If the fruit had awakened and flown out of the Jello to attack us all, I would not have been surprised. Food just shouldn't move.

Once in a while, in our lunches, my mother would pack pink Hostess Sno-balls. Eating them was complicated. You never just took a bite. First, the marshmallow and shredded coconut cover had to be removed in a single piece which was done slowly and with great precision. As that was the best part, I always saved it for last. Next was a bite of the chocolate cupcake, just enough to get to the cream center. I'd licked the cream then scoop out any I'd missed. That left crumbly pieces of cupcake which I usually didn't eat. I wanted that magnificient cover: pink, not at all gooey and with no nutritional value. It was the perfect dessert. I'd break off pieces and savor every bite. Even knowing school was only half over never took away from the joy of a Hostess Sno-ball.

We lived on fluffernutters. Nothing tasted better. We'd spread the fluff then lick the knife clean. It could be any peanut butter but only one kind of fluff: Marshmallow Fluff. After all, You need fluff, fluff, fluff to make a fluffernutter.

Sweet Pea: Tommy Roe

The first Sweet Pea was a re-recording. Here is the original.


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Barbecue Any Old Time: Sonny McGhee

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Eggs and Sausage: Tom Waits

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Peanut Butter: The Marathons

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“When you go in search of honey you must expect to be stung by bees.”

It's popsicle weather today.

Fragments of memories seem to stay around a bit longer than the whole memory. I remember visiting one of my dad's aunt. He had several, all my grandmother's sisters. Each was tall and a bit unattractive. This one lived on a lake where reeds lined the shoreline and a small white rowboat sat beached on the grass. My brother and I went swimming for a bit. My mother watched us while my dad visited. When we got out of the water, my mother screamed. It seemed the aunt forgot to tell my mother there were leeches, and we had picked up a few. My dad came running down and removed them. That was my only adventure with leeches.

I was attacked by bees once when we were on vacation. The bees ignored everyone else but buzzed and swooped at my head. I wildly waved my arms and yelled. It was then I found out that arm waving doesn't really scare bees. It aggravates them. I got bitten then jumped around and kept yelling the bee was still biting me. My mother said it had gone but looked any way just to quiet me. She found the bee in my hair. I was in pain but still managed a weak I told you so. That was my only bee sting.

When I was five, I practiced jumping backwards off the tall fence. I got so good I would have earned a perfect ten had fence jumping by five years olds become an Olympic event. I convinced my mother to watch. It was then I found out that an audience changes everything. I didn't quite nail my landing; instead, I broke my wrist. It was my first broken bone.

These are strange firsts.

Tijuana Jail: The Kingston Trio

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Shackles and Chains: Dan Reeder

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He's In the Jailhouse Now: Gene Autry

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Fort Worth Jail: Spike Jones

You're thinking this can't be Spike Jones. Doesn't sound like him at all. Well, it's from (Not) Your Standard Spike Jones Collection so even he thought the same thing.


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Chain Gang: Sam Cooke

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“A bad neighbor is a misfortune, as much as a good one is a great blessing”

Today I brought my laptop outside as I don't want to miss a thing. With the birds such fun to watch, I keep stopping. The chickadees and nuthatches are so intent on finding just the right seeds they don't even notice me, but all this stopping and starting has me losing my train of thought. It will take me hours to finish. The wind is blowing, and the air is still a bit cool. Gracie is asleep on the deck beside me. Her whole body is stretched out, and I see a bit of her tongue, a sure indicator of how deeply she is sleeping. I read the papers and had two cups of coffee earlier. I heard the renters beside me loading up their car for their trip home. They stayed a week and were so quiet I hardly knew they were there. I did hear one of them telling Miss Gracie how cute she is. She stands at the corner of the fence and greets everyone who stays there. She is a better neighbor than I.

We knew all the neighbors for blocks around when I was a kid. The old lady at the bottom of the hill, Mrs. McGaffigan, was on our party line and used to listen to our calls. We listened to hers too, but she always heard us. The people right across the street once called our parents to squeal on us when we were lowering our sisters out of the second story window. The neighbors behind us were grass fanatics. They had the best lawn of anyone. We once had a fight in our neighborhood. Two of the neighborhood fathers punched and wrestled each other on the hill. We all stood around and watched. I was around eleven and thought it the best thing I'd ever seen. The Trusdales down the street always went to Martha's Vineyard for their vacation. My sister's best friend, Karen, lived on the other side of the Trusdale's duplex. My aunt and uncle lived in the house beside us for a while. I walked to school every day with my friend Michelle who lived in the house where we once lived. It always seemed strange when I visited her. Across the street the house had a grape arbor. The old lady who lived there never minded when we picked a few. They were big, juicy Concord grapes. When they people up the street were moving, they wanted to give us their dog Butch who followed us everywhere we went, but our dog Duke and Butch had stopped getting along so we had to say no.

We lived in that neighborhood for over ten years, and I still remember every house and every neighbor who lived there. I drive by our house sometimes on a sort of nostalgia trip and stop, look around and remember. The memories are mostly sweet.

Cindy Oh Cindy: The Highwaymen

This is from The Highwaymen, their debut album. This Wesleyan University-spawned quartet had a wider instrumental range than most of their contemporaries, integrating the flute into their music in a manner reminiscent of the Weavers.


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Love Was Easy: Bill Staines

Bill Staines is perfect for just about any day, any mood. I love the easy sound of his voice and the simple truth of his lyrics.


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“Carnies built this country, the carnival part of it anyway.”

The birds found my feeders yesterday. They flew in and out, one after the other, snatched seeds and flew to nearby branches. Chickadees landed on the deck railing and patiently waited their turns while I sat just a couple of feet away. It felt as if I were really in the deep woods away from everything.

When I was young, one of the best parts of the summer was when the carnival came to town. It was the topic of conversation at the playground and added a little excitement to the summer. We'd walk down to watch the set-up then plan our evening based on the rides we'd seen. I always loved the Ferris wheel. At night it lit up the sky and being stopped at the top was my favorite part of the ride. We'd gently rock back and forth to show how brave we were but only just enough to impress and no more. I'd lean over and look down and feel like I owned the world. We'd do the rides with the cars which circled and would laugh and giggle as we were thrown to one side of the car then the other from momentum. One night I thoroughly embarrassed myself by hurrying to get off the ride so I could lean over and be sick. That was the last of my circle rides. Cotton candy was a must at any carnival. We'd pull off pieces with our fingers and be sticky the rest of the night. When we got as low as the cone, our chins always seemed to end up with a bit of the pink. We'd stop at the booths to watch the games. I stayed the longest at the sharp shooter game with its bells and pings. We'd try one or two but usually only won the smallest, sorry you didn't hit anything prize. We'd stay only as long as our money. My friends and I would walk home shouting over one another about which ride we loved and then denying we were really scared by the Ferris Wheel. "Were to. Was not!"

