This is from The Tradition Years: Come Sit by My Side released last year by Empire Musicwerks and a reissue of Yarbrough's 1957 album, his second.
When the folk revival began in the 50's, there were few singer-songwriters so singers relied on traditional offerings. This song, according to Wikipedia, is of nineteenth century English origin. In an early version, dating from the 1820s, a Cockney costermonger vowed to be true to his fiancee, who had been sentenced to seven years transportation to Australia for theft and to mourn his loss by wearing green willow sprigs in his hatband for "a twelve-month and a day," in a traditional symbol of mourning.
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Friday, November 30, 2007
It Ain't Me Babe: Bob Dylan
I remember my first Dylan album was The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan which is probably still my favorite early Dylan though I vacillate between that and The Times They Are a-Changin'.
This song appears first on 1964's Another Side of Bob Dylan, his fourth album.
MP3 File
This song appears first on 1964's Another Side of Bob Dylan, his fourth album.
MP3 File
“The manner of giving is worth more than the gift.”
My mother used to put some wrapped gifts under the tree before Christmas, and we each got to open one on Christmas Eve. We were never too excited. We always knew they were pajamas. We'd beg and beg to open a different gift, but my mother always refused. We were forced to open clothes, the worst of all Christmas gifts. The more clothes you got, the fewer the good stuff.
My sister Moe always tore a small hole in the corner of each wrapped present under the tree, except for the pajamas, of course, as they presented no challenge. Moe needed to know what was inside each and every gift, hers or not, and couldn't wait for the big unwrapping. One peek mightn't seem like much but was more than enough for Moe as she had a magical talent. She was able to figure out exactly what each gift was from that tiny corner tear. The rest of us would shake and squeeze and make guesses, but Moe knew. As she got older, her talent grew and has now reached legendary proportions. With one shake, Moe can pretty much identify the gift inside the package. One year she needed a new top to wear to a Christmas party. She rummaged around the gifts under the tree from our mother, shook each one, found the top and even managed to unearth matching earrings, all without opening a single package.
Her gifts are the most fun of all to wrap, and we try to thwart her talents by creative gift wrapping. Small gifts go into big boxes. Beans go inside gifts to create an artificial rattle, and odd sized gifts are wrapped together. We want to confound our Houdini. I have a few ideas for this Christmas, but I can't share them. Moe reads my blog. The challenge is in the surprise, and this is the year Moe goes down.
My sister Moe always tore a small hole in the corner of each wrapped present under the tree, except for the pajamas, of course, as they presented no challenge. Moe needed to know what was inside each and every gift, hers or not, and couldn't wait for the big unwrapping. One peek mightn't seem like much but was more than enough for Moe as she had a magical talent. She was able to figure out exactly what each gift was from that tiny corner tear. The rest of us would shake and squeeze and make guesses, but Moe knew. As she got older, her talent grew and has now reached legendary proportions. With one shake, Moe can pretty much identify the gift inside the package. One year she needed a new top to wear to a Christmas party. She rummaged around the gifts under the tree from our mother, shook each one, found the top and even managed to unearth matching earrings, all without opening a single package.
Her gifts are the most fun of all to wrap, and we try to thwart her talents by creative gift wrapping. Small gifts go into big boxes. Beans go inside gifts to create an artificial rattle, and odd sized gifts are wrapped together. We want to confound our Houdini. I have a few ideas for this Christmas, but I can't share them. Moe reads my blog. The challenge is in the surprise, and this is the year Moe goes down.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Scotch and Soda: The Kingston Trio
Today is a way back day.
It was the sounds of groups like The Highwaymen and The Kingston Trio which drew me to folk, and I keep coming back to them.
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It was the sounds of groups like The Highwaymen and The Kingston Trio which drew me to folk, and I keep coming back to them.
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"In memory everything seems to happen to music."
My bulletin board was dragged from home to college then back again, packed away when my parents moved and finally hung here, in my own home. It's been hanging in the same spot for over thirty years. My first bulletin board was a very long ago Christmas present. I remember it had a felt front in hot pink. On that first board were Kennedy buttons I had gotten at his headquarters up town. One said if I were twenty one I'd vote for Kennedy, another had a picture of him with his name below and the last just said Kennedy for President. I still have those buttons, but they now hang in a case with a few others I picked up along the way. Ticket stubs sometimes hung on that board. They were reminders of fun times with my friends. One was from a trip to Boston where I saw the movie Cleopatra at The Music Hall. I remember being taken by the plushness of the ladies' room with its velvet lounge seats. I thought I was in a palace. Pictures of my eighth grade trip hung there for a long while. I'm wearing clam diggers and standing with my friend Jimmy. He is wearing a jaunty hat with a feather. We were the height of early 60's cool.
I would periodically change the board, and each was a chronicle of my life at the time. My board in high school had play bills, bus cards, drive-in ticket stubs, postcards, Brook for Senator pins and lots of pictures. There we were in Harvard Square, our hang-out for a while. The picture of us tobogganing at the country club in Winchester reminded me of the hill where we were airborne for a while and killed our backs when we finally landed. One picture was of the cast from a one act play I directed. It was a terrible play, and the star kept forgetting her lines. My favorite picture was of the three musketeers, my friends Jimmy, Bobby and me. We were inseparable in high school, and they were always part of my greatest adventures.
My bulletin board is still filled. I change it every now and then, but some stuff is always there. A Star Trek calendar hangs from the bottom. A couple of pins are stuck in the corner. One is from the last Celtics game on the parquet floor. A lei from a dinner party is tucked over the corner as are beads from a St. Patrick's Day parade. I keep tickets and notices for upcoming events up front so I don't forget or lose them. My favorite picture is pinned in front and is from a weekend in Colorado when we, my mother, sister and I, surprised my other sister on her birthday.
I think of my mother whenever I use my bulletin board, and I know she never realized the lifetime of memories she started with a bright pink board.
I would periodically change the board, and each was a chronicle of my life at the time. My board in high school had play bills, bus cards, drive-in ticket stubs, postcards, Brook for Senator pins and lots of pictures. There we were in Harvard Square, our hang-out for a while. The picture of us tobogganing at the country club in Winchester reminded me of the hill where we were airborne for a while and killed our backs when we finally landed. One picture was of the cast from a one act play I directed. It was a terrible play, and the star kept forgetting her lines. My favorite picture was of the three musketeers, my friends Jimmy, Bobby and me. We were inseparable in high school, and they were always part of my greatest adventures.
My bulletin board is still filled. I change it every now and then, but some stuff is always there. A Star Trek calendar hangs from the bottom. A couple of pins are stuck in the corner. One is from the last Celtics game on the parquet floor. A lei from a dinner party is tucked over the corner as are beads from a St. Patrick's Day parade. I keep tickets and notices for upcoming events up front so I don't forget or lose them. My favorite picture is pinned in front and is from a weekend in Colorado when we, my mother, sister and I, surprised my other sister on her birthday.
I think of my mother whenever I use my bulletin board, and I know she never realized the lifetime of memories she started with a bright pink board.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Gentle Annie: Ollabelle
Both songs today are from Beautiful Dreamer - The Songs of Stephen Foster. I had played several of the songs when the album was first released and thought I'd finish it off today.
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MP3 File
"A little smile, a word of cheer, A bit of love from someone near, A little gift from one held dear, Best wishes for the coming year."
Yesterday was a busy day. I finished the lights, front and back, made a quick run to the store for more bulbs, a small pine swag for the fence and a couple of extension cords, did a bit of Christmas shopping in downtown Hyannis and finished my errands off at the hardware store where I bought a timer. I hauled the bags into the house, brewed a pot of coffee and relaxed. This is the beginning.
My mother used to have a Christmas card box. It was dark green with white Christmas trees. Inside were index cards. Each card had a name and address and two columns, one for sent and one for received. Every year my mother would go through the box and make out her cards. Every year she'd remove cards where received had been left blank for a couple of years. Some of the cards had several crossed addresses as families moved from one place to another. A high school friend of hers was in the army, and his cards was filled with addresses in different countries. I remember our postman used to come twice during Christmas. He'd do a morning and an afternoon run, and our mailbox overflowed with cards. My mother would open each one, show us the front then read the greetings inside the card. She'd go to her card box and mark off the received box. If she hadn't sent a card, she'd hurry to make one out and run to the mailbox in front of the house hoping to catch the mailman before he emptied it. We hung most of our cards around doorways and on strings stretched across the wall in the living room. Special cards were placed between the branches in the middle of the Christmas tree. They helped to hide any empty spots.
Getting a card of my own was the best of all. I'd read the greeting over and over again then bring the card to my room where I'd put it on my bureau. It was my Christmas decoration, and I felt proud.
My mother used to have a Christmas card box. It was dark green with white Christmas trees. Inside were index cards. Each card had a name and address and two columns, one for sent and one for received. Every year my mother would go through the box and make out her cards. Every year she'd remove cards where received had been left blank for a couple of years. Some of the cards had several crossed addresses as families moved from one place to another. A high school friend of hers was in the army, and his cards was filled with addresses in different countries. I remember our postman used to come twice during Christmas. He'd do a morning and an afternoon run, and our mailbox overflowed with cards. My mother would open each one, show us the front then read the greetings inside the card. She'd go to her card box and mark off the received box. If she hadn't sent a card, she'd hurry to make one out and run to the mailbox in front of the house hoping to catch the mailman before he emptied it. We hung most of our cards around doorways and on strings stretched across the wall in the living room. Special cards were placed between the branches in the middle of the Christmas tree. They helped to hide any empty spots.
Getting a card of my own was the best of all. I'd read the greeting over and over again then bring the card to my room where I'd put it on my bureau. It was my Christmas decoration, and I felt proud.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Blue River: Eric Andersen
This is the title song from Eric's 1972 album, his first album on Columbia. It has been called his best album highlighting as it did his gentle voice and his poetic lyrics. The songs are beautiful. That voice you hear doing the supporting vocals is Joni Mitchell.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration. "
With Thanksgiving gone, Christmas has begun to take center stage. Today is even warm enough for outside light day. I'll drag them out of the cellar and do the front of the house first then the back deck rails. My house always looks so festive for Christmas that I sometimes sit and look for a while before I get out of the car.
Our house was small when I was growing up. The kitchen had room against the wall for a table, but we had to squeeze by it to sit on the chairs. I remember a round turtle bowl which sat on the counter near the sink. It had a small island, a fake palm tree and a turtle who lived to be seven. The stove was beside the table and chairs and the fridge was across from it. The sink was one of those white ones. My mother always kept her garbage holder in the corner of that sink. It was rectangular, made of plastic and had holes.
The room next to the kitchen was the living room, the biggest room in the house. It had a picture window with smaller windows on each side. I remember looking out that picture window to watch the hurricane winds blowing the trees. I was seven. I used to like to lean on the windowsill to watch the snow fall. The flakes glittered in the streetlights. The stairs were at the end of the room, and the banister was so small we had to squeeze in our four Christmas stockings to hang them. The Christmas tree always went in the same spot so the TV had to be moved. We each had our special places around the tree for gifts.
