Go all the way back to 1981 for this song.
MP3 File
yousendit
Friday, July 31, 2009
Ring Bell, Ring Bell: Miriam Makeba
"Things do not change; we change."
Doing anything in this humidity is cause for sweat, and I am a blob of sweat right now after having swapped the deck, washed off the outside table, fed the birds, done a laundry and swept the kitchen floor. I am not a pretty picture. I should be ringing a bell and yelling unclean so the sidewalks can clear. It's another day of predicted showers. We'll see.
Saturday was bath night. I'm guessing I must have gotten dirty the rest of the week, but the dirt accumulated until Saturday. That ring around the tub representing an entire week of dirt was pretty disgusting after the four of us had baths. Having little to think about one day, I pondered this weekly bath ritual and arrived at a plausible explanation. I figure it might have started in the laborious heating water and pouring it into tubs days. I also think it had something to do with putting on your Sunday clothes and smelling good for church.
My mother was from the go to the dentist when you had a toothache and the go to the doctor when you're bleeding generation. We never had visits to the dentist every six months or yearly checkups at our family doctor when we were growing up. It just wasn't something my mother thought about. It was never part of her experience. I think that all changed with my generation. I don't know why; it just did. On one of those little to think about days, I'll ponder this and see what I come up with. Off the top of my head, I figure with my mother's generation money, the depression and my grandmother raising a brood of kids were a big part of it.
My mother sang her songs while they played on the hifi. We learned them all just by listening over and over. My sister's kids love Dylan, Creedence and music from the 60's. They learned it when my sister played her stereo. They don't know my mother's music. It has gone by them. It's just the nature of change.
Saturday was bath night. I'm guessing I must have gotten dirty the rest of the week, but the dirt accumulated until Saturday. That ring around the tub representing an entire week of dirt was pretty disgusting after the four of us had baths. Having little to think about one day, I pondered this weekly bath ritual and arrived at a plausible explanation. I figure it might have started in the laborious heating water and pouring it into tubs days. I also think it had something to do with putting on your Sunday clothes and smelling good for church.
My mother was from the go to the dentist when you had a toothache and the go to the doctor when you're bleeding generation. We never had visits to the dentist every six months or yearly checkups at our family doctor when we were growing up. It just wasn't something my mother thought about. It was never part of her experience. I think that all changed with my generation. I don't know why; it just did. On one of those little to think about days, I'll ponder this and see what I come up with. Off the top of my head, I figure with my mother's generation money, the depression and my grandmother raising a brood of kids were a big part of it.
My mother sang her songs while they played on the hifi. We learned them all just by listening over and over. My sister's kids love Dylan, Creedence and music from the 60's. They learned it when my sister played her stereo. They don't know my mother's music. It has gone by them. It's just the nature of change.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
"There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven ."
Looks like I might have to call this Keep The Iced Coffee Coming as I seem to get later each day. I can't help it. I get diverted. This morning I went to get coffee and ended up cleaning the countertop and the top and inside of the microwave. I noticed the dust and polished the shelf over the microwave, all before I poured a single cup of coffee. I went outside as I love do to each morning but never sat; instead, I saw the feeders needed filling and the plants needed watering so up I got and finished both of those. I started to sit down but realized the deck needed sweeping so I got the broom and swept. Finally, I finished and sat and took in the morning. Gracie came up and the two of us watched the birds for a long while. I came back inside, finally had coffee and read the papers.
That choking humidity is still with us. It threatens rain but then the sun pokes through and the dark clouds disappear. The deck is my relief. It is in the trees, off the second floor of my house, and always has a breeze. I'm thinking of moving there.
The summer really arrived only last week, and it is already waning. Back to school ads are appearing on television. I don't remember ever seeing them when I was a kid. In those days, every season, every holiday and every significant date had its time. My mother could still buy us summer clothes in the summer and winter clothes all winter. Halloween started appearing sometime in October. We could even count down down the days. Christmas waited until after Thanksgiving, until after the Macy's parade. We got excited because that first appearance of Santa meant Christmas was getting close. I remember how excited I got when I saw the first Christmas decorations in the stores usually some time in early December. I'd stand at the windows and look at the displays and the lights and the toys. I'd start my list for Santa.
