The Way I Should: Iris DeMent

This is the title song from a 1996 album.


MP3 File

Canadian Railroad Trilogy: Gordon Lightfoot

MP3 File

"Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real, and you're just a reflection of him? "

I'm here with nothing. My first couple of posts went nowhere. Some days are like this. My mind goes blank or goes in so many places it seems disjointed. Politics has been on my mind. I'm eagerly awaiting the debate on Thursday. I'm remembering Spiro Agnew. I still chuckle at his "Nattering nabobs of negativism." I like a phrase with an alliterative turn. It broke my heart to find out he didn't write it. He spewed it so very well.

I like to vote and never miss voting in any election. I consider it my obligation as a citizen to exercise my franchise. When I was in Ghana, the town sent my absentee ballot by ship. It got to me in January. I thought it pretty silly. If I had known, I would have left the extra postage when I signed up for the ballot.

The other night it was around 12:30 when I wandered outside for my shower. All the houses around me were dark. I lit the lantern outside and the candle inside. I had the best shower, even stayed a bit long. Gracie was in the yard waiting when I finished. The two of us climbed up to the deck and stayed a bit. It was a warm night, and I didn't want to waste it.

I watch one reality program, The Amazing Race which started again last Sunday. Two of my former students were once in the race, but they were eliminated the first leg. They got lost. I didn't find that unexpected. A friend of mine hates reality shows. She says she has enough of her own. I think she's right.

Today is cloudy though the weatherman predicts sun. I don't believe it.

Vincent: Deb Talan

Deb Talen had classical training in the clarinet and piano and recorded two albums with a group she formed called Hummingfish. When the group disbanded in 1999, she left Oregon and moved to Boston. While there she recorded Something Burning, her first album for Happyhead Music.

This is from her album Sincerely. Deb Talen is also one half of the Weepies.


MP3 File

Bird in the Wind: Bill Staines

This is from 1998's album The First Million Miles, Vol. II. This is actually a best of album as was The First Million Miles.


MP3 File

“Sex education may be a good idea in the schools, but I don't believe the kids should be given homework”

It's rained again last night and into this morning but has since stopped. The sky is lighter than it's been in days. The paper said sun today so I'll stay hopeful. From my kitchen window this morning, I watched a pair of cardinals eating at my new feeder. The feeder is round and has a ledge for perching. The cardinals moved round and round, and each time I looked, they had changed positions. I figure between them they just about finished the seeds as I haven't been out to fill the feeders because of the rain and very few seeds were left. I've added feeders to my list of chores.

My mother gave me the sex talk. She was pretty sketchy and described only the basics in the broadest of language. There was no question and answer period afterwards. School gave us the sex talk in the eighth grade. There were drawings on the blackboard, and the priest used a pointer, but the school's version was clinical and filled only with terms right out of a biology book. It also didn't include a question and answer period. It was my friend Pat who was the font of knowledge. We were sitting in the back of the bus on our way to a drill team contest when the subject of sex came up. Somebody had a question, and Pat had all the answers. Not a single word was clinical. She described everything in detail, colorful detail. Some of us gasped. The question and answer period went on for the entire trip. Pat then taught us all the words for parts of the anatomy which weren't in any biology book. She was brazen. We loved it.

We were old by today's standards. Everybody was innocent a whole lot longer. Fast girls had bad reputations. Bad boys were the most interesting of all, but from a distance. I find it ironic that my generation would usher in the age of free love given it took us so long to find out about it.

Shadows and Light: Joni Mitchell

MP3 File

Blue Shadows on the Trail aka I Never See Maggie Alone

I left off the singer on purpose. No googling now-listen to figure out who this is.


MP3 File

Moonshadow: Cat Stevens

MP3 File

Standing in the Shadows of Love: The Four Tops

MP3 File

"You haven't seen a tree until you've seen its shadow from the sky."

Sunday brings out the lazy in me. I think it a hold over from when I was a kid and Sunday was sacrosanct. Back then it was good clothes, church and Sunday dinner. Saturday had been the fun day. We had played outside all day or gone to the movies, taken our weekly bath and watched TV until later than usual. Sunday meant going to bed early and getting ready for school on Monday. Add dress up clothes and church to that, and the day was a complete waste.

The first time I ever flew was when I was a freshman in college. A flight from Logan to the Cape was an Easter present. It was a small prop plane, the kind where you walk up to get to your seat and the pilot is separated by a curtain. I remember I sat the whole way with my face glued to the window. I saw kettle ponds and the white crests of waves. I recognized landmarks as we got closer to Hyannis and could see my father standing by the fence as we landed. I loved that first flight.

My second flight was to New York for the weekend when I was a sophomore. There were flights every hour from Logan, and to save money, we flew stand-by. We decided to go to New York just for the fun of it. I remember the first thing we did was dump our suitcases and go find a bar. We could legally drink in New York, and that was part of the attraction. I had no idea whatsoever to order. At home, my friends and I were forced by financial circumstances to being either beer or cheap wine drinkers. I felt into that latter category. There I was at the bar totally out of my element. I ordered a daiquiri. I don't think I've had one since then.

My third flight was to Africa, and that's one I remember the best. We flew out of Philadelphia and right over the Cape on the way to Madrid, our fuel stop. The movie was The Love Bug, and the drinks were free. The plane was filled with Peace Corps trainees. I remember flying over the Sahara and being struck by the realization my geography book was coming to life.

Drinking Wine Spo-dee-o-dee: Stick McGhee

MP3 File

One Scotch, One Bourbon, One Beer: Snooks Eaglin

MP3 File

Show Me the Way to Go Home: Milton Brown and His Brownies

MP3 File

Hangover Blues: The Maddox Brothers and Rose

MP3 File

"The axis of the earth sticks out visibly through the centre of each and every town or city."

It is unexpectedly warm this morning which sort of invited me to stay longer in my outside shower. The day is overcast and still. Everything is soaked. We had nearly three inches of rain yesterday and more is expected today or tomorrow.

My town had a diner and a lunch counter. The lunch counter was just that, a counter. There were no tables, just stools, and it was the longest counter I'd ever seen. My mother would stop there and buy me lunch after I'd been to the orthodontist in Boston. My Dr. Nice appointments, for that was his name, were always in the morning, and we had to take the bus and then the subway into Boston. We'd come back so late I'd always miss the first half of school that day. We'd stop at the lunch counter to buy a sandwich then walk from uptown to school, and I'd eat as we walked. The diner was at the edge of the square. It was the best place in town. It had a counter with stools which swiveled, booths and a juke box in every booth. I always twirled the pages checking out the songs. My dad would take us there every once in a while for breakfast, and my friends and I often stopped there for hamburgers and fries and brownies with fudge sauce and ice cream. I still love diners.

Santoro's was the first sub shop in my town. My mother would sometimes give us money to buy lunch there. I remember it always had the best smells. It smelled of olive oil and onions and sausages cooking on the grill. On cold days the heat inside always made the windows fog. The store was very narrow. On one side was a counter with stools. On the other side was the counter where you ordered. Mr. Santoro worked with his sons. He spoke Italian, and when you ordered, he echoed your order in Italian. I used to love to watch them put the sandwiches together. I always bought a bag of chips and a bottle of coke to go with my lunch.

Beside Santoro's was a pet store where I bought my chameleon. My mother wasn't all that thrilled with a lizard, but she let me keep it. I used to like to watch the chameleon change colors, brown on the stick and green when he hid in the leaves. I'd pick him up and let him walk up and down my arms. My mother was always afraid he'd get away, hide in the house and walk over when she slept. He never did, but it might have been kind of fun if he had.