That Day Is Done: Elvis Costello

This is one of those singular songs I sometimes find tucked away in my music files. I know it appeared on All This Useless Beauty, but this cut is from The Very Best of Elvis Costello.


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Since You've Asked: Judy Collins

Thinking about time got me to thinking about this beautiful song.

Judy Collins is in my Hall of Fame.


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"You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by; but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by."

It's raining. I'm sitting outside under the table umbrella listening to my small world. I can hear drops falling to the deck from the outside edge of the umbrella. Raindrops land on leaves with a crisp sound. The songs of birds surround me. I hear the splashes of cars, but I don't hear any people. They are inside where it's warm and dry. I'm sorry they're missing today.

Company is coming tonight. We're having a barbecue. I was hoping we could sit outside on my deck awash with candle light, but the cold and rain will mean a change of plans. That's just fine with me. The evening is to be with friends, and it doesn't matter where.

I wonder if all mothers see vacations in the same light. I always thought calling it a family vacation must seem a misnomer to mothers everywhere. My mother did all the packing of clothes, toys and everything else she knew would be needed. There we were, a family with four kids, miles away from home, a carload of stuff crammed in every conceivable place outside and inside and bags of groceries tucked between us. We'd arrive and make trip after trip to unload the car. My mother organized. My mother also cooked, cleaned and attended to all of us. My father enjoyed his vacation.

I don't go out much any more. I used to make excuses, but now I just say no. I am content to sit at home, read, listen to music and take life slowly. I can't think of much worth hurrying. In the old days, I felt guilty doing nothing, as if I were frittering away the time. Now I sometimes just sit on the deck and watch Gracie playing or the squirrels chasing each other from branch to branch. That has become my quality time.

The Airport Song: the Byrds

This album is the beginnings and was recorded in August, 1964, at the very beginning of the Byrds' career and prior to their contract with Columbia. Four of the eleven songs appeared on Mr. Tambourine Man.


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Oh Mary Don't You Weep: HARP

This is the first cut from Harp: A Time To Sing! which is a rerelease of a 1985 recording. HARP is Holly Near, Arlo Guthrie, Ronnie Gilbert and Pete Seeger.

It was recorded live at the Universal Ampitheatre in Los Angeles in September 1984.


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"Age does not diminish the extreme disappointment of having a scoop of ice cream fall from the cone."

Yesterday I spent the better part of the morning attaching hangers to the deck then moving the bird feeders from the front of the house to the new hangers. I had to lean over the railing to attach the hanger screws, and I've chosen to forget how many times I had to go up and down the stairs to retrieve nails and screws which obeyed the law of gravity. I filled the feeders then hung them from their new perches. The birds haven't yet found them. In the front, birds flew in and out of the feeders as if my yard were a busy day at O'Hare. I'd stand at the front door or at the window and watch the daily parade. I figure with the move it will take only one bird to find me before the word spreads. All around the yard I'm hearing the songs of birds, but none have ventured close enough. I'm getting anxious.

I used to see old ladies on the subway. They looked small, hunched over, shrunken. They never smiled. They were dressed in layers, even on a summer day. They wore small hats, the kind needing bobby pins. Their clothes never seemed to match. Their shoes had clunky heels and laces and were usually black. Each carried a purse. Some also carried shopping bags. They sat by themselves, as if frightened by the thought of a seat mate. They acted entitled and a few were rude. I would sometimes stare a bit, caught in wondering. I just couldn’t imagine being so old, and I certainly couldn’t imagine myself wearing those shoes.

Brownie's Blues: Brownie McGhee

Brownie McGhee achieved some success recording solo, but it was his musical partnership with Sonny Terry which gave him far more fame. In 1942, Brownie and Sonny traveled to Washington, D.C., to record for noted Library of Congress folklorist Alan Lomax. The recordings were made for the Library of Congress Archive of Folk Song, which formally associated Brownie McGhee and Sonny Terry with authentic southern blues. This session solidified Brownie and Sonny’s musical partnership, and it helped to ensure their position within the New York folk phenomenon of the 1950s and 1960s.


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The L&N Don't Stop Here Any More: Kieron Means

This song came from a collection called Essential Guide to Folk. I know many of the artists represented but not Keiron Means. I had to do some hunting.

"Kieron Means is a young singer, born in America and brought up in Britain, with a strikingly individual sound. His material draws from the deepest wellsprings of North American culture, from the old-time music of the Southern mountains to the blues – which he sings with startling conviction – and the work of latter-day songwriters steeped in the old traditions. "

He is the son of Sara Grey.


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"The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand."

I never saw the moon landing. It was during my Peace Corps training, and I listened to it on Voice of America radio. It happened during my live-in when I was staying with the family of Imoru Sanda in a town called Bawku. The main street of Bawku was the only paved road; all the rest were laterite. Mud huts and compounds lined the streets. I used to walk behind the houses on my way to the wives' house. I'd pass little boys sitting under the trees learning the Koran and could look into yards to watch the women sweeping and cooking. They cooked on wood fires and swept with bunches of dried grasses. Most people walked or rode bicycles. I had a bicycle provided by Peace Corps for this phase of training. Each day I had to bike way down the hill to a middle school where I fumbled through teaching English then I'd bike part way up the hill and walk the rest. I ate goat for the first time. I walked on wooded planks to cross over open sewers. Each early morning I could hear the caller from the mosque behind my house. It was a beautiful sound.

We were learning Hausa and had language training every day. Seven of us, the smallest of the language groups, were all staying with families in Bawku. We finished language training then sat together around the radio that day in July and listened to the description of Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon. We might as well have been listening to an episode of Flash Gordon.

In Bawku I heard the story of how the moon is in love with the sun and chases her every night, in vain as they are never destined to meet. I learned about mosquito and ear. I heard stories of miraculous cures by juju men and bought charms in the market.

It was the experience of Ghana which filled me with awe and wonder that summer, not Neil Armstrong's giant leap.

Diamonds and Rust: Joan Baez

I am a long time Joan Baez fan, and I realized she doesn't appear here any too often. This is my rectifying that.


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Turn Me Around: Mavis Staples

This is Mavis returning to the songs The Staple Singers sang, to the songs that were adapted by the Civil Rights Movement. These are the songs I remember hearing at protests and sit-ins. The news with its graphic images of police and dogs are still burned into my subconscious.

The album is We'll Never Turn back.


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"Even when freshly washed and relieved of all obvious confections, children tend to be sticky."

Gracie and I have moved our operations outside today. The house is just too darn cold. If this were winter, the heat would be blasting, and I'd be wearing warm socks and a sweatshirt. It has been in the low 50's the last two nights, great sleeping weather but a bit nippy for sitting on the deck at night or trying to type in the morning. Gracie got the lounge, and I'm at the table.