Upstairs had the tiniest hall connecting the bathroom and the three bedrooms. The opening for the crawl space was smack dab in the middle of the hall ceiling. My parents used to hide our Christmas gifts there. I remember waking up and hearing music and my parents whispering as my dad handed the gifts down to my mother. I later sneaked downstairs and watched for the longest time. My sister and I shared the bedroom next to the bath. My brother shared with my youngest sister until he got a bit older and moved to the cellar. My parents' room was beside my brother's. They had a TV in theirs so we used to lie in their bed to watch. The bathroom was small and had only a tub, no shower. Across from the toilet, on the wall, was a print. It was a little boy wearing a blue towel and had a poem called Please Remember. I read it so many times while I was sitting on the toilet I had it memorized. I later found a copy of that print for my mother's Christmas stocking. She was amazed. I was too because I remembered every verse.
We lived in that house for ten years, and I never noticed it was small.
Our house was small when I was growing up. The kitchen had room against the wall for a table, but we had to squeeze by it to sit on the chairs. I remember a round turtle bowl which sat on the counter near the sink. It had a small island, a fake palm tree and a turtle who lived to be seven. The stove was beside the table and chairs and the fridge was across from it. The sink was one of those white ones. My mother always kept her garbage holder in the corner of that sink. It was rectangular, made of plastic and had holes.
The room next to the kitchen was the living room, the biggest room in the house. It had a picture window with smaller windows on each side. I remember looking out that picture window to watch the hurricane winds blowing the trees. I was seven. I used to like to lean on the windowsill to watch the snow fall. The flakes glittered in the streetlights. The stairs were at the end of the room, and the banister was so small we had to squeeze in our four Christmas stockings to hang them. The Christmas tree always went in the same spot so the TV had to be moved. We each had our special places around the tree for gifts.
Upstairs had the tiniest hall connecting the bathroom and the three bedrooms. The opening for the crawl space was smack dab in the middle of the hall ceiling. My parents used to hide our Christmas gifts there. I remember waking up and hearing music and my parents whispering as my dad handed the gifts down to my mother. I later sneaked downstairs and watched for the longest time. My sister and I shared the bedroom next to the bath. My brother shared with my youngest sister until he got a bit older and moved to the cellar. My parents' room was beside my brother's. They had a TV in theirs so we used to lie in their bed to watch. The bathroom was small and had only a tub, no shower. Across from the toilet, on the wall, was a print. It was a little boy wearing a blue towel and had a poem called Please Remember. I read it so many times while I was sitting on the toilet I had it memorized. I later found a copy of that print for my mother's Christmas stocking. She was amazed. I was too because I remembered every verse.
We lived in that house for ten years, and I never noticed it was small.
Monday, November 26, 2007
If We Never Meet Again: Jules Shear
My music files are fairly well organized, but I do have a few odd ones stuck here and there. This is one. I say odd because I have no idea where this came from or even why I saved it.
I know nothing about Jules Shear, but I did do some hunting. He has produced a huge number of albums but hasn't had commercial success. His songs seem to do well for other singers like All Through the Night for Cyndi Lauper. He has played in a band and formed one, Jules and the Polar Bears. His solo career began in the early 1990's, but he did continue to work with a couple of bands after that, including Restless Sleepers. This song, written by Shears, was covered by Roger McGuinn and is on the Restless Sleepers' album Big Boss Sounds. It is considered one of his best, if not the best, of his songs.
MP3 File
I know nothing about Jules Shear, but I did do some hunting. He has produced a huge number of albums but hasn't had commercial success. His songs seem to do well for other singers like All Through the Night for Cyndi Lauper. He has played in a band and formed one, Jules and the Polar Bears. His solo career began in the early 1990's, but he did continue to work with a couple of bands after that, including Restless Sleepers. This song, written by Shears, was covered by Roger McGuinn and is on the Restless Sleepers' album Big Boss Sounds. It is considered one of his best, if not the best, of his songs.
MP3 File
Just Like the Weather: Suzy Bogguss
This is from Suzy Bogguss' third album, Something Up My Sleeve, which was released in 1993 and went gold.
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MP3 File
"All was silent as before -All silent save the dripping rain."
It's raining. When I awoke, the rain was a steady beat tapping on the roof and windows. It has since slowed, and I can hear individual drops as they fall to the deck outside my window. I can also hear the dog's breathing. It's a gentle day.
Winter rain meant no playing outside when I was a kid. I'd come home from school soaked by the walk, change out of my school uniform and put on my warmest, comfiest clothes, sometimes even my flannel pajamas and slipper socks. I'd come back downstairs and sit at the kitchen table to finish my homework. It was never much in those days, some spelling words to learn or a few arithmetic problems to finish, but I always tackled homework first. After I finished, my brother and I would sometimes play.
We'd pick out a game and set it up on the living room floor. Sorry was our favorite. Getting to say sorry in a taunting ha ha sort of voice when my brother's man was unceremoniously ushered back to its start was sometimes even better than winning. It was also the cause for a few arguments, and my mother would yell from the kitchen for us to put the game away if we couldn't play nice. We'd play card games like War, Slap Jack, Go Fish or Steal the Old Man's Pack. Any game which presented the opportunity to taunt was a good game, and we especially liked the potential for violence in Slap Jack and, when teasing was involved, in Steal the Old Man's Pack. My mother, of course, would yell from the kitchen.
My favorite way to spend a rainy day was to go to my bedroom, turn on the light, get cozy under the covers and read. The light always lent a warmth to the room, and I felt safe somehow, almost comforted.
A light on a rainy day does that still.
Winter rain meant no playing outside when I was a kid. I'd come home from school soaked by the walk, change out of my school uniform and put on my warmest, comfiest clothes, sometimes even my flannel pajamas and slipper socks. I'd come back downstairs and sit at the kitchen table to finish my homework. It was never much in those days, some spelling words to learn or a few arithmetic problems to finish, but I always tackled homework first. After I finished, my brother and I would sometimes play.
We'd pick out a game and set it up on the living room floor. Sorry was our favorite. Getting to say sorry in a taunting ha ha sort of voice when my brother's man was unceremoniously ushered back to its start was sometimes even better than winning. It was also the cause for a few arguments, and my mother would yell from the kitchen for us to put the game away if we couldn't play nice. We'd play card games like War, Slap Jack, Go Fish or Steal the Old Man's Pack. Any game which presented the opportunity to taunt was a good game, and we especially liked the potential for violence in Slap Jack and, when teasing was involved, in Steal the Old Man's Pack. My mother, of course, would yell from the kitchen.
My favorite way to spend a rainy day was to go to my bedroom, turn on the light, get cozy under the covers and read. The light always lent a warmth to the room, and I felt safe somehow, almost comforted.
A light on a rainy day does that still.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
“Memory is the treasury and guardian of all things”
Our childhood Christmas decorations were well beloved. We kept the boxes in the cellar and would start to bring them upstairs right after Thanksgiving. The first box always had the outside lights, all tangled together. They were my father's job. He was the family light man. My father, who was never very patient, wrestling with each tangled strand trying to unknot the messes he'd left from the year before. His language often got as colorful as the lights. If a strand didn't light, he'd lay it out across the rug to check the bulbs by unscrewing and re-screwing each one until he'd found the bad bulb. The whole strand would then light as if by magic. My dad would go outside and wind the lights around the bushes in front. The first lighting of the season was always the best.
Another box held the around the house decorations. I remember four small Santa cups with handles. Each handle was a different letter and the four handles spelled NOEL. I, being the oldest, always demanded the O, the easiest to hold. Those cups sat, Christmas after Christmas, on the living room table in front of the couch. I don't remember when they stopped appearing. At a church fair a few years ago, I found that exact set. For a couple of dollars, I bought a family memory. I put it on my living room table every year. The O cup always brings a smile, and I want to yell dibs.
The Christmas ornaments were in another box. They were a combination of store bought and homemade. We'd pull them from the box every year, remember all the other Christmases, all three or four in our small memory banks, then find the perfect spot on the tree. The cardboard was a bit bent, glass balls had small spots where the colors had faded and homemade ornaments were misshapen, but we never really noticed. We just noticed the magic.
The ornaments on my tree are still a combination. Some I made, some I bought and some I brought back from my travels. I still see the magic.
Another box held the around the house decorations. I remember four small Santa cups with handles. Each handle was a different letter and the four handles spelled NOEL. I, being the oldest, always demanded the O, the easiest to hold. Those cups sat, Christmas after Christmas, on the living room table in front of the couch. I don't remember when they stopped appearing. At a church fair a few years ago, I found that exact set. For a couple of dollars, I bought a family memory. I put it on my living room table every year. The O cup always brings a smile, and I want to yell dibs.
The Christmas ornaments were in another box. They were a combination of store bought and homemade. We'd pull them from the box every year, remember all the other Christmases, all three or four in our small memory banks, then find the perfect spot on the tree. The cardboard was a bit bent, glass balls had small spots where the colors had faded and homemade ornaments were misshapen, but we never really noticed. We just noticed the magic.
The ornaments on my tree are still a combination. Some I made, some I bought and some I brought back from my travels. I still see the magic.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Black Denim Trousers: The Cheers
Since this was the most popular theme to date, and Ralph was with me last time, we thought we'd give you another thrill....
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MP3 File
“Did you ever notice that life seems to follow certain patterns? Like I noticed that every year around this time, I hear Christmas music”
This weekend after Thanksgiving was the time to pull out the Sears catalog and start wishing. The Sears book back then was huge so my brother and I would lie on the rug and open the book between us. We'd slowly go through page after page of toys. Our first few times through were simply to reconnoiter, to get the lay of the land. For subsequent viewing, we'd have pencils and paper ready to start our lists. I say start because those lists would change every time we went through the catalog or saw a commercial on TV. The picking and choosing were even more fun than the deciding.
We had all the usual questions. How does Santa make it all over the world in one night? Do his reindeer really fly and how does he know if we're naughty or nice? The answer to that last questions was of particular importance. This was the time of year my mother had the most leverage. She'd remind us Santa was watching, and we'd better be good unless we wanted coal in our stockings. I didn't know what coal was, but I knew it was bad. The mere mention of Santa was enough to stop the bickering. Under no circumstances did we want on the naughty list.
My mother brought out some of the decorations during the first week of December. The lights went into the windows. Single lights in most windows, but in the picture window went a candle with five bulbs, five orange bulbs. Back then aesthetics were far less important and light displays were more haphazard, more colorful. The outside bulbs were all huge. My dad put them on the bushes and around the windows. The house was beautiful.
We had all the usual questions. How does Santa make it all over the world in one night? Do his reindeer really fly and how does he know if we're naughty or nice? The answer to that last questions was of particular importance. This was the time of year my mother had the most leverage. She'd remind us Santa was watching, and we'd better be good unless we wanted coal in our stockings. I didn't know what coal was, but I knew it was bad. The mere mention of Santa was enough to stop the bickering. Under no circumstances did we want on the naughty list.
My mother brought out some of the decorations during the first week of December. The lights went into the windows. Single lights in most windows, but in the picture window went a candle with five bulbs, five orange bulbs. Back then aesthetics were far less important and light displays were more haphazard, more colorful. The outside bulbs were all huge. My dad put them on the bushes and around the windows. The house was beautiful.
Friday, November 23, 2007
To the Morning: Dan Fogelberg
The first cut from Fogelberg's first album. This is the best way I can think of to say "hello" to the world.
