This song is from her 1962 album, Carolyn Hester, which is a bit confusing as that was also the title of her second album, released in 1960, on the Tradition label. Though Carolyn was important in the 60's folk revival, she seems pretty much forgotten overshadowed as she was by Judy Collins and Joan Baez.
An interesting side note is she turned down the chance to join in a trio with Peter Yarrow and Paul Stookey.
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Monday, March 31, 2008
Kite Song: Patty Griffin
This is from 2004's Impossible Dream. The song almost soars like a kite and that piano is magnificent.
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“If the kite is set up properly it will shoot up into the sky.”
A warm, sunny spring day is all we have left of paradise. I sit on the deck and read and let the air clear my soul of winter. I watch the birds fly in and out of the feeders. I watch Gracie run through the yard with an exuberance I envy. Sometimes I nap on the lounge with the warmth of the sun on my face. We haven't had that perfect day yet, and I'm getting impatient.
I remember the first kite I ever flew. It was at the field on the street below my house. The kite was the kind Woolworth's used to sell made of thin, almost tissue like paper. Sometimes the kites had pictures on the front. Three sticks gave the kite shape, and the middle stick was where you tied the string. I had to be really careful putting the kite together as the paper ripped easily especially where the sticks bowed. It didn't need a tail. I remember running for all I was worth trying to get my kite into the air. It would flutter a bit. I'd get excited and let out more string, but most times it would loop and hit the ground hard. I'd pick it up, hold it behind me and run like the wind, again. I would do that until I finally got the kite into the air. Holding on to a kite as it soars is one of life's great adventures.
I remember the first kite I ever flew. It was at the field on the street below my house. The kite was the kind Woolworth's used to sell made of thin, almost tissue like paper. Sometimes the kites had pictures on the front. Three sticks gave the kite shape, and the middle stick was where you tied the string. I had to be really careful putting the kite together as the paper ripped easily especially where the sticks bowed. It didn't need a tail. I remember running for all I was worth trying to get my kite into the air. It would flutter a bit. I'd get excited and let out more string, but most times it would loop and hit the ground hard. I'd pick it up, hold it behind me and run like the wind, again. I would do that until I finally got the kite into the air. Holding on to a kite as it soars is one of life's great adventures.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
The Six Word Memoir
Rowan at Fortify Your Oasis challenged his readers to do this because he was challenged by Grannymar who was challenged by Alice. I was challenged by Eclecticity.
My
sticky
reminder
said
to
go.
My
sticky
reminder
said
to
go.
The rules:
Write your own six word memoir.
Post it on your blog, including an illustration if you’d like.
Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to the original post if possible so that it can be tracked as it travels across the blogosphere.
Tag at least five more blogs with links.
Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!
I'm tagging Nancy, Zoey and Me, Mark and Cuidado.
Write your own six word memoir.
Post it on your blog, including an illustration if you’d like.
Link to the person that tagged you in your post and to the original post if possible so that it can be tracked as it travels across the blogosphere.
Tag at least five more blogs with links.
Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!
“A Sunday well-spent brings a week of content.”
Every Sunday I meet my friend Patricia for breakfast. Our favorite place looks like a diner and has 50's memorabilia as decoration. It's really small. It has a counter and a few booths on each side. We know most of the regulars enough to say hi. The waitress used to live in the house beside ours, and she and my sister played together. Pat knows the cook. I usually like my eggs sunny side up, sometimes with linguica. Around here most places offer it as a choice. This morning our place was closed. The sign in the window said the cook had a family emergency. Pat and I then had to figure out where else we might go. We like small places and places which are tucked away. We found a great new one.
This new place had a piano against one whole wall, and I have no idea why. It's not the sort of place which offers entertainment. The walls had lots of framed drawings, and each drawing seemed to have a donkey. The restaurant is called Nick and Athena's. They are husband and wife and were the only workers. Hand lettered signs tacked to the wall advertised their well known 10' pizzas and their pastries. I could smell muffins when I walked inside. A bench went the length of the wall on one side and tables with added chairs faced the bench. The cover on the bench was flowery and faded. The tables were wooden and old. Athena took our orders and served us. I wanted to call her Mrs. something because I would never presume to call her by her first name, the same with Nick, but I don't know their last name. He brought the place mats and silverware and refreshed our coffee. He also cooked the breakfast. It was delicious. I wanted to try a muffin fresh from the oven, but I was too full and didn't want to waste it. It smelled too good for that. Pat and I chatted through breakfast catching up each other's week. It was a good Sunday morning.
This new place had a piano against one whole wall, and I have no idea why. It's not the sort of place which offers entertainment. The walls had lots of framed drawings, and each drawing seemed to have a donkey. The restaurant is called Nick and Athena's. They are husband and wife and were the only workers. Hand lettered signs tacked to the wall advertised their well known 10' pizzas and their pastries. I could smell muffins when I walked inside. A bench went the length of the wall on one side and tables with added chairs faced the bench. The cover on the bench was flowery and faded. The tables were wooden and old. Athena took our orders and served us. I wanted to call her Mrs. something because I would never presume to call her by her first name, the same with Nick, but I don't know their last name. He brought the place mats and silverware and refreshed our coffee. He also cooked the breakfast. It was delicious. I wanted to try a muffin fresh from the oven, but I was too full and didn't want to waste it. It smelled too good for that. Pat and I chatted through breakfast catching up each other's week. It was a good Sunday morning.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
"One only needs two tools in life: WD-40 to make things go, and duct tape to make them stop."
This morning I found a manila envelope which surprised me as I don't usually have one just hanging around waiting to be used. It made me wonder about the musts for my house.
I must have duct tape. It repairs just about anything. I think I saw MacGuyver use it to prevent a nuclear explosion. My uses, though, are a bit more pedestrian. Duct tape has been a fashion accessory for years, holding my hems in place, cracked buttons together and shoe soles attached. It keeps my shower curtain from falling on my head. I won't trip over those wires again. They're now attached to the floor in a beautiful mosaic pattern of silver tape. Duct tape also holds together a pumpkin planter I got last Halloween, luckily the crack is on the back. That I can now buy duct tape in a variety of colors just floors me. I like red.
Envelopes are a must around here. I buy boxes of various sizes all the time. I put those boxes somewhere and can never find where I put them. I believe they disappear into a black hole hidden in my house. Every time I need an envelope, I go through drawers and closets. Usually I find nothing so I buy more boxes. It is my own Circle Game.
I couldn't survive without eggs. They are breakfast, lunch and dinner and would sustain me for years on some uncharted island. I would miss my toast, but I can adapt. Spaghetti is a close second. It's breakfast which moves pasta from the top spot.
Food has some sort of a natural attraction to any shirt I happen to be wearing so you won't find me without my Tide pen. I keep one in the house and another in my bag. Friends spill and look to me to save them. I usually do.
I'm sure there are other must haves I'm forgetting, but that is their nature. You never give them much thought until you need them and find you have none.
I must have duct tape. It repairs just about anything. I think I saw MacGuyver use it to prevent a nuclear explosion. My uses, though, are a bit more pedestrian. Duct tape has been a fashion accessory for years, holding my hems in place, cracked buttons together and shoe soles attached. It keeps my shower curtain from falling on my head. I won't trip over those wires again. They're now attached to the floor in a beautiful mosaic pattern of silver tape. Duct tape also holds together a pumpkin planter I got last Halloween, luckily the crack is on the back. That I can now buy duct tape in a variety of colors just floors me. I like red.
Envelopes are a must around here. I buy boxes of various sizes all the time. I put those boxes somewhere and can never find where I put them. I believe they disappear into a black hole hidden in my house. Every time I need an envelope, I go through drawers and closets. Usually I find nothing so I buy more boxes. It is my own Circle Game.
I couldn't survive without eggs. They are breakfast, lunch and dinner and would sustain me for years on some uncharted island. I would miss my toast, but I can adapt. Spaghetti is a close second. It's breakfast which moves pasta from the top spot.
Food has some sort of a natural attraction to any shirt I happen to be wearing so you won't find me without my Tide pen. I keep one in the house and another in my bag. Friends spill and look to me to save them. I usually do.
I'm sure there are other must haves I'm forgetting, but that is their nature. You never give them much thought until you need them and find you have none.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Barb'ry Allen: Tom Rush
This is from an album released in 1994 called Prestige-Folklore Years-Volume 1. By buying compilations, I sometimes get to hear singers I might miss otherwise. Tom Rush, of course, is not one of these.
MP3 File
MP3 File
Baby, I'm In the Mood For You: Odetta
Odetta Sings Dylan is the album where you'll find this song. The original vinyl was released in 1965 but has since been remastered and is available on CD. That Odetta chose Dylan to cover in 1965 still amazes me. That she sang these songs so magnificently doesn't.
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MP3 File
"The mind is the most capricious of insects - flitting, fluttering. "
I am behind my time. Last night I just wasn't tired. I did a few crossword puzzles and read a bit. It was around one when I set my fingers surfing yet again through the hundreds of channels I seem to have. The results continued to make Newton Minow a wise prognosticator. Finally I tried On Demand and ended up watching Next, a movie with Nicholas Cage. Somewhere in the middle of the movie I got tired, but I just had to stay up and watch the ending. I actually witnessed Nicholas Cage smile at least three times, and I wanted to see if it would happen again. It didn't.
I have nothing I need to do and nowhere I need to go so I have decided today will be B movie day. I'll stay in my comfies, watch strange monsters terrorize the Earth and eat popcorn. I'll leave the lights off to set up a mood, to give the house an eerie feel. I wish winds were rattling the windows, but it is raining, and that will have to do.
If I were a movie star, I'd have been forced to change my name because my name is already taken. Kathleen Ryan made movies in the 40's and 50's. She was born in Dublin in 1922 and is described as a, "Spirited, heart-warming Irish leading lady in a decade's worth of English and Hollywood films from 1947-1957."
If I had to choose my starlet name, I don't know what name I'd take. In a movie I watched the other night, one of the actresses was named Nova Pilbeam so that name got crossed off my list of potentials. Lima Bean too is off the list. People would think Orson and I were related. I thought Belle De Boskoop sounded too much like the name of some adult film star as did Spuree Rome though both of them are actually apples. I thought about the names of flowers, but Petunia is already taken by a pig and Daisy by a duck. I refuse to be Pansy or Hazel. I toyed with Iris but finally crossed it off the list. I could be a color. Mauve has a nice sound as does amaranth. I thought about Latin names. I came up with Astrum for my first name, but I got bogged down on the last so then I came up with Agito Astrum which roughly means moved star. It sounded Swedish so I figured I'd probably need an accent. It was at this point I grabbed hold of myself and realized it was another one of those days, the kind when my mind decides to go off on its own little tangent and take me along for the ride.
I have nothing I need to do and nowhere I need to go so I have decided today will be B movie day. I'll stay in my comfies, watch strange monsters terrorize the Earth and eat popcorn. I'll leave the lights off to set up a mood, to give the house an eerie feel. I wish winds were rattling the windows, but it is raining, and that will have to do.
If I were a movie star, I'd have been forced to change my name because my name is already taken. Kathleen Ryan made movies in the 40's and 50's. She was born in Dublin in 1922 and is described as a, "Spirited, heart-warming Irish leading lady in a decade's worth of English and Hollywood films from 1947-1957."
If I had to choose my starlet name, I don't know what name I'd take. In a movie I watched the other night, one of the actresses was named Nova Pilbeam so that name got crossed off my list of potentials. Lima Bean too is off the list. People would think Orson and I were related. I thought Belle De Boskoop sounded too much like the name of some adult film star as did Spuree Rome though both of them are actually apples. I thought about the names of flowers, but Petunia is already taken by a pig and Daisy by a duck. I refuse to be Pansy or Hazel. I toyed with Iris but finally crossed it off the list. I could be a color. Mauve has a nice sound as does amaranth. I thought about Latin names. I came up with Astrum for my first name, but I got bogged down on the last so then I came up with Agito Astrum which roughly means moved star. It sounded Swedish so I figured I'd probably need an accent. It was at this point I grabbed hold of myself and realized it was another one of those days, the kind when my mind decides to go off on its own little tangent and take me along for the ride.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Everybody's Talkin': Fred Neil
You probably think Harry Nilsson when you hear this song, but it was released first in 1966 on Fred Neil's self titled second album. He wrote the song.