Nothing bothered me when I was a kid. I don't ever remember feeling hot or minding dirt and sweat. Clean didn't get important until I was older. My mother was always more upset by mosquito bites than I ever was. I'd just use my grubby fingers and scratch. No big deal, they were summer. We were never concerned with germs. We'd share a bottle of coke and trade licks from our popsicles. My sisters even used to take a lick then give the dog one. Cooties might have been a problem, but never germs. I remember we used to make cootie catchers out of paper. Nothing was worse than being branded as having cooties. I don't think I ever knew what they were. I just knew I never wanted any. We were firm believers in the five second rule. Summer rain storms didn't sent us inside the house. They were for staying outside and getting soaked. We played in puddles and splashed one another. At the swamp, we caught tadpoles in jars then frogs with our hands. Getting wet was no big deal. It was summer. We'd dry. We walked bare foot most of the summer, and the soles of our feet could have withstood burning coals. My sister, though, always had the grossest big toes as she constantly stubbed them. I remember she'd always cry when she had to take a bath because her toes would hurt so much. I have this picture in my head of her taking a bath while her feet rested on the rim of the tub.

Adolescence was dirt's downfall.

Coconut Grove: The Lovin' Spoonful

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Banana Boat Song: Harry Belafonte

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A Lovely Bunch of Coconuts: Merv Griffin

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Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White: Perez Prado

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"A man's growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends."

I often wonder what has happened to the friends of my childhood. At each major step in my life friends were somehow left behind before I even realized what was happening. In elementary school, my friends all lived in the neighborhood. We walked to school together, played together, slept over each other's houses and invited ourselves to the house with the best dinner. We played dolls, roller skated in the parking lot, biked up town and played games on rainy days. They were my best friends for life, or at least until high school.

My neighborhood friends went to the local high school. I went two towns over to a Catholic high school where some of my elementary classmates also went and soon they were my best friends. We rode the bus together every day, to and from school. We joined the same clubs. On weekends we went to the movies or out to the diner for a burger or just hung around together. We had some of the greatest adventures. We always celebrated Mardi Gras at some local place. We sneaked food to the third floor of the library for our picnic. We were inseparable, until I moved to the Cape.

On the Cape, I made new friends at school. We sneaked into the drive-in, went cruising down 28 and went out to eat together. We went to school dances and shopping on Main Street. We were inseparable, until I went to college. We hung around a bit after that but the times we'd get together were fewer and fewer. Soon we'd just see each other every now and then and finally not at all. We all had moved on to the next stages in our lives.

I don't have the space to describe the wonderful college friends I had for four years. We had more fun than you could ever imagine. We spent all day together and every weekend. We encouraged each other, helped each other study, and most of all, we made each other laugh. My four years were just so enriched by having their presence in my life. When I went into the Peace Corps, though, they went on with their lives, got married and moved all over the country. I got left behind.

In the Peace Corps, we volunteers became friends quickly, bonding together during the shared experiences. We trained together, traveled from country to country on vacations, stayed at each other's houses and kicked up our heels in Accra. Though we promised to stay in touch, we didn't.

I still have friends from each stage of my life. We may seldom see each other, but we never lose touch. One of my friends and I have known each other over fifty years; another goes back to high school. My college friends and I never did catch up with each other, but I have my friend Ralph from my Peace Corps days. The friends with whom I now spend all my time are from the neighborhood and from the school where I worked. We are settled, most are retired. We will not be moving any where. They are my friends for life.

For Your Eyes Only: Sheena Easton

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Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes: Perry Como

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Lying Eyes: The Eagles

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My Eyes Adored You: Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons

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"The future is always beginning now."

The festivities are over, and I am settling into this new decade of my life. I have always worn purple.

The future is a bit tricky. When I was ten, I barely thought more than a day or two ahead. The rest seemed too far away in time. Christmas was always an eternity away. Teenagers awed me, and I never thought I'd finally reach the magic age of thirteen. Twenty-one was the next big milestone. I could vote, which was all well and good, but I could drink legally which was better. Never trusting anyone over thirty made perfect sense to me. By then, the daily rut of maturity would have taken hold and paled life's adventures.

I always dreamed I would travel the world. I used to think I'd use my personal jet pack to get to the supersonic plane port or the rocket port on the other side of town. Instead, I joined the leagues of backpackers and exchanged my rockets for busses and all night trains. Every summer, I'd roll my clothes, pack as little as possible and fly to Europe. I saw the world.

My dreams of what I could do were never limited. I grew up knowing I could be whatever I wanted. I chose law, but after teaching for two years in the Peace Corps, I changed my mind. I knew I was meant to be a teacher, that I would wake up every day glad for my choice, and I was right.

I am back to dreaming of the future.

Don't Be Ashamed of Your Age: John Prine and Mac Wiseman

This song is from Standard Songs for Average People. I reached one of those significant birthdays today and this song seemed most fitting. The other songs have all played here before, but in light of the occasion, I figured I'll play a few of my favorites.


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Chelsea Morning: Joni Mitchell

The album Clouds went to Africa with me. This has always been one of my favorite Joni songs.


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Teach Your Children: Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young

Deja Vu is one of those what would you bring to a deserted island albums.


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I'll be Your Baby Tonight: Bob Dylan

From the John Wesley Harding album, worn out by the time I graduated from college.


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"There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep."

Screen doors don't slam any more. When I was young, we'd hear the sounds of banging doors all over the neighborhood as kids rushed out to play. Those sounds were inevitably followed by the yelling of mothers. "I told you not to slam the door," seemed to be their common refrain. We'd yell back, "We didn't. It just shut. " My mother never really found that an acceptable answer which just proved what we already knew. Kids and parents have entirely different perceptions.

Eat your vegetables meant separating them on the plate in the vain hope that the pile looked smaller. A maybe from a parent was a certainty. If they meant no, they would have said it. "We're not doing anything," was really true as whacking each other with pillows while jumping on living room chairs was just harmless fun. "Leave your sister alone, " always puzzled us. We never touched her so we couldn't understand the problem. All we did was sit on each side of her, point as close as we could to her face and hold our fingers there. The problem wasn't us. She was just too sensitive. Clean up your room was an easy one. All we needed to do was hide the mess.

Numbers too were open to interpretation. We'd want cookies, and my mother would tell us to take a couple. Our definition of a couple was two in each hand. Twenty mintues more could easily be stretched into an hour. Pick one meant several. If I've told you once, I've told you a million times deserved to be ignored. It was just another parental exaggeration for effect.

"How could you do that?" never ever deserved a reply. The answer was just too obvious.

Love Can Find Its Own Way: Jimmy LaFave

This is from LaFave's 2001 album Texoma, a little red dirt rock.


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No Depression in Heaven: The Carter Family

This song was recorded by The Original Carter Family for Decca in New York, NY, Monday, 8 Jun 1936 (another take remained unissued). It was re-recorded (for radio transcription use) on Wednesday, 10 Jun 1936.


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“I've a grand memory for forgetting.”