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MP3 File
Thanksgiving was never meant to be shut up in a single day. "
It was a splendid day. We sat on the deck eating hors d'oeuvres and soaking in the warmth of sixty degree weather. The birds didn't mind our presence and flew in and out of the feeders. When we finally came back inside, we filled our plates, sat down around the table and toasted the day and each other. Our plates were filled with turducken, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, grilled vegetables, my mother's squash and carrot dish, Tony's grandmother's cole slaw, Ralph's pickles, Clare's green bean casserole and honey orange bread. It was a feast. After dinner we just sat and chatted for a long while hoping to find, in time, enough room for a piece or two of pie, of mincemeat pie, pumpkin pie, lemon meringue pie or chocolate pie. I went with the chocolate.
Today is a day of rest after the hubbub of yesterday. We'll relax, drive down Cape and enjoy the ride. I'll point out my favorite places, and we'll stop by the beach. I love meandering.
Both my sisters called me yesterday to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. We may not have spent the day together, but we were not apart. We chatted about our day, our guests and our menus. We ended our conversations with I love you. It was a perfect ending to my day.
Today is a day of rest after the hubbub of yesterday. We'll relax, drive down Cape and enjoy the ride. I'll point out my favorite places, and we'll stop by the beach. I love meandering.
Both my sisters called me yesterday to wish me a Happy Thanksgiving. We may not have spent the day together, but we were not apart. We chatted about our day, our guests and our menus. We ended our conversations with I love you. It was a perfect ending to my day.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Alice's Restaurant: Arlo Guthrie
YOUTHS ORDERED TO CLEAN UP RUBBISH MESS
LEE -- Because they couldn't find a dump open in Great Barrington, two youths threw a load of refuse down a Stockbridge hillside on Thanksgiving Day.
Saturday, Richard J. Robbins, 19, of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., and Arlo Guthrie, 18, of Howard Beach, N. Y., each paid a fine of $25 in Lee District Court after pleading guilty of illegally disposing of rubbish. Special Justice James E. Hannon ordered the youths to remove all the rubbish. They did so Saturday afternoon, following a heavy rain.
Police Chief William J. Obanhein of Stockbridge said later the youths found dragging the junk up the hillside much harder than throwing it down. He said he hoped their case would be an example to others who are careless about disposal of rubbish.
The junk included a divan, plus nearly enough bottles, garbage, papers and boxes to fill their Volkswagen bus.
"The stuff would take up at least half of a goodsized pickup truck," Chief Obanhein said.
The rubbish was thrown into the Nelson Foote Sr. property on Prospect Street, a residential section of Stockbridge consisting largely of estates on the hill across from Indian Hilil [sic] School.
Chief Obanhein told the court he spent "a very disagreeable two hours" looking through the rubbish before finding a clue to who had thrown it there. He finally found a scrap of paper bearing the name of a Great Barrington man. Subsequent investigation indicated Robbins and Guthrie had been visiting the Great Barrington man and had agreed to cart away the rubbish for him. They told the court that, when they found the Barrington dump closed, they drove around and then disposed of the junk by tossing it over the Stockbridge hillside.
Unidentified newspaper clipping, reprinted in This is the Arlo Guthrie Songbook, New York, NY, 1969, p. 39.
Feel free to sing along with the chorus of Coffee's traditional Thanksgiving offering. Ready? "You can get anything you want..."
MP3 File
LEE -- Because they couldn't find a dump open in Great Barrington, two youths threw a load of refuse down a Stockbridge hillside on Thanksgiving Day.
Saturday, Richard J. Robbins, 19, of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., and Arlo Guthrie, 18, of Howard Beach, N. Y., each paid a fine of $25 in Lee District Court after pleading guilty of illegally disposing of rubbish. Special Justice James E. Hannon ordered the youths to remove all the rubbish. They did so Saturday afternoon, following a heavy rain.
Police Chief William J. Obanhein of Stockbridge said later the youths found dragging the junk up the hillside much harder than throwing it down. He said he hoped their case would be an example to others who are careless about disposal of rubbish.
The junk included a divan, plus nearly enough bottles, garbage, papers and boxes to fill their Volkswagen bus.
"The stuff would take up at least half of a goodsized pickup truck," Chief Obanhein said.
The rubbish was thrown into the Nelson Foote Sr. property on Prospect Street, a residential section of Stockbridge consisting largely of estates on the hill across from Indian Hilil [sic] School.
Chief Obanhein told the court he spent "a very disagreeable two hours" looking through the rubbish before finding a clue to who had thrown it there. He finally found a scrap of paper bearing the name of a Great Barrington man. Subsequent investigation indicated Robbins and Guthrie had been visiting the Great Barrington man and had agreed to cart away the rubbish for him. They told the court that, when they found the Barrington dump closed, they drove around and then disposed of the junk by tossing it over the Stockbridge hillside.
Unidentified newspaper clipping, reprinted in This is the Arlo Guthrie Songbook, New York, NY, 1969, p. 39.
Feel free to sing along with the chorus of Coffee's traditional Thanksgiving offering. Ready? "You can get anything you want..."
MP3 File
"Thanksgiving Day comes, by statute, once a year; to the honest man it comes as frequently as the heart of gratitude will allow. "
Happy Thanksgiving!
May you be blessed with the bounty of this season, the joy of family and the comfort of one another.
Thanksgiving
For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food,
For love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.
May you be blessed with the bounty of this season, the joy of family and the comfort of one another.
Thanksgiving
For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food,
For love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
"Mighty proud I am that I am able to have a spare bed for my friends. "
The holiday always started today with a half day of school. We were too excited to do real school work so we colored turkeys or wrote down all of the stuff for which we were thankful. Mine always said I was thankful for my parents and my family. I think everyone's said the same thing. Finishing was more important than originality in those days. My mother, like everyone else's mothers, put all of our papers on the refrigerator.
We never had any jobs for dinner. Mostly we were expected to stay out of my mother's way so she could get stuff done. Wednesday was her baking day. She would make pies, apple and lemon meringue, then turds with the leftover crust. She always gave us a few turds hot from the oven. They were even my dad's favorites. I loved that he was the one who named them. For a kid, saying turds all the time was sort of fun, bordering, as turds did, on the off-color.
I remember my dad always ate his apple pie with a thick slab of cheddar cheese. We kids preferred vanilla ice cream. My favorite, though, was always the lemon meringue, still is. I methodically approached each piece of lemon meringue pie. First I'd eat the meringue, carefully removing any traces of white from the rest of the pie. I'd then eat the lemon making sure none of the pie crust sneaked in on the spoon. Eating the pie crust was my least favorite part.
I have baking to do today. There's that chocolate pie, and if I have time, I might get to that date nut bread.
Company's coming!
We never had any jobs for dinner. Mostly we were expected to stay out of my mother's way so she could get stuff done. Wednesday was her baking day. She would make pies, apple and lemon meringue, then turds with the leftover crust. She always gave us a few turds hot from the oven. They were even my dad's favorites. I loved that he was the one who named them. For a kid, saying turds all the time was sort of fun, bordering, as turds did, on the off-color.
I remember my dad always ate his apple pie with a thick slab of cheddar cheese. We kids preferred vanilla ice cream. My favorite, though, was always the lemon meringue, still is. I methodically approached each piece of lemon meringue pie. First I'd eat the meringue, carefully removing any traces of white from the rest of the pie. I'd then eat the lemon making sure none of the pie crust sneaked in on the spoon. Eating the pie crust was my least favorite part.
I have baking to do today. There's that chocolate pie, and if I have time, I might get to that date nut bread.
Company's coming!
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Marvelous Toy: The Chad Mitchell Trio
This Tom Paxton song is the Chad Mitchell Trio's biggest hit. It was first released on 1963.
MP3 File
MP3 File
“Nothing is really real unless it happens on television.”
I have found my memories to be so ephemeral I swear my mind is being constantly erased by a nefarious, unseen force. I made a mental list of everything I want to accomplish today then repeated the list over and over hoping to remember. Finally I decided to write my list down before it disappeared into some netherworld and was lost forever.
My friend Clare was once in the Peanut Gallery. She brings this up on occasion, and I'm jealous even this many years later because The Howdy Doody show was a huge favorite of mine. I loved all of Doodyville but Flubadub and Dilly Dally the most. I still remember the last Howdy Doody show. I was much older by then. I must have been around twelve. In my mind's eye I can see Clarabelle give a little wave into the camera as he said, " Goodbye, kids." That was the day I understood finality.
The best programs were local ones when I was a kid, and Major Mudd was the best of them all. He was an astronaut aboard the Nervous One and always wore a space suit and helmet. He'd have kids come aboard his space ship every week. I was never on that show either. If you are around my age and from New England, you know exactly what IBBY means and can probably sing the whole theme song.
The show which drove me crazy was Willie Whistle. He never talked. He just whistled. I had no problem when Clarabelle honked, but I couldn't stand when Willie whistled.
Big Brother Bob Emery played the ukulele, and his theme song was The Grass is Always Greener. "The little row we have to hoe, Oh boy that's hard," is permanently etched in my memory. He always wore a suit jacket and a tie. His salute to the President was a big part of the show. Big Brother Bob would take his glass of milk and salute the picture of President Eisenhower as Hail to the Chief played. We'd do the same at home with our glasses of milk. He called his audience small fry. They'd be sitting on the floor in front of him during the show. I wasn't on that show either.
Boomtown was amazing. Rex Trailer was a real cowboy who could do rope tricks and sing cowboy songs. He could also do riding tricks while on his horse Gold Rush. He had a sidekick named Sgt. Billy, and the two of them were on every Saturday morning. "On Boom Boom Boomtown," is the part of the theme song I still remember. The stage was the town with its corrals and buildings like the sheriff's office. One kid would be appointed sheriff for the day and got a badge to wear. I was never on that show either.
My friend Clare was once in the Peanut Gallery. She brings this up on occasion, and I'm jealous even this many years later because The Howdy Doody show was a huge favorite of mine. I loved all of Doodyville but Flubadub and Dilly Dally the most. I still remember the last Howdy Doody show. I was much older by then. I must have been around twelve. In my mind's eye I can see Clarabelle give a little wave into the camera as he said, " Goodbye, kids." That was the day I understood finality.
The best programs were local ones when I was a kid, and Major Mudd was the best of them all. He was an astronaut aboard the Nervous One and always wore a space suit and helmet. He'd have kids come aboard his space ship every week. I was never on that show either. If you are around my age and from New England, you know exactly what IBBY means and can probably sing the whole theme song.
The show which drove me crazy was Willie Whistle. He never talked. He just whistled. I had no problem when Clarabelle honked, but I couldn't stand when Willie whistled.
Big Brother Bob Emery played the ukulele, and his theme song was The Grass is Always Greener. "The little row we have to hoe, Oh boy that's hard," is permanently etched in my memory. He always wore a suit jacket and a tie. His salute to the President was a big part of the show. Big Brother Bob would take his glass of milk and salute the picture of President Eisenhower as Hail to the Chief played. We'd do the same at home with our glasses of milk. He called his audience small fry. They'd be sitting on the floor in front of him during the show. I wasn't on that show either.
Boomtown was amazing. Rex Trailer was a real cowboy who could do rope tricks and sing cowboy songs. He could also do riding tricks while on his horse Gold Rush. He had a sidekick named Sgt. Billy, and the two of them were on every Saturday morning. "On Boom Boom Boomtown," is the part of the theme song I still remember. The stage was the town with its corrals and buildings like the sheriff's office. One kid would be appointed sheriff for the day and got a badge to wear. I was never on that show either.