Now, Christmas decorations appear in October. Thanksgiving gets pushed into the corner. I think it's time to slow down and smell the turkey.
That choking humidity is still with us. It threatens rain but then the sun pokes through and the dark clouds disappear. The deck is my relief. It is in the trees, off the second floor of my house, and always has a breeze. I'm thinking of moving there.
The summer really arrived only last week, and it is already waning. Back to school ads are appearing on television. I don't remember ever seeing them when I was a kid. In those days, every season, every holiday and every significant date had its time. My mother could still buy us summer clothes in the summer and winter clothes all winter. Halloween started appearing sometime in October. We could even count down down the days. Christmas waited until after Thanksgiving, until after the Macy's parade. We got excited because that first appearance of Santa meant Christmas was getting close. I remember how excited I got when I saw the first Christmas decorations in the stores usually some time in early December. I'd stand at the windows and look at the displays and the lights and the toys. I'd start my list for Santa.
Now, Christmas decorations appear in October. Thanksgiving gets pushed into the corner. I think it's time to slow down and smell the turkey.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Blessed Are: Joan Baez
"The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been."
The sun is playing games, appearing and disappearing from behind the clouds. The predicted rain never came yesterday; instead, we had humidity, and the air still drips with moisture. I always get a little cranky in the humidity.
Being young and being old have a lot in common, and both have their compensations. Clothes don't matter a whole lot. When I was young, style wasn't important nor was color. Clean laundry and comfort were the keys. Now, if my clothes don't match, if the stripes and plaids clash, people look, shake their heads back and forth and chalk it up to age, to the whims of an old lady. Comfort is back to being the key. I can talk to myself without passers-by crossing to the other side of the street. Little kids have imaginary friends and carry on whole conversations. People think it cute. I get to play all day if I want, the same as when I was a little kid. If I want to do nothing, nothing is exactly what I do. I take naps. I now go to the movies in the afternoon. I'm back to the matinee. Bed time isn't exactly as early as when I was a kid, but it inches closer and closer every year. Every birthday is back to being a major celebration, another milestone, another wonderful year.
When I was young, my whole life stretched before me. The world was out there waiting for me to find it. I had a million decisions to make, a million roads to travel. Now, more of my life is behind me than in front, but I still share one thing with the young me. The world is still out there waiting for me to find it.
Being young and being old have a lot in common, and both have their compensations. Clothes don't matter a whole lot. When I was young, style wasn't important nor was color. Clean laundry and comfort were the keys. Now, if my clothes don't match, if the stripes and plaids clash, people look, shake their heads back and forth and chalk it up to age, to the whims of an old lady. Comfort is back to being the key. I can talk to myself without passers-by crossing to the other side of the street. Little kids have imaginary friends and carry on whole conversations. People think it cute. I get to play all day if I want, the same as when I was a little kid. If I want to do nothing, nothing is exactly what I do. I take naps. I now go to the movies in the afternoon. I'm back to the matinee. Bed time isn't exactly as early as when I was a kid, but it inches closer and closer every year. Every birthday is back to being a major celebration, another milestone, another wonderful year.
When I was young, my whole life stretched before me. The world was out there waiting for me to find it. I had a million decisions to make, a million roads to travel. Now, more of my life is behind me than in front, but I still share one thing with the young me. The world is still out there waiting for me to find it.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
My Old Yearbook: Sammy Walker
Pack Up Your Sorrows: Richard and Mimi Farina
"Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos."
The morning was quiet, the leaves still and not a bird was at the feeders. I imagined I was a character in a science fiction movie and the birds had gone, aware of the impending disaster my simple human senses couldn't perceive. I smiled at my overactive imagination then finished reading the papers.