I'm getting older minute by minute. I sometimes have to stop to remember why I'm in the kitchen or some other room. If I don't write some stuff down, it's gone forever. What I knew yesterday, I forget by today. I keep date calendars but never remember to check them. I remember whole plots of books but sometimes forget the titles. I have the most vivid memories of growing up but have paid little attention to growing old. I am sometimes amazed at what I remember. I have also found that weird stuff sticks in my head the longest.

1066 and the Battle of Hastings when Harold of Wessex was defeated by William the Conqueror is indelibly stored. One of the nuns I had in grammar school made us memorize the Declaration of Independence. I remember more of that than I'll ever need. Though I suspect remembering all the words to most TV show theme songs doesn't count as much, I do know all the lyrics to Round-Up Rodeo, the Friday theme at the Mickey Mouse Club. I also remember most of the words from The Real McCoy's theme song. Speaking of which, I never did understand why Grandpappy Amos needed a limp and an odd limp at that. Now this is one of the spots where I'd be tempted to keep going about odd stuff on TV, but I am determined to stay on topic. I just don't remember what in the heck the topic is. I'll just read over what I've written hoping to jog that short term memory of mine.

I used to imagine I'd be a great conversationalist at cocktail parties, but I've seldom attended any. Few people ask about the Battle of Hastings any more. It used to be big. I sometimes volunteer interesting facts to people, but they get this glazed look, and I sometimes see drool in the corners of their mouths. I'll just have to reconcile myself to the reality I'm stuck with all this stuff bouncing around in my head. What stuff you ask?

(A Man of Constant) Sorrow: Peter, Paul and Mary

Forty five years ago I was probably sitting in my room listening to this song. I'd have been holding the jacket and reading the album notes. That album was Peter, Paul and Mary, their first release. It has two of their early hits, Lemon Tree and if I Had a Hammer.


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Loch Lomond: Dan Zanes

The album Catch That Train won the Grammy this year for best musical album for children. Dan's friends are here, as they were on his other albums. His friends this time include The Blind Boys of Alabama, Nick Cave, and, on this song, Natalie Merchant.


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"Language is the dress of thought."

It has come to my attention that for many people grammar is grandpa's wife, and few people visit grammar much any more. She has been left to languish in the netherworld where she cannot converse with any of her companions. Poor grammar just sits and broods. Each day more of those little rules she lived by become optional. Between Dave and I or between anyone and I is now common. Joni Mitchell sang A Case of You, but I know she didn't mean the objective. That too is now optional. Adverbs seem to be fading. The only one with any permanence is hopefully, which has lost its identity and drifted into territory usually occupied by adjectives. People feel badly now. I'm guessing their fingers have lost sensitivity. It must be from all that typing. Good seems to have jumped from adjective to adverb. He sings good, which is a song I've never heard. Maybe one of you can forward it to me, or is that I?

Theirs is so commonly misused I hardly notice much any more. Okay, I really notice all the time, but I have finally figured out that theirs is really a substitute for his or hers. I think of it as his + hers equals theirs. Makes perfect sense to me.

We also have the word more. It sounds innocent enough, but we near a more closer look. I'm just fine with ending a sentence with a preposition. It eliminates the need for an object which would probably be in the wrong case any way.

I'll just have to sit here much like my grammar and brood. I'll correct the TV and viciously circle errors in the paper. I'll become that crazy old lady muttering under her breath. I can hear it
now, " I should of....."

Leaving for Paris No. 2: Rufus Wainwright

When my friend Ralph and I served together in Ghana, we had a love of folk music in common. Ralph had brought his guitar and we'd sit together, a bunch of us, during training and sing while Ralph played. I have this picture of Ralph sitting and playing at a school in Koforidua, his foot in a cast, broken during training. He drops by here every day and has found new musicians and had his mind changed about musicians he only gave half an ear to back in the day. Rufus is his favorite. Here you go, Ralph!


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Hey, That's No Way to Say Goodbye: Leonard Cohen

The album The Songs of Leonard Cohen had to have driven my roommates crazy when I was in college. I played it all the time and just about wore it out on that little hifi I had. It is still a favorite.


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“Excuse my dust”

I told my sister, who was in the middle of house cleaning, that there are no awards for the cleanest house. No Mr. Clean has ever arrived carrying balloons and a check, and not once has a white gloved inspector dropped by here to run his fingers across the tops of my pictures. When I worked, I'd spend weekends cleaning. I'd go from room to room carrying my bucket of supplies. I'd vacuum, scrub, rub or polish every surface. If I were having company, I'd clean every corner of the house. I have finally come to my senses, and how glorious has been this revelation. I have now settled into a comfortable level of acceptance of dust balls and furniture with writable layers. I have started inviting most company at night and use candle light. My company probably thinks it's for ambiance. I know better. Instead of wasting a whole day or two cleaning, I tackle one room at a time. I don't clean nearly as often though I do have a daily list. The bed gets made, all clothes are put away and the kitchen is always clean. The stove sparkles as do the counters and the sink.

I have one undoing, spiders' webs. My house has these reappearing strands of webs stretching across and connecting every surface. No matter how many times I clear them, they return. I know what's happening here. I've seen the science fiction movies. Spiders are the beginnings of the end for mankind. I keep my duster loaded.

King Tears: Walter Hyatt

Until two days ago or so I had never heard of Walter Hyatt or Uncle Walt's Band. Luckily for me, I was sent this song and a bit about Walter. I'd like to share him with you.

Here are a couple of sites which helped me learn more:
http://www.walterhyatt.com/
http://www.larrymonroe.com/writings/writings02.html


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Dear Someone: Gillian Welch

This song is from Gillian Welch's third album, Time (The Revelator). You'd swear her music is old time instead of newly written for the music is simple with hymn-like melodies. She and her long time partner David Rawlings sing an open-two part vocal harmony. This is, I think, the prettiest song on the album.


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“I bet deep down you still wish your mom would take you clothes shopping every August for the new school year.”

About this time every summer my mother started her school shopping rituals. As we had only one family car, we walked to the stores, all five of us. My mother would push the carriage while the rest of us walked either way far ahead or way far behind. With all of us needing new shoes, that store was always our first stop. Because the salesman could only wait on my mother and one kid at a time, that left the rest of us free to explore the store. My brother and I used to race to the x-ray machine. He'd put his feet into the big slot, and I'd look through the viewer to check out his bones then we'd switch places. I was so totally amazed at being able to see inside my shoes. We'd sometimes play a quick game of musical chairs without the music, and that always seemed to irritate my mother and the salesman. When it was my turn, the man would measure my feet then haul out the shoes my mother had chosen. She went for sturdy. I always wanted flashy. Sturdy was what I got.