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MP3 File
Dangling Conversation: Simon and Garfunkel
I'm guessing this is not unexpected.
The song comes from Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme which was released in 1966. I can't believe it was so long ago.
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The song comes from Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme which was released in 1966. I can't believe it was so long ago.
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"Don't tell your friends about your indigestions: "How are you!" is a greeting, not a question. "
Sometimes at a party I run out of conversation. I don't know how many more times I can tell people retirement is great, I've been traveling and thanks for telling me I look good. I don't know how many more times I can listen to people telling me work is hell, I'm always tired, and I can't wait to retire. It was easier, but no more interesting, when my friends had baby stories. Junior can say four words now, six words now and finally junior can say sentences. Then junior got older and played soccer and older again and played basketball. Junior went to college and took forever to decide his major. Junior graduated, met a girl and got married. I got to go to the shower and the wedding. I then got to attend the baby shower, all with the same people with whom I've been conversing for years. It is no wonder I run out of conversation.
I decided to prepare for the next get together. My first step was elimination. Politics were out. I wanted the evening to be pleasant. Anchovies on pizza were too limiting. Toilet paper over or under generated a lot of conversation here, but I was afraid it would get violent. Feelings run too deeply when it comes to TP. My favorite diseases didn't make the list either, and I decided to omit any discussions of body organs. Tacking butterflies, painting by number, collecting chia pets or any other strange hobbies were also out. The more I thought, the more I eliminated. I decided then it was time to list possible conversation starters.
I figured questions were perfect. What's your favorite smell was the first one which came to mind. Do you have any tattoos was a great starter and could naturally lead into body piercings. What last meal would you choose before being executed? When do you last see a UFO always elicits strange responses. If you could be any famous horse, which would you choose? How about famous circus performer? The possibilities are endless. This, though, might be the perfect time for a caveat: never ask anything about strange conversations.
I decided to prepare for the next get together. My first step was elimination. Politics were out. I wanted the evening to be pleasant. Anchovies on pizza were too limiting. Toilet paper over or under generated a lot of conversation here, but I was afraid it would get violent. Feelings run too deeply when it comes to TP. My favorite diseases didn't make the list either, and I decided to omit any discussions of body organs. Tacking butterflies, painting by number, collecting chia pets or any other strange hobbies were also out. The more I thought, the more I eliminated. I decided then it was time to list possible conversation starters.
I figured questions were perfect. What's your favorite smell was the first one which came to mind. Do you have any tattoos was a great starter and could naturally lead into body piercings. What last meal would you choose before being executed? When do you last see a UFO always elicits strange responses. If you could be any famous horse, which would you choose? How about famous circus performer? The possibilities are endless. This, though, might be the perfect time for a caveat: never ask anything about strange conversations.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Make Me a Pallet on Your Floor: Lucinda Williams
Smithsonian Folkways has issued an amazing and varied collection of music. Some are from different countries, others are by individual artists and many are compilations. They have also issued several different series developed from this treasure trove. One of these is called Classic from Smithsonian Folkways. You can find Classic African American Ballads, Classic Canadian Music, Classic Folk Music and the CD both these songs are from, Classic Blues From Smithsonian Folkways. There are too many more Classics to list, but I have many of them. They are a wealth of music. They are treasures.
MP3 File
MP3 File
'Way Behind the Sun: Barbara Dane
I've played some of Barbara Dane's early folk music, but this is the first of her blues I've played.
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MP3 File
"It's always the badly dressed people who are the most interesting. "
I have never been one for nightgowns, even when I was a little girl. They didn't keep me warm enough, and they rode up during the night and made lumps of fabric which always ended up somewhere uncomfortable. I liked pajamas. My favorites were made of jersey, had matching tops and bottoms and were usually worn with slipper socks. They were my nighttime ensemble of choice until about seventh or eight grade when whatever I wore to bed became my pajamas. T shirts were and still are a favorite, even in winter. When I go on vacations, I usually bring one back for myself as a souvenir. I wear it during the daytime for a while then, when it begins to show its age, it becomes a pajama top. Bottoms alternate with the seasons. In summer it's usually shorts which have outlived their daytime usefulness while in winter it's flannels bought solely for sleeping purposes. In college, I was usually so tired I fell into bed wearing whatever I had on at the time. In the Peace Corps, I went with whatever kept me the coolest. I remember when my family and I went to Brussels and were staying in a pricey hotel. It was the sort where they turned down your bed at night, left a mint on the pillow and your folded pajamas on the spread. Every night, I'd find my t-shirt neatly folder. It always gave my sister a laugh.
Since I've retired, I haven't once worn panty hose, can count the number of times I've worn a dress and have tossed out most of my heels. I have now come to believe that being comfortable is the most important reason for choosing clothes. I am so far passed being fashionable I'm afraid I might find myself fashionable again. That's a very scary thought.
Since I've retired, I haven't once worn panty hose, can count the number of times I've worn a dress and have tossed out most of my heels. I have now come to believe that being comfortable is the most important reason for choosing clothes. I am so far passed being fashionable I'm afraid I might find myself fashionable again. That's a very scary thought.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
"Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona. "
It is really early. We're talking 4:45 early. Today the Red Sox begin their 2008 baseball season. They're playing in Japan so the game starts at 6 AM, pre-game at 5. I can hear you now muttering about this crazy lady sitting in the dark waiting for the game to begin, but I assure you I am not one of those fanatics who decorates every inch of her home in Sox paraphernalia. Not one pennant adorns my walls, no toilet paper with the Red Sox logo waits in either bathroom, not a single picture hangs on the wall and no Red Sox shower curtain protects my floor from stray water. I do have an autographed ball, but that player is no longer on the Red Sox. I am just a fan.
Because this is the opening game, we're having an event, a celebration. My friends are coming. The French toast will soon be in the oven; the bacon is cooked, and we're having mimosas. I'm wearing my Red Sox sweat shirt and my Red Sox socks, which is kind of fun to say. I'm also wearing slippers and my flannel bottoms. It is, after all, still 5 in the morning.
Baseball is a simple game. It takes only a bat, a ball, some gloves and a bunch of kids. The rules are easy. I knew them by the time I was nine. We played all summer when I was a kid. We played on fields, in parking lots and in school yards. We yelled a lot. Bats were always wood. Baseballs were sometimes wrapped in tape to keep them together. We all wore baseball caps. The crack of the bat is one of the great sounds of summer.
Nothing beats sitting in the stands, munching peanuts and hot dogs and cheering on your favorite team. Take Me Out to the Ballgame is one of the great songs. I remember my first Red Sox game. I remember the awe when I saw how beautiful Fenway looked under the lights. The grass was greener than any grass I'd ever seen. The green monster looked huge, and had it breathed fire, I wouldn't have been surprised. I don't remember if the Sox won or lost. It was the experience which stayed with me all these years.
I hate all the mess in baseball. I hate that a game I love has become the center of controversy, and I hope those men who cheated and demeaned themselves and the game get what they deserve.
Because this is the opening game, we're having an event, a celebration. My friends are coming. The French toast will soon be in the oven; the bacon is cooked, and we're having mimosas. I'm wearing my Red Sox sweat shirt and my Red Sox socks, which is kind of fun to say. I'm also wearing slippers and my flannel bottoms. It is, after all, still 5 in the morning.
Baseball is a simple game. It takes only a bat, a ball, some gloves and a bunch of kids. The rules are easy. I knew them by the time I was nine. We played all summer when I was a kid. We played on fields, in parking lots and in school yards. We yelled a lot. Bats were always wood. Baseballs were sometimes wrapped in tape to keep them together. We all wore baseball caps. The crack of the bat is one of the great sounds of summer.
Nothing beats sitting in the stands, munching peanuts and hot dogs and cheering on your favorite team. Take Me Out to the Ballgame is one of the great songs. I remember my first Red Sox game. I remember the awe when I saw how beautiful Fenway looked under the lights. The grass was greener than any grass I'd ever seen. The green monster looked huge, and had it breathed fire, I wouldn't have been surprised. I don't remember if the Sox won or lost. It was the experience which stayed with me all these years.
I hate all the mess in baseball. I hate that a game I love has become the center of controversy, and I hope those men who cheated and demeaned themselves and the game get what they deserve.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Sparrows and Sparrows: Malcolm Holcombe
I ran into this discussion a while back as how do I know in which bin to look for certain singers. Malcolm Holcombe is one of those.
It was suggested a bin be titled Just Music so that's what I'll go with for Malcolm Holcombe. I know he has a Prine sound here, but then he gets into his own and you forget Prine and get caught up with Malcolm and his music.
This is from his 2006 album Not Forgotten.
MP3 File
It was suggested a bin be titled Just Music so that's what I'll go with for Malcolm Holcombe. I know he has a Prine sound here, but then he gets into his own and you forget Prine and get caught up with Malcolm and his music.
This is from his 2006 album Not Forgotten.
MP3 File
“If you hold a cat by the tail you learn things you cannot learn any other way.”
I have learned many truths in my life. I've learned that if I lose one earring, it will be from my favorite pair. I've learned that any button which drops off my coat will have no equal. Either I live minus one button or I change them all. I could never live minus one button. If I stand in a line for hours and finally get to the end, the window will unceremoniously close in front of my eyes and a gruff voice will announce all sold out or we have none left or the next shipment is due in seven months. I have learned that slippery when wet really means it. I've learned a wet paint sign is not really an invitation to test with the tip of my finger. I've learned to trust the sign. I've learned to think twice before I tell someone I'm okay or I've got it when my arm is filled with heavy packages or a bulky piece of furniture. I've learned to carry a Tide pen everywhere I go.
I've learned that in the last place I'd think to look is where I'll find whatever I was seeking in the first place. Common sense would tell me to look in the last place first but then it wouldn't be the last place any more. Where did you lose it is the silliest of questions followed closely in second place by where was the last place you had it.
The odds are I will be served a vegetable I hate and the salad will have radishes. Dessert will include peaches with fur. I, being the consummate guest, will eat all of them though I will try my best to avoid picking radishes when I serve myself salad.
I have learned that even if it rains on my parade, the parade can still go on as scheduled.
I've learned that in the last place I'd think to look is where I'll find whatever I was seeking in the first place. Common sense would tell me to look in the last place first but then it wouldn't be the last place any more. Where did you lose it is the silliest of questions followed closely in second place by where was the last place you had it.
The odds are I will be served a vegetable I hate and the salad will have radishes. Dessert will include peaches with fur. I, being the consummate guest, will eat all of them though I will try my best to avoid picking radishes when I serve myself salad.
I have learned that even if it rains on my parade, the parade can still go on as scheduled.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
"Easter spells out beauty, the rare beauty of new life. "
Today is about rebirth. For Christians, it is the holiest of days, the day of Christ's resurrection, a reaffirmation of the belief in miracles. Today is the the rebirth of spring, the awakening of the earth from the cold, dead winter. Soon the world will be awash with flowers and the air filled with their sweet perfumes. When I was little, I wore new Easter clothes in bright pastels, in yellows and greens. I put away the drab, heavy clothes of winter and welcomed back the colors of the sun.
The Easter Bunny found my house last night, slipped in while I was sleeping and left a pail of goodies, including a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble and a chocolate Rabbit. Poor rabbit, his ears will be the first to go.
Happy Easter!
The Easter Bunny found my house last night, slipped in while I was sleeping and left a pail of goodies, including a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble and a chocolate Rabbit. Poor rabbit, his ears will be the first to go.
Happy Easter!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
"Animals are such agreeable friends - they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms. "
My town has an Easter egg hunt today at the local library. Yesterday my landscaper came by and spring cleaned my yard. It looks ready for growing things. The sun is bright in a brilliant blue sky. The birds are filling the air with song. I've caught a glimpse of spring.