Singin' in the Rain: John Martyn

We have a mini-theme day going on here, inspired by the wind and the rain..

This is from Bless the Weather, released in 1971. I have liked Martyn's music for a long while, and I know the basics, but like you, I always want to know more. I figured if you're itching to fill all those musical gaps you can mosey on over:

http://richards1052.tripod.com/richardshomepage/id25.html


MP3 File

Pouring Down Rain: Lonnie Johnson

This is from another gem from the Smithsonian catalog. It is from the album Lonnie Johnson The Complete Folkways Recordings released in 1993.

I'm sending you off again to a link about Lonnie Johnson. I know very little.

http://www.musicianguide.com/biographies/1608000968/Lonnie-Johnson.html


MP3 File

“A promise is a cloud; fulfillment is rain”

It's raining. Tree branches are blowing, and rain drops are falling in a steady beat from the eaves to the deck. The light is on behind me, and it gives the room a gentle glow. Fern is asleep on her afghan and Gracie is on another. Every now and then I hear Gracie sigh in her sleep. Fern sleeps quietly.

Days like today are among my favorites. I love the sound of the constant rain. I let it be the music. I stop often to watch and to listen.

There is something so compelling about the rain. I felt it even when I was a kid. I never ran home in a rain storm. I took my time. My hair would be plastered to my face, and my shoes would make bubbles when I walked. Every puddle needed to be splashed. I watched rivers run down the sides of the street next to the curbs, and sometimes I'd set leaves afloat and run to follow them. I'd get soaked. When I got home, my mother would make me take off my shoes by the door, but my socks were wet enough to make footprints across the floor. She'd make me take them off, and she'd hang them and my jacket on a line in the cellar while I went to change. I'd put on pajamas. They were perfect for a rainy day. I'd snuggle in bed and read. The sound of the rain surrounded me. I was wonderfully content.

I Should Have Been Watching You: Hayden

This is from Both Sides Now: The Spirit of Americana. I know it is a UK import but not much more so I went hunting.

"Both Sides Now collects two discs' worth of contemporary artists who work loosely under the genre label Americana, although it is difficult to imagine some of the these acts actually falling into that drawer....A fine introduction to some interesting artists who seem to never show up on MTV (or on CMT, either, for that matter). "


MP3 File

She Moves Through the Fair: Carolyn Hester

The conversations yesterday following the Fariña song mentioned Carolyn Hester. She was Richard's first wife and was an established, well known and regarded folk singer when they married. One of the comment links will lead you to the Wikipedia article about Hester. Another referenced Positively 4th Street, The Lives and Times of Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Mimi Baez Fariña and Richard Fariña, but Carolyn too figures in that story, and she has her own reaction to the events described in that book.

http://www.balladtree.com/articles/010722b.htm


MP3 File

"The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools."

When I walk into my kitchen, I can smell some of the Moroccan spices I brought back from my trip. They give my kitchen an exotic scent and remind me of the spice souk I found totally by mistake when I was roaming the market, lost as usual. Lately I have been using a wider combination of spices. The chicken the other night had cinnamon, cumin, coriander, turmeric and smoked paprika. It was served with seven spice rice pilaf. While the food was cooking, the kitchen smelled divine.

The chilly morning air has blown away the aroma of summer flowers, but fall doesn't disappoint. It has its own amazing smells. With cooler weather, cinnamon and nutmeg make a return visit. Ripe apples mean pie and nothing smells better than an apple pie cooking in the oven. The smell of burning leaves is only a memory, but I still count it among the best of fall's smells. The aromas of stews and soups will soon fill the air as colder weather means more comfort foods, heartier foods.

On the heels of fall comes Thanksgiving. The house fills with the smells of pies and breads baking in the oven. I love walking inside out of the cold and smelling gingerbread and pumpkin. When the big day comes, the turkey goes into the oven, and its aroma fills the house and tantalizes the taste buds. Even the cats turn circles in front of the oven, drawn by the irresistible connection of cats to birds. The dog stands in the middle of the kitchen and lifts her nose to smell the air.

But Thanksgiving isn't the end. Christmas soon follows. The smell of that Christmas tree fills my senses, awakens my memories and stirs my soul. When I walk downstairs every morning, I can smell the tree, and I sometimes just stand there filling my spirit with the sweetness of the pine.

I bemoan the loss of summer. Soon enough I'll have to cover the furniture, take the lanterns off the branches and the mirrors from the trees. But I'm really okay, I'm looking at all that's coming, and I'm glad for the change of season.

Most Fair Beauty Bright: Jean Richie

This song comes from an album called Classic Folk Music from Smithsonian Folkways. Given the number of amazing songs in their collection, I wonder how they could have chosen the songs for this album. Maybe a flip of the coin?

You can find it here:
http://www.folkways.si.edu/albumdetails.aspx?itemid=3012


MP3 File

A Swallow Song: Mimi and Richard Farina

Richard Farina was still married to Carolyn Hester when he met Mimi Baez, Joan's sister. They were married when she was 17. Together they produced just three albums, one of which was released after Richard's death from a motorcycle accident. His most well known song is Pack Up Your Sorrows, but Richard is probably better known for his novel Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me.

After His death Mimi kept recording and was the founder of Bread and Roses. Its goal is to bring free live music to people confined in jails, hospitals, juvenile facilities, AIDS facilities, and rest homes, among others. In 2004 it celebrated 30 years of performances. Mimi passed away in 2001 of cancer.


MP3 File

"Parents are not interested in justice; they are interested in quiet. "

The house has a winter feel to it. The screens in the doors are gone, replaced by the storm door windows. All the house windows are shut and latched. I put an afghan on my bed, a small one to keep off the chill. Soon enough, though, a heavy quilt will be a necessity. I wear a sweatshirt around the house and started putting on my warm slippers. When I woke up this morning, the house was only 63 degrees. I ran the heat for a bit until the house felt cozy. It just seemed wrong somehow to have to run the heat.

I remember sidewalks and street gutters filled with yellow leaves. When it rained, the leaves seemed glued to the sidewalk in some random mosaic. The mornings had a fall chill, and the house was colder than outside. That always surprised me. The walk to school was faster than the walk home. We'd meander home kicking piles of leaves and throwing some at each other. They stuck on our jackets and in our hair. We didn't care.

Being a kid meant accepting the inevitable. I may not have known the word, but I knew darn well the circumstances. I never had a say. I went to bed when my parents told me, and whining was generally counterproductive. At meals my mother, like every other mother on the planet, never presented a menu. We ate what was served, and eating vegetables wasn't a choice. We walked to school in the rain and in the snow. We didn't complain because everybody walked in the rain and in the snow. Plague was about the only illness meriting a day home from school. Afternoons meant playing for a bit then doing homework. It isn't fair was my argument. My parents always wanted to know who guaranteed me fair.

Maggie's Farm: Bob Dylan

MP3 File

A Job of Work: Tom Paxton

If you're thinking Tom Paxton sounds young, you'd be right. This song comes from Ramblin' Boy, recorded in 1964 and Tom's first album for Elekra Records.

The album was released last summer on CD. On it you'll find some classic Paxton songs like I Can't Help But Wonder Where I'm Bound, The Last Thing On My Mind and the title song, Ramblin' Boy.


MP3 File

"I wanted to be a plumber."