The five and ten was our next stop. That was our school supply stop, and I loved pencil box shopping. The key to the perfect pencil box was a combination of the cover and the supplies inside. If the cover had animals, I discarded it as too cutsey though that wasn't a word I knew back then, fits perfectly now. I liked the ones with people or characters like Bugs Bunny. Once I'd selected my cover, I'd check the inside. There needed to be a ruler, pencils and a pencil sharpener. Anything more was gravy. Sometimes I'd find a protractor though I didn't know what that odd shaped ruler was called. Some had short colored pencils, a huge bonus. We'd then buy a couple of Big Chief tablets. I remember the paper was so soft ink would run and erasing anything would make a giant black mark or a hole. I always thought the chief looked splendidly dignified. We'd also buy a box of Crayola crayons. I'd try and convince my mother that all of the colors were necessary to further my art career. She never bought that line and would buy me a box with eight colors.

Our last stop was for clothes. As I wore a uniform, clothes shopping was purely functional and more than a little dull. I'd end up with a few new white blouses, a new blue skirt, new socks and underwear.

My mother would pile what bags she could in the carriage and we'd carry the rest then whack each other with them as we walked home, our little attempt to break the monotony. My mother was never amused. Once we got home, I'd take out my pencil box, bring it to my room and look at it a few hundred times before school started. I always thought the pencil box was the only reason to go back to school.

Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite: The Beatles

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That Song About the Midway: Joni Mitchell

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Merry-Go-Round: Buffalo Springfield

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Cathy's Clown: The Everly Brothers

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The Carnival Is Over: The Seekers

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"I have known a German Prince with more titles than subjects, and a Spanish nobleman with more names than shirts."

Places I remember are no longer what they were. Had I awakened after being asleep for years, like Mr. Van Winkle, I would have thought myself in a parallel universe, almost but not quite my home. I could still order Peking duck but couldn't get there from here. The Himalayas are no longer what they were. Neither is Appalachia. The Carribean seems to go back and forth. African nations shed their colonial roots by changing their names. I have been to Dahomey and Upper Volta but not Benin and Burkina Faso. One summer I made it to Russia. That would be the Russian Federation, not the other fourteen countries. We are Marching to Pretoria could mean, depending on whom you ask, we are also Marching to Tshwan. Bombay gin I can still find but not the city. I'd have to look for Mumbai. I love the song which goes, "Istanbul was Constantinople. Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople." I should have been a map maker.

Kentuckey Fried Chicken must have been too much of a mouthful. KFC just rolls off the tongue. I always wondered why we didn't keep the silliness going and have freedom dressing for salads. During WWI, they had liberty measles which is carrying everything way too far.

Laura Petrie wore capri pants, but my friends and I wore clam diggers. We also wore dungarees. We went from preppie to hippie then back again. Now my style is what I like to call whatever is clean and has the fewest holes.

The one good thing in all of this is I am not old. I am mature.

The Beat Goes On: Sonny & Cher

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John Brown's Body: Pete Seeger

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Long Ago and Far Away: Jo Stafford

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Lady Godiva: Peter and Gordon

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Talking Watergate: Tom Paxton

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“Bath twice a day to be really clean, once a day to be passably clean, once a week to avoid being a public menace.”

Saturday was just about the best day of the week. We had no school, and the day always started with cartoons and kid shows. I'd binge on millions of cartoons with a few westerns sandwiched in between then play outside all day with my friends. Saturday night, though, was when the fun stopped. It was bath night.

Though I was trusted to wash myself, my mother always scrubbed my hair. She'd add shampoo then scrub with her fingernails. Before rinsing, she'd hand me a towel for my eyes. My mother would dip a plastic glass in the water and pour, repeating until all the soap was gone. I'd hold that towel tight to keep the soap from burning my eyes. When it was time to get out, she'd hold open a towel, gather me in and help dry, starting with my hair. She always sat on the toilet seat. With the towel wrapped around me still, she'd comb my wet hair. Finally, I'd get into my pajamas, and I was done. My brother bathed next, and his routine and mine were about the same. My two younger sisters, who were last, always bathed together and would stay in the tub for hours if allowed. They were noisy and giggly. The floor was usually soaked. My mother would wash their hair as well and took the same steps, but even with the towel protecting their eyes, one or both would cry that soap was in their eyes. When my mother was finished, she'd take them one at a time out of the tub, dry them off then start combing. That is when the torture really began. My hair was short and easy to comb. My sisters had long hair which always snarled. My mother would comb as gently as possible, but they screamed and cried the whole time. Someone listening at a window would think the two of them were being beaten. My brother and I would be downstairs with the TV as loud as possible to drown out the screaming. It was horrible.

One sister then the other would come down stairs sniffling. Neither one got any sympathy. After all, we were the ones who had to listen to the horrific screams emanating from the bathroom. They could have been just a bit more courteous.

Mississippi: John Phillips

Both songs today came from friends I have never met, faithful readers of Coffee. I am thrilled to get music I hadn't heard, and these two are good ones!


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Knotty Pine: Gordon Lightfoot

This is from Lightfoot's 1983 album Salute, re-released in 2002.

It comes to you compliments of my Canadian friend who drops by Coffee every day.


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"Family faces are magic mirrors. Looking at people who belong to us, we see the past, present, and future."

Today is my uncle's birthday. He's just turned seventy. There's a big party tonight which I would never miss. Uncle Jack has always been my favorite uncle. He loves to sing and fancies himself a bit like Bing Crosby. When I was in Ghana, my sister sent me a tape of songs she'd copied from the record player and the radio. I snapped in the cassette and gave it a listen. Right in the middle of the tape, just after Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, was my uncle belting out a couple of tunes. I loved it. His voice transported me to family parties where singing was always part of the evening. When my mother's aunt was alive, she'd play the piano and everyone would gather round. My mother's aunts were in their sixties and seventies and I remember thinking them ancient. They have been gone a long time. My parents too are gone as are many of my aunts and uncles. I have become the old aunt. The generations are passing. My nephew's son is a year old. He too will think me as ancient as I thought Aunt Madeline was. I just hope that his memories will be of his family being together and enjoying each other, just as mine are. His knowing some of the old standards wouldn't hurt much either.

Oh, Baby, You Don't Have to Go: Chambers Brothers

Both songs today are from Down Home!Saturday Night from Smithsonian Folkways.

"Originally from Mississippi, the Chambers Brothers recorded one rhythm and blues album for Folkways: Groovin' Time. They later became well known as a funk-rock band. Their hit The Time Has Come Today was a psychedelic masterpiece, filling one whole side of an LP album."



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Big Ball's in Cowtown: The Texas Playboys

I love the beat and the title's not bad either.

"The band most synonymous with Western swing was Bob Willis and the Texas Playboys. The group almost defined the style and had a long career behind Willis.


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"What is patriotism but the love of the food one ate as a child?"