The humidity has descended and even the simplest exertion is a sweaty affair. Sitting outside waiting for a breeze is the only remedy.
I don't remember when sweat became perspiration and deodorant a must. I figure it was around puberty, early adolescence, about the time the opposite sex became an attraction. I know when I was little, a sweaty head was a sign of activity, of a fun summer day. Blouses and shirts got grungy, and none of us noticed. Life was certainly simpler.
We went for ice cream last night and so did the rest of the world. Every place had long lines. I had a double scoop, coffee heath and peanut butter, in a sugar cone. I think a melting ice cream cone taking all your attention and energy is one of summer's best parts. When I was little, though, I would have said a root beer popsicle or, my second favorite, cherry was the best of all on a hot summer day. The trick with a popsicle was always to try and catch that last bit before it fell on the ground. Being sticky with lines of color down your hand was part of the fun. Life was definitely simpler when sticky was still fun.
The humidity has descended and even the simplest exertion is a sweaty affair. Sitting outside waiting for a breeze is the only remedy.
I don't remember when sweat became perspiration and deodorant a must. I figure it was around puberty, early adolescence, about the time the opposite sex became an attraction. I know when I was little, a sweaty head was a sign of activity, of a fun summer day. Blouses and shirts got grungy, and none of us noticed. Life was certainly simpler.
We went for ice cream last night and so did the rest of the world. Every place had long lines. I had a double scoop, coffee heath and peanut butter, in a sugar cone. I think a melting ice cream cone taking all your attention and energy is one of summer's best parts. When I was little, though, I would have said a root beer popsicle or, my second favorite, cherry was the best of all on a hot summer day. The trick with a popsicle was always to try and catch that last bit before it fell on the ground. Being sticky with lines of color down your hand was part of the fun. Life was definitely simpler when sticky was still fun.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Freight Train: Sonny Terry
"The only way of catching a train I ever discovered is to miss the train before."
The morning is sunny and bright with a beautiful blue sky defying the paper's prediction of thundershowers this afternoon. I have an errand then I'll sit on the deck taking in the day until that first drop of rain.
My sisters were far more into dolls and carriages than I ever was. By the time I was nine or ten, I thought playing with dolls a bit silly. I wanted trains for Christmas, but I never got any. There were boys' toys and there were girls' toys, and the toy line between the sexes was never crossed when I was a kid. Trains were most decidedly boys' toys. I always wondered if my love of travel first manifested itself in those trains.
I was little when I used to stand at my grandmother's front door and look up the street to watch the train. The train master had a house beside the track on her street, and the end of the track and a factory were also close to her house. Empty trains waiting for boxes used to sit on the side tracks. I walked by often on my Saturday travels and longed to be brave enough to hide on and travel with that train. I always wanted to know where the tracks ended on the other side. My brother and I used to walk that end of the tracks as far as we dared, but we never walked to the end; the tracks seemed to go on forever around corners and out of sight. Later, I came to understand those never ending tracks woke in me a sense of adventure, a need to travel to find the other end.
My sisters were far more into dolls and carriages than I ever was. By the time I was nine or ten, I thought playing with dolls a bit silly. I wanted trains for Christmas, but I never got any. There were boys' toys and there were girls' toys, and the toy line between the sexes was never crossed when I was a kid. Trains were most decidedly boys' toys. I always wondered if my love of travel first manifested itself in those trains.
I was little when I used to stand at my grandmother's front door and look up the street to watch the train. The train master had a house beside the track on her street, and the end of the track and a factory were also close to her house. Empty trains waiting for boxes used to sit on the side tracks. I walked by often on my Saturday travels and longed to be brave enough to hide on and travel with that train. I always wanted to know where the tracks ended on the other side. My brother and I used to walk that end of the tracks as far as we dared, but we never walked to the end; the tracks seemed to go on forever around corners and out of sight. Later, I came to understand those never ending tracks woke in me a sense of adventure, a need to travel to find the other end.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
"The cowboy don't need no iron hoss, but covers his country on one that eats grass and wears hair."