I was a layabout this morning, a sloth. A late night meant a late morning. I'm surprised my neighbors didn't notice the papers turning yellow in my driveway. Being sloth like, however, has its advantages. The late morning sun is luscious and warm. I sat on the deck, read my papers, watched the birds and wished I was lying on the grass in the sun with Gracie, but it is a small patch of grass and Gracie had dibs.

I am not the panicky type, at least not like my favorite characters in all those B science fiction movies. I would never be that woman who, while running from aliens intent on either eating her on taking possession of her body, falls, puts her hand to her face and screams. I would also never be wearing that dress; instead, I save panicky for more earthly problems, for when any tool or appliance, mechanical or electrical, goes awry. It is then I am totally helpless. It is then I am that woman lying on the ground and screaming. There is no knight in shining armor to help me to my feet and save me. Nope, there is a plumber or an electrician who levies a giant fee just for stopping by to look and then charges me by the hour. I can't run away. I can't save myself.

My dish washer started making strange noises at the end of the rinse cycle. I stopped it and started it again. It still made the same noise. I threw myself to the floor and screamed!

When Fall Comes to New England: Cheryl Wheeler

This is a first day of fall traditional song!


MP3 File

Autumn Leaves: Nat King Cole

This morning I read all about this song, compliments of one of my favorite Coffee folk, Minicapt. Here is the link:

http://www.steynonline.com/content/view/1373/28/


MP3 File

"Behold congenial Autumn comes, the Sabbath of the Year."

Summer ended yesterday. The day was warm, and the night was perfect for dinner on the deck. The fire in the chiminea warded off the evening's damp, and we ate sumptuously. It was a birthday dinner for my friend.

Fall has only one drawback, its intimacy with winter. The nights get chilly and the house in the morning is cold. Soon enough all the windows will stay closed, the screens will disappear from the doors and the deck furniture will be covered.

I took my outside shower this morning, and the door latch wouldn't open. I was trapped. My phone was on the deck above me, useless. I have no close neighbors so shouting wouldn't have helped. Gracie was clawing the door but to get in not to let me out. I wondered how long I'd be stuck and I realized how awful my hair would look, drying before I could comb it. Playing around with the latch wire finally got the door opened. I was saved, and my hair looks just fine.

I am a Red Sox fan, a lifelong Red Sox fan. I don't like the Yankees, never have. It's in my blood. The Red Sox 2004 World Series win was incredible, but the highlight was the ALCS when the Sox beat the Yankees in four straight games. The fourth game was won at Yankee Stadium, the House that Ruth Built. It was retribution of sorts as the Sox lost the first game ever at Yankee Stadium, 4-1. Yesterday the Yanks played their last game at Yankee Stadium, and I find that sad. Baseball has few standing icons, and it just lost another. Only Fenway Park and Wrigley Field remain. They stand in testimony to baseball, to its continuity. Saying their names conjures a sort of magic to a throwback era. Yankee Stadium was like that too. The new stadium will be bigger, more modern, more comfortable and filled with more amenities. It will have a museum, a steakhouse and a martini bar. It just won't have any history.

On the Way Home: Buffalo Springfield

MP3 File

I Ain't Got No Home: Sammy Walker

MP3 File

Song of Home: Van Morrison

MP3 File

Any Place I Hang My Hat Is Home: Rosemary Clooney

MP3 File

"Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter."

Yesterday I drove through my old town to a family party. It seemed perfectly familiar though I haven't lived there in forty five years. I looked at a beauty salon and remembered it used to be a market. I waited on the steps of that market for the bus to high school and huddled in its doorway on cold and wet days. Right near it is the huge house where Paula used to live. Marilyn lived in the house with the closed in front porch. She was the first girl I ever met who collected baseball cards. The big house on the corner always had collies running in the fenced yard. At Christmas, it was the best lit house around. The short cut I used to take through a field is now official. It's been paved and is lined with houses. The playground is gone. The grove of trees where the table sat is overgrown. The dip in the road for the railroad tracks is still there but the tracks have disappeared. My friend Margie's house is long gone, replaced by an apartment building. I remember the house was red and had a white trellis covered with ivy. The other houses on the street are long gone too. The street doesn't look like a neighborhood any more. So much of what I fondly remember is gone, and I was filled with nostalgia for what it used to be.

It was dark when I started home through my old town. The lights in the houses were lit, and they gave me a feeling of warmth, of familiarity. I remembered when this was home.

Green River: Creedence

MP3 File

The River: Carlos Santana

MP3 File

Lazy River: Louis Armstrong

MP3 File

Moon River: Andy Williams

MP3 File

“It's the national addiction: warmth on chilly winter nights, innocence on Saturday afternoons, the essence of hearth, home and blissful abandon.”

Saturday has always been the best day of week. Even before I went to school and Saturday became the highlight of my week, I knew it was different than any other day. My dad was always home when I woke up, and it was the one day he put away his suit and tie. Most Saturdays he'd spent the day in the yard. This time of the year he'd be piling leaves in the street, next to the sidewalk, in preparation for the big burn. He'd rake the leaves into several small piles then join those piles into one gigantic pile. The ceremonial burning always took place in the late afternoon when the sun was lower in the sky and the day chillier. I never missed watching the burning leaves.

Saturday was the only morning I got to make my own breakfast, and it was always cereal. To the uninitiated, a breakfast of cereal doesn't seem like much, not worth noting perhaps, but when I was a kid there were inherent dangers. The first was the glass milk bottle itself. It was always heavy. Lifting it took precision and control. The second was the placement of the hands. Where were the best spots to grab to pour? Through trial and error, I found out that holding the bottle from the bottom was never a good idea. The milk, almost as if it had a mind of its own, would come raging out of the bottle and overflow the bowl. The spilled milk always formed a perfect moat. When I picked up the bowl to go in and watch cartoons, a ring of milk was usually left behind.

Saturday was matinée day, and, if my mother had the money, we'd walk up town to go to the movie theater. If she didn't, there was still plenty for us to do. We had the whole town to explore. We never got bored. I remember being allowed to wander through the fire station. The firemen used to sit out front on chairs, and we'd stop to talk and ask permission to go inside. They always let us check out the engines and the room with all the buttons and the huge console, the room where the alarms came into the station. That was always a favorite stop. We'd be gone most of the day but were always home when the street lights came on.

Saturday night supper was always the same and was always followed by a bath.

May I: Gordon Lightfoot

This is from his album Did She Mention My Name. It seemed like a fun song filled with all the games of childhood and it worked with my post today.


MP3 File

Weary Memory: Iron and Wine

Sam Beam is Iron and Wine, and this song is from his 2002 debut album The Creek Drank The Cradle. This album was recorded at his home on a basic four-track device, and he is the only musician on the album.


MP3 File

"Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. "

I am starting Coffee now for the third time today. The other two starts still sit here on the page hoping to be chosen if this one fizzles. Trying to be creative every day after all this time is getting tougher and tougher. My word retrieval skills have already started to take a beating and, in writing this blog, I am reminded of that every day. I sit staring at the screen hoping the right word will pop into my head. I have torn through my memory drawers throwing memories left and right hoping to find just the right one. Strewn on the floor are memories I didn't choose. Some are sketchy while others are just boring. I look for universals though sometimes I fall back on my own, singular memories like the Peace Corps. Those memories read more like narratives and don't invite people in so I try and stay away from them. Sometimes, though, they are so strong I need to put them on paper to give them life.