When I was a little kid, I loved sardines. I'd load the little oily fish onto one cracker, Saltines were preferred, add a cracker on top and munch. They were the perfect snack. Bologna always came in a round stick so you had to cut slices for a sandwich. I'd cut my own. My slices were often thin on one side and slab size on the other. I'd put these round slices between rectangular pieces of Sunbeam bread, spread mustard, sometimes in globs, and add hot peppers. I loved that sandwich. Breakfast in the winter was often oatmeal. We'd add sugar and milk to make the oatmeal a bit more palatable. Cocoa was our favored breakfast drink. Some mornings we'd have soft boiled eggs in yellow chicken egg cups. My mother would toast bread and cut it into strips thin enough to fit into the top of the egg. It took skill to sop the yoke without spilling it over the sides. That was my favorite breakfast.

We only had dinner on Sunday. Every other night we had supper. It always included meat, potatoes and a vegetable. Roasts were reserved for Sundays so on week nights we had chicken, pork every once in a while and lots of hamburger served in dishes like Salisbury steak, just chopped hamburger dressed with gravy, American chop suey or a dish with bamboo shoots which didn't have a name. I always thought that last one should have been called chop suey as bamboo shoots always seemed exotic. Saturday we had the universal meal common to every one I knew: hot dogs, beans and brown bread. I loved the round brown bread with the can ripples on the side. I never liked the baked beans. I'd load the hot dog with mustard and piccalli.

My adult tastes are a bit different. I eat vegetables and enjoy them, and my bread can no longer be rolled into pellets. I can't stand the look of a sardine let alone eat one. Breakfast is hit or miss and usually just coffee, except on Sunday when I often go out to eat. Saturday supper is wide open, but more often than not, it's hot dogs. I love traditions.

Boots: Lee Hazelwood

(From The New York Times)
Lee Hazlewood, the reclusive songwriter and producer behind a slew of hits by Duane Eddy, Nancy Sinatra, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin in the 1950s and 1960s, including Ms. Sinatra’s No. 1 smash “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’,” died on Saturday in Henderson, Nev. He was 78.

Mr. Hazlewood was also an eccentric visionary who pioneered several genres. As a solo artist, he created a sound often referred to as “cowboy psychedelia” for its fusion of country-western, symphonic pop orchestration and trippy decadence. A hard-living crank with a trademark mustache, he sang his wry tales of losers and jilted lovers in a striking, world-weary baritone.

In 1955 Mr. Hazlewood formed Viv Records, a country-oriented label. A year later Sanford Clark recorded Mr.. Hazelwood’s rockabilly song “The Fool,” his first hit as a songwriter.

Meanwhile, as Mr. Eddy’s co-writer and producer, Mr. Hazlewood helped invent twang-rock by sticking a microphone and an amp in a grain elevator, creating a ghostly reverb effect. Together they enjoyed a long string of hits, including “Rebel Rouser.” Mr. Hazlewood also helped develop country-rock; he released an album by Gram Parsons’s early group the International Submarine Band on his LHI label in 1968.

After an underappreciated solo album, “Trouble Is a Lonesome Town,” in 1963, Mr. Hazlewood, who had relocated to Los Angeles, found himself embraced by the Rat Pack. At Frank Sinatra’s request, he began working with his daughter Nancy. “He was part Henry Higgins and part Sigmund Freud,” Ms. Sinatra told The Times this year, referring to Mr. Hazlewood’s campaign to change her image. Cheeky video footage for “These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ ” turned her into a major sex symbol in the mid-’60s. That song has since been used in scores of movies, television shows and commercials, and performed or recorded by hundreds of artists.

“If I didn’t have any other hit but ‘Boots,’ I should be a thankful person,” Mr. Hazlewood said in January. “It’s eternal, I guess — a living thing.”

On his final album, this year’s “Cake or Death” (Ever Records), he addressed his mortality without his usual irreverence on the ballad “T.O.M. (The Old Man).”

“In this place called forever,” he wondered, “will there be any songs to sing?”


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This Happens Again and Again: The Nields

The Nields sisters, Nerissa & Katryna, grew up singing folk songs. In the 80s, they hooked up with a guitarist, drummer, and bass player, and the band released two albums and toured the country. In 1998, the sisters began playing shows without their backup band. Their first solo album was Love and China, and this song comes from that album. The Nields sisters' harmonies are what draws me to their music.


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“After a visit to the beach, it's hard to believe that we live in a material world.”

The air is so thick with humidity the trees are dripping. My room is dark, lit only by the light from the monitor. The cat is sleeping on the cushion top behind me, and the dog is snoring quietly from her chair. Lethargy rules the day.

Each day I clean a little corner of the house. I think of it as a reverse Mad Hatter's tea party and move from room to room. At this rate, the last room will be cleaned at the same time the first room will have become a dust bowl.

Each night I surf travel sites scouting my next trip. I spent last night at the end of the Earth in Timbuktu walking on the sand among the mud buildings. I checked the price to Bamako, decided to go from Mopti on the Niger and jumped from site to site looking at pictures. It leads the list.

When I was a kid, I only knew one person who had been to Europe. He used to go to visit his English grandmother, and I was green with envy. Vacation for just about every one else meant Maine or New Hampshire. Sometimes our vacation meant day trips, all my parents could afford, but we loved every vacation no matter where we went or what we did. I loved days at the beach. I have these fun memories of finding clam shells and driftwood, of tossing rocks in the water and eating sandy sandwiches. At the end of each beach trip my parents had a system. When we were really young, my mother used a towel as a screen so we could change into dry clothes so as not to ruin the car seats. I was always afraid she'd somehow drop that towel and expose me to public humiliation. My dad, meanwhile, got the car and parked as close to where we were. We'd walk to the car and wait our turn. My dad had a bucket of water, and we had dip one foot then the other in the bucket to get rid of the sand. He'd then carry us with our clean feet to the car. I have in my memory banks the light of a late summer afternoon, the brown of the sand, the feel of my skin tight from the salt and the breeze on my face from the car window as I fell asleep on the drive home.

Barrett's Privateers: Stan Rogers

Today is Canadian folk day.


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Alberta Bound: Gordon Lightfoot

A welcome back to an old friend!


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“If your parents never had children, chances are you won't either”

Being a kid meant indignities were heaped upon me by, of all people, my parents. On the way to visit relatives, my mother would do a last minute check before arrival. Under no circumstances would that woman be embarrassed by a dirty faced kid. She'd pull out that old kleenex, wet it with her tongue and clean the offending spot. No kleenex? no problem, she'd just wet her finger and scrub the spot away. Walking across a busy street was the chance for me to be publicly humiliated. She'd demand we hold hands before we could cross.

How about the age old question, "Do you have to go to the bathroom?" If I dared say no, that was followed up by the dire threat no kid wanted to hear, "We're not going to stop."

Any trip in the car was trouble, no matter how short. My parents knew this but still crammed the six of us into the car. In the summer, getting sweaty and hot always led to territorial wars in the back seat. "He's on my side," was the first salvo in this war for expansion. It always led to threats and back slaps from my father. Luckily he couldn't take his eyes off the road long enough to aim.