Monday, November 19, 2007
The Eagle and the Hawk: John Denver
I just couldn't choose my second song, and I started to panic as the morning is disappearing. I finally decided on this John Denver from the album Definitive All Time Greatest Hits.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Green, Green Rocky Road: Emmylou Harris, Kate and Anna McGarrigle and Loudon Waiwright III
This is taken from The McGarrigle Hour, an album filled with songs from not only the singers listed but also the Wainwright siblings, Rufus and Martha, and Linda Ronstadt.
MP3 File
MP3 File
“All human history attests That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner”
We didn't have special china. My mother used Melmac with the wheat pattern for every dinner. With four kids, we didn't have special glassware either. Some of our glasses started life as grape jelly jars with cartoon characters on them. I always wanted the Roadrunner. We had a great set of aluminum glasses with a matching pitcher, but my mother used them in the summer filled with Zarex. For each big holiday my mother would buy a festive paper tablecloth. I always thought the table really fancy.
I have turkey dishes. They are old and need to be hand washed. My mother and father gave them to me one Christmas. They had hauled them all the way from Colorado without breaking even one. When my dad was helping me bring my presents to the car that Christmas, he dropped a bag and broke the matching vegetable dish. I never told him. I just glued the pieces together.
I love the stories of our holidays when we were kids. My sisters and I remember my mother waking up at dawn to start the turkey. The bird was huge and just about fit into the pan which barely fit into the oven. When the turkey needed basting, my mother strained to pull turkey and pan out of the oven. She'd bend over and spoon the juice over the browning turkey breasts. I remember the windows in the kitchen were always foggy on Thanksgiving.
Somehow my mother was able to plan, shop and cook while tending to a house and four kids. I have a list of chores for each day leading to the BIG day. Today I make guests' beds, wash the turkey dishes and grocery shop. I need a flow chart.
I have turkey dishes. They are old and need to be hand washed. My mother and father gave them to me one Christmas. They had hauled them all the way from Colorado without breaking even one. When my dad was helping me bring my presents to the car that Christmas, he dropped a bag and broke the matching vegetable dish. I never told him. I just glued the pieces together.
I love the stories of our holidays when we were kids. My sisters and I remember my mother waking up at dawn to start the turkey. The bird was huge and just about fit into the pan which barely fit into the oven. When the turkey needed basting, my mother strained to pull turkey and pan out of the oven. She'd bend over and spoon the juice over the browning turkey breasts. I remember the windows in the kitchen were always foggy on Thanksgiving.
Somehow my mother was able to plan, shop and cook while tending to a house and four kids. I have a list of chores for each day leading to the BIG day. Today I make guests' beds, wash the turkey dishes and grocery shop. I need a flow chart.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
"Me thinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow. "
Sometimes I just seem to run out of ideas. I get stuck with a blank memory slate. I sit and stare at the screen for a while then get up and dust or do a few dishes. I come back and start but then end up erasing my feeble attempts. After doing that three or four times, I resort to my bag of memory tricks. My favorite memory prod is the walking tour. I close my eyes and see everything as it was.
I have several choices. First, there's the school tour, the route to school I walked every day for eight years. On that route is the house where my friend and I were hired to shovel snow. My friend quit halfway, and I was left to shovel alone. I remember the old lady who lived there kept checking on me. The snow was really high, and I wasn't. She invited me in for tea after I finished, and I accepted. She served butter cookies with the tea. We chatted though she chatted far more than I. Her house was just passed the railroad tracks we used to cross which still had a small station house back then. It later became the office for a lumber yard. Once we found a frog by those tracks, and my brother put that frog in his school bag. Somehow that frog ended up hopping down the aisle in my brother's class. He always claimed the frog set himself free. One whole side of the street had no houses but had small hills, trees and steps leading to the old high school. We never walked on that side of the street.
My second walking tour is the main street in my town in Ghana. The side walls of the Hotel d'Bull stretched down one corner. The post office with its huge parking lot was set back on the other. Further on, passed a row of stores, was the bank and the main part of town. Small wide open stores were set back off both sides of the road. On one side was the store where I bought my canned goods: my evaporated milk and my Blue Bonnet margarine. On the other side was my last stop before heading home. That store had a small table with one chair and sold cold cokes, the only store in town which did. I once met a tourist there who wanted to know where the naked women were.
I take joy in the remembering.
I have several choices. First, there's the school tour, the route to school I walked every day for eight years. On that route is the house where my friend and I were hired to shovel snow. My friend quit halfway, and I was left to shovel alone. I remember the old lady who lived there kept checking on me. The snow was really high, and I wasn't. She invited me in for tea after I finished, and I accepted. She served butter cookies with the tea. We chatted though she chatted far more than I. Her house was just passed the railroad tracks we used to cross which still had a small station house back then. It later became the office for a lumber yard. Once we found a frog by those tracks, and my brother put that frog in his school bag. Somehow that frog ended up hopping down the aisle in my brother's class. He always claimed the frog set himself free. One whole side of the street had no houses but had small hills, trees and steps leading to the old high school. We never walked on that side of the street.
My second walking tour is the main street in my town in Ghana. The side walls of the Hotel d'Bull stretched down one corner. The post office with its huge parking lot was set back on the other. Further on, passed a row of stores, was the bank and the main part of town. Small wide open stores were set back off both sides of the road. On one side was the store where I bought my canned goods: my evaporated milk and my Blue Bonnet margarine. On the other side was my last stop before heading home. That store had a small table with one chair and sold cold cokes, the only store in town which did. I once met a tourist there who wanted to know where the naked women were.
I take joy in the remembering.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
“The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done.”
The vanilla beans are steeping in the bourbon. All the ingredients for my cranberry chutney are on the counter. The turducken is sitting in the freezer. The recipes are tabbed, and the shopping list is set. I'm all ready to start the cooking and baking season.
My family has expectations. One sister expects date nut bread. I don't disappoint so I make it both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Both sisters and now my neighbors expect English toffee. It's traditional. I made the mistake of giving the neighbors a gift tin of it last year, and they are already asking when they can expect it this year. My sister in Colorado gets feisty if I don't make her any so I've added her to the list. I'll be busy.
Eight of us will be sitting around the Thanksgiving table. My friend Tony is bringing his grandmother's cole slaw. Clare claims no Thanksgiving table is complete without olives. Mine, then, has always been incomplete so Clare is bringing her own. We both, Clare and I, agree that cranberry sauce with can ridges is a must. Ralph is bringing pumpkin and mince meat pies. My friend Pat laid claim to the wine. She doesn't cook. I'm making a chocolate pie instead of the usual apple.
I'm really excited.
My family has expectations. One sister expects date nut bread. I don't disappoint so I make it both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Both sisters and now my neighbors expect English toffee. It's traditional. I made the mistake of giving the neighbors a gift tin of it last year, and they are already asking when they can expect it this year. My sister in Colorado gets feisty if I don't make her any so I've added her to the list. I'll be busy.
Eight of us will be sitting around the Thanksgiving table. My friend Tony is bringing his grandmother's cole slaw. Clare claims no Thanksgiving table is complete without olives. Mine, then, has always been incomplete so Clare is bringing her own. We both, Clare and I, agree that cranberry sauce with can ridges is a must. Ralph is bringing pumpkin and mince meat pies. My friend Pat laid claim to the wine. She doesn't cook. I'm making a chocolate pie instead of the usual apple.
I'm really excited.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Candy Store Blues: Maria Muldaur
Okay, I know, it's not theme day, but both these singers are usually week day posts so I figured I'd squeeze them by you.
This song is from a 1996 album called Big Blues: Blues Music for Children.
MP3 File
This song is from a 1996 album called Big Blues: Blues Music for Children.
MP3 File
Baby Ruth: John Prine
From 1980's Storm Windows, Baby Ruth slides into that hazy folk-rock genre. I just think the song's fun.
This album was Prine's last on a major label as he was dropped by Asylum Records after its release. Prine then founded Oh Boy, his own label which would release Aimless Love in 1984 and all subsequent Prine albums.
MP3 File
This album was Prine's last on a major label as he was dropped by Asylum Records after its release. Prine then founded Oh Boy, his own label which would release Aimless Love in 1984 and all subsequent Prine albums.
MP3 File
"Fudge is made by chocolate angels. "
Many of my childhood memories revolve around candy. We had the haul at Halloween and M&M's at Thanksgiving, but it was Christmas I remember best. Candy canes were on the tree and in our stockings. Licking was fine but chewing was better. The candy cane would stick in our molars, and we'd click our teeth together just for the sound of it. Those canes were sticky and often the wrapper would stick to the candy cane and the candy cane would stick to our fingers. My mother always put out a dish filled with colored hard candies and thin ribbon candy. It never lasted too long. At school we used to get a cardboard box held with a string and filled with hard candies as a gift. The candies used to stick together so we'd have to put giant chucks in our mouths and suck the candy for all we were worth.
All those corner stores of my childhood were filled with favorites on which I'd spend my penny or, if the planets had aligned, my nickel. Turkish taffy was the best bet for a nickel. It took forever to eat, and it was fun. I'd soften the taffy then pull the end with my teeth so that strands hung straight out into space. We'd have contests to see who could stretch their candy the farthest. My favorite was Bonomo Turkish Taffy. I leaned toward their vanilla which was perfectly white and didn't really taste too much like vanilla.
Picking out penny candy was about the most difficult task any kid had to face. With a couple of pennies in our hands, we'd lean on the glass counter and look at row after row of choices. A Mary Jane lasted forever and could take out fillings. Flying saucers had these small beady things in the middle and had no taste at all. Root beer barrels just got boring after a while. Bubble gum meant blowing bubbles and eventually getting gun stuck to your face when the bubble burst. Fire balls seemed to be hotter back then, and we'd hold them out of our mouths for a while to give the flames time to subside. Candy cigarettes made us feel sophisticated, and we'd hold them the way my mother held her real cigarette. It took forever to make my choices. I had no favorites. I loved them all. Finally, I'd point at exactly what I wanted, and the lady behind the counter would point at my choice just to make sure. I'd nod my head and smile.
All those corner stores of my childhood were filled with favorites on which I'd spend my penny or, if the planets had aligned, my nickel. Turkish taffy was the best bet for a nickel. It took forever to eat, and it was fun. I'd soften the taffy then pull the end with my teeth so that strands hung straight out into space. We'd have contests to see who could stretch their candy the farthest. My favorite was Bonomo Turkish Taffy. I leaned toward their vanilla which was perfectly white and didn't really taste too much like vanilla.
Picking out penny candy was about the most difficult task any kid had to face. With a couple of pennies in our hands, we'd lean on the glass counter and look at row after row of choices. A Mary Jane lasted forever and could take out fillings. Flying saucers had these small beady things in the middle and had no taste at all. Root beer barrels just got boring after a while. Bubble gum meant blowing bubbles and eventually getting gun stuck to your face when the bubble burst. Fire balls seemed to be hotter back then, and we'd hold them out of our mouths for a while to give the flames time to subside. Candy cigarettes made us feel sophisticated, and we'd hold them the way my mother held her real cigarette. It took forever to make my choices. I had no favorites. I loved them all. Finally, I'd point at exactly what I wanted, and the lady behind the counter would point at my choice just to make sure. I'd nod my head and smile.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Time: The Pozo-Seco Singers
This is the title song from a 1966 Columbia release. It was The Pozo-Seco Singers' debut album which showcased Williams' lead vocals. Lofton Kline had sung with Williams in The Strangers Two and with Susan Taylor the three became The Pozo-Seco Singers.