The trees had that low level morning fog when I woke up, and I knew as soon as I walked outside it wasn't the sort of fog the sun burns away. I could feel it. I could feel the dampness and the chill. On my way to breakfast, I could barely see through the fog across the river. The day hasn't gotten any better. I wonder where the summer is hiding.
Yesterday we celebrated National Cowboy Day at the D-R Bar Ranch down the road a piece from my spread. I wore my red cowboy hat with the jaunty feather, a blue bandanna and my star earrings. We called each other pardner and Cookie worked the grill. Wanted posters decorated the deck. The Sons of the Pioneers entertained us with 25 Great Cowboy Songs. We had ribs. A steer skull hung in the bunkhouse, and Hoppy spurs were part of the centerpiece. The evening ended around the camp fire.
It doesn't take much to entertain us. We laugh at so many things and make fun of each other all the time. Watching a baseball game is an event, a reason to get together. A rainy day is a game day, a day for Sorry or Bananagrams or Dog, Dog, a silly kids' game. We love special days like yesterday and dress up for the occasion, usually with a hat. The food and the music reflect the event. Being imaginative is a huge part of the fun. We sit and enjoy the food and each other's company. I can't think of a better way to spend my time.
Yesterday we celebrated National Cowboy Day at the D-R Bar Ranch down the road a piece from my spread. I wore my red cowboy hat with the jaunty feather, a blue bandanna and my star earrings. We called each other pardner and Cookie worked the grill. Wanted posters decorated the deck. The Sons of the Pioneers entertained us with 25 Great Cowboy Songs. We had ribs. A steer skull hung in the bunkhouse, and Hoppy spurs were part of the centerpiece. The evening ended around the camp fire.
It doesn't take much to entertain us. We laugh at so many things and make fun of each other all the time. Watching a baseball game is an event, a reason to get together. A rainy day is a game day, a day for Sorry or Bananagrams or Dog, Dog, a silly kids' game. We love special days like yesterday and dress up for the occasion, usually with a hat. The food and the music reflect the event. Being imaginative is a huge part of the fun. We sit and enjoy the food and each other's company. I can't think of a better way to spend my time.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
"Food is an important part of a balanced diet."
The morning started with a mouse in my desk drawer. I heard the rustle of papers and knew right away what it was. I slowly opened the drawer and saw the tail end of a gray mouse as the critter took off to parts unknown. I expect my cats will be on high alert. The color is red today.
Today we take a trip back to Ghana. I have high hopes of returning there in 2011, the fiftieth anniversary of Peace Corps and of Peace Corps in Ghana. I know the country has changed greatly, but I also know parts of it have barely changed at all, especially the small villages and the isolated compounds. The town where I lived is now huge, has several places to stay and even an internet cafe. I still want to go back and walk the market on market day, bargain a little, eat at a chop bar and visit where I lived and taught. This time I'll have a car and driver, no goats, no chickens and no crammed lorries. I will be a tourist.
In Ghana, when it came to cooking and to food, I learned to make do and do without. I had a refrigerator which worked and a gas stove which didn't because I had no gas. The nearest place to buy it was close to three hours away, a day trip hauling a gas cylinder. Instead, I cooked outside using charcoal in a small round burner. Making toast meant leaning the bread against the sides of the burner. Only one pan at a time fit on top so I ate a lot of one dish meals. Groundnut oil, peanut oil to us, was what I used for cooking. My morning eggs had the most amazing flavor. I used to buy the oil in the market where it was sold in beer bottles. Ghanaians used beer bottles to sell anything liquid, and they often ran out of beer because they didn't have enough bottles.