We had a dog when I was growing up. He was a Boxer named Duke. My father named him. We got Duke when I was five, and he died when I was nineteen. He is the reason I have my own Boxers. Duke was stubborn, but he was also smart and loyal and especially protective. He followed us everywhere, even to school. He also followed other kids to different schools. The East School was a particular favorite of his. My father used to call him to come back. He'd turn, look at my dad then ignore him and keep walking. They were a perfect match, my father and Duke. Both were stubborn.
We got our first cat when I was a junior in high school. My dad, who was away all week working and only home on weekends, hated cats and said he expected it to be gone when he got home. It wasn't. That cat stayed and became the first in a line of cats. My dad grumbled and groused, but we ignored him. We knew better.
Growing up with pets enriched our lives beyond measure. I told Duke my deepest, darkest secrets. If I felt bad, he always seemed to understand. My sisters used to share their ice cream with him, and he got the outside of the Oreos while they got the inside. He sneaked on the couch to sleep but was always smart enough to get off as we came down the stairs. He stole food off the counter but we covered for him. He was, after all, our best friend.
We all have pets. The count is eight cats and three dogs among the four of us, and each cat and each dog is spoiled rotten. My father used to joke that in his next life he'd like to come back as one of our pets.
All of them have Duke to thank.
We had a dog when I was growing up. He was a Boxer named Duke. My father named him. We got Duke when I was five, and he died when I was nineteen. He is the reason I have my own Boxers. Duke was stubborn, but he was also smart and loyal and especially protective. He followed us everywhere, even to school. He also followed other kids to different schools. The East School was a particular favorite of his. My father used to call him to come back. He'd turn, look at my dad then ignore him and keep walking. They were a perfect match, my father and Duke. Both were stubborn.
We got our first cat when I was a junior in high school. My dad, who was away all week working and only home on weekends, hated cats and said he expected it to be gone when he got home. It wasn't. That cat stayed and became the first in a line of cats. My dad grumbled and groused, but we ignored him. We knew better.
Growing up with pets enriched our lives beyond measure. I told Duke my deepest, darkest secrets. If I felt bad, he always seemed to understand. My sisters used to share their ice cream with him, and he got the outside of the Oreos while they got the inside. He sneaked on the couch to sleep but was always smart enough to get off as we came down the stairs. He stole food off the counter but we covered for him. He was, after all, our best friend.
We all have pets. The count is eight cats and three dogs among the four of us, and each cat and each dog is spoiled rotten. My father used to joke that in his next life he'd like to come back as one of our pets.
All of them have Duke to thank.
Friday, March 21, 2008
“Let us swear while we may, for in heaven it will not be allowed”
When I was growing up, we would never have entertained the thought of swearing. We had, looming over our heads, parents who threatened to wash our mouths out with soap, and we believed them. That forced us to find creative ways of dealing with each other. One of my personal favorites was, "Why don't you just take a picture so it will last longer." It was said as sneeringly as possible and with the hint of a threat. It was often coupled with, "Are you writing a book?" They were usually enough. If not, we escalated into threats like offering a knuckle sandwich with the visual aid of a closed fist as added incentive. Seldom did any of us come to blows.
Once in a while, it would happen. Someone would let a swear slip from his lips, sometimes by mistake and sometimes for effect. It was usually hell, but it was enough to cause gasps in astonishment or giggles of nervous laughter. We were torn between horror and admiration. Sometimes, right away, we, the witnesses to this tumultuous event, would disperse. It was in our best interests to put distance between us and the swearer because we knew somebody was probably already squealing. Somebody always did.
When we got older, usually high school older, swearing was a way of rebelling though it was a covert rebellion because none of us yet dared to swear in front of our parents. If it happened, soap was out but grounding was in. My father's who did you think you were talking to was rhetorical, but I was always tempted to give an answer. We still kept with the more innocent hell but added damn to our repertoire. We were slowly working our way up the George Carlin list.
It was in college where vulgarities rose to verbal art forms. We no longer gasped or giggled, and our conversations were peppered with colorful language. A few words were still banned, but the list was quite short. We became adept at changing swears to fit our needs. They could be nouns or verbs or even adjectives. We used them when we were angry and when we were glad. We just used them.
Strange, though, is we never swore in front of our parents. I think it was because we finally understood the question, "Who do you think you're talking to?"
Once in a while, it would happen. Someone would let a swear slip from his lips, sometimes by mistake and sometimes for effect. It was usually hell, but it was enough to cause gasps in astonishment or giggles of nervous laughter. We were torn between horror and admiration. Sometimes, right away, we, the witnesses to this tumultuous event, would disperse. It was in our best interests to put distance between us and the swearer because we knew somebody was probably already squealing. Somebody always did.
When we got older, usually high school older, swearing was a way of rebelling though it was a covert rebellion because none of us yet dared to swear in front of our parents. If it happened, soap was out but grounding was in. My father's who did you think you were talking to was rhetorical, but I was always tempted to give an answer. We still kept with the more innocent hell but added damn to our repertoire. We were slowly working our way up the George Carlin list.
It was in college where vulgarities rose to verbal art forms. We no longer gasped or giggled, and our conversations were peppered with colorful language. A few words were still banned, but the list was quite short. We became adept at changing swears to fit our needs. They could be nouns or verbs or even adjectives. We used them when we were angry and when we were glad. We just used them.
Strange, though, is we never swore in front of our parents. I think it was because we finally understood the question, "Who do you think you're talking to?"
Thursday, March 20, 2008
House Carpenter: Nickel Creek
Chris Thile and siblings Sean and Sara Watkins are Nickel Creek, and this song is from their second album, This Side. I've always given Nickel Creek some credit for helping to ease me into bluegrass.
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"Never kick a cow chip on a hot day."
My town was like every other small town in the 1950's. The square was where all the stores stood except the grocery store. It was down the street because it needed a parking lot. Up town we had three drug stores, two banks, one clothing store, a movie theater, a diner, a bakery, a shoe repair shop, a fish market, a Chinese laundry, a barber shop, a five and ten and a creamery which sold butter, cheese and eggs. We lacked for nothing.
Just off the square was the fire station and attached to it was the police department. The firemen used to sit outside the station on wooden chairs. They'd always say hello to us and let us take a look at the engines parked in the station behind them. The town barn was on the street behind the fire station, and when I was little, they still had horses. Later on, trucks were kept there, but they still called it the town barn.
My town had one local newspaper which was published once a week, still is. The paper was filled with every tidbit of local news. Police calls were listed, and back then a stolen bicycle was breaking news. The horseshoe winners at the playgrounds, the scores of the little league games and the scouts and their recent badges filled the pages every week. Any time my name appeared, I cut out the article for my scrapbook.
We had one farm in my town. They raised cows and sold milk. The barn was huge and white and the house stood beside it. The ground always looked muddy. We'd walk there just to watch the cows though they did nothing and are probably one of the world's most boring animals. They were just the only cows in town and worth the visit for their uniqueness. The farm is still there but the cows are long gone.
I loved living there when I was a kid, but it stopped being home a long time ago. If anyone asks, it's the town where I grew up.
Just off the square was the fire station and attached to it was the police department. The firemen used to sit outside the station on wooden chairs. They'd always say hello to us and let us take a look at the engines parked in the station behind them. The town barn was on the street behind the fire station, and when I was little, they still had horses. Later on, trucks were kept there, but they still called it the town barn.
My town had one local newspaper which was published once a week, still is. The paper was filled with every tidbit of local news. Police calls were listed, and back then a stolen bicycle was breaking news. The horseshoe winners at the playgrounds, the scores of the little league games and the scouts and their recent badges filled the pages every week. Any time my name appeared, I cut out the article for my scrapbook.
We had one farm in my town. They raised cows and sold milk. The barn was huge and white and the house stood beside it. The ground always looked muddy. We'd walk there just to watch the cows though they did nothing and are probably one of the world's most boring animals. They were just the only cows in town and worth the visit for their uniqueness. The farm is still there but the cows are long gone.
I loved living there when I was a kid, but it stopped being home a long time ago. If anyone asks, it's the town where I grew up.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Rain Go Away: Alison Krauss and Union Station
This is from 2004's Lonely Runs Both Ways. That's Dan Tyminski singing. If the song sounds like traditional bluegrass, that might just be because Del McCoury wrote it.
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The Garden Song: David Mallett
This has been played before on Coffee, but I had a hankering to hear it again with its spring imagery, its hopefulness.
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MP3 File
"In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of four and twenty hours."
This morning the rain turned to snow as I watched out my back door. It won't amount to anything, too wet, but it is none the less discouraging. The week's forecast calls for rain today and the next two days.
I remember every Easter we'd pose outside in our finery. We were always grouped. Sometimes we'd be holding our baskets. They were never intact by that point and half eaten rabbits lay on the grass at the bottom. We seldom went visiting on Easter. My mother would cook the dinner and try to keep us in our Easter clothes until it was over. She seldom succeeded with my brother and me. My younger sisters, though, loved being dressed up and would stay that way all day. We usually had ham for dinner. I don't remember much more of the menu. I figure we had mashed potatoes as my dad wouldn't consider the meal complete without them. Carrots were probably on the table. They're a perfect Easter vegetable, great color and beloved by rabbits. Asparagus, green like spring, is another good choice. My dad loved them straight from the can, and the dish of asparagus was always right in front of him. He didn't have to worry about sharing. I think my mother would also have served peas, keeping to the theme of spring, but that's just a guess on my part. We often had sugar cookies shaped like rabbits for dessert. My mother frosted them in white and pink.
If I were to do free association, Easter would bring tulips to mind, in yellows and whites and pinks. I would think grape hyacinths and lilies and buds adorning the once naked branches. I would hear the morning songs of birds. I would think spring.
I remember every Easter we'd pose outside in our finery. We were always grouped. Sometimes we'd be holding our baskets. They were never intact by that point and half eaten rabbits lay on the grass at the bottom. We seldom went visiting on Easter. My mother would cook the dinner and try to keep us in our Easter clothes until it was over. She seldom succeeded with my brother and me. My younger sisters, though, loved being dressed up and would stay that way all day. We usually had ham for dinner. I don't remember much more of the menu. I figure we had mashed potatoes as my dad wouldn't consider the meal complete without them. Carrots were probably on the table. They're a perfect Easter vegetable, great color and beloved by rabbits. Asparagus, green like spring, is another good choice. My dad loved them straight from the can, and the dish of asparagus was always right in front of him. He didn't have to worry about sharing. I think my mother would also have served peas, keeping to the theme of spring, but that's just a guess on my part. We often had sugar cookies shaped like rabbits for dessert. My mother frosted them in white and pink.
If I were to do free association, Easter would bring tulips to mind, in yellows and whites and pinks. I would think grape hyacinths and lilies and buds adorning the once naked branches. I would hear the morning songs of birds. I would think spring.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Private Plenty: Sally Fingerett
Sally Fingerett is one of the founding members of Four Bitchin' Babes. She co-wrote this song with Tom Paxton. The album on which it appears, In Good Company, was released in 1998.
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The Scarlet Tide: Alison Krauss
I think this the most beautiful song on the Cold Mountain soundtrack. It was written by Elvis Costello and Henry Burnett.
I was reminded of the music when I read the director of the film, Anthony Minghella, had died.
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I was reminded of the music when I read the director of the film, Anthony Minghella, had died.
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"Being pretty on the inside means you don't hit your brother and you eat all your peas - that's what my grandma taught me. "
I would truly love one spring day, a surprise in the middle of this raw, often rainy shoulder season. I want to walk to the driveway to get my papers and feel the warmth of the day inviting me to stay outside for a while. I want to sit on my deck, watch the birds fly in and out of the feeders, have lunch and enjoy outside, just for one day would keep me for now.