The group formed in 1964 and was signed to Columbia Records. Two of their songs, I Can Make It with You and Look What You've Done, made the Top 40. This track was considered a modest pop hit. The group disbanded in 1971.
MP3 File
The group formed in 1964 and was signed to Columbia Records. Two of their songs, I Can Make It with You and Look What You've Done, made the Top 40. This track was considered a modest pop hit. The group disbanded in 1971.
MP3 File
"The acoustics of this season are different and all sounds, no matter how hushed, are as crisp as autumn air."
The weather is warm. I sat on the deck for a while and watched as the wind blew so many leaves to the ground the yard looked newly carpeted. I wanted to be a little kid again and raise my arms to the wind hoping to sail into the air like a kite.
I remember fall days when I was young. On the way to school, we'd walk on the street beside the curb and kick the piles of leaves, sometimes at each other. The boys would fling their leaves at us, and we'd chase them. They'd run faster and laugh as they ran. We'd all arrive breathless at the schoolyard where we never dared continue the game in case a nun had a wary eye for wild children and minor offenders.
The street lights always came on too early this time of year forcing us inside when the afternoon still had life. We'd beg to stay out longer, but my mother was insistent. We'd grouse but really didn't mind all that much. After all, we had Superman and The Mickey Mouse Club to watch.
The Mickey Mouse Club was a wonder of music, cartoons and serials. I hated to miss even an afternoon for fear I'd lose track of Spin and Marty or The Hardy Boys. Circus Day and Talent Round Up Day were my favorites. I never really did get Roy and wondered if he was mute.
Faster than a speeding bullet was my Superman. He'd stand defiant with hands on hips as bullets bounced harmlessly off his chest. I never questioned glasses as the perfect disguise, and I knew Lois would never know the real identity of this Man of Steel, this defender of truth, justice and the American way.
I remember fall days when I was young. On the way to school, we'd walk on the street beside the curb and kick the piles of leaves, sometimes at each other. The boys would fling their leaves at us, and we'd chase them. They'd run faster and laugh as they ran. We'd all arrive breathless at the schoolyard where we never dared continue the game in case a nun had a wary eye for wild children and minor offenders.
The street lights always came on too early this time of year forcing us inside when the afternoon still had life. We'd beg to stay out longer, but my mother was insistent. We'd grouse but really didn't mind all that much. After all, we had Superman and The Mickey Mouse Club to watch.
The Mickey Mouse Club was a wonder of music, cartoons and serials. I hated to miss even an afternoon for fear I'd lose track of Spin and Marty or The Hardy Boys. Circus Day and Talent Round Up Day were my favorites. I never really did get Roy and wondered if he was mute.
Faster than a speeding bullet was my Superman. He'd stand defiant with hands on hips as bullets bounced harmlessly off his chest. I never questioned glasses as the perfect disguise, and I knew Lois would never know the real identity of this Man of Steel, this defender of truth, justice and the American way.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The Wonder of You: Chip Taylor and Carrie Rodriguez
Chip Taylor is the songwriter of Wild Thing and Angel of the Morning. He and Carrie first started singing together in 2001. She is a fiddle player who hadn't sung before Chip Taylor encouraged her to give it a try.
She is young and he is not, an odd combination. He is also the brother of Jon Voight. Both have made solo albums as well as the many they made together. This song is from Red Dog Tracks.
MP3 File
She is young and he is not, an odd combination. He is also the brother of Jon Voight. Both have made solo albums as well as the many they made together. This song is from Red Dog Tracks.
MP3 File
Price to Pay: Tim and Mollie O'Brien
In 1980 Tim convinced his sister Mollie to come from Manhattan to Boulder, Colorado, to start performing with him for some festivals, and when she did, they just seemed to fall into this effortless harmony. Tim sings a range, not just his well known and recognized bluegrass. He can play not only the guitar but also the fiddle and the mandolin. He sings Beatle covers and Dylan covers and a whole bunch more traditional stuff like this song. Mollie, too, sings a range of music from very traditional material to contemporary songs, gospel, jazz and western swing.
This song is from Away Out On The Mountain released in 1994.
MP3 File
This song is from Away Out On The Mountain released in 1994.
MP3 File
"I went window shopping today! I bought four windows. "
If you need a robot to serve drinks, vacuum your house or greet guests, I've got the catalog. Want your yard lit like the runway at the local airport, all from the largess of the sun, I know exactly where you can shop. You see, every day my mailbox groans under the weight of hundreds of catalogs which I haul to my house using a small wagon strong enough for the task. From yesterday's haul I could have ordered English muffins, fruit all at once or every month, clothes for on the go or that cocktail party when just any frock won't do, table linens and holiday dishes costing a king's ransom. I can buy a weather station, a rain gauge or a specially designed snow shovel. I can outfit me, my house, my yard, my dog and my two cats without ever leaving this room. I can actually finish my Christmas shopping in a single sitting using only my two typing fingers, but I won't.
I really like Christmas shopping. I do it all year round. It takes time and luck to find exactly the right present for every person so if I find that gift in January, I'll buy it. My mother's advice was buy it now. It might not be there later.
I seldom shop at malls. Mostly I wander through small shops off the beaten path. With family across the country, I need to finish and mail gifts early so last week I sat down and went through my Christmas boxes and made lists of what I have and what I need. The have list is larger than the need list, but I have some shopping to do, and that's just fine with me.
I really like Christmas shopping. I do it all year round. It takes time and luck to find exactly the right present for every person so if I find that gift in January, I'll buy it. My mother's advice was buy it now. It might not be there later.
I seldom shop at malls. Mostly I wander through small shops off the beaten path. With family across the country, I need to finish and mail gifts early so last week I sat down and went through my Christmas boxes and made lists of what I have and what I need. The have list is larger than the need list, but I have some shopping to do, and that's just fine with me.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
No One Takes You Home: Kathryn Williams
Low Light Music was released in 2002 and is this English singer-songwriter's third album. Mirrorball is probably the most recognized song from the album and happens to be favorite song.
MP3 File
MP3 File
A Thousand Miles: David Francey
David Francey is from Canada. He is a singer-songwriter gifted with the ability to paint pictures with his words and music. He has this pure, simple sound which reminds me of an earlier time in folk music.
The album from which this song comes, The Far End of Summer, won the Juno Award, Canada's Grammy, for best Roots and Traditional Album - Solo category.
MP3 File
The album from which this song comes, The Far End of Summer, won the Juno Award, Canada's Grammy, for best Roots and Traditional Album - Solo category.
MP3 File
"Smell is a potent wizard that transports you across thousand of miles and all the years you have lived."
When I returned home today from an early morning meeting, I could smell coffee as soon as I opened the door. That delicious aroma was left over from a pot brewed earlier. It got me thinking about smells.
The other night the air was filled with the sweet smell of burning wood from a fire at some neighbor's house, and that smell opened the floodgates to my memories. I thought of my girl scout years and waking up to the smell of a smoldering wood fire in the giant fireplace at the lodge. S'mores came to mind. We used to wrangle for the perfect spot in front of the fire for melting our marshmallows. I remember a camping trip when we made a huge fire and cooked our foil packs filled with meat, potatoes and vegetables. It was just about the best meal. I remember the charcoal villages in Ghana where huge logs smoldered, and I remember walking through Bawku and smelling the wood fires over which dinner simmered.
Pine trees are Christmas. I remember walking through a sidewalk Christmas tree stand in Cambridge and wanting to stay there just to inhale the scent of pine. I remember being little and sitting by the Christmas tree to watch the bubble lights boil. I remember when my dad and I went to the woods to get pine boughs so I could make wreaths. Our hands were sticky from pitch but his truck smelled divine.
I like to keep a simmering pan of potpourri on the stove this time of year. It makes the air delicious and hints of cookies fresh from the oven and hot cider and the wonderful scent of freshly grated nutmeg. I think about gingerbread men with red buttons and smiles, and I remember the gingerbread house my mother saved in the cellar. When she went to get it, she found only the foundation. Her dog had eaten the rest.
This time of year has all my favorite smells and all my favorite holidays. I'm thinking that is no coincidence.
The other night the air was filled with the sweet smell of burning wood from a fire at some neighbor's house, and that smell opened the floodgates to my memories. I thought of my girl scout years and waking up to the smell of a smoldering wood fire in the giant fireplace at the lodge. S'mores came to mind. We used to wrangle for the perfect spot in front of the fire for melting our marshmallows. I remember a camping trip when we made a huge fire and cooked our foil packs filled with meat, potatoes and vegetables. It was just about the best meal. I remember the charcoal villages in Ghana where huge logs smoldered, and I remember walking through Bawku and smelling the wood fires over which dinner simmered.
Pine trees are Christmas. I remember walking through a sidewalk Christmas tree stand in Cambridge and wanting to stay there just to inhale the scent of pine. I remember being little and sitting by the Christmas tree to watch the bubble lights boil. I remember when my dad and I went to the woods to get pine boughs so I could make wreaths. Our hands were sticky from pitch but his truck smelled divine.
I like to keep a simmering pan of potpourri on the stove this time of year. It makes the air delicious and hints of cookies fresh from the oven and hot cider and the wonderful scent of freshly grated nutmeg. I think about gingerbread men with red buttons and smiles, and I remember the gingerbread house my mother saved in the cellar. When she went to get it, she found only the foundation. Her dog had eaten the rest.
This time of year has all my favorite smells and all my favorite holidays. I'm thinking that is no coincidence.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Get Up, Get Ready: Eric Bibb, Maria Muldaur and Rory Block
This is from Brothers & Sisters, a three fer album. On it you get Eric Bibb, Maria Muldaur and Rory Block singing the most amazing songs together. They sing blues, a bit of gospel, a little folk and then slide effortlessly into jazz. This song just swings.
MP3 File
MP3 File
The Streets of Baltimore: Gram Parsons & Emmylou Harris
This song is from GP, released in 1973, and Gram Parsons first solo album. Six of the songs are Parson's. This song, though, is a Harlan Howard cover.
While researching this Parson album, I fell into a great site which had an extended background for this album. I found it really interesting:
http://www.ebni.com/byrds/memgrp4.html
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While researching this Parson album, I fell into a great site which had an extended background for this album. I found it really interesting:
http://www.ebni.com/byrds/memgrp4.html
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"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures. "
When I went to feed the birds this morning, a squirrel was at the largest feeder and so intent on breakfast he never heard me. I banged the back of the feeder, and he set a new Olympic jumping record as he leaped into the air to hop a branch. While on the deck, I noticed the water in the bird bath had frozen. It's time for the heater. The birds get their own hot tubs every winter, out front and out back. While the rest of the world is frozen, the bird bath water stays warm and sends steam into the air as if from giant cups of hot coffee. The birds bathe with a wild abandonment and splashes of water shoot into the air. I stand at the window and watch and can't help but smile.