My memories of growing up seem to be all our memories. Why we didn't bump into each other I'll never understand. We watched the same television programs though I suppose the argument could be made we didn't have too many choices, but we all remember them as if it were just Saturday when we last sat in front of the TV eating our favorite cereals. We remember Howdy, The Lone Ranger and his Indian companion Tonto, Roy and Dale, Sky King and all of the original Mouseketeers. We all walked to and from school in every sort of weather. The cloak room is still part of our vocabulary. We girls wore leggings to school under our skirts. We all wore mittens back then. Bikes took us all over town. The library was a weekly stop. The square uptown had stores you could walk to and Woolworth's and Grants' were the only chain stores. We all have these same memories tucked away, lovingly preserved.

Okay, here are the false starts just in case you were wondering:

Rejected Start Number One: Ahoy me hearties, today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day which, according to Wikipedia, was invented in 1995. I, however, have actually been talking like a pirate for years. Three sheets to the wind has long been a favorite. It was my mother who used it, and I later grabbed it as my own.

Rejected Start Number Two: Family traditions seem to stir the most comments here. The over or under toilet paper controversy eclipsed both the national and the international news of that day. People weighed in on their preferences and had solid reasons why their choices were better. Political discussions about the qualifications of current candidates draw less attention. To wrap or not wrap presents from Santa also had the comment section buzzing. Yesterday it was dinner or supper and butter or margarine.

Sorrow: Peter. Paul and Mary

Comfort food got me to thinking about comfort music so that's what you'll find today.

This song is from the album Peter, Paul and Mary, their debut album released in 1962. The magnificent harmonies which always characterize PP&M for me fill this album. It has the most amazing songs including their first hit single, Lemon Tree.


MP3 File

Since You Asked: Judy Collins

I find it amazing that Wildflowers, from whence this lovely song comes, was released so long ago. 1967 seems like yesterday.


MP3 File

""Food, like a loving touch or a glimpse of divine power, has that ability to comfort."

Prudence dictated I wait until this morning for my outside shower as last night was downright chilly. For the first time in a long time, I had to shut all the downstairs windows and doors. I even wore a sweatshirt and warm slippers, my usual winter garb. This is all too soon.

Maple trees lined the sidewalks all along my route to school. Their bright yellow leaves, almost transparent in the sun, were like a canopy of lights. In the afternoons, the sun and the shadows jumped in and out as branches were blown by a breeze. We'd stop and pick up the prettiest of the leaves and carry them home. A bit of wax paper and an iron and the beauty of the leaves lasted forever.

American chop suey was fall comfort food in my family. My mother would boil the macaroni then haul out her electric skillet, put it on the counter, throw all the ingredients together and cook dinner right there. We got to keep watch as the tomato sauce bubbled. My mother always served her chop suey with the parmesan cheese in the green tube and some scali bread.

Meatloaf too started to reappear on our supper table around this time of year, and I loved my mother's meatloaf. It always had ketchup and strips of bacon on the top. She used bread crumbs to stretch the meat and eggs to keep it from being dry. Most times we had mashed potatoes and a vegetable or two. My mother always served mashed potatoes with a well in the middle filled with melting butter. It was a dish worthy of applause.

Bread was never a staple on our supper table. I remember watching Donna Reed and Father Knows Best, and they always had bread. It was white bread stacked on a plate and passed around the table at least once during the meal. I suspected it was Wonder Bread because we all ate Wonder Bread. I noticed too those families never ate supper. They always ate dinner. I didn't get the distinction. I guessed it was the bread.

For You: John Denver

This song makes me glad I found John Denver all over again.


MP3 File

Watching You Fall into Sleep: Sara K.

My first introduction to Sara K. was just a few days ago. A dear friend who knows more about music than I'll ever know sent me a couple of her songs. This is one of them. It is from Gypsy Alley, her first recording, released in 1988, a long time ago which makes me feel like I've missed a lot.

Her web site:
http://www.sarak.com/home.html


MP3 File

“A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.”

The day is dark and overcast. Nothing is moving in the dense, damp air. Even from this far away, I can smell the ocean. It is a gift the damp day always brings.

My father was mostly a meat and potatoes sort of guy. He'd eat vegetables but none too varied, and, other than summer corn, they all came from a can. I still think of my dad every time I eat an ear of corn, and I'm still in awe. He was the most amazing corn eater I have ever seen. He favored the typewriter approach, eating each row, one at a time, from left to right. I used to watch him. He'd mow down row after row at the most amazing pace, record setting pace. The juice sprayed left to right. The safest spot was always across the table. He'd stop only when the ear was stripped of corn then he always made a hmmm sound as he put the ravaged ear on the edge of his plate. He'd usually remark on how sweet the corn was this summer. By the time supper was over, they'd be two or three empty ears of corn on the edge of his plate.

My father was also the best lobster eater I have ever seen. He never missed a single piece of meat. Unfortunately, he was also the messiest lobster eater I have ever seen. No one around the table was safe. He'd wield those lobster crackers with the same finesse a surgeon uses with his tools. My dad, over the years, had perfected this technique. He went after the claws first. Lobster juice would spray in every direction. He always laughed when it happened and so did we. It was part of the experience. My dad would pull out the claw meat in a single piece and drop it in the butter. He always made that hmmm sound as he'd eat the sweet meat. After the claws, he'd break the body in half and then begin to dismantle it systematically. He'd push out the tail meat first, eat it dripping in butter, then he'd eat everything else, even the tomalley and the roe. His last points of attack were the claws. He'd pull off one at a time and suck out the meat. After that, he was done. Piled on the plate in front of him were always shells, just shells.

My sister and I went out for lobster for her birthday last year. We talked about my dad as we systematically attacked our lobsters using his technique. We sprayed each other a few times. It made us laugh.

Ripplin' Waters: The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

Before I started this blog, I probably wouldn't have listened to The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. Luckily I've grown and expanded my musical taste or I would have missed a whole lot of great music.


MP3 File

Goin' Down the Road: Elizabeth Mitchell

This is from her second children's album, You Are My Sunshine, on Last Affair Records. The album isn't your usual children's music. Here you'll find songs like Bessie Jones' So Glad I'm Here and Huddie Ledbetter's Goodnight Irene. The album description says from baby to six years, but I'm thinking it underestimates the appeal.


MP3 File

“I believe that every person is born with talent.”

We used to create all our own holiday cards. My mother would make the glue from flour and water, bring out construction paper, crayons and scissors. The scissors were little and frustrating. They had the kind of blade which wouldn't cut your brother's hair no matter how hard you tried. The glue was gloppy and great fun. My mother would set all the supplies in the middle of the table hoping their placement would stop us from fighting over them. It didn't. We yelled about sharing which really meant we wanted what someone else already had. Our early Christmas cards were colored in crayon, and all the trees looked alike from year to year. A few dots of different colored crayons joined by a black line stood for lights. A yellow crayon star always sat at the top. A square under the tree was a present. Loops were bows. As we got older, we cut construction paper into shapes. We did pumpkins at Halloween and trees at Christmas. We folded the cards in half, just like the real ones, and wrote our sentiments inside. When my sister was a little older, she always put a price on the back. My mother saved many of those cards. When she passed away, we found them. It seems none of us were all that talented. I figure it was the thought that counted.

My sister Sheila loved to draw. Her favorite medium was black crayon. She drew women, and they all looked alike. For some strange reason Sheila drew Hispanic looking women with long necks, dangling earrings and up flip hair-dos consisting of one line on each side of the head. A masterpiece of hers in a frame hung for years in my mother's guest room. It made me laugh. Even the thought of it still does.