Old ladies always looked the part when I was a kid. There was no mistaking them. They wore dresses, and every dress was shapeless and made from a flowered material. Their shoes, clunky with square heels and shoelaces, were generally black and were worn with stockings or ankle socks. Their hair was gray, long and often twisted in a bun. They were never exciting.
My grandmother was the poster lady for old. Women of her generation seldom learned how to drive so she'd walk everywhere. She'd walk and wheel her shopping cart behind her. I remember she always grocery shopped at the First National. I seldom saw my grandmother outside of her house. In my mind's eye, she's always wearing a full apron over her house dress. Her aprons too were flowered. She never seemed to walk upright. She had a stoop. We'd go to her house for dinner and eat in the dining room. That always seemed a big thing to me. We only had a kitchen. She used to keep candy on a table in the living room. I'd take only one or two lest I appear greedy. She had a piano but neither she nor my grandfather played. In the front of her house was a small sun room with a couple of chairs and a desk. My grandfather kept his pipes there. He stored them in a round table which swung open. The room smelled of pipe tobacco. My favorite room was her kitchen. Not because of her cooking, she was a really bad cook, but because it had a built in ironing board and a huge closet where she always kept bottles of root beer.
I believe she was among the last of her kind.
Old ladies always looked the part when I was a kid. There was no mistaking them. They wore dresses, and every dress was shapeless and made from a flowered material. Their shoes, clunky with square heels and shoelaces, were generally black and were worn with stockings or ankle socks. Their hair was gray, long and often twisted in a bun. They were never exciting.
My grandmother was the poster lady for old. Women of her generation seldom learned how to drive so she'd walk everywhere. She'd walk and wheel her shopping cart behind her. I remember she always grocery shopped at the First National. I seldom saw my grandmother outside of her house. In my mind's eye, she's always wearing a full apron over her house dress. Her aprons too were flowered. She never seemed to walk upright. She had a stoop. We'd go to her house for dinner and eat in the dining room. That always seemed a big thing to me. We only had a kitchen. She used to keep candy on a table in the living room. I'd take only one or two lest I appear greedy. She had a piano but neither she nor my grandfather played. In the front of her house was a small sun room with a couple of chairs and a desk. My grandfather kept his pipes there. He stored them in a round table which swung open. The room smelled of pipe tobacco. My favorite room was her kitchen. Not because of her cooking, she was a really bad cook, but because it had a built in ironing board and a huge closet where she always kept bottles of root beer.
I believe she was among the last of her kind.
Monday, March 17, 2008
“If you're lucky enough to be Irish, then you're lucky enough.”
For as long as I can remember, this has been a big day. When I was a kid, we had no school. I did, after all, attend St. Patrick's grammar school, and it would have been sacrilege to have school on the day honoring the parish saint. My mother made corned beef and cabbage though mostly for my father as we kids never thought much of cabbage or carrots or onions. I was older before I appreciated the subtleties of that meal. When I was in high school, I marched in the parade in South Boston. I was a member of St. Patrick's Shamrocks drill team, and we were a perfect fit for the parade in our green and white uniforms with a shamrock on our shirts. It was always cold, usually raw, and we had to evade the many revelers who had far too many pints and were only too happy to march along with us. When I was in college, I joined those revelers but from the sidelines. I was content to watch and drink. I am, after all Irish, and the day needs celebrating.
When my family got together to celebrate, often at my parent's house, it was a night of revelry and song. My mother and father had great voices, and they were joined by all of us but mostly by my uncle Jack. He has always believed himself a Bing Crosby clone and sings all of Bing's Irish songs with great passion. After he'd imbibed a wee dram or two, he'd sing I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen to me.
I know all of the songs we used to sing. They're not traditional in the sense of Irish music, but they are traditional to celebrate the day. In my mind no St. Patrick's Day is complete without songs like When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, Galway Bay or Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral. Mrs. Murphy's Chowder is in there somewhere too.
May you all be blessed with a bit of Irish today!
Happy St. Patrick's Day
When my family got together to celebrate, often at my parent's house, it was a night of revelry and song. My mother and father had great voices, and they were joined by all of us but mostly by my uncle Jack. He has always believed himself a Bing Crosby clone and sings all of Bing's Irish songs with great passion. After he'd imbibed a wee dram or two, he'd sing I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen to me.
I know all of the songs we used to sing. They're not traditional in the sense of Irish music, but they are traditional to celebrate the day. In my mind no St. Patrick's Day is complete without songs like When Irish Eyes Are Smiling, Galway Bay or Too-Ra-Loo-Ra-Loo-Ral. Mrs. Murphy's Chowder is in there somewhere too.
May you all be blessed with a bit of Irish today!
Happy St. Patrick's Day
Sunday, March 16, 2008
“The one stream of poetry which is continually flowing is slang.”
On Star Trek Voyager, Lt. Tom Paris loves the 20th century. He has a TV in his quarters, plays a holodeck character in a Buck Rogers type serial, is amazed by the internal combustion engine and has a working vocabulary of our lives. That we will some day be reduced to a holodeck program doesn't surprise me. How quickly that is happening does.
When I was a kid, we had rabbit ears sitting atop our console TV. The ears were wrapped in aluminum foil to give us better reception. If the screen was snowy, we moved those ears up and down and to one side or the other hoping for the best reception. I'm guessing fewer and fewer of us remember those rabbit ears. The console TV is also a thing of the past. Ours was so big the top held framed pictures and a few vases along side the antenna. It was the center of our living room.
I remember when couples went to watch the submarine races. At the drive in, the cars in the back didn't come for the movies. The steamed windows were proof enough. We lived in a world of AM radio stations with DJ's who had personalities and a following, where junk mail was delivered by the postman and 45's were our favorite ways to listen to music. I remember my collection of 45's was stored in a pink carrying case. I also had several of those plastic adapters you attached to the middle of the 45's so you could play them on any record player. Later I got a record player with that piece you slid over the middle so you could stack the 45's to play them. I still have several of my 45's, and I still store them in carrying cases. I don't remember the last time I listened to them, but I have a turn table now so maybe I'll just dig them out, hold them by the edge and the hole and check out both the A and B sides.
In college, we got blitzed, used a church key to open cans and had a ball at parties. We yelled dibs for the last of anything, and I still don't understand why it was a cow we warned people not to have.
I remember trying to be the first first person to yell paddidle.
When I was a kid, we had rabbit ears sitting atop our console TV. The ears were wrapped in aluminum foil to give us better reception. If the screen was snowy, we moved those ears up and down and to one side or the other hoping for the best reception. I'm guessing fewer and fewer of us remember those rabbit ears. The console TV is also a thing of the past. Ours was so big the top held framed pictures and a few vases along side the antenna. It was the center of our living room.
I remember when couples went to watch the submarine races. At the drive in, the cars in the back didn't come for the movies. The steamed windows were proof enough. We lived in a world of AM radio stations with DJ's who had personalities and a following, where junk mail was delivered by the postman and 45's were our favorite ways to listen to music. I remember my collection of 45's was stored in a pink carrying case. I also had several of those plastic adapters you attached to the middle of the 45's so you could play them on any record player. Later I got a record player with that piece you slid over the middle so you could stack the 45's to play them. I still have several of my 45's, and I still store them in carrying cases. I don't remember the last time I listened to them, but I have a turn table now so maybe I'll just dig them out, hold them by the edge and the hole and check out both the A and B sides.
In college, we got blitzed, used a church key to open cans and had a ball at parties. We yelled dibs for the last of anything, and I still don't understand why it was a cow we warned people not to have.
I remember trying to be the first first person to yell paddidle.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
“Music, the greatest good that mortals know, and all of heaven we have below.”
Today is a later start than usual. I have been savoring the morning. It's raining and has been for a while. When I woke up, I could hear rain tapping the roof. The sound was so relaxing I stayed in bed a bit just to listen. I'm finally downstairs and am sitting in my den. It is lit only by the monitor in front of me. It seemed perfect somehow not to have any light. I can hear rain drops falling from the eaves of my house. They make a plunking sound when they hit the windowsills. The rain on the roof has a steady beat. My backyard is filled with leaves. The rain falls there with a gentle sound. It is a symphony of rain.
Choosing the perfect week day songs takes me a while. I listen to several before I find the right ones. Sometimes a long time favorite is perfect, sometimes not. I jump from folk to bluegrass to country to blues and once in a while to rock hoping to find the ones which touch me each day. I never quite know what I'm looking for in a song. I do know my mood, the weather and, strangely enough, the light play into the choice. Songs sound different in a dark room, more intense. It's as if they have no competition for all of me.
Weekends are easier. I pick out a theme and start looking. I try to find a cross section of songs representing different eras in music. I have to like the songs I choose. That means lots more listening, but I never mind. My files are filled with folders. You want songs about dirt: I have them. I also have gypsies, airplanes, junk, insects, murder, pirates and so many more there isn't room to name them. Finding the theme music is fun for me.
Holidays are, with a few exceptions, the easiest of all. I have files for all the big ones, and some songs are Coffee traditions. The whole of Alice's Restaurant gets played every Thanksgiving. Here Comes Peter Cottontail will reappear next week. Presidents' Day has always been tough, and I have Turn Back the Hands of Time for fall daylight savings but nothing for springtime's. My Halloween folder is bursting at the seams but Veteran's Day is a bit sparse. Sometimes, on a late night, when sleep is evading me, I go looking. I enjoy a good hunt.
That, my friends, is the why of songs on Coffee.
Choosing the perfect week day songs takes me a while. I listen to several before I find the right ones. Sometimes a long time favorite is perfect, sometimes not. I jump from folk to bluegrass to country to blues and once in a while to rock hoping to find the ones which touch me each day. I never quite know what I'm looking for in a song. I do know my mood, the weather and, strangely enough, the light play into the choice. Songs sound different in a dark room, more intense. It's as if they have no competition for all of me.
Weekends are easier. I pick out a theme and start looking. I try to find a cross section of songs representing different eras in music. I have to like the songs I choose. That means lots more listening, but I never mind. My files are filled with folders. You want songs about dirt: I have them. I also have gypsies, airplanes, junk, insects, murder, pirates and so many more there isn't room to name them. Finding the theme music is fun for me.
Holidays are, with a few exceptions, the easiest of all. I have files for all the big ones, and some songs are Coffee traditions. The whole of Alice's Restaurant gets played every Thanksgiving. Here Comes Peter Cottontail will reappear next week. Presidents' Day has always been tough, and I have Turn Back the Hands of Time for fall daylight savings but nothing for springtime's. My Halloween folder is bursting at the seams but Veteran's Day is a bit sparse. Sometimes, on a late night, when sleep is evading me, I go looking. I enjoy a good hunt.
That, my friends, is the why of songs on Coffee.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Across the Great Divide: Nanci Griffith
This song is from Nanci's Grammy winning album Other Voices, Other Rooms which is her tribute to those songwriters who have influenced her career. Here she honors the remarkable talents of Kate Wolf.
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N'tesse: Habib Koité
This song is way out of my usual Coffee zone. Koité is from Mali. He was born in 1958 in Khassonké, near the border of Senegal. He developed his unique guitar style accompanying his griot mother. (A griot is a West African bard or storyteller who recounts cultural stories through song.) Koité and his band Bamada have released a number of successful and critically acclaimed albums. He can be heard singing Back Around with Bonnie Raitt for her album Silver Lining.
This is from his album Afriki.
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This is from his album Afriki.
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“Two quite opposite qualities equally bias our minds - habits and novelty”
Sadly, I am a creature of habit. There are, I know, brilliant moments when I step out of my routine, but these are getting rare. Each morning is the same though I suppose mornings have always been the same. How many ways can you mix and stir coffee and the paper? Maybe I should try a bit of toast and start with the sports page, but that doesn't really change much. On Sundays I go out for breakfast. That may sound promising, but my Sunday mornings still start with coffee and the paper. A traditional way to start the day might be my defense, but tradition is sometimes just habit wearing a fancier name.