My mother continued to serve foods we hated and heaped them so high on the plate you'd think my life the inspiration for a few of those scenes from Close Encounters. Just substitute vegetables for mash potatoes. Being a kid meant I couldn't refuse any dish. I'd say I don't like that, and my mother would give the parental answer spoken in every language on this Earth. "Eat it. It's good for you." I can just hear a mother in Seoul,"그것을 먹으십시요. 너를 위해 좋다."

My mother would tell us we could pick one thing in a store. I'd pick my prize and hurry all excited to my mother. The first thing I chose was always too expensive so back it went. The second would break in a minute and then I'd have nothing so back it went. The third usually elicited a frown and a why would you want that so it too was put back on the shelf. I figure my mother should just have picked what I wanted and ended all the misery of my believing I actually had free choice.

To think, my parents had the nerve to suggest that we were driving them crazy!

A Song for You: Leon Russell

This is classic Leon Russell and is off his first solo album, 1970's Leon Russell.


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Something on Your Mind: Karen Dalton

This is from Karen Dalton's second album, In My Own Time released in 1971. What Karen Dalton does with a song almost defies description. I listen to this song and just shake my head in amazement.


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"A house needs a grandma in it."

My grandparents lived in the city, and I thought it the most wondrous place to visit. Cars were lined up and down the streets. The houses were so close together only narrow, dark alleyways separated one from the other. The alleys always felt cool, even on the hottest summer day. We'd run up and down the alley beside my grandmother's house until someone complained about the noise. On each corner was a little store with an old lady behind the counter who always sat down even to wait on customers. The stores had shelves and shelves of food crammed into the smallest spaces. We'd wander a bit when we visited my grandparents. On one street I tasted my very first slush. It was sold out of a store window. Mine was lemon, still my favorite. I ate my first piece of bakery pizza there. It was room temperature and square and delicious. We played stick ball in the street with half a rubber ball and a broom stick. It took me a while to master that broom stick swing and the wobbly ball.

My grandmother had the tiniest backyard with scruffy grass and a single tree. The back of her yard was a brick wall from the church on the next street. We spent little time there. Yards were not new and exciting. It was the city I wanted to watch.

It has been at least thirty years, probably more, since I last went to that house, but I can close my eyes and remember each room on every floor, on all three floors, a marvel to me. I remember the door at the top of the creaky stairs leading to the basement kitchen, the social center of the house. I remember the darkness of the back bedroom where my grandfather slept and the bathroom with its claw tub. I remember my aunt's tiny bedroom so filled with clothes there was never anywhere to sit. My aunt lives there still, but the house no longer draws us, no longer makes us feel welcome, but I have these vivid memories of love and family and spaghetti, and they are more than enough.

Me and My Shadow: Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra

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Shadow of Doubt: Bonnie Raitt

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Moonshadow: Cat Stevens

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Standing in the Shadow of Love: The Four Tops

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"In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary."

Today is glorious. The humidity is gone until tomorrow, and the breeze is cool. My usually quiet street is filled with the sounds of summer. I can hear kids playing and laughing. They're in the middle of an impromptu game of street ball with a chair as a backstop. Their dog, behind an electric fence on the front lawn, is barking and hoping he'll be noticed and asked to join. The kids are from my neighbor's family who is visiting. They stay at her house and the rental beside mine. They come every year. She usually has more company this week than I have in five years. My neighbor on the other side, who works on my yard, has been over here spraying. He takes it as a personal insult that crabgrass is invading the lawn he sowed. I'd have let it live. Green is green, but he sees it differently. He also sprayed the poison ivy in my back yard which is a good thing as I've already had it once, from Gracie's fur I suspect.

I went out for breakfast this morning. It seemed the perfect way to start a Sunday. My friend and I met at our usual spot, early enough to avoid the summer people and chatted over coffee and eggs. We got caught up on each other's world.

Today is begging to be spent on the deck. The chimes are jumping off the tree, and the mirrors are sending balls of light all over the yard. I love sitting here up so high. I see everything. I watch the sunlight glinting through the branches and birds hopping from tree to tree. Gracie is my favorite to watch. She runs and runs around the yard just for the joy of it. The squirrels seem to find the yard a circus tent, and they are the high wire acts. When I sit here and read, I often just lay the book down, close my eyes and take in my world.

If I could, I'd place candles among all the branches of my trees and light them every night. My yard would be a fairyland of flickering lights and shadows. I'd never go in the house.

Smoke, Smoke, Smoke (That Cigarette): Tex Williams

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Cigarettes and Whiskey: Ramblin' Jack Elliott

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Smoke Ring: The Mills Brothers

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Smokin' in the Boys' Room: Brownsville Station

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“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.”

I never did do well with a hula hoop. I'd take that circle and spin it, hopes high. My hips would start to gyrate, looking good I'd think, but by the second or third spin, the hoop would wobble to the ground. My friends could spin multiple hoops. They'd give me and my motionless hoop this pitying look and tell me how easy it is. It never was.

Squirt guns were great fun in the summer. Sometimes we'd fill them with Zarex for a quick treat, but mostly we just squirted each other with water. The best squirts were the unexpected, and little sisters made the best targets. They always screamed, and they always squealed to our mother.

Silly Putty in an egg was an Easter basket regular in our house. It had a weird feel to it and was a strange color, almost flesh-like. I loved that it bounced. I remember being amazed when the comics from the Sunday paper were imprinted on it, word bubbles and all. We'd stretch the putty until the comics looked more like fun house escapees. Silly Putty seemed to last forever.

We had metal slinkies which would sometimes bend and stretch. The worst, though, was when the metal loops got tangled. If you weren't patient enough to untangled carefully, the slinky just wouldn't work the same no matter what you did. My sister had a neat slinky pull toy. It had the head and tail of a dog but a slinky body.

We played many a whiffle baseball game. We didn't need much space; our hits never went too far. The sound of that plastic bat hitting the white whiffle ball still resounds in my head. We used rocks and whatever else we could find as bases. The bases were always approximate distances apart based on eye calculations. Most times we did without a catcher. The batter usually stood in front of a wall and was responsible for getting the ball back to the mound. No one called balls or strikes. A batter spending too much time in the box risked the derision of both teams. Patience was a limited commodity. With no umpires, the fielder called the play but then so did the runner. A few I was safe, no you weren't were always the result. It never came to blows. Most times the issue was resolved. If not, we just call the game and do something else.

Most times, having fun was easy.

Courtin' in the Kitchen: Tommy Makem

Tommy Makem:
November 4, 1932 – August 1, 2007

DOVER, N.H. --Acclaimed Irish singer, songwriter and storyteller Tommy Makem has died of cancer, ending a worldwide entertainment career that spanned more than five decades. He was 74.
Makem died Wednesday at a nursing home near his home in Dover, surrounded by family and friends, his son, Conor Makem, said Thursday.
Makem grew to international fame while performing with the band The Clancy Brothers And Tommy Makem in the late 1950s and 1960s.
President Mary McAleese of Ireland led the tributes, saying Makem brought happiness and joy to fans all over the world.
"Always the consummate musician, he was also a superb ambassador for the country, and one of whom we will always be proud," McAleese said.