When I write out my shopping list for Thanksgiving, I'll add mixed nuts, tangerines and M&M's. Every year, as kids, we'd sit and circle the TV to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade. With dinner several hours away, my mother would put out a few snacks for parade watching. They were the same every year: a bowl of nuts with a silver pick and silver nutcracker, a few tangerines and a dish of M&M's, which were, as you'd expect, the first to disappear. The nuts were fun to crack, and we were nut cracking experts as we always helped my mother every Thanksgiving and Christmas by cracking the walnuts she'd need for baking. I remember it took all my strength to crack those walnut shells, and the shells fragments would sail across the table. We'd eat a few nuts and throw a few shells at each other in the process. Baking is easier now that shelled walnuts are available, but the fun is gone.
My sister in Colorado has to have Bell's seasoning for her Thanksgiving stuffing, and it has to be sent to her. Without that seasoning, her stuffing just doesn't taste right. It doesn't taste like my mother's stuffing.
When I write out my shopping list for Thanksgiving, I'll add mixed nuts, tangerines and M&M's. Every year, as kids, we'd sit and circle the TV to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade. With dinner several hours away, my mother would put out a few snacks for parade watching. They were the same every year: a bowl of nuts with a silver pick and silver nutcracker, a few tangerines and a dish of M&M's, which were, as you'd expect, the first to disappear. The nuts were fun to crack, and we were nut cracking experts as we always helped my mother every Thanksgiving and Christmas by cracking the walnuts she'd need for baking. I remember it took all my strength to crack those walnut shells, and the shells fragments would sail across the table. We'd eat a few nuts and throw a few shells at each other in the process. Baking is easier now that shelled walnuts are available, but the fun is gone.
My sister in Colorado has to have Bell's seasoning for her Thanksgiving stuffing, and it has to be sent to her. Without that seasoning, her stuffing just doesn't taste right. It doesn't taste like my mother's stuffing.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
"When our perils are past, shall our gratitude sleep? "
My father enlisted in the navy the day he turned seventeen. He would have enlisted earlier but his mother wouldn't sign the form. His ship worked the North Atlantic route, a u-boat hunting ground, and was sunk in 1944. He was one of the few survivors from his section of the ship. He was eighteen.
Today we honor and thank those who served.
Today we honor and thank those who served.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
"No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!"
It is wet, raw and windy, and I have called a time out for today. I will not be doing errands. I will not be going out. I will make my bed, take a shower, brush my teeth and lounge. I may add a nap to that list, depending, of course, on how tired doing nothing makes me.
Being retired means the days of the week have lost their identity. Friday is no longer the countdown finale day. Saturday isn't set aside for errands or housecleaning, and Sunday is no longer dump and wash day. I get to stay up as late as I want every night of the week. I've joined all the other retired people wandering the world during the daylight hours. At lunch last week I was just about the youngest person in the restaurant.
It is officially fall for me. I covered the deck furniture the other day and put my sandals away for the duration. When last I changed the bed, I added my quilt. The nights have been in the thirties. Windshields were covered with frost one day this week, and I could see my breath when I went to get the newspaper in the driveway. The heat is blasting, and I'm wearing warm slippers and a sweat shirt. One of my neighbors had a fire last night. I could smell it in the air. The weatherman said it may reach 60 next week, and I'm thinking heatwave.
Being retired means the days of the week have lost their identity. Friday is no longer the countdown finale day. Saturday isn't set aside for errands or housecleaning, and Sunday is no longer dump and wash day. I get to stay up as late as I want every night of the week. I've joined all the other retired people wandering the world during the daylight hours. At lunch last week I was just about the youngest person in the restaurant.
It is officially fall for me. I covered the deck furniture the other day and put my sandals away for the duration. When last I changed the bed, I added my quilt. The nights have been in the thirties. Windshields were covered with frost one day this week, and I could see my breath when I went to get the newspaper in the driveway. The heat is blasting, and I'm wearing warm slippers and a sweat shirt. One of my neighbors had a fire last night. I could smell it in the air. The weatherman said it may reach 60 next week, and I'm thinking heatwave.
Friday, November 09, 2007
I Wish I Hadn't Stayed So Long: Hayes Carll
Hayes Carll is from the Houston area. His first album, Flowers & Liquor, was released in 2002. It won a few local awards and got Carll some recognition. His second and most recent album, Little Rock, on Carll's own label, was released in 2005. This song is from that album.
His voice just pulls you in and keeps you for a long while. I do wish, though, he'd write something just a bit more upbeat.
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His voice just pulls you in and keeps you for a long while. I do wish, though, he'd write something just a bit more upbeat.
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“Kissing originates from animals sniffing each other”
When I stand on the deck to survey my world, I often have the perfect spot to watch the backyard squirrel Olympics. The high beam competition has squirrels running across the top of the deck rail beside the bird feeders. When I come out, they run so fast to get away their bodies seem to sway too close to one edge then the other. Branches serve as high bars for the next event as squirrels leap from one limb to another. Yesterday, though, was the best event of them all. The beastie grabbed the dragging string end of my Tibetan prayer flags then jumped off the tree branch and swung himself to the ground in such a graceful arc even Tarzan would have been envious. He then climbed back up and did it again. I watched that squirrel fling himself into the air at least five or six times before Gracie sent it scurrying up the trunk to the high bars.
I have not seen too many real animals in the wild. In Colorado, I watched deer grazing on grass in the crisp early morning of a Colorado fall day. At the top of a peak in the Rockies, big horn sheep daintily jump from one rocky top to another. In Costa Rica, Howler Monkeys bellowed and shook the branches as we walked by them. In Ghana, though, was the best sighting of all. I was going to visit a friend and was riding my motorcycle on such a back road that a car driving by stopped to see if I was lost. As the road only went to one village, lost was not going to be a problem, but I thanked them for their concern and they moved by me. Not long after, I noticed five or six figures along the side of the road. They looked like crouched, really hairy men. I realized they were baboons and immediately stopped my bike. I watched and waited for them to cross the road. One noticed me and stopped to look. I didn't move a muscle. He finally moved to join the others who were running into the bush. It was amazing.
I have not seen too many real animals in the wild. In Colorado, I watched deer grazing on grass in the crisp early morning of a Colorado fall day. At the top of a peak in the Rockies, big horn sheep daintily jump from one rocky top to another. In Costa Rica, Howler Monkeys bellowed and shook the branches as we walked by them. In Ghana, though, was the best sighting of all. I was going to visit a friend and was riding my motorcycle on such a back road that a car driving by stopped to see if I was lost. As the road only went to one village, lost was not going to be a problem, but I thanked them for their concern and they moved by me. Not long after, I noticed five or six figures along the side of the road. They looked like crouched, really hairy men. I realized they were baboons and immediately stopped my bike. I watched and waited for them to cross the road. One noticed me and stopped to look. I didn't move a muscle. He finally moved to join the others who were running into the bush. It was amazing.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Going Home: Jimmy LaFave
To describe Jimmy LaFave, I have to listen to the song first. He has roots in folk, steps into country and sometimes spills over into rock. This song, from Buffalo Return to the Plains, is a lullaby he sings to the passenger, the angel, sleeping beside him as he drives across the plains.
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Since You've Been Gone: Cheryl Wheeler
Cheryl Wheeler writes amazing songs. Some are side splitting funny, some are filled with the wonder of every day, some are poignant and some, like this, are filled with sadness.
"Cheryl wrote this song after the death of her father. Her dad played such a major part in her life, as can be seen in such songs as 75 Septembers, Time Taketh Away, and others. Many fans wondered how Cheryl would cope with his death, and whether or not she would sing those songs again.
This song describes the pain she went through, but at the same time, it shows that Cheryl was able to get past the pain. She still performs some of those older songs about him.
One line in particular that stood out when I first listened to the song mentioned "nervous 9th grader". When I asked Cheryl about this, she mentioned that the year she was in ninth grade was particularly stressful due to a number of things. However, each time her father showed up, everything was 'all better'. "
From: http://www.cherylwheeler.com/home/home.html
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"Cheryl wrote this song after the death of her father. Her dad played such a major part in her life, as can be seen in such songs as 75 Septembers, Time Taketh Away, and others. Many fans wondered how Cheryl would cope with his death, and whether or not she would sing those songs again.
This song describes the pain she went through, but at the same time, it shows that Cheryl was able to get past the pain. She still performs some of those older songs about him.
One line in particular that stood out when I first listened to the song mentioned "nervous 9th grader". When I asked Cheryl about this, she mentioned that the year she was in ninth grade was particularly stressful due to a number of things. However, each time her father showed up, everything was 'all better'. "
From: http://www.cherylwheeler.com/home/home.html
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"It's always the badly dressed people who are the most interesting. "
Clothes were always divided into categories when we were kids. We all had our school clothes. For me, when I was in grammar school, that was a white blouse, blue skirt, white or blue socks and a blue bow tie which looked like the sort country singers wear only not as colorful. Our shoes were up to us, and I usually had a pair with buckles. I can still hear my mother telling us every afternoon as soon as we'd get home to get out of our school clothes. We didn't have to be told twice so we'd change quickly into our play clothes. Play clothes were usually a pair of dungarees, a striped jersey or blouse and sneakers. The girls' dungarees were never as cool as the ones the boys wore. I always hated the stupid pocket zipper. My sneakers were canvas and usually Converse. They were always a bit grubby though my mother would wash them fairly often. I remember sneakers hanging on the line attached by clothespins to the laces.
On Sunday, we wore our church clothes. In the old days, that always meant a dress or a skirt, never pants of any kind though I do remember a rainy day when I wore shorts under my raincoat. To the casual eye, my bare legs meant a dress underneath, but I was smug in the knowledge I was fooling everybody. Most of my Sunday clothes had started out as best clothes, the top notch in the hierarchy of clothes. They had been relegated to the lower rung when I started to grow out of them or stains just would wash away.
Best clothes were reserved for the most important days. They were brought out only for the big holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas and for one of a kind family events like a christening or a wedding. Mostly my best clothes were fancy dresses, the kind which swished when I walked. Fancy slips trimmed in lace were worn underneath and added to the swirling effect. Our shoes, though, were interchangeable. They served as Sunday and best clothes shoes. My dad would spit polish them so they'd sparkle thus raising their status.
My clothes now are more simply divided. I have inside, outside and event clothes. The event clothes are a bit fancier, but I have few occasions when I'm forced to wear them. Most of the time I live in my inside clothes: comfy, worn and a bit grubby from age, a lot like me.
On Sunday, we wore our church clothes. In the old days, that always meant a dress or a skirt, never pants of any kind though I do remember a rainy day when I wore shorts under my raincoat. To the casual eye, my bare legs meant a dress underneath, but I was smug in the knowledge I was fooling everybody. Most of my Sunday clothes had started out as best clothes, the top notch in the hierarchy of clothes. They had been relegated to the lower rung when I started to grow out of them or stains just would wash away.
Best clothes were reserved for the most important days. They were brought out only for the big holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas and for one of a kind family events like a christening or a wedding. Mostly my best clothes were fancy dresses, the kind which swished when I walked. Fancy slips trimmed in lace were worn underneath and added to the swirling effect. Our shoes, though, were interchangeable. They served as Sunday and best clothes shoes. My dad would spit polish them so they'd sparkle thus raising their status.