Today I have languished over what to say. This is about the fourth paragraph to sit in this very spot. I erased one which spoke of my childhood fears about being average because it sounded a bit too haughty when I described riding the crest of a bell curve. My sense of humor was next, but I'm not so sure how to explain it. I know sarcastic was in there somewhere, but after that I ran out of adjectives. Ham was next, but I never got too far. After all, how interesting is ham? I suppose I could discuss the sides one might have with ham, but that would create a maelstrom of differing opinions. I then branched out to socks with sandals. Think calf high, and you'll know what I mean. Tissues are best described as disposable hankies. That was never part of my original paragraph, but I thought I'd throw it in just for effect. My last attempt was a bit about cloudy days and feeling lazy, but I found that was sufficient in itself. I decided, finally, the process was about as interesting as anything else. It filled the page.
Today I have languished over what to say. This is about the fourth paragraph to sit in this very spot. I erased one which spoke of my childhood fears about being average because it sounded a bit too haughty when I described riding the crest of a bell curve. My sense of humor was next, but I'm not so sure how to explain it. I know sarcastic was in there somewhere, but after that I ran out of adjectives. Ham was next, but I never got too far. After all, how interesting is ham? I suppose I could discuss the sides one might have with ham, but that would create a maelstrom of differing opinions. I then branched out to socks with sandals. Think calf high, and you'll know what I mean. Tissues are best described as disposable hankies. That was never part of my original paragraph, but I thought I'd throw it in just for effect. My last attempt was a bit about cloudy days and feeling lazy, but I found that was sufficient in itself. I decided, finally, the process was about as interesting as anything else. It filled the page.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Listen Listen: Sandy Denny
If you had reminded me Sandy Denny died in 1978, I would probably scoff. It is amazing that we lost her so very long ago.
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The Tea Leaf Prophecy: Herbie Hancock
This album, River: The Joni Letters, won the Grammy this year for Album of the Year and Best Contemporary Jazz Album. It is Herbie Hancock interpreting the songs of Joni Mitchell. It is Herbie and his jazz playing Joni, and we get to hear a whole new way of listening to Joni Mitchell's music.
That is Joni herself on this song. Other guest vocalists on River include Leonard Cohen, Tina Turner, Norah Jones, Corinne Bailey Rae and Luciana Souza.
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That is Joni herself on this song. Other guest vocalists on River include Leonard Cohen, Tina Turner, Norah Jones, Corinne Bailey Rae and Luciana Souza.
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"Only when we have to fight to stay human do we realise how precious it is. How dear to us."
Yesterday I happened to look out the window at the deck and saw the barbecue cover moving up and down. I knew what was probably happening so I went out and tiptoed my way over to it. I tapped the bouncing cover and a squirrel ran at Olympic qualifying speeds into my back yard. The beast had been stripping the fleece from under the cover to use in nest building. I had to laugh a bit at myself. If all of this had been part of a B horror movie, the audience would have been yelling, "Don't go. Don't go." There I'd be tapping the cover under which a slimy, flesh eating creature would be devouring its latest victim. I wonder who would be next?
Okay, I admit I am a lover of B movies. Science fiction and horror movies are my favorites though I'd throw in a couple of really strange westerns as well. I don't like the current crop of slasher films, and I avoid anything with a chainsaw. Give me the old fashion strong male lead, the beautiful female scientist and a creature spawned from atomic bomb testing. The strong male lead and the female scientist will fall in love. She will, at a crucial plot point, fall into the path of whatever creature is menacing the world. She will scream and cover her mouth with her hand. Our hero will save her. Together they will make the world safe.
B horror movies have their own scary characters. Some of my favorites are vampires, brains which never die, zombies and mad scientists. These scientists seem to prefer working with insects. Spiders are big, and I also mean that literally. Teenagers were great fodder for horror movies. I Was a Teenage Werewolf is still one of my favorites. The blood runs in these movies but blood in black and white just isn't all that scary, except in Psycho which is a whole other story.
I'm surprised we continued to work on going to the moon after the 1950's. The body snatchers should have been warning enough that outer space is a scary and dangerous places for us poor humans. We are fodder for just about any alien race. There is that poor woman who married a monster from outer space. It, the Terror from Beyond Space and Earth VS. the Flying Saucers proved creatures from other worlds have our beloved planet in their sights.
Most of these creatures have no names. They are it, the thing, the creature or the monster. I figure there is good reason for this. Calling the movie Harry from Beyond Space or Revenge of the Creature Named Mike would just not have enough bite.
We, of course, are always triumphant, but the endings are never really happy. They are still out there, and we must remain vigilant.
Okay, I admit I am a lover of B movies. Science fiction and horror movies are my favorites though I'd throw in a couple of really strange westerns as well. I don't like the current crop of slasher films, and I avoid anything with a chainsaw. Give me the old fashion strong male lead, the beautiful female scientist and a creature spawned from atomic bomb testing. The strong male lead and the female scientist will fall in love. She will, at a crucial plot point, fall into the path of whatever creature is menacing the world. She will scream and cover her mouth with her hand. Our hero will save her. Together they will make the world safe.
B horror movies have their own scary characters. Some of my favorites are vampires, brains which never die, zombies and mad scientists. These scientists seem to prefer working with insects. Spiders are big, and I also mean that literally. Teenagers were great fodder for horror movies. I Was a Teenage Werewolf is still one of my favorites. The blood runs in these movies but blood in black and white just isn't all that scary, except in Psycho which is a whole other story.
I'm surprised we continued to work on going to the moon after the 1950's. The body snatchers should have been warning enough that outer space is a scary and dangerous places for us poor humans. We are fodder for just about any alien race. There is that poor woman who married a monster from outer space. It, the Terror from Beyond Space and Earth VS. the Flying Saucers proved creatures from other worlds have our beloved planet in their sights.
Most of these creatures have no names. They are it, the thing, the creature or the monster. I figure there is good reason for this. Calling the movie Harry from Beyond Space or Revenge of the Creature Named Mike would just not have enough bite.
We, of course, are always triumphant, but the endings are never really happy. They are still out there, and we must remain vigilant.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Darcy Farrow: Steve Gillette, Anne Hills, Cindy Mangsen and
This song is from a 2003 album called Fourtold. Husband and wife Steve Gillette and Cindy Mangsen, Anne Hills and Michael Smith make up Fourtold.
Many of the songs on the album were written by one or the other of the four musicians. This song, though, is a classic, a story of tragic young love.
MP3 File
Many of the songs on the album were written by one or the other of the four musicians. This song, though, is a classic, a story of tragic young love.
MP3 File
Ride the River: J. J. Cale and Eric Clapton.
This song is labeled rock in one place and folk rock in another and then it won the Grammy Award for Best Contemporary Blues Album.
The album was released in 2006. Most of the songs were written by Cale which isn't surprising. He wrote Clapton’s Cocaine and After Midnight.
The album is relaxed, two friends playing together with a few other friends to help, like John Mayer and Taj Mahal.
MP3 File
The album was released in 2006. Most of the songs were written by Cale which isn't surprising. He wrote Clapton’s Cocaine and After Midnight.
The album is relaxed, two friends playing together with a few other friends to help, like John Mayer and Taj Mahal.
MP3 File
“I distrust camels, and anyone else who can go a week without a drink.”
Today is another raw, gray day.
My parents once took us to Benson's Wild Animal Farm in New Hampshire. My memories are pretty sketchy, but I have two which are still vivid. I remember the round monkey enclosure with a rail fence surrounding it. My brother, who must have been around three or four, thought the fence optional and wandered inside it. He went too close to the cage. A monkey grabbed him by the arm and tried to yank him inside. I can still hear the screams and remember my father sprinting to grab my brother who was scared but unhurt. His little adventure gave us great family stories for years, and every time the story was told, my brother was the brunt of the jokes. The second memory is of my elephant ride. I had to climb up some steps to the elephant and sit sideways on a bench attached to the elephant's back. I remember the rolling motion as the elephant walked and how high off the ground we were. I was never afraid.
My camel ride was a far different story. That feisty, spitting beast took off on me and scared me to the roots of my soul. I was in Niger, in the Sahara, and in the only picture I have, I'm all smiles as I'm getting on the camel. During that harrowing ride, absolute fear was the overriding emotion, and I thought I would fall to my death. Everything I carried with me fell to the sand, my camera included which opened to expose the rest of the film, but I managed to defeat the beast and hold on. I even rode that camel back to the encampment but at a pace which took forever. No way would I let that animal have its head again. My heart wouldn't have stood the shock.
I've ridden horses and once took a donkey ride at a theme park. We were supposed to be prospectors riding in the hills. It was a stretch even for my imagination. I've ridden on merry go rounds and carousels, and I took a ride or two on one of those horses in front of Woolworth's, the ones that cost a dime. I've taken a few hayrides, and the hayride I enjoyed the most was one New Year's Eve with my family. It was great fun.
Despite what happened, or maybe because of it, I'd have to say that camel ride is by far my favorite.
My parents once took us to Benson's Wild Animal Farm in New Hampshire. My memories are pretty sketchy, but I have two which are still vivid. I remember the round monkey enclosure with a rail fence surrounding it. My brother, who must have been around three or four, thought the fence optional and wandered inside it. He went too close to the cage. A monkey grabbed him by the arm and tried to yank him inside. I can still hear the screams and remember my father sprinting to grab my brother who was scared but unhurt. His little adventure gave us great family stories for years, and every time the story was told, my brother was the brunt of the jokes. The second memory is of my elephant ride. I had to climb up some steps to the elephant and sit sideways on a bench attached to the elephant's back. I remember the rolling motion as the elephant walked and how high off the ground we were. I was never afraid.
My camel ride was a far different story. That feisty, spitting beast took off on me and scared me to the roots of my soul. I was in Niger, in the Sahara, and in the only picture I have, I'm all smiles as I'm getting on the camel. During that harrowing ride, absolute fear was the overriding emotion, and I thought I would fall to my death. Everything I carried with me fell to the sand, my camera included which opened to expose the rest of the film, but I managed to defeat the beast and hold on. I even rode that camel back to the encampment but at a pace which took forever. No way would I let that animal have its head again. My heart wouldn't have stood the shock.
I've ridden horses and once took a donkey ride at a theme park. We were supposed to be prospectors riding in the hills. It was a stretch even for my imagination. I've ridden on merry go rounds and carousels, and I took a ride or two on one of those horses in front of Woolworth's, the ones that cost a dime. I've taken a few hayrides, and the hayride I enjoyed the most was one New Year's Eve with my family. It was great fun.
Despite what happened, or maybe because of it, I'd have to say that camel ride is by far my favorite.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Angel on My Shoulder: Melvern Taylor and His Fabulous Meltones
The only thing I know about Melvern Taylor and His Fabulous Meltones is they come from Lowell, Massachusetts. I got an e-mail from Melvern introducing him and the Meltones. There were two songs attached, and I really liked them both. I sent back an e-mail asking for more information but never got a reply.
P.S. Linda went hunting, and Melvern has a My Space page:
www.myspace.com/melvern
P.S. Linda went hunting, and Melvern has a My Space page:
www.myspace.com/melvern
Sisters of Mercy: Leonard Cohen
I've played this song before on Coffee, and I'm playing it again to honor Leonard Cohen's induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame at a ceremony yesterday. The song comes from my favorite Leonard Cohen album, The Songs of Leonard Cohen.
I watched a piece of the ceremony and happened to catch the Cohen part. Lou Reed introduced Leonard and here are a couple of quotes: “This is a very unlikely occasion for me. It is not a distinction that I coveted or even dared dream about,” he said, adding a joke that played off a famous quote about Bruce Springsteen: “So I’m reminded of the prophetic statement of Jon Landau in the early Seventies: I have seen the future of rock and roll and it is not Leonard Cohen.”
MP3 File
I watched a piece of the ceremony and happened to catch the Cohen part. Lou Reed introduced Leonard and here are a couple of quotes: “This is a very unlikely occasion for me. It is not a distinction that I coveted or even dared dream about,” he said, adding a joke that played off a famous quote about Bruce Springsteen: “So I’m reminded of the prophetic statement of Jon Landau in the early Seventies: I have seen the future of rock and roll and it is not Leonard Cohen.”