Most of my food came from the market. In those days vegetables were hot peppers, okra, tomatoes, garden eggs (tiny yellowish eggplant) and onions though I'd add plantain to the list as you have to cook it to eat it. I also could buy rice and yams. Fruits abounded, and my lunch was always a fruit salad. Cadbury chocolate was sold, and a bar of it and a bottle of Coke were my occasional treats. Ghana made its own chocolate bars, but they weren't as tasty and were almost as expensive. Fan Milk Company sold small triangles of milk and a frozen concoction they called ice cream, but my town didn't carry it. In the larger cities, bicyclists rode around selling it. They were Ghana's version of the ice cream man, minus the bells. I ate a lot of chicken and beef as my part of the country was the only area, at the time, with cattle. The meat part of the market was pretty disgusting, but I didn't care. I ate the meat anyway, except the time it turned green. Margarine came in a can from The Netherlands as did the evaporated milk for my coffee. Butter was a luxury only bought for Christmas; it came in a can from Australia. Once my market lady had a small watermelon she'd saved for me. She said it came from Upper Volta, now Burkina Faso. I loved every juicy bite.
I ate Ghanaian food, especially TZed and fufu. Groundnut stew was my favorite with TZed. I learned to love okra with all of its slime. The two dishes I could still eat every day are jollof rice and kelewele, my favorite of all. I could never pass a seller of kelewele and sometimes bought some on one street corner and then the next. The food I never liked was kontomire, made with cocoyam leaves. I remember it was one of the first dishes served to us after we arrived in Ghana, and I just couldn't eat it. I couldn't imagine spending twenty seven months eating leaves. Soon after, that made me laugh considering leaves were tame compared to some of the stuff I ate and ate knowingly.
Today we take a trip back to Ghana. I have high hopes of returning there in 2011, the fiftieth anniversary of Peace Corps and of Peace Corps in Ghana. I know the country has changed greatly, but I also know parts of it have barely changed at all, especially the small villages and the isolated compounds. The town where I lived is now huge, has several places to stay and even an internet cafe. I still want to go back and walk the market on market day, bargain a little, eat at a chop bar and visit where I lived and taught. This time I'll have a car and driver, no goats, no chickens and no crammed lorries. I will be a tourist.
In Ghana, when it came to cooking and to food, I learned to make do and do without. I had a refrigerator which worked and a gas stove which didn't because I had no gas. The nearest place to buy it was close to three hours away, a day trip hauling a gas cylinder. Instead, I cooked outside using charcoal in a small round burner. Making toast meant leaning the bread against the sides of the burner. Only one pan at a time fit on top so I ate a lot of one dish meals. Groundnut oil, peanut oil to us, was what I used for cooking. My morning eggs had the most amazing flavor. I used to buy the oil in the market where it was sold in beer bottles. Ghanaians used beer bottles to sell anything liquid, and they often ran out of beer because they didn't have enough bottles.
Most of my food came from the market. In those days vegetables were hot peppers, okra, tomatoes, garden eggs (tiny yellowish eggplant) and onions though I'd add plantain to the list as you have to cook it to eat it. I also could buy rice and yams. Fruits abounded, and my lunch was always a fruit salad. Cadbury chocolate was sold, and a bar of it and a bottle of Coke were my occasional treats. Ghana made its own chocolate bars, but they weren't as tasty and were almost as expensive. Fan Milk Company sold small triangles of milk and a frozen concoction they called ice cream, but my town didn't carry it. In the larger cities, bicyclists rode around selling it. They were Ghana's version of the ice cream man, minus the bells. I ate a lot of chicken and beef as my part of the country was the only area, at the time, with cattle. The meat part of the market was pretty disgusting, but I didn't care. I ate the meat anyway, except the time it turned green. Margarine came in a can from The Netherlands as did the evaporated milk for my coffee. Butter was a luxury only bought for Christmas; it came in a can from Australia. Once my market lady had a small watermelon she'd saved for me. She said it came from Upper Volta, now Burkina Faso. I loved every juicy bite.
I ate Ghanaian food, especially TZed and fufu. Groundnut stew was my favorite with TZed. I learned to love okra with all of its slime. The two dishes I could still eat every day are jollof rice and kelewele, my favorite of all. I could never pass a seller of kelewele and sometimes bought some on one street corner and then the next. The food I never liked was kontomire, made with cocoyam leaves. I remember it was one of the first dishes served to us after we arrived in Ghana, and I just couldn't eat it. I couldn't imagine spending twenty seven months eating leaves. Soon after, that made me laugh considering leaves were tame compared to some of the stuff I ate and ate knowingly.