Do You Know Slim Evans: Maria Dunn

I love Smithsonian Folkways and can't imagine where we'd be without this magnificent label. I buy lots of albums from their website, and this song comes from one of them. It is from an album called Alberta: Wild Roses, Northern Lights. All of the singers, like Ian Tyson, k.d. lang and Maria Dunn, are natives of Alberta. You can find the album here:
Smithsonian-Folkways


MP3 File

No One Knows My Name: Gillian Welch

This song is from Soul Journey released in 2003. When I play a Welch song, I'm never quite sure what I'll hear. Will I hear a folk song, or a tinge of rock or some bluegrass? This one was easy to figure.


MP3 File

“Mondays are the potholes in the road of life.”

The day is perfectly lovely, a stay outside sort of day. Gracie woke me early, but I didn't begrudge the loss of sleep when I stepped outside into the warm sun.

From the time we start school until we retire, we all pay the price for our weekends, for having two full days to do what we want and two wonderful mornings without nagging mothers or jarring alarm clocks. Hating Monday starts early in our lives. I remember being grouchy every single Monday morning. I remember my mother yelling at me every single Monday morning. My grouchiness and her yelling were traditions. Her job was to get me up, fed, dressed and on my way to school in time. My job was to ignore her as long as possible. Our jobs always clashed.

When I started working, I became my mother. Every Monday, it was my job to get me up and ready. I'd whack the snooze button a few times, but I'd finally be forced to drag myself out of bed. That it was usually dark outside made it all the worse. I was still grouchy. I'd drink my coffee, two cups most mornings, and read as much of the paper as I could. I'd then drag myself back upstairs and get ready to leave. Knowing I had five full days of work ahead of me made Mondays even more vile.

I haven't been working for four years, but my feelings about Mondays are so ingrained, I still don't like them. They seem a let down after the weekends. Nothing ever happens. I have no meetings, no appointments and no social engagements. Even the newspapers are thin, as if they too filled their weekends and found nothing notable for today. I'm just not grouchy any more.

Street of Dreams: Frank Sinatra

MP3 File

I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine: Bob Dylan

MP3 File

Dream a Little Dream of Me: Mama Cass

MP3 File

"Millions long for immortality who don't know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon."

Some time during the night it rained, and it has started raining again. I can hear the individual drops hitting the metal of the deck heater. The rain makes me drowsy. It's still early, but I'm already yawning. The animals are sleeping in the same spots they slept in yesterday. None of us seem too energetic.

When I was growing up, Sunday was always a quiet day. There was never anything to do. All the stores were closed, and there was no matinée at the movie theater. We were stuck entertaining ourselves. After church, I'd read the Sunday funnies. Most of the comic strips I followed back then are gone, but I still remember many of them. Bringing Up Father was always on the first page and so was The Little King. I remember Jiggs' hat and his cigar. All I remember about the Little King is his odd shape and his red robe. I liked The Phantom most of all. I didn't like Mary Worth, and I never found Dondi all that interesting. All I remember are his sad eyes. Steve Canyon was the perfect hero but Prince Valiant was a close second. I'd check on their adventures every single Sunday. I don't think I remember any adventure ever ending.

I'd watch television until the football game. My dad was a Giants fan back then. My brother and I would sometimes play board games on the kitchen table or I'd finish my homework. We all ate Sunday dinner together. Dinner was usually around two. It always seemed as if the day was pretty much over by then.

Stormy Weather: Billie Holiday

MP3 File

Bring on the Rain: Jo Dee Messina

MP3 File

Rain: Uriah Heep

MP3 File

Just Walking in the Rain: The Prisonaires

MP3 File

"The happiest of all lives is a busy solitude."

Last night it started raining. It finally stopped earlier this morning. The day is overcast, but the sky is light, almost a powder gray. The wet leaves near the deck glisten from the dampness. It is the best of after storm days. The air barely moves. The birds sing only every now and then. The day has this wonderful quietness I can feel, and I don't want to break the mood.

I have always sought a quiet corner. Even when I was little, I'd find a spot where I could read or just sit. I'd go down cellar, sit on one of the chairs and read for the longest time. In the late afternoon, I'd sometimes lie on my bed and read under the lamp on the headboard. My favorite spot of all time was in Maine and so was my second favorite. The house where we stayed for vacation had a small room off the kitchen which had old white wicker furniture. One piece was a rocking chair. The room also had a bookshelf filled with books, some I'd never read. It was a treasure trove. I'd sit in the room and rock and read until my parents sent me outside to do vacation stuff. The second spot was the car on a rainy afternoon that same vacation. We were all stuck in the house trying to entertain ourselves. It was noisy so I grabbed a book, went to the car, stretched out on the back seat and read. I was surrounded by rain, but it had a quietness, like this morning's. I read my book until I was lulled to sleep.

Today I'm staying home. I like rainy days. The light is on here in the den, the animals are asleep in their favorite spots, and I'm not dressed. I took an outside shower this morning, but I put on comfy clothes, the kind you wear and hope no one comes to the door. I'm going to watch the baseball game, read a little and maybe take a nap. I'm thinking I have a perfect day in the works.

Come to My Bedside: Eric Andersen

This is one of Eric Andersen's early songs and one of his best known. In 1965, in speaking about this song, New York Times critic, Robert Shelton, cited the lyrics –"typical of the new language and poetic patterns of what will one day be called an 'Eric Andersen song'."

I know exactly what he meant.


MP3 File

The Fields of St. Etienne: Mary Hopkin

This extraordinarily beautiful song was sent to me by a dear friend who wanted me to know Mary Hopkin beyond the obvious songs we all know. This song appears on Those Were the Days (The Best of) which was released in 1995, but it was first released in 1969 on a 7' vinyl. It was the B side of Que Sera, Sera.


MP3 File

“Life is hard for insects. And don't think mice are having any fun either.”

It's just a fact of nature that cats throw up, and, when mine do, they generally choose the worst spots for me as they have no real preferences for themselves. Fern prefers on furniture and along the route I have to walk in the dark to get to the bathroom. I doubt there is malice, a sense of humor maybe, but no malice.

The catalogs have begun to arrive. The mailman fills my box with several new ones every day. Given this, the number arriving at one time, I wondered if there was a collective noun for catalogs. I went hunting. There isn't. I guess the people who sat around thinking up collective nouns never gave thought to catalogs. They didn't know what we know know now. They didn't know catalogs reproduce asexually. All you need is one. I decided to borrow a collective noun for catalogs from the existing list. The best was the one for cockroaches and they now share. I have an intrusion of catalogs.

Maddie left a dead mouse on the dining room floor last week. It was a gift lacking only a ribbon. The mouse had lived in my cabinets. I know this because it ate some of my crackers, and Maddie used to sit on the kitchen floor and watch those cabinets. I tried to catch it with my Have-a-Heart trap, but the mouse was smart enough to steal my bait and get out alive. I pictured a sort of Indiana Jones move, like the one with the rock. Maddie was far more successful than I but far less humane.

Squirrels too are a bane of my existence. They find ways into my squirrel proof feeders, especially the one with a grate all the way around it. The beasts squeeze between the bars, sit inside and munch on sunflower seeds. When I see one there, I lose a bit of control. Glints of vindictiveness shine brightly in my eyes. I take a newspaper, tip toe across the deck and whack the feeder. The squirrel jumps from fright then scrambles through the bars. It usually falls to the ground. I raise my arms in the air like a champion. Squirrels don't bring out the best in me.

Today is dump day.