MP3 File
“Good clothes open all doors”
I sat here for a long while this morning hoping an inspiration would jump into my head. My mind wandered all over the place. I remembered my third grade classroom in the cellar of the rectory. We had no windows and sat on chairs around tables. My dog used to sleep on the mat under the clock. He followed me to school often, and the nun just got sick of sending me home with him. That was the same nun who told me not to sing but to mouth the words during the May procession. I remembered a fire and an old lady being wheeled out of her house. I was fascinated and horrified at the same time. I remembered the sweet taste of grapes from trellises at the house across the street. The lady that lived there encouraged us to eat them. The grapes were purple, and I learned later they were Concord grapes. The trellises were white, just like the house, and shaded a brick patio.
I remembered how funny my feet always felt after I took off my roller skates. It was as if they had to get to know the ground again. It was the same after my ice skates. I was pretty good at both, but I used to be able to ice skate backwards, and it never occurred to me to try it on roller skates. I always just went forward or in widening circles. I used to love roller skating down hills, but I never went down really long ones. I was afraid falling was the only way I could stop.
I loved saddle shoes and white sneakers. Jumpers were fashionable when I was little. Plaid was big. Easter, though, meant a whole different look. Shoes were patent leather and had buckles attached with thin straps. Socks were ankle socks which sometimes had ruffles on the top. White gloves were essential. My mother always bought me a hat though I never liked wearing one. It had a bow or flowers or both. I wore a coat in some spring color like yellow or pink. The buttons were always white. I carried a small purse with a handle, and it made me feel grown up no matter how old I was. I was so proud I pranced when I walked.
I remembered how funny my feet always felt after I took off my roller skates. It was as if they had to get to know the ground again. It was the same after my ice skates. I was pretty good at both, but I used to be able to ice skate backwards, and it never occurred to me to try it on roller skates. I always just went forward or in widening circles. I used to love roller skating down hills, but I never went down really long ones. I was afraid falling was the only way I could stop.
I loved saddle shoes and white sneakers. Jumpers were fashionable when I was little. Plaid was big. Easter, though, meant a whole different look. Shoes were patent leather and had buckles attached with thin straps. Socks were ankle socks which sometimes had ruffles on the top. White gloves were essential. My mother always bought me a hat though I never liked wearing one. It had a bow or flowers or both. I wore a coat in some spring color like yellow or pink. The buttons were always white. I carried a small purse with a handle, and it made me feel grown up no matter how old I was. I was so proud I pranced when I walked.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Lion's Mane: Iron and Wine
Sam Beam is Iron and Wine, and this song is from his 2002 debut album The Creek Drank The Cradle. It's a soft song with only the guitar, some slides and a bit of banjo.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Sit in reverie and watch the changing color of the waves that break upon the idle seashore of the mind. "
If I could remodel myself, I'd make a few changes. I'd give myself a singing voice, the kind of voice which sings folk but also works well with the standards. I wouldn't be greedy. I'd just want someone to say I remind them of Joni or Judy. Next I'd give myself a sense of rhythm. People would move off to the side of the dance floor to watch me. They'd clap and ooh and ah. I would have great salsa hip movements. I figure, too, a sense of rhythm would keep me upright, fewer falls and fewer trips over my own feet. I'd be able to draw. Pencils would be my choice of a medium. It would be neat to preserve what I see using my own artistry.
If I could be a television character, I'd be Samantha Stevens. I'd twitch my nose and be in Madrid for lunch. Another twitch and Dorothy Parker or Gertrude Stein would be joining me, maybe even both of them though I suppose I'd have to invite Alice B. Toklas too. I wouldn't twitch for fame or fortune, but for fun, travel and entertainment.
If I could be a character in a book, I'd be Bilbo Baggins. I'd have an adventure with Gandalf and the dwarves and get to meet elves and trolls and even poor Gollum. I'd get chased by goblins and find a treasure. Life just doesn't get any more interesting than that.
If I could do anything, I'd fly. I'd skim the tops of waves. I'd soar with eagles.
If I could be a television character, I'd be Samantha Stevens. I'd twitch my nose and be in Madrid for lunch. Another twitch and Dorothy Parker or Gertrude Stein would be joining me, maybe even both of them though I suppose I'd have to invite Alice B. Toklas too. I wouldn't twitch for fame or fortune, but for fun, travel and entertainment.
If I could be a character in a book, I'd be Bilbo Baggins. I'd have an adventure with Gandalf and the dwarves and get to meet elves and trolls and even poor Gollum. I'd get chased by goblins and find a treasure. Life just doesn't get any more interesting than that.
If I could do anything, I'd fly. I'd skim the tops of waves. I'd soar with eagles.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
"A good snapshot stops a moment from running away."
Ralph sent me a DVD of slides taken by another volunteer when we were in Ghana. I think I've watched part one, training, at least three times. The very first slide is the hotel in Philadelphia where we stayed during our staging. I had forgotten its name until it flashed on the screen, the Sylvania. I remembered the pay phones were on the first floor, and I called home collect every night. My last call home was the night before we were leaving. My mother cried. The next slide is the front of the hotel as we were boarding buses. A few fellow trainees are standing there while another is trying to stuff his bag onto the bus. We were allowed eighty pounds so they were darn heavy bags. The next slide is the inside of one bus. I am on that bus, and I was thrilled to see myself. I am also on the next slide of the same bus, and we're looking out the window at something. I stopped that slide to see if I remembered anyone, and I did. It was strange to see this moment in time, one I'd long forgotten. I don't know who I was sitting with, and I have no idea what we were watching. My sister thinks we all look like nerds. Many of the guys are wearing ties, and all of them are wearing dress shirts. All of the women are wearing skirts or dresses. We look a lot like that plane scene in the movie Volunteers except we aren't singing Michael Row the Boat Ashore. That came later. The next slide is of our plane on the ground in Madrid where we stopped to refuel and change crews. We got out and stretched our legs. I remember thinking this was my very first real foreign country. Once back in the air, the stewardess asked if we wanted breakfast or more drinks. We wanted the drinks. The next slide is of the Sahara as we were flying over it. I think just about every one of us took a picture of the desert. It was proof positive we were on our way to Africa and this was not some dream.
Those slides are nearly forty years old now. If I had come upon them in some antique store, I would have browsed through the collection and debated about buying them. As you've probably figured, I am fascinated by old pictures and the stories they conjure. I look at families eating dinner, and I notice everything. I look at the food they are eating, the plates, the tablecloth, the furniture and the pictures on the wall. I check out what the people are wearing. In outside shots I look at curtains in the windows, cars on the streets, wares in the stores and people walking by. I take in everything. I want a sense of that moment worthy of a picture.
Last week I pulled out and watched my slides of Africa. I remembered why I took those slides, why I saved those moments. The day I watched was one of those reasons.
Those slides are nearly forty years old now. If I had come upon them in some antique store, I would have browsed through the collection and debated about buying them. As you've probably figured, I am fascinated by old pictures and the stories they conjure. I look at families eating dinner, and I notice everything. I look at the food they are eating, the plates, the tablecloth, the furniture and the pictures on the wall. I check out what the people are wearing. In outside shots I look at curtains in the windows, cars on the streets, wares in the stores and people walking by. I take in everything. I want a sense of that moment worthy of a picture.
Last week I pulled out and watched my slides of Africa. I remembered why I took those slides, why I saved those moments. The day I watched was one of those reasons.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head: B.J. Thomas
This is an extra for your patience. Blogger went dead for a long while, and I couldn't publish or even access any blogs. I hung in there and kept checking so here you go!
MP3 File
MP3 File
“Never allow anyone to rain on your parade and thus cast a pall of gloom and defeat on the entire day. "
No gentle rain from Ireland for today's St. Patrick's Day parade, it was and still is pouring. The sides of the road along the parade route were filled with cars, at places where spectators usually stood. I found the perfect spot, parked my car facing the parade and waited. Not one balloon man crossed my path. No kids wandered up and down the route. A few hearty souls stood outside their cars under wide umbrellas. I listened to the radio, turned on my car to stay warm and waited. The police marched by, the universal signal that a parade has begun. I decided getting wet was just fine with me so I grabbed my umbrella and braved the storm. I waved at all the kids in floats and got a handful of beads and a whistle. Every pipe and drum unit in the state must have agreed to march today. They all looked miserable. The floats were the worse for the rain, but they were still filled with people and kids all yelling Happy St. Patrick's Day and waving. I waved back. I stayed outside the whole parade. I got pretty wet.
My town always had a Memorial Day parade. I suspect it was the same parade taking place that very moment in every small town across the country. The police color guard started the parade. The high school band, majorettes and cheerleaders always marched. Members from the local national guard marched in their green fatigues. Veterans too always marched and wore their VFW hats. The bank sometimes had a float but usually there were none. The little league teams marched in uniform. The cub scouts and brownies were out in full force. What kid doesn't love a parade and what kid would ever pass up the opportunity to march in one. I marched when I was a brownie. I waved when I saw my parents. It was then the proudest moment in my life.
When I got home, I was full of myself and my accomplishment. I told my parents how everyone was out of step but me.
My town always had a Memorial Day parade. I suspect it was the same parade taking place that very moment in every small town across the country. The police color guard started the parade. The high school band, majorettes and cheerleaders always marched. Members from the local national guard marched in their green fatigues. Veterans too always marched and wore their VFW hats. The bank sometimes had a float but usually there were none. The little league teams marched in uniform. The cub scouts and brownies were out in full force. What kid doesn't love a parade and what kid would ever pass up the opportunity to march in one. I marched when I was a brownie. I waved when I saw my parents. It was then the proudest moment in my life.
When I got home, I was full of myself and my accomplishment. I told my parents how everyone was out of step but me.
Until Later!
As the terminator said, "I'll be back." I'm going to a St. Patrick's Day parade so my posting will be a bit later today. I have plenty to say, don't be worrying about that!
Friday, March 07, 2008
The Werewolf Song: Mike Hurley
This is from Mike Hurley's first album called First Songs which was released in 1965 by Folkways and is still available on Smithsonian Folkways.
http://www.folkways.si.edu/search/AlbumDetails.aspx?ID=575
After the release of this album, he remained inactive in his solo career, occasionally lending songs to the Holy Modal Rounders and the Youngbloods, but in the early 1970s he wrote two more albums, Armchair Boogie and Hi-Fi Snock Uptown.
Hurley intermittently released albums throughout the 1980s and 1990s, mostly by himself or on small labels. In 2001, Locust Music reissued his first album, renaming it Blueberry Wine. His latest release is Ancestral Swamp.
A side note: His first album was made using the same reel-to-reel that Leadbelly recorded his Last Sessions on.
MP3 File
http://www.folkways.si.edu/search/AlbumDetails.aspx?ID=575
After the release of this album, he remained inactive in his solo career, occasionally lending songs to the Holy Modal Rounders and the Youngbloods, but in the early 1970s he wrote two more albums, Armchair Boogie and Hi-Fi Snock Uptown.
Hurley intermittently released albums throughout the 1980s and 1990s, mostly by himself or on small labels. In 2001, Locust Music reissued his first album, renaming it Blueberry Wine. His latest release is Ancestral Swamp.
A side note: His first album was made using the same reel-to-reel that Leadbelly recorded his Last Sessions on.
MP3 File
Golden Apples of the Sun: Judy Collins
This is from the CD Maids and Golden Apples which is a combination reissue of Judy's first two albums. Her debut album was A Maid of Constant Sorrow issued in 1961. Golden Apples of the Sun followed in 1962. On both albums she sings more the traditional music we heard in the the early 60's before folk burst out with all its glory.
MP3 File
MP3 File
“They were two halves that together formed a magical whole.”
I don't remember when I stopped believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. I suspect I lost both of them the same year. Once Santa goes so too does the Easter Bunny. One can't exist without the other. I think I believed longer than kids do now. The world was simpler back then and filled with lots more magic.