My clothes now are more simply divided. I have inside, outside and event clothes. The event clothes are a bit fancier, but I have few occasions when I'm forced to wear them. Most of the time I live in my inside clothes: comfy, worn and a bit grubby from age, a lot like me.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
I Still Miss Someone: Nanci Griffith, Rodney Crowell
Nan, from Hill Farm which is linked to the right, heard this and wrote me as she thought it perfect for Coffee. I didn't need any persuading.
This is from Other Voices, Too (A Trip Back to Bountiful) which Nanci released five years after her Grammy winning Other Voices, Other Rooms. As with the first other Voices, Nanci pays homage to those songwriters who influenced her singing. This one, though, is filled with duets with singers like Guy Clark, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Dolores Keane.
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This is from Other Voices, Too (A Trip Back to Bountiful) which Nanci released five years after her Grammy winning Other Voices, Other Rooms. As with the first other Voices, Nanci pays homage to those songwriters who influenced her singing. This one, though, is filled with duets with singers like Guy Clark, Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Dolores Keane.
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Home Grown Tomatoes: Guy Clark
Guy Clark began his music career in Houston folk clubs, where he met lifelong friends and colleagues like Townes Van Zandt whom Guy credits as being a huge influence on his life and music. Desperados Waiting For A Train was my first exposure to Clark's talent. It is still among my favorite songs.
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"Life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon. "
My poor father loved asparagus from a can because his mother, the worst cook in the world, served it. My mother served it too but purely for his sake. She'd cook a whole can, lay the spears on a dish and place the dish directly in front of my dad. None of the rest of us touched it. The asparagus was gross, pale green in color and lacking musculature. We'd pick up a stalk just to watch the tip lean over in a weird sort of slow motion bow. My dad also ate spaghetti with canned stewed tomatoes instead of sauce. He'd only eat garlic in scrimp scampi or on garlic bread. He said it didn't belong in anything else. If a recipe called for garlic, you'd have to wait until he was nowhere near the kitchen. If he didn't see it, he didn't taste it. The turkey neck was his, and he'd sit in front of a football game picking out the meat. My dad was proud he was a meat and potatoes kind of guy.
When we went to continental Europe, my dad hated breakfast. He wanted bacon and eggs, not cold cuts and cheese. The rest of us would dig right in, and he'd sit and grouse. In Holland, a few eggs were on the table, and he was a happy man until he tapped the shell and found they were hard boiled.
He was never an adventurous eater. Chinese and Italian were about as exotic as his palate ever tasted. The way food looked was more important to him than its taste. Hummus looked like wallpaper paste so he never tried it. I'd cook a new dish for the holiday, and he'd eat his asparagus, mashed potatoes and whatever meat was being served. Once in a while he'd eat green beans but they too came from a can. Corn and native tomatoes were about the only fresh vegetables he'd eat, and he was the best eater of corn I've ever seen. He'd chew down rows so fast the juice would fly into the air.
I can still visualize my dad at the Thanksgiving dinner. He's in his seat, his back to the kitchen and his ear to the football game in the other room. On his plate is the turkey leg, stuffing, mashed potatoes and spears of that darn canned asparagus.
When we went to continental Europe, my dad hated breakfast. He wanted bacon and eggs, not cold cuts and cheese. The rest of us would dig right in, and he'd sit and grouse. In Holland, a few eggs were on the table, and he was a happy man until he tapped the shell and found they were hard boiled.
He was never an adventurous eater. Chinese and Italian were about as exotic as his palate ever tasted. The way food looked was more important to him than its taste. Hummus looked like wallpaper paste so he never tried it. I'd cook a new dish for the holiday, and he'd eat his asparagus, mashed potatoes and whatever meat was being served. Once in a while he'd eat green beans but they too came from a can. Corn and native tomatoes were about the only fresh vegetables he'd eat, and he was the best eater of corn I've ever seen. He'd chew down rows so fast the juice would fly into the air.
I can still visualize my dad at the Thanksgiving dinner. He's in his seat, his back to the kitchen and his ear to the football game in the other room. On his plate is the turkey leg, stuffing, mashed potatoes and spears of that darn canned asparagus.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Universal Soldier: Donovan
I keep hearing Catch the Wind on a commercial, and I do hate it when my songs are used to hawk goods. Donovan was one of my all time favorite 60's singers. His style just seemed to defy description. I like all his music but like his folk sound the best.
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Deportees (Train Wreck at Los Gatos): Barbara Dane
Barbara Dane began singing in the 50's and sings it all: jazz, blues and folk, but she is known more for her blues and jazz recordings. She was labeled "Bessie Smith in Stereo" by jazz critic Leonard Feather. When I Was a Young Girl is her only truly folk album.
This song comes from an album called Classic Folk Music from Smithsonian Folkways Recordings. The album features performances by classic artists doing some of their classic songs during the great folksong revival of the 1940s through 1960s. The link to Smithsonian is to the right.
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This song comes from an album called Classic Folk Music from Smithsonian Folkways Recordings. The album features performances by classic artists doing some of their classic songs during the great folksong revival of the 1940s through 1960s. The link to Smithsonian is to the right.
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"Never raise your hand to your kids. It leaves your groin unprotected. "
Delayed flights have improved was the heading above an article in my local paper so I sat for a bit, with tongue in cheek, and tried to figure out exactly how that was accomplished. Wanton sex was dismissed immediately so alcohol was my next thought. Give me enough alcohol, and I wouldn't care about being late. I probably wouldn't even care about arriving at all. I gave free trips a thought and then remembered the lottery from one of my flights. A handbag was the prize there, but maybe on these improved flights they give away all that expensive stuff in the on-flight catalog. After I finally read the article. I found my suppositions had nothing whatsoever to do with the story itself but were certainly a lot more fun.
My mother always yelled at me that it was not what I'd said but how I'd said it. I contented an answer was an answer, but I never won that argument. Why she expected my tone to be lilting when she was nagging me to do some odious chore was beyond my comprehension.
My dad spanked us. Though it was not often, it was enough to allow my mother to use the age old threat: wait until your father gets home. When we were young, we cowered. As we got older, we were more brazen and threats just weren't enough. My mother took to throwing her slipper. We'd duck, she'd miss and a smile would involuntarily appear on our lips. My mother took that as a challenge. Hand the slipper to me was her response.
Being sent to my room was my favorite punishment. It meant peace and quiet and a good book. As we got older, though, we were grounded except that word really wasn't around when I was a kid. Never leaving the house again was usually the way it was worded. My dad generally relented after one night so we learned to be quiet when he yelled. The appearance of compliance always lessened the length of our prison term. I always thought of it as time off for good behavior.
My mother always yelled at me that it was not what I'd said but how I'd said it. I contented an answer was an answer, but I never won that argument. Why she expected my tone to be lilting when she was nagging me to do some odious chore was beyond my comprehension.
My dad spanked us. Though it was not often, it was enough to allow my mother to use the age old threat: wait until your father gets home. When we were young, we cowered. As we got older, we were more brazen and threats just weren't enough. My mother took to throwing her slipper. We'd duck, she'd miss and a smile would involuntarily appear on our lips. My mother took that as a challenge. Hand the slipper to me was her response.
Being sent to my room was my favorite punishment. It meant peace and quiet and a good book. As we got older, though, we were grounded except that word really wasn't around when I was a kid. Never leaving the house again was usually the way it was worded. My dad generally relented after one night so we learned to be quiet when he yelled. The appearance of compliance always lessened the length of our prison term. I always thought of it as time off for good behavior.
Monday, November 05, 2007
The Trees, They Do Grow High: Pentangle
I knew Pentangle from the late 1960's, and I knew Bert Jansch and John Renbourn were two of the five musicians, but that's about all I know. Not wanting to leave anyone in the dark, I went hunting.
http://www.jacquimcshee.co.uk/old_home.htm
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http://www.jacquimcshee.co.uk/old_home.htm
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Green Green Rocky Road: Dave Van Ronk
This is from the Mayor of MacDougal Street's last album: ...And the Tin Pan Bended and the Story Ended... It was released in 2004 and was recorded at Dave's last concert.
Dave Van Ronk died in 2002. He had started singing in the 1950's and never stopped. His music was a mixture of everything: blues, jazz, folk and country.
How lucky we are we can always hear Dave's music!
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Dave Van Ronk died in 2002. He had started singing in the 1950's and never stopped. His music was a mixture of everything: blues, jazz, folk and country.
How lucky we are we can always hear Dave's music!
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"You can never go home again, but the truth is you can never leave home, so it's all right. "
My mother had recipes we still love. Her American chop suey might have been meant to stretch meat, but we thought it haute-cuisine. She'd pull out her electric fry pan, set it up on the counter and leave the meat and tomato sauce to simmer until dinner. We'd stand and watch and try to sneak a spoonful or two. My mother also made the best meatloaf. It looked like a cake. She'd bake the meatloaf, cover it with mashed potatoes and put it back into the oven to brown. I always felt as if we should be singing happy birthday when she brought it to the table.
My mother made turds, at least that's what we called them. She'd take small pieces of left over pie crust, sprinkle cinnamon and sugar, roll the pieces then bake them in the oven. We'd grab them so hot from the oven our fingers hurt, but that's when they tasted the best. The name alone would have endeared them to any kid's heart, but they were a wonder, all hot and sugary.
My mother loved butter. She used to tell us about buying lard during World War II rationing and coloring it yellow to resemble butter. I think the taste of that lard scarred her palate for life. She always served mashed potatoes and vegetables with a dollop of melting butter. She never skimmed when buttering toast, and her grilled cheese sandwiches were the stuff of legend. Her cookies melted in your mouth, especially her sugar cookies. They were sweet and buttery and tasted of heaven.
I use nothing but butter when I cook and bake and will go through pounds and pounds between Thanksgiving and Christmas. My mother would be proud.
My mother made turds, at least that's what we called them. She'd take small pieces of left over pie crust, sprinkle cinnamon and sugar, roll the pieces then bake them in the oven. We'd grab them so hot from the oven our fingers hurt, but that's when they tasted the best. The name alone would have endeared them to any kid's heart, but they were a wonder, all hot and sugary.
My mother loved butter. She used to tell us about buying lard during World War II rationing and coloring it yellow to resemble butter. I think the taste of that lard scarred her palate for life. She always served mashed potatoes and vegetables with a dollop of melting butter. She never skimmed when buttering toast, and her grilled cheese sandwiches were the stuff of legend. Her cookies melted in your mouth, especially her sugar cookies. They were sweet and buttery and tasted of heaven.
I use nothing but butter when I cook and bake and will go through pounds and pounds between Thanksgiving and Christmas. My mother would be proud.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
“It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake.”
The storm raged last night, and I lost electricity around six. I read until my fingers got cold then decided to go to bed. I tried to get Gracie out, but she was wise enough to refuse. She didn't seem to like the dark and waited until I lit the way upstairs before she settled with me on the bed. The branch outside my window kept crashing against the pane, and it seemed as if the house was under attack from an unseen creature. The wind was ferocious, like the sound effects in an old black and white scary movie. I imagined I was the long ago star of that movie being welcomed into an old house by its aged butler who carried a lit candelabra to dispel the darkness for the storm had knocked out the electricity. The other guests, dressed for dinner in tuxes or long dresses, were standing, drinks in hand, in front of an immense fireplace with a raging fire. We didn't know it, but some of us would not survive the night.