Day After Tomorrow: Joan Baez

This is the title song from Joan's newly released 24th studio album. She is a different Joan, with a voice lower than the soprano we all first heard, but she is no less. The Day After Tomorrow is a Tom Waits' song, a protest song, a perfect song for Joan Baez.


MP3 File

Sweet Life: Catie Curtis

This is the title song from Catie's most recent album, released a couple of days ago on Compass Records. I played every song when I got the album, and I played a few of them again this morning trying to decide which to play today. Finally, I decided on the title song, just as I had with the Joan Baez.

After I first played this album, I needed to think about what I'd heard. Because I'm not as familiar with Catie's music as I am with Joan's, I had less of a frame of reference. What I found was music infused with energy and maybe even a bit of sparkle. I recognized the people she sang about, even knew a few of them well. I found her choice of songs made for an amazing album.


MP3 File

"Memories are contrary things; if you quit chasing them and turn your back, they often return on their own."

Last night was downright chilly, shut the windows and put on a sweatshirt chilly. This morning was cool enough that I started a fire in my chiminea while I sat on the deck with my papers and coffee. The smell of the wood was divine.

The fire brought Africa back to me this morning. I was hitching from Tamale to Bolga. One drop-off was at a tiny village along the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. I was quite the attraction. Little kids stood in a circle around me and just stared. A woman brought me water in a gourd. I remember it was a charcoal village and the trunks of large trees were lined up on the ground and were smoldering. The smell from the burning wood filled my senses. It was sweet, palpable. It clung to my clothes, and I was glad. I didn't stay long at that village. When I stood by the road to hitch again, the small boys pointed for me to stand back. They took over and stopped lorries and cars until they found one going to Bolga. That car took me all the way home.

I hadn't forgotten that village, but I haven't remembered it in a while. The smell of the wood this morning brought it back in a rush. When I closed my eyes, I saw it plainly.

Kisses Sweeter Than Wine: The Weavers

The Weavers, Ronnie Gilbert, Lee Hays, Fred Hellerman and Pete Seeger, were formed in 1948. They are considered the first and most influential modern-day folk singing group. Their first hit, Goodnight Irene, was released in 1950. It was followed by hits like this one and the Israeli folk song Tzena, Tzena, Tzena, So Long, It’s Been Good to Know You and If I Had a Hammer.

When The Weavers were targeted as subversive during the McCarthy political witch hunts, their career began to fall apart and they disbanded in 1952. Three years later they staged a successful comeback concert at Carnegie Hall. When Pete Seeger left the group a couple of years later, he recommended Eric Darling as his replacement. Darling would leave in 1962 and later form the Rooftop Singers.


MP3 File

Tom Cat: Rooftop Singers

1963 was the big year for the Rooftop Singers. They released Walk Right In, their only hit, and appeared at the Newport Folk Festival where this was one of the songs they performed. It, along with Mama Don't Allow, are considered their minor hits. The Rooftop Singers lasted until 1967 and made three albums but they are usually described as one hit wonders.


MP3 File

“Parents lend children their experience and a vicarious memory; children endow their parents with a vicarious immortality”

According to my mother, I was always smart, but when I got older, she amended that just a bit. I became a smart mouth. Later on she amended it even more, and I became a smart ass. My mouth always seemed to work independently. It ignored signals from my brain which yelled in capital letters DON'T SAY IT! I always said it anyway. Rhetorical questions begged to be answered, and I did. My mother and father were never appreciative. My friends thought I was funny. My parents were never amused. In my teen years, my mouth was relentless in wanting the last word. My parents always countered. Their last words carried a bit more weight and were along the lines of to your room or you're in for the night. I never had an answer to either one of those. Finally, when I was older, I learned to bite my lip, and I have the scars to prove it.

As long as my parents were alive, I was still their kid. That I was an adult didn't matter. That I had lived in Africa for two years, owned my own home and had a good job didn't matter either. I was the kid and they were the parents. My dad was adamant about paying checks in restaurants. The only way to counter him was to pay ahead, to have the slip ready to be filled out after dinner and even then he demanded to pay me back. If I went out shopping with my mother, she'd tell me to take a jacket or a sweatshirt. I could have been ten again instead of thirty or forty. If I saw something I liked in a store, she always offered to buy it for me, and sometimes I let her. My dad passed away first, and my mother filled the gap. She took us on a cruise, compliments of my dad whose dream it had been to go on a trip with the whole family. There were ten of us. My mother bought us drinks every afternoon when we'd meet in the lounge. That used to be my father's specialty. It was now hers. She was the parent.

My mother passed away three years, and I miss being told to wear a hat or take something for my cold. I miss being someone's child.

Pretty Girl: Diana Jones

This is the opening song on her 2006 album My Remembrance of You, my introduction to Diana Jones. I was taken by her voice, a sort of country-folk blend, and by the strength of her music.


MP3 File

Morning Glory: Tim Buckley

When I posted a Jeff Buckley a while back, someone asked for a Tim Buckley so here it is. This song is from his 1967 album Hello and Goodbye. It was his second album and Tim was only 20 when it was released.


MP3 File

"The past scampers like an alley cat through the present, leaving the paw prints of memories scattered helter-skelter."

Though the day has just started, it's darn near perfect already. While I was taking my outside shower, I watched steam rising into the morning air. It seemed to glow in the sunlight. When I was done, I sat on the deck reading my papers and drinking my coffee. I watched Gracie run circles around the back yard with a chew toy in her mouth. She ran up one set of steps and down another. The breeze is slight, but it stirred my tree mirrors, and they danced in a frenzy of light around the yard. The birds dropped by, but they usually do. It was so early that not a soul stirred, and I had all of it for myself.

In Our Town, Emily gets to go back and live one more time. She chose her tenth birthday. Maybe I'll just choose an ordinary day. I'll walk again to school on a fall day with my friend Michelle. We'll walk along the sides of the road and kick the leaves as we go. Our school bags will be slung across our shoulders. We'll take our time. After all, it isn't very far.

Maybe I'll choose a fun time. My friend Jimmy and I went to Marconi Hall one night for square dancing. We had read about it in the Independent, the local paper. I think we were in the ninth grade. When we showed up at Marconi Hall, they didn't know what to do with us. They expected adults. We waited, and they decided we could join them. We had never square danced. I had only seen it in the movies, mostly in westerns. The caller made it easy, and we danced the whole night. We had the best time.

Maybe I'll choose a singular day. I'll choose the day I left for Africa. I called my mother. She cried. I promised to write, said goodbye and grabbed my luggage. We boarded buses to the airport then boarded the plane. It was darn near full. I sat at a window near the back. I don't remember who sat beside me, but I'd like to. We flew over the Cape, and I got to see it one more time. It was a raucous flight. We drank the whole way to Madrid, our fuel stop, where we got off the plane and stretched our legs. All I remember of that airport is wood, wooden floors and wooden counters in the waiting room. I remember when I got back on the plane my seat belt was caught between the seat and the plane, and I couldn't get it loose. I remember flying over the Sahara. I remember landing and being welcomed with warm orange Fanta. The last thing I remember is getting on the bus.

Maybe I'll relive a day with my parents, maybe on the trip to Portugal, my favorite. We'll get to walk all over Lisbon and celebrate Easter together. I remember the dinner at a lovely restaurant not far from the hotel. I'd love another day with my parents.

I have all these wonderful memories. I guess I don't really need that day, Emily's day.

Nickles and Dimes: Chuck Hall

I just stumbled across Chuck Hall while looking for information about another singer. As I'd not heard of him, I went looking. Come to find out he has spent most of the last twenty years in Massachusetts, around Cape Ann.