Losing Santa was a huge blow. When belief in him died, flying reindeer, elves, the North Pole and a sleigh went with him. That was a lot to lose in one fell swoop. Christmas Eve stopped being the best night of the year. I still looked forward to Christmas morning but without the giddy anticipation thoughts of Santa always brought. Until the day I learned the horrible truth, I never questioned whether one man, one sleigh and eight reindeer could make that trip in a single night. It was magical, and that explained it all.
I never gave much thought to the Easter Bunny. I never wondered how he was able to hop from house to house hauling all those baskets or why a rabbit brought eggs. I believed he did and that was enough. My neighborhood had an Easter egg hunt when I was little. It was in the field below our houses. All of us would stand at the ready with baskets in hand waiting for the signal then run for all we were worth. I remember hearing shouts when kids found eggs, and this spurred me to hunt even faster. One year I found the gold egg, the big prize, and I was thrilled.
As horrific as this loss was, it had a silver lining. Once I knew Santa wasn't real, I knew his naughty list wasn't either.
Losing Santa was a huge blow. When belief in him died, flying reindeer, elves, the North Pole and a sleigh went with him. That was a lot to lose in one fell swoop. Christmas Eve stopped being the best night of the year. I still looked forward to Christmas morning but without the giddy anticipation thoughts of Santa always brought. Until the day I learned the horrible truth, I never questioned whether one man, one sleigh and eight reindeer could make that trip in a single night. It was magical, and that explained it all.
I never gave much thought to the Easter Bunny. I never wondered how he was able to hop from house to house hauling all those baskets or why a rabbit brought eggs. I believed he did and that was enough. My neighborhood had an Easter egg hunt when I was little. It was in the field below our houses. All of us would stand at the ready with baskets in hand waiting for the signal then run for all we were worth. I remember hearing shouts when kids found eggs, and this spurred me to hunt even faster. One year I found the gold egg, the big prize, and I was thrilled.
As horrific as this loss was, it had a silver lining. Once I knew Santa wasn't real, I knew his naughty list wasn't either.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
I Know How To Say Goodbye: Jenny Whiteley
Jenny started singing with the Canadian bluegrass band Heartbreak Hill then went solo when it broke up.
This song is from her second album, Hopetown. Both this and her self-titled debut album in 2001 won the Juno Award for Best Roots & Traditional Album of the Year.
MP3 File
This song is from her second album, Hopetown. Both this and her self-titled debut album in 2001 won the Juno Award for Best Roots & Traditional Album of the Year.
MP3 File
"Retirement is wonderful. It's doing nothing without worrying about getting caught at it. "
This time of year the elements which make up the perfect day are quite simple. First off there must be sun warm enough to entice the cat to sleep on the mat in front of the door. The sky must be blue enough to hurt your eyes. A breeze is optional, but if there is one, it must be a gentle breeze which lifts the ends of the leaves and lets them flutter a bit. The air has to have a hint of warmth. Birds at the feeders are a nice touch, but they too are optional. The day should call us out of our houses, and we should listen.
My neighborhood is quiet. It used to be filled with kids playing in the street, but they grew up and moved away. Most of my neighbors are retired or old enough to retire. Two families with toddlers now live here so maybe we'll have the sound of children again soon, but I'm not sure I'll be glad of that. I have come to cherish the quiet.
The rhythm of my life has slowed. I suppose age is part of that, but choice too plays into it. I see every day as mine. It used to be only the weekend was mine and even then each of those days was filled with necessary errands and chores. Now I can fill my days with whatever I want. Some days are filled with errands. I like to cluster them. Some days I read. Some days I do wash. Some days I take a nap. Every day I make my bed, take a shower and brush my teeth. I write Coffee. Those are the only constants.
I was a bit nervous retiring as young as I did and was worried I wouldn't do retirement all that well. I was wrong. I am really quite good at being retired.
My neighborhood is quiet. It used to be filled with kids playing in the street, but they grew up and moved away. Most of my neighbors are retired or old enough to retire. Two families with toddlers now live here so maybe we'll have the sound of children again soon, but I'm not sure I'll be glad of that. I have come to cherish the quiet.
The rhythm of my life has slowed. I suppose age is part of that, but choice too plays into it. I see every day as mine. It used to be only the weekend was mine and even then each of those days was filled with necessary errands and chores. Now I can fill my days with whatever I want. Some days are filled with errands. I like to cluster them. Some days I read. Some days I do wash. Some days I take a nap. Every day I make my bed, take a shower and brush my teeth. I write Coffee. Those are the only constants.
I was a bit nervous retiring as young as I did and was worried I wouldn't do retirement all that well. I was wrong. I am really quite good at being retired.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Be Careful of My Heart: Tracy Chapman
This is from Crossroads, Tracy's second album released in 1989. It wasn't the runaway hit of her first album, but I thought it a perfect segue from her first and almost as powerful.
MP3 File
MP3 File
A Whiter Shade of Pale: Dan Reeder
It's been a long time between Dan Reeder songs so here is one of my favorites.
This cut is from Dan's second album, Sweetheart, on John Prine's label Oh Boy. It's all original music except for this cover.
MP3 File
This cut is from Dan's second album, Sweetheart, on John Prine's label Oh Boy. It's all original music except for this cover.
MP3 File
“My aunt in Knoxville would bring newspapers up, which we used for toilet paper. Before we used it, we'd look at the pictures.”
Toilet paper is a necessity of life. To replenish my supply is one of the few reasons I'd risk a car ride in the middle of a torrential downpour or during the eye of a hurricane. Losing copious amounts of blood would be another. Nothing can take the place of toilet paper. I've given Kleenex a try, but it was designed for other purposes and just doesn't measure up to the task. I have been content with pages from a magazine, but I was young and immature. I was also in Africa where I expected hardship. In Europe, toilet paper and wax paper used to share a common texture. Using it always reminded me of the sound of lunchtime in my elementary school. I never scrimp when buying toilet paper. The color doesn't matter to me, but I do have standards. Ripples are good and so is aloe, but it has to be multi-plied.
Toilet paper is not without its controversy. Whether to place it over or under has separated families, and a mixed marriage is bound to fail. There is no compromise. I am from the over the top school of thought. The end of the paper is easy to find, even in the dark. In under homes, I've had to spin the roll to find the end. Over makes tearing easier. I know exactly where the perforation is and can leave a neat roll when I depart the bathroom. I'm sure under people have what they believe to be irrefutable reasons as to why their placement is correct, but I point them to hotels. Think of the toilet paper roll. Think how lovely it always looks, how decorative with the pretty fold at the end. I rest my case and declare over the clear winner.
Johnny Carson was responsible for perpetrating the worst of all hoaxes on the American public. He announced a toilet paper shortage. People rushed from their homes to buy toilet paper. They bought enough to stockpile and hoard. They bought enough to cause a shortage.
In Africa I always carried a roll of toilet paper when I traveled. Everyone I knew did. It was a necessity. During my recent trip to Morocco, I carried travel toilet paper. It was Charmin. I needed it twice.
Once you've finished with that roll of toilet paper, don't throw the cardboard away. It has several uses, and I'll be glad to share one with you now, one perfect for the coming holiday.
Easy Easter Egg Stands
Materials Needed:
Toilet Paper Rolls
Paint
Stickers (I consider this one optional)
Instructions:
Cut the toilet paper rolls so you have four fairly equal circles. Paint the circles and let them dry. (You can always stop here, but if you're still in that creative mood keep reading.) Once dry you can decorate them with Easter stickers. Your Easter eggs now have a fancy place to sit!
Toilet paper is not without its controversy. Whether to place it over or under has separated families, and a mixed marriage is bound to fail. There is no compromise. I am from the over the top school of thought. The end of the paper is easy to find, even in the dark. In under homes, I've had to spin the roll to find the end. Over makes tearing easier. I know exactly where the perforation is and can leave a neat roll when I depart the bathroom. I'm sure under people have what they believe to be irrefutable reasons as to why their placement is correct, but I point them to hotels. Think of the toilet paper roll. Think how lovely it always looks, how decorative with the pretty fold at the end. I rest my case and declare over the clear winner.
Johnny Carson was responsible for perpetrating the worst of all hoaxes on the American public. He announced a toilet paper shortage. People rushed from their homes to buy toilet paper. They bought enough to stockpile and hoard. They bought enough to cause a shortage.
In Africa I always carried a roll of toilet paper when I traveled. Everyone I knew did. It was a necessity. During my recent trip to Morocco, I carried travel toilet paper. It was Charmin. I needed it twice.
Once you've finished with that roll of toilet paper, don't throw the cardboard away. It has several uses, and I'll be glad to share one with you now, one perfect for the coming holiday.
Easy Easter Egg Stands
Materials Needed:
Toilet Paper Rolls
Paint
Stickers (I consider this one optional)
Instructions:
Cut the toilet paper rolls so you have four fairly equal circles. Paint the circles and let them dry. (You can always stop here, but if you're still in that creative mood keep reading.) Once dry you can decorate them with Easter stickers. Your Easter eggs now have a fancy place to sit!
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Reflections in a Crystal Wind: Richard and Mimi Fariña
The first song you see is always the second one I post. I listen to several songs before I find the right fit, and it is the second which takes me the longest to choose.
Mention of early folk always brings the Fariñas to mind. They were married in 1963 when Mimi, sister of Joan Baez, was only seventeen. They signed with Vanguard Records a year later and were part of the Greenwich Village scene with singers like Dylan and Dave Van Ronk. Richard was both a songwriter and a novelist. He wrote the songs Pack Up Your Sorrows and Birmingham Sunday and the novel Ive Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me. In May, 1966, Richard died in a motorcycle crash just after the book's release. Mimi died in 2001. She had been the driving force behind Bread and Roses.
The Fariñas released only two albums, and this is the cover song from the second. A third, posthumous collection, would later be released a few years after Richard's death.
MP3 File
Mention of early folk always brings the Fariñas to mind. They were married in 1963 when Mimi, sister of Joan Baez, was only seventeen. They signed with Vanguard Records a year later and were part of the Greenwich Village scene with singers like Dylan and Dave Van Ronk. Richard was both a songwriter and a novelist. He wrote the songs Pack Up Your Sorrows and Birmingham Sunday and the novel Ive Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up To Me. In May, 1966, Richard died in a motorcycle crash just after the book's release. Mimi died in 2001. She had been the driving force behind Bread and Roses.
The Fariñas released only two albums, and this is the cover song from the second. A third, posthumous collection, would later be released a few years after Richard's death.
MP3 File
Long Chain: Maxine Sellers
Maxine Sellers was a regular recording artist for Prestige in the 1960's and 70's. This song was recorded in 1964. I had some real trouble finding out much more than that about Maxine.
For me, her voice has the sound of early folk, when I was first drawn to it. That guitar of hers is amazing.
MP3 File
For me, her voice has the sound of early folk, when I was first drawn to it. That guitar of hers is amazing.
MP3 File
"No winter lasts forever; no spring skips it's turn."
The sun hangs around a bit longer in the afternoon. Daffodils are poking their heads out of the ground. The spring robins have finally arrived to join their brethren, the winter robins. A flicker was a new visitor to my feeder the other day. Spring is lining up, ready for its return.
Each season comes with its own colors, its own smells. Winter is wet wool. It is mothballs clinging to a winter jacket and wood burning in the fireplace. Winter is stews and boiled dinners cooking on the stove. It is a lamp shining in the early afternoon to ward off the darkness. Winter is gray and brown.
With the first hint of warmth, I open windows to blow away the stagnant smells of winter. Spring is sweetness in the air after a rainstorm. It is the smell of fresh turned earth, of laundry hung on the line to dry. It is new flowers bursting from the ground in riots of color. It is yellow daffodils and purple lilacs. It is every hue of green.
Summer smells of grass and barbecues. It smells of gardens filled with flowers. Summer is all the colors of the rainbow. Summer is the color of the sun.