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Streets of London: Ralph McTell

Ralph McTell left this song off his debut album as he thought it depressing. It first appeared on 1969's Spiral Staircase, his second album. He re-recorded it in 1974, and it was this recording which became McTell's big hit, reaching number 2 on the charts.


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It's a Wonder: Catie Curtis

This is from Long Night Moon. The album was released in 2006 after Catie and her partner Liz had adopted their second daughter. On the title track, Curtis sings about waiting for the arrival of Celia on a dark December night.

Catie, from good old New England, writes poignant, personal songs. This one seems to have a happiness, a bit of joy about it.


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"When a man retires and time is no longer a matter of urgent importance, his colleagues generally present him with a watch."

Life seems to have gotten easier. I no longer worry about what I'm going to wear. Those days have been gone a while. Because I live alone, my meals are when I'm hungry, and I eat whatever I can scrounge in the cabinet or fridge. If I don't feel like making my bed, I swallow the guilt and leave it unmade. Rest assured, though, I do make allowances for personal hygiene and brush my teeth every day. I shower too. Most days I'd prefer to stay home on the deck. I do get to be a bit more social in the summer with plays and all, but I love staying home. No where else is as inviting. If the phone rings, I don't always answer. I never used to be this laid-back.

In the old days, I'd be up by 5: 15 and out the door to work by 6:15. I needed to be there early to plan my day. If I had to go somewhere or do something, I did it right then. My house was cleaner than it is now. I never went out during the week: they were still school nights. I planned every bit of my weekend to make the best use of my free time, though free here is probably a misnomer. Certain days were set aside for specific chores, and I identified the day by the chore. Saturday was grocery and errand day. Sunday was change the bed, do a wash and go to the dump day.

The days no longer have a designation. Half the time I can't even remember the day of the week. I can go out any night of the week and not worry about having to be up and out early the next morning. I go to bed when I want. My dump day is whenever. Errand day is when I need something. The other day I checked my pocket calendar. It was two weeks behind the time. I really don't know why I still have one as most of the pages are blank any way.

I am so loving this stage of my life.

Dirty Old Town: Ewan MacColl

Ewan MacColl almost defies description. He was almost personally responsible for bringing back traditional British folk music and wrote many classic songs including this one made popular by the Pogues and the Dubliners. His romance with Peggy Seeger, while scandalous at the time, was the inspiration for The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face. He was an activist and left-wing socialist, expressed his views as a playwright, social activist, songwriter and performer who ranks among the best in British folk.


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It Takes a Worried Man: Lonnie Donegan, Chris Barber, Van Morrison

Lonnie Donegan was the King Of Skiffle, a brief musical craze in pre-Beatles days which is an upbeat mating of jazz, blues, and folk.

Donegan was a member of the Chris Barber Jazz Band when he first started singing skiffle during the band's breaks. The music developed a life of its own and Lonegan separated (on good terms) from the Barber band.

The Skiffle Sessions: Live in Belfast 1998 is the album from which this song comes. It was released in 2000, two years before Lonnie's death, and reunited Chris and Lonnie. Van Morrison, who had a skiffle band when he was twelve, credits the influence of Donegan for his early music. "We had a washboard, guitar, tea-chest bass and a type of kazoo called the zobo."


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"Seize the moment. Remember all those women on the Titanic who waved off the dessert cart."

Some foods deserve to be ignored. Refried beans didn't need the first frying, my motto being no bean is a good bean. Baked beans, Lima beans and kidney beans are prime examples of food best left uneaten. The last place I'd want an oyster is sliding down my throat. The thought of it gives me the chills. Bread pudding and rice pudding are just wrong. If you're serving liver and onions, hold the liver. I'm not big on body parts you can't see. That would, of course, include kidney and sweetbreads. I don't like foods which look back at me. I once watched a friend eat pasta with baby squid, and the sight still haunts me. I won't even begin to list what's wrong with runny eggs no matter how they're served. Olives of any color do nothing for me. Cooked spinach may be fine for Popeye but give me mine raw in a salad or not at all. Brussels sprouts and artichokes are on the list. Just touching the skin of a peach gives me the willies. I avoid anything which tastes like chicken. My father loved and my sister continues to eat Spam, a dish which fits into no food group. I think a new category called foods of unknown origin, which is the same place we'd list mystery meat from the high school cafeteria, would be a perfect spot. My sister's in-laws stud their spam with cloves, sprinkle brown sugar on the top and bake it. Aspic being on the list needs no explanation. Canned fruits are a travesty. I won't touch any food which could be some kid's pet, Guinea pigs included.

I think the safest thing is to eat only desserts. I'm thinking a hot piece of apple pie with ice cream or cheddar cheese, my dad's favorite. I'd get fruit, dairy and starch, just about covering all my daily nutritional needs. I could force down a piece or two I suspect.

You Keep on Doggin' Me: Sonny Terry

Both songs today are from a Smithsonian Folkways album released yesterday: down!home Saturday night. The songs are what people sing when they get together on a Saturday night whether for a fais do-do in some one's living room or at a juke joint.

If you don't mind, I'll just give you the liner notes: "Sonny Terry was an entertaining harmonica player from Durham, North Carolina, primarily known for his decades-long partnership with guitarist Brownie McGhee. Terry spent most of his professional career in New York City. He is joined here on this original by his cousin J. C. Burris and Brownie McGhee's brother, Sticks."


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Hey Bartender, There's a Big Bug in My Beer: Warner Williams and Eddie Pennington

Again, the liner notes: "Warner Williams is a retired truck driver from Tacoma Park, Maryland. He has spent years performing for local events like parties and picnics. His repertoire includes blues, popular songs, country and jazz. This is his most requested song. Warner is accompanied by accomplished Kentucky thumpicker Eddie Pennington"


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“Experience, which destroys innocence, also leads one back to it.”

When I was a growing up, I never thought about the house being small or the furniture looking a bit run down and maybe just a little tacky. I never noticed anyone else's house either. We had a TV and a comfortable place to sit and watch it, and that was about all that mattered. I don't think I knew anyone with money. I don't even think money entered into anything except when the ice cream man came. We always wore uniforms to school so clothes weren't important. No one I knew worked summers, even when we were in high school. We got a few bucks a week, and that seemed to be enough. We walked everywhere. A big night was a movie and a hamburger afterwards, at Carroll's where they were fifteen cents. We never drank in high school or smoked cigarettes. We talked about sex but only in hushed voices and for the purposes of education, not experimentation. Only bad girls had sex and were called tramps or the town pumps. I was well into high school before I understood what that last one meant. We thought ourselves hot stuff, but we were really just innocents.

College was when my world expanded.