It was 2:20 when the dog decided she needed to go out, and I needed to be awake. The storm had passed leaving a cold night bright with stars. Gracie went out, did her business, and we went back to bed. It was warm under the comforter and I fell back to sleep.
It was an amazing storm.
It was 2:20 when the dog decided she needed to go out, and I needed to be awake. The storm had passed leaving a cold night bright with stars. Gracie went out, did her business, and we went back to bed. It was warm under the comforter and I fell back to sleep.
It was an amazing storm.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Turn Back the Hands of Time: Eddie Fisher
Coffee has a few traditional songs which appear each holiday. The Blob was the most recent and look for the entire Alice's Restaurant this Thanksgiving. To that list I add this song. It's tonight the clocks go back one hour.
My friend had an old aunt who used to get up at two to set her clocks back the hour because, as she explained, that's when the papers said they change.
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My friend had an old aunt who used to get up at two to set her clocks back the hour because, as she explained, that's when the papers said they change.
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Here's That Rainy Day: Astrud Gilberto
As you've probably guessed by now, I'm an Astrud Gilberto fan. This song and her voice are just perfect for a day like today.
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Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head: B. J. Thomas
I missed this song. It was on the soundtrack of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid which was released when I was in the Peace Corps. By the time I caught up with it, the song had been around a while.
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That Rainy Night in Georgia: Tony Joe White
When I posted rain songs not long ago, one Coffee friend suggested I listen to Tony Joe White who wrote this song. I did.
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"Rain! whose soft architectural hands have power to cut stones, and chisel to shapes of grandeur the very mountains. "
The remnants of Noel are blowing up quite the storm already. Raindrops are falling from the edges of my house in a steady stream, but it is the sound of the wind which is strongest of all. Pine branches twist and sway. Brown needles litter the deck, the lawn and the driveway. I can hear my chimes swinging with the branches. I watch from the window or the back door and feel a connection to the wind and the rain. They stir a bit of my soul.
The room is daytime dark enough for a light which makes it feel cozy somehow. I haven't gotten dressed. Today is a day for staying home, for being comfortable. The cats and dog are sleeping, each in a favorite spot. Gracie ventured out once this morning and walked low to the ground with ears flat. It's not a Gracie sort of day. The door is open should she want to go out, but I think Gracie will find her chair the best spot of all.
I filled the bird feeders yesterday, and a mantle of browning leaves still protects them from the worst of the rain. When last I looked, the gold finches were at the thistle feeder. It is swaying with the wind, but the birds hold fast. A few chickadees, flying in one at a time, have dropped by for sunflower seeds. I haven't seen a nuthatch yet, but I figure they'll be along. I'm guessing the poor doves are huddled on the ground below the feeder, but I thought of them and threw down seed. All my birds will weather the storm with full bellies.
Today is perfect for the couch, a warm afghan and a book.
The room is daytime dark enough for a light which makes it feel cozy somehow. I haven't gotten dressed. Today is a day for staying home, for being comfortable. The cats and dog are sleeping, each in a favorite spot. Gracie ventured out once this morning and walked low to the ground with ears flat. It's not a Gracie sort of day. The door is open should she want to go out, but I think Gracie will find her chair the best spot of all.
I filled the bird feeders yesterday, and a mantle of browning leaves still protects them from the worst of the rain. When last I looked, the gold finches were at the thistle feeder. It is swaying with the wind, but the birds hold fast. A few chickadees, flying in one at a time, have dropped by for sunflower seeds. I haven't seen a nuthatch yet, but I figure they'll be along. I'm guessing the poor doves are huddled on the ground below the feeder, but I thought of them and threw down seed. All my birds will weather the storm with full bellies.
Today is perfect for the couch, a warm afghan and a book.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Autumn to May: Peter, Paul and Mary
In 1962, the album Peter, Paul and Mary was released. It was their first. They had been together for about a year. On that album is this song and so many others I heard for the first time like Lemon Tree, If I had a Hammer and 500 miles. I played the album so many times I knew all the songs by heart and sang along. I was hooked.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Oh Very Young: Cat Stevens
Cat Stevens is still a favorite of mine. I haven't heard any songs from his most recent album so I'm still stuck on his early stuff.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"It's sad to grow old, but nice to ripen."
I got an early start this morning but have been sitting here for over an hour writing, erasing and writing again. My small town was an early choice for a topic. I got nowhere. My childhood was up next, but I just couldn't conjure a story which held even my interest. My old classmates seemed fodder, but I drew a blank. My mind, you see, is otherwise occupied. I have this one line running through my head from the last song I heard, and nothing seems to displace it. It's springtime for Hitler and Germany doesn't leave a whole lot of space for much else. I'd have thought my mind would grab a Peter, Paul and Mary or a Lightfoot. Nope, it's that one line from that silly song from that silly play within a play.
My memory seems to be fading. Word retrieval has been the first to dim. I fill in the blanks with thingy or whatchamacallit hoping at some point still relevant to the conversation I'll remember. I don't always. How to spell words seems to be disappearing as well. I miss a letter here and there which is, I'm afraid, the prelude to forgetting entirely. Good thing for spell check. Faces and names aren't matching up they way they used to. I watch a movie and have to really reach back for the name of the B-actor. I forget appointments. I used to be better at writing them down, but now I forget to do even that. Lately I've been putting them into the computer calendar knowing I'll get a bell when the time is close. I'm in deep trouble if my hearing goes. Without my glasses, I can't see the page let alone a word. I now need my glasses for television viewing. I suppose I could do without, but I do like to see the faces of the actors. I have a huge metal table in this room. When I bought it, I must have been thinking it would be useful some time in the future when I'd need to boost myself from a kneeing position. Let me tell you, it is now useful. Without it, I'd still be kneeling on the floor. I've come to the horrible conclusion my parts are wearing out, and I have no warranty.
My memory seems to be fading. Word retrieval has been the first to dim. I fill in the blanks with thingy or whatchamacallit hoping at some point still relevant to the conversation I'll remember. I don't always. How to spell words seems to be disappearing as well. I miss a letter here and there which is, I'm afraid, the prelude to forgetting entirely. Good thing for spell check. Faces and names aren't matching up they way they used to. I watch a movie and have to really reach back for the name of the B-actor. I forget appointments. I used to be better at writing them down, but now I forget to do even that. Lately I've been putting them into the computer calendar knowing I'll get a bell when the time is close. I'm in deep trouble if my hearing goes. Without my glasses, I can't see the page let alone a word. I now need my glasses for television viewing. I suppose I could do without, but I do like to see the faces of the actors. I have a huge metal table in this room. When I bought it, I must have been thinking it would be useful some time in the future when I'd need to boost myself from a kneeing position. Let me tell you, it is now useful. Without it, I'd still be kneeling on the floor. I've come to the horrible conclusion my parts are wearing out, and I have no warranty.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Muleskinner: The Brothers Four
Today is a return to the folk sounds of the early sixties.
We're listening to four fraternity brothers from the University of Washington who got together in the late 1950's. Their single of Greenfields was one of the hits of the early folk scene, but it was The Green Fields of Summer which was their biggest hit. Theirs was a sound which came to epitomize the early folk revival, and The Brothers Four was one of the most successful of these groups. They gave concerts all over the country and recorded the theme song for Hootenanny.
It would take the emergence of singer-songwriters like Dylan to push them off the folk charts.
MP3 File
We're listening to four fraternity brothers from the University of Washington who got together in the late 1950's. Their single of Greenfields was one of the hits of the early folk scene, but it was The Green Fields of Summer which was their biggest hit. Theirs was a sound which came to epitomize the early folk revival, and The Brothers Four was one of the most successful of these groups. They gave concerts all over the country and recorded the theme song for Hootenanny.
It would take the emergence of singer-songwriters like Dylan to push them off the folk charts.
MP3 File
Jimmy Grove and Barbara Allen: The New Christy Minstrels
The New Christy Minstrels group recorded for the top label in the country, Columbia Records, and from 1962 to 1965 they issued nine albums. Throughout the 60's, some major talent performed as members of the New Christy Minstrels, some of whom went to greater fame on their own. Barry McGuire went on to perform as a solo act and hit big with his own number one song in 1965, P.F. Sloan's Eve Of Destruction. Larry Ramos joined the Association, and Gene Clark joined others in starting the Byrds. Kim Carnes was with the group in 1966 and fifteen years later would have her own number one hit with Bette Davis Eyes. Musical director for the group, Mike Settle, left in 1967 and took three other members of the group with him, including Kenny Rogers. Together they formed a very successful group, the First Edition. In the early 70's, future Broadway stars Linda Hart and Christine Andreas were both in the group.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That's his."
This morning I went around the house taking down Halloween. All the witches, rats and assorted monsters are sitting on my counter just waiting for me to haul boxes up the stairs from the cellar so they can be put away for another year. As of this afternoon, the Thanksgiving season will be official.
The day after Halloween was always a day off from school for us being a holy day and all. We had to go to mass but then the rest of the day was ours. Back then, I tended to confuse the day with the season. I figured mass was really to thank God for the haul. The saints were secondary. It was also my friend Maryalyce's birthday, and I thought it really neat that she always got the day off from school. My friends and I would come home from church then spend the day playing. We'd rehash the night and take note of the houses worth a return trip next year. We'd make frequent trips to our candy bowls. All that playing meant a constant need to fortify our bodies.
When I was a kid, all the holidays just seemed to happen. If I needed a costume, I'd have a costume. My sole responsibility was going from house to house filling my bag. At Thanksgiving, my job was to sit and eat. I knew my mother was responsible for the feast, but I never thought about all her time and effort. I just knew the turkey would be delicious, the gravy smooth and the dressing sage. For Christmas, my job was to pore through catalogs picking out what I wanted Santa to bring. I'd also help decorate the tree and ice cookies. My mother did pretty much everything else though my dad had a few responsibilities, like untangling the lights and figuring out which bulb was bad. We just sort of sat and watched.
We, my sisters and I, have our own ways of celebrating each holiday, but we all have a lot of our mother in us. We shop, we wrap, we bake, we cook, we decorate and we let everyone else think the holidays just happen to be perfect.
The day after Halloween was always a day off from school for us being a holy day and all. We had to go to mass but then the rest of the day was ours. Back then, I tended to confuse the day with the season. I figured mass was really to thank God for the haul. The saints were secondary. It was also my friend Maryalyce's birthday, and I thought it really neat that she always got the day off from school. My friends and I would come home from church then spend the day playing. We'd rehash the night and take note of the houses worth a return trip next year. We'd make frequent trips to our candy bowls. All that playing meant a constant need to fortify our bodies.
When I was a kid, all the holidays just seemed to happen. If I needed a costume, I'd have a costume. My sole responsibility was going from house to house filling my bag. At Thanksgiving, my job was to sit and eat. I knew my mother was responsible for the feast, but I never thought about all her time and effort. I just knew the turkey would be delicious, the gravy smooth and the dressing sage. For Christmas, my job was to pore through catalogs picking out what I wanted Santa to bring. I'd also help decorate the tree and ice cookies. My mother did pretty much everything else though my dad had a few responsibilities, like untangling the lights and figuring out which bulb was bad. We just sort of sat and watched.
We, my sisters and I, have our own ways of celebrating each holiday, but we all have a lot of our mother in us. We shop, we wrap, we bake, we cook, we decorate and we let everyone else think the holidays just happen to be perfect.
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