This song is from his first album One Night in a Cheap Hotel.


MP3 File

Leave the Light On: Chris Smither

This is the title song from his 2006 album, and I think this was the best album of his I've ever heard.


MP3 File

"Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting

Today I am way behind my time as I had to go to Boston and couldn't post before I left. One of my sisters noticed and was already wondering what was wrong. Being predictable is sometimes a good thing.

Sitting here now, late in the afternoon, I notice how different everything looks at this, my usual morning perch. I don't hear the birds. Light shines on the desk and keyboard. I can see the sun, and it rests low in the sky. It will set outside this window. The day has a finished sense about it, even this early.

The garden stands are filled with mums, and the last of the summer's bounty is for sale in the vegetable bins. Soon the sweet corn will be gone. The homegrown tomatoes are already a memory. I saw pumpkins for sale yesterday. To me, they are heralds of fall.

I love the fall more than any other season. Its flowers are beautiful. They generously give us the last splashes of color in the garden. They give us golds and oranges, bronzes and the deepest reds and maroons. I also love fall vegetables. I love squashes and turnips, hearty vegetables. Though the days are still warm, even hot, they feel different than a summer day. The sun seems wan, even tired. It sets and gives way to nights which sometimes have a chill about them, a crispness. Sweatshirt weather I call it.

I Just Called to Say I Love You: Stevie Wonder

MP3 File

Please Call Me, Baby: Tom Waits

MP3 File

Rikki Don't Lose That Number: Steely Dan

MP3 File

Call Rosie on the Phone: Guy Mitchell

MP3 File

"Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died."

It rained all day yesterday. It misted for a bit. It rained in sheets for a long while, and it rained in giant drops at the end. The wind blew and left the ground strewn with leaves and pine needles. Today is our reward for abiding yesterday. It is a dry, sunny day with a breeze.

My mother and father never went to the doctor's. Their generation just didn't which is probably why we kids seldom went to the doctor's either. No one had yearly check-ups back then. You only got hauled to the doctor if something was wrong. Our doctor was a family doctor, a general practitioner. His office was in the front of his house, one of the biggest houses in town. I remember going there only once. It was just after I had fallen downstairs when I was about ten. My mother and I had to sit a while in his waiting room, and I was amazed at the size of the hallway where we waited. It had a huge umbrella stand and stairs with the sort of a banister meant for sliding. I remember his office was enormous. He had this giant wooden desk he sat behind, his back to the window. The other side of the office had a sort of a clinic where he kept the tools of his trade. He stitched wounds right there in that office. When he saw my chin, cut open from landing on a table at the foot of the stairs, he took an alcohol rub and rubbed until I cried. He was never gentle. He said no stitches. I was thrilled.

I go every year to the doctor's for my check up. My mother always used to ask me what was wrong when I told her I had my doctor's appointment. She seldom believed me when I said nothing. If nothing was wrong, why in the heck would I be going to the doctor?

I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now: Perry Como

MP3 File

(Till) I Kissed You: The Everly Brothers

MP3 File

One Kiss Led to Another: Coasters

MP3 File

“If you are ever in doubt as to whether to kiss a pretty girl, always give her the benefit of the doubt”

It is a favorite sort of morning. It's raining, and I can hear the drops when they land on the leaves or when they ping off the deck heater. I'm sitting in a dark room, lit only by the monitor, and I find it comforting. It is as if I'm surrounded by house, protected and dry.

I remember making cootie catchers. I have no idea why we called them that because mostly we used them to tell fortunes. The fortunes were silly things like you'll have five children or you'll marry some boy we all thought horrid. The fortunes made us giggle. It seems young girls giggle. That's just the way it was. When girls get older, they laugh.

The whole idea of boys kept us giggling until about the seventh grade. It was then they got more interesting. My friend Maryalyce was the first person I knew who kissed a boy and told. We all gathered around her for the details. We all had questions. She answered all of them and described the kiss down to the smallest detail. We imagined her with eyes closed and lips locked.

We couldn't believe how brave she was. Kissing a boy was fraught with danger. In those days danger came from technique, nothing more. What if you were a bad kisser? What if he was? What is a bad kisser? What if you laughed? What if you knocked noses? We made Maryalyce show us her side of the kiss so we could get an idea. She was, after all, the only professional we knew. Once we saw the technique, we practiced behind closed doors in front of a mirror. We wanted to be ready.

Single Girl: Maxine Sellers

This is from a collection called Prestige-Folklore Years, Vol. 1- All Kinds of Folks. I tried but didn't find out any more information on Maxine Sellers.


MP3 File

Oh Mary Don't You Weep: Pete Seeger

According to Wikipedia, The first recording of the song was by the Fisk Jubilee Singers in 1915 while the most known recording was by The Swan Silvertones in 1962. Many other recordings have been made, by artists ranging from The Soul Stirrers to Burl Ives. Pete Seeger gave it additional folk music visibility by performing it at the 1964 Newport Folk Festival. This song appears on several of his collections.


MP3 File

"If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."

It is my favorite Cape Cod sort of day. The morning smells of marsh and ocean. There is a slight breeze, but the air feels still. It is damp but not chilly. All my neighbors must be away because I haven't seen a car or heard a voice. I did hear a raucous blue jay, and I always hear the chickadees.

My computer wouldn't let me play with it this morning. I kept being told the operation had been canceled due to restrictions in effect on this computer. It was as if I had a mini Hal on my hands. "Don't do that, Kat," was what I swore I heard. It took me a couple of hours, but I finally wrestled back my control. I figured out it had all started after I uninstalled Firefox 3.

My sister has the only piece of furniture my family has passed from one generation to another. It is an etagere which had belonged to my mother's grandmother. In our family, we pass stories. My great grandfather was murdered in the hallway of his tenement building. Stories differ as to why. After his father died, there wasn't much money so my grandfather used to walk the railroad tracks hoping to find any coal which might have fallen off any train. He swore he wore his sister's slippers as he didn't have shoes. He said they kept falling off in the now.

My grandfather always ate his toast burned because that was the way his sister always made it. She cooked when his mother worked. My favorite of my grandfather's sisters was Louise. My mother told great Louise stories. It seems Louise once nailed the bedroom door shut with her husband still inside. They'd had a fight. She was also noted for throwing heavy objects, an iron was her favorite. She had at least two husbands, maybe three. I've already told you about my grandfather's brother falling from the window. People wondered why so I sent my sister on a mission to find out more. He was at a party and fell out the window. He hit the ground and died. Simple as that.

It seems my grandfather came from a colorful Irish family.

Shake Sugaree: David Bromberg

This song was written by Elizabeth Cotton, and I am generally partial to the version sung by her granddaughter on the album of the same name released in 1967. When I saw this cover, I gave it a listen and was surprised by how much I liked it. I didn't expect that. This is from the album Try Me One More Time.


MP3 File

All of My Days: Alexi Murdoch

Alexi Murdoch is a Scottish singer-songwriter. In 2006, Murdoch independently released his first full-length album, Time Without Consequence, from which this song comes. He has a bit of Nick Drake about him, but I don't think that a bad thing.


MP3 File

"Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life."