Fall is the musty smell of leaves. It is apples and cider and pie. It is the first fire on a crisp night. It is cinnamon and nutmeg. Fall is orange and deep red. It is golden.
Fall is my favorite season, but it is spring I anticipate the most.
Each season comes with its own colors, its own smells. Winter is wet wool. It is mothballs clinging to a winter jacket and wood burning in the fireplace. Winter is stews and boiled dinners cooking on the stove. It is a lamp shining in the early afternoon to ward off the darkness. Winter is gray and brown.
With the first hint of warmth, I open windows to blow away the stagnant smells of winter. Spring is sweetness in the air after a rainstorm. It is the smell of fresh turned earth, of laundry hung on the line to dry. It is new flowers bursting from the ground in riots of color. It is yellow daffodils and purple lilacs. It is every hue of green.
Summer smells of grass and barbecues. It smells of gardens filled with flowers. Summer is all the colors of the rainbow. Summer is the color of the sun.
Fall is the musty smell of leaves. It is apples and cider and pie. It is the first fire on a crisp night. It is cinnamon and nutmeg. Fall is orange and deep red. It is golden.
Fall is my favorite season, but it is spring I anticipate the most.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Front Porch: Donna the Buffalo
This song is from Easy Friction. I suspect, though, that you might be wondering a bit about this band. I have a few of their songs, but my information is sketchy and not worth pounding my two typing fingers so I went hunting:
http://www.globalvillageidiot.net/Donna.html
MP3 File
http://www.globalvillageidiot.net/Donna.html
MP3 File
Gulf Coast Blues: Eric von Schmidt
This is from an album called The Bluesville Years Volume 7: Blues Blue, Blues White released by Prestige/Bluesville.
MP3 File
MP3 File
"Journalism is literature in a hurry. "
It's a house chores sort of day, a do the washing, change the bed day.
Every morning starts the same. I put on a pot of coffee, get the papers, sit on the couch and read. I read every part of the paper except the classifieds. Mostly I skim business though sometimes an article catches my eye. In the sports section, I read baseball news and check how the Celts did. I can't pinpoint when this reading the daily paper became a ritual. I do know it's genetic as my dad devoured the paper each day. After he retired, he'd sit at the kitchen table, drink his instant coffee and read the paper from front to back. On warm days he'd sit on the top front step to read. He'd also say hello to all the neighbors who'd honk as they'd drive by.
In college, my friends and I met in the canteen each morning to drink coffee and read the paper. We'd point out interesting articles to one another and end each morning with a finish the crossword puzzle first race. We kept a running count of wins. When I was in Ghana, I seldom bought The Daily Graphic. My newspaper reading was mostly limited to the Week in Review from the Sunday Times. The Peace Corps sent it to us. I, at first, devoured the news but then lost interest. Everything that happened was too far away in distance, time and circumstance. When I got back home, it took me a while to get back into the paper habit. Once I did, it became ingrained.
When I traveled with my parents, my dad always bought the International Herald Tribune, and we'd share. He'd get first dibs then pass along the sections to me. He always complained that paper just didn't have enough sports coverage.
Reading the paper has, for a long while, been out of style, and I can understand why. The internet delivers the news immediately, and TV trips over itself to present coverage of breaking events. Twenty four hour news channels abound. I too sit in front of the TV and click back and forth to watch each new disaster unfold in real time. I switch from CNN to CNBC to Fox News to MSNBC. I am mesmerized by what I see. I watch the same clip over and over until I can get my head around what I keep seeing.
When I get the next morning's paper, the front page is yesterday's TV news, but I still devour every story. The paper is something substantial. It gives me the opportunity to reflect, to take my time and to begin to understand what flashed before my eyes. The paper helps me get back on firmer ground.
Every morning starts the same. I put on a pot of coffee, get the papers, sit on the couch and read. I read every part of the paper except the classifieds. Mostly I skim business though sometimes an article catches my eye. In the sports section, I read baseball news and check how the Celts did. I can't pinpoint when this reading the daily paper became a ritual. I do know it's genetic as my dad devoured the paper each day. After he retired, he'd sit at the kitchen table, drink his instant coffee and read the paper from front to back. On warm days he'd sit on the top front step to read. He'd also say hello to all the neighbors who'd honk as they'd drive by.
In college, my friends and I met in the canteen each morning to drink coffee and read the paper. We'd point out interesting articles to one another and end each morning with a finish the crossword puzzle first race. We kept a running count of wins. When I was in Ghana, I seldom bought The Daily Graphic. My newspaper reading was mostly limited to the Week in Review from the Sunday Times. The Peace Corps sent it to us. I, at first, devoured the news but then lost interest. Everything that happened was too far away in distance, time and circumstance. When I got back home, it took me a while to get back into the paper habit. Once I did, it became ingrained.
When I traveled with my parents, my dad always bought the International Herald Tribune, and we'd share. He'd get first dibs then pass along the sections to me. He always complained that paper just didn't have enough sports coverage.
Reading the paper has, for a long while, been out of style, and I can understand why. The internet delivers the news immediately, and TV trips over itself to present coverage of breaking events. Twenty four hour news channels abound. I too sit in front of the TV and click back and forth to watch each new disaster unfold in real time. I switch from CNN to CNBC to Fox News to MSNBC. I am mesmerized by what I see. I watch the same clip over and over until I can get my head around what I keep seeing.
When I get the next morning's paper, the front page is yesterday's TV news, but I still devour every story. The paper is something substantial. It gives me the opportunity to reflect, to take my time and to begin to understand what flashed before my eyes. The paper helps me get back on firmer ground.
Sunday, March 02, 2008
“Self-sacrifice is the real miracle out of which all the reported miracles grow”
I am a bit behind my time as I went out for my usual Sunday breakfast. I'm not sure why, but Sunday is the perfect breakfast day. I'm talking an eggs and ham and toast sort of day, not just a couple of cups of coffee.
Bologna used to come in a roll when I was a kid. I'd have to slice it to make myself a sandwich, and I was never really good at cutting thin slices. Mine were thick and lopsided. I'd forget to take off the outside wrapper so my sandwiches sometimes had a bit of cellophane. Mustard was the condiment of choice, and it was always bright yellow. The bread was white and pliable. Once in a while, just for a change, I'd fry the bologna. I liked to watch the thin edges curl as they cooked. Sometimes I'd add hot peppers to my sandwich. My mother used to buy jars of whole peppers. I was even worse at slicing the peppers than I was at the larger bologna roll. Velveeta cheese was another bologna topper. It was always bright orange. Like everything else, the Velveeta had to be sliced, but we had a handy dandy cheese slicer for that. Because I found it easier to skim the top of the Velveeta with the slicer, the top middle of the bar of cheese usually sloped to the center. That used to irk my mother.
During lent we couldn't eat meat on Fridays so every Friday I'd open my lunch box only to find a tuna salad sandwich. I had years of tuna salad sandwiches and years of tuna take their toll. I no longer eat tuna salad. I don't even like the smell of tuna. I run screaming from tuna salad.
Fish sticks and French fries were big for Friday night suppers. My mother would pop them into the oven on cookies sheets. She'd serve the fish with her homemade tartar sauce. It was delicious. To this day I never think of fish sticks without French fries.
Kids had their own way of doing penitence during lent. We gave up something for the duration. The spoiler was it had to be something we really liked. Giving up green beans just didn't fit the bill. Most of the time we were stuck choosing candy. It was expected. I was never completely on board with that, but there was little I could do. The nun would ask, and once it was blurted out, I was just plain stuck. Cheating was too traumatic with that guilt thing which had been instilled in us since birth so I ate no candy. It just about killed me.
When Easter Sunday dawned I headed right for the chocolate bunny's head. I had earned it.
Bologna used to come in a roll when I was a kid. I'd have to slice it to make myself a sandwich, and I was never really good at cutting thin slices. Mine were thick and lopsided. I'd forget to take off the outside wrapper so my sandwiches sometimes had a bit of cellophane. Mustard was the condiment of choice, and it was always bright yellow. The bread was white and pliable. Once in a while, just for a change, I'd fry the bologna. I liked to watch the thin edges curl as they cooked. Sometimes I'd add hot peppers to my sandwich. My mother used to buy jars of whole peppers. I was even worse at slicing the peppers than I was at the larger bologna roll. Velveeta cheese was another bologna topper. It was always bright orange. Like everything else, the Velveeta had to be sliced, but we had a handy dandy cheese slicer for that. Because I found it easier to skim the top of the Velveeta with the slicer, the top middle of the bar of cheese usually sloped to the center. That used to irk my mother.
During lent we couldn't eat meat on Fridays so every Friday I'd open my lunch box only to find a tuna salad sandwich. I had years of tuna salad sandwiches and years of tuna take their toll. I no longer eat tuna salad. I don't even like the smell of tuna. I run screaming from tuna salad.
Fish sticks and French fries were big for Friday night suppers. My mother would pop them into the oven on cookies sheets. She'd serve the fish with her homemade tartar sauce. It was delicious. To this day I never think of fish sticks without French fries.
Kids had their own way of doing penitence during lent. We gave up something for the duration. The spoiler was it had to be something we really liked. Giving up green beans just didn't fit the bill. Most of the time we were stuck choosing candy. It was expected. I was never completely on board with that, but there was little I could do. The nun would ask, and once it was blurted out, I was just plain stuck. Cheating was too traumatic with that guilt thing which had been instilled in us since birth so I ate no candy. It just about killed me.
When Easter Sunday dawned I headed right for the chocolate bunny's head. I had earned it.
Saturday, March 01, 2008
"Sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
The air feels different somehow. It's still cold, but the cold is losing its bite. The birds are back. I heard them singing to the morning. Spring is making its way north.
When I was a kid, science fiction stories were about rocket ships and trips to the moon or Mars. The ships were so big they had decks and sleeping bunks. The crews walked upright and could look out portholes conveniently placed around the main deck. Space gear resembled old diving suits with round helmets. Mars was a favorite destination. It was red and exotic. Aliens seldom welcomed us with open arms. They were far too suspicious. If they came here, they were hostile and intent on world domination. They wanted us or our water.
Our landing on the moon killed a piece of my imaginary world. Where were the ruins of an ancient civilization? Why were there no strange runes for us to decipher? Where was the mystery?
When I was growing up, the world became whatever we could imagine. I explored the jungles of Africa, sailed up and down the Amazon, shot the bad guy and flew off into space. I was at the Alamo with Davy Crockett. The fallen tree branch near my house was a fort one day and part of a wagon train another. Our fingers were guns and we made our own sound effects. A blanket was a house and sometimes Superman's cape. The banister in the cellar was my trusty steed. The woods were Sherwood Forest, the field, the plains of Mars. We built and rebuilt the places from our imaginations. They were magnificent.
I'm sorry for kids of today. They have far less to imagine than we did.
When I was a kid, science fiction stories were about rocket ships and trips to the moon or Mars. The ships were so big they had decks and sleeping bunks. The crews walked upright and could look out portholes conveniently placed around the main deck. Space gear resembled old diving suits with round helmets. Mars was a favorite destination. It was red and exotic. Aliens seldom welcomed us with open arms. They were far too suspicious. If they came here, they were hostile and intent on world domination. They wanted us or our water.
Our landing on the moon killed a piece of my imaginary world. Where were the ruins of an ancient civilization? Why were there no strange runes for us to decipher? Where was the mystery?
When I was growing up, the world became whatever we could imagine. I explored the jungles of Africa, sailed up and down the Amazon, shot the bad guy and flew off into space. I was at the Alamo with Davy Crockett. The fallen tree branch near my house was a fort one day and part of a wagon train another. Our fingers were guns and we made our own sound effects. A blanket was a house and sometimes Superman's cape. The banister in the cellar was my trusty steed. The woods were Sherwood Forest, the field, the plains of Mars. We built and rebuilt the places from our imaginations. They were magnificent.
I'm sorry for kids of today. They have far less to imagine than we did.
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