My days all start the same. The two cats mill around the bedroom floor for their wake up treats while Gracie waits impatiently on the bed for hers. I feed Gracie one at a time until the cats finish theirs. Once they're done, the four of us head downstairs. I open the front door then the back. Gracie goes out her dog door as soon as I open the back. I start the coffee then go get the newspapers off the driveway. I always stop to admire my flower garden and my house. Back inside, I grab a cup of coffee, a pen and the papers and head to the deck. I read everything. I also do the crossword puzzles, the cryptograms and the jumbled words. I stop often to watch the birds. Gracie plays in the yard, and I watch her too. She's a funny dog who entertains herself with balls or pine cones. Sometimes she just runs for the fun of it. When I'm finished, I come inside to the computer, read my mail and write Coffee. After that, I go back upstairs, wash up, make my bed and get dressed. The rest of the day has no set pattern. Each day is different.

I never think my mornings are in a rut. Every one is leisurely. I can stay on the deck as long as I want. My mornings have no time limits. No clock ticks off the minutes. No job pulls at me. Once in a while I have an appointment, and I moan and groan about this loss of precious time. It is amazing how greedy I have become. The whole day is mine, and I don't want to have to share it with a must do. I want to live my life in maybe.

Never Gonna Stop This Train: James Keelaghan

We go north to Canada again. This song is from 1995 and the album A Recent Future.


MP3 File

Cover Me: Patty Larkin

This is from her newest album, Watch the Sky. While listening to it, I was taken, as I always am, by Patty Larkin's talent. She is an amazing singer, certainly, but I also find her to be an even more amazing musician. It astonishes me that Patty Larkin hasn't caught on everywhere and anywhere that music is revered.


MP3 File

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

I looked over the railing of my deck this morning and there it was, in all its glory, the opened pumpkin blossom, bright against the green of the vine and the brown of the yard. That the blossom exists at all is a bit of a miracle. Last fall a pumpkin fell off the deck and smashed to the ground below. It fell into so many pieces I decided it was fine just where it was. Nobody ever went to that part of the yard, and I knew Gracie didn't mind so I left it there in a sort of cycle of life moment. A seed germinated, and I have a pumpkin patch. It may only be one vine and one blossom, but I still think it a miracle and a gift.

The biggest mum in my front yard is from last year. It was a birthday gift from my friend, and I planted it shortly after my birthday. It is back this year filled with buds and bursting with flowers in that orange yellow color fall always brings. I noticed another mum has returned, but the buds are too small to see its color.

There is something wonderful about the fall as it eases us out of summer and slowly allows winter to hold sway. Summer colors become muted in the fall garden. They warn us of the dark winter soon to come.

When I think of fall, I remember my father burning leaves. I can still him standing on the road nearest the sidewalk. He is holding his rake and watching the flames. He feeds the fire until all the piles of leaves are gone. I remember the smell of those burning leaves and the smoke rising in the sky. It was my favorite fall ritual.

Last Train: Arlo Guthrie

I haven't played an Arlo in a long while.


MP3 File

Oh, Had I a Golden Thread: Judy Collins

Oh, Had I a Golden Thread was written by Pete Seeger. It appears on Judy Collins' 1970's album Whales and Nightingales.


MP3 File

"You have learned something. That always feels at first as if you had lost something. "

I stood for a while on the deck and watched Gracie playing in the yard. Her newest fun toy is a somewhat deflated, faded soccer ball. She kicks it with both feet then, against all rules of fair play, picks it up in her mouth and runs.

Some school moments are fresh in my memory. One of those moments, when I was in the fourth grade, is perfectly commonplace, but I still remember every detail. My desk was in the back of the room closest to the long windows which seemed to take up the whole wall. We were on double sessions, and it was late in the afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, and it was warm. The windows were open, and I could hear kids playing on the school yard. I was taken by their shouts and laughter, and every now and then I'd turn and try to sneak a peek, but I never saw them. I saw only the sky.

In the second grade Mrs. Kerrigan was my teacher. She was old, wore her hair in a bun, had glasses and was perfectly proper. All her dresses were floral prints. I was in awe of Mrs. Kerrigan. One Saturday, I was walking home from the matinée when I saw Mrs. Kerrigan. It was the first time I'd ever seen her outside of school. I watched as she went into a house right across the street from the church and the school. Later I found out it was where she lived, in the second floor apartment. Somehow, on that day, she became human to me. I pass that house every now and then when I visit my sister. I always remember Mrs. Kerrigan.

In the fifth grade I had Sister Elvira Marie. She had pets and I wasn't one of them. Her favorite was a girl named Maryann Grafton whose family had tons of kids. I remember Maryann had a paper route to earn money, and she was the only girl I ever knew who did. Sister used to toss out candy, and most seemed to head Maryann's way. If my hand was raised, Maryann got called on anyway. She didn't usually know the answer, but it never mattered much to Sister Elvira Marie. I liked Maryann anyway, pet or not. It was Sister Elvira Marie I didn't like. I thought her unfair. That was the first time any nun had a flaw I recognized.

I always loved school, and I especially loved learning. What I didn't realize for a long time was I was learning far more than English or arithmetic or the leading export of Brazil. I was learning about people.

Hard Times Are Here Again: Tom Paxton

MP3 File

Part of the Union: Strawbs

MP3 File

De Colores: Aguila Negra

This song is from an album called Classic Labor Songs from Smithsonian Folkways. The song itself is the informal anthem of Cesar Chavez' United Farm Workers. It speaks not to unions or strikes or scabs but, because it originates from a traditional Spanish song, it carries a more universal message of the beauty that comes from a blending of many colors.

"Colorful, colorful are the fields in the springtime
Colorful, colorful are the little birds that come from far away
Colorful, colorful is the rainbow that we see shining
And that is why I like wonderful colorful things
And that is why I like wonderful colorful things"


MP3 File

"Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop."

I went looking for my first job the summer after high school. I had no waitressing experience, and restaurants weren't willing to give me the opportunity to learn. I refused to chamber maid. I hated changing my own bed and couldn't imagine changing the beds of strangers. I applied at all the stores close to me and had no calls. I was about willing to change those beds when I finally got a job offer. I ended up at Woolworth's on Main Street in Hyannis at minimum wage. It was a huge store with all the best parts of every Woolworth's. The lunch counter had great sandwiches, hot fudge sundaes and spinning red stools. The toy section had kites, pails, shovels and all those blow up plastic inner tube rings kids liked. The souvenir section was tacky and most of the stuff came from Japan. But I didn't work at any of those. The astute manager must have recognized my potential as I was given my own section. Here I was fresh out of high school and on the fast track. I was given the entire pet section. I was, for all intents and purposes, the pet section manager, a heady responsibility.

Woolworth's sold goldfish, parakeets, hamsters and Guinea pigs. My responsibility was to feed them all and clean their cages. I complained about the idea of changing peoples' beds, but, instead, I was cleaning the bottoms of bird cages and rodent poop. Oh the irony!

Every day I would take the bottom of every bird cage, remove the disgusting paper and replace it. I would also add food and fresh water. Next were the rodents. The Guinea pigs were far nicer than the hamsters. They were also cleaner. Hamsters poop a lot, one of the more interesting facts I learned that summer. They also eat their young. I didn't find this out until just after I had become a grandparent for the first time. When I checked the cage a long while after the birth, I found some of my grandchildren had disappeared. I was appalled.

I went looking at the library and found out mother hamsters eat sickly young and will also eat them if she senses they are in danger. Armed with this new found hamster knowledge, I went back to work and gave the mother her own cage with lots of shavings so she could keep her babies safe. Those babies grew as did successive babies. I was the hamster lady at Woolworth's, a title I carried proudly into my next summer job, a temp sorter at the post office where I stayed every summer until Peace Corps. It was an easy job and not one person ate her young.

Happy Labor Day!