Friday, July 24, 2009
"The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive - perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine."
The candles were floating in their holders on the deck this morning. I dutifully emptied all of them, picked up a couple of branches which had fallen during the storm and went below the deck to retrieve what had been blown away. My kitchen floor is a mass of paw prints. It's a damp, cloudy day left over from yesterday's rain.
I just got a phone call, and I can't rap my head around anything more today. I just heard a friend's son was killed in Afghanistan last night. Nick was twenty one and on his third tour. He had joined the service right out of high school. He was what he always wanted to be, a marine.
Life can be so very joyous and yet so very painful.
I just got a phone call, and I can't rap my head around anything more today. I just heard a friend's son was killed in Afghanistan last night. Nick was twenty one and on his third tour. He had joined the service right out of high school. He was what he always wanted to be, a marine.
Life can be so very joyous and yet so very painful.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Summer Day Reflection Song: Donovan
“The more you ask how much longer it will take, the longer the journey seems”
Today I took an outside shower and wished I could stand under the hot water spray until all of me wrinkled. I finished, reluctantly, but couldn't bear to come inside the house. I poured myself another cup of coffee then sat on the deck to read. Gracie joined me. She napped, sprawled on the lounge chair. I read for a while then filled the bird feeders. The birds arrived soon after, a blue jay first then the chickadees, and I watched them a bit. When I got up to come inside, I stopped at the deck rail and stood there for a long while taking in the morning, all of its sights and smells. I find mornings glorious.
I ate my first garden tomato yesterday. It was all the sweeter because it came from my very own garden. While I was harvesting my one tomato, I noticed all of the plants are heavy with unripe tomatoes. I can hardly wait. My other crop, my pumpkins vines, have huge leaves and some buds which get noticeably bigger every day. I think I'll actually have some sugar pumpkins this fall.
I never mind traveling around the world. Plane trips of several hours don't bother me. I think of them as my magic carpet rides to exotic places. I do mind driving to Hyannis, all of fifteen or twenty minutes away. I have to go today, and I'm dreading the trip, but as incentive, I've promised myself a prize, a reward for finishing the trek. I just have to decide the store.
I ate my first garden tomato yesterday. It was all the sweeter because it came from my very own garden. While I was harvesting my one tomato, I noticed all of the plants are heavy with unripe tomatoes. I can hardly wait. My other crop, my pumpkins vines, have huge leaves and some buds which get noticeably bigger every day. I think I'll actually have some sugar pumpkins this fall.
I never mind traveling around the world. Plane trips of several hours don't bother me. I think of them as my magic carpet rides to exotic places. I do mind driving to Hyannis, all of fifteen or twenty minutes away. I have to go today, and I'm dreading the trip, but as incentive, I've promised myself a prize, a reward for finishing the trek. I just have to decide the store.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Simple Life: The Weepies
"Fashion can be bought. Style one must possess."
Today is sunny and still. I suspect yesterday must have exhausted Mother Nature. She raged last night. The rain fell in torrents, its gentleness gone.
Knee socks were fashionable for a while, with Bermuda shorts. I had several pairs; many were argyles. Every Christmas, without fail, I used to give my sisters a couple of pairs. It was a running joke. Last year, for fun, I gave them some again. I remember when girls wore their cardigans backwards, buttons in the back. Matching your cardigan and a sweater was also quite the style for a while. I always thought it a bit too dressy. When I was in high school, mother superior used to stop boys and demand to know if their pants were pegged. They always said no, just rolled at the cuffs. She actually bought that. Girls never wore pants to church or a party or a dance. Boys too dressed for the same occasions, usually in a sports coat, a white shirt and a skinny tie, with pegged pants, of course. When I first got to college, we were forced to wear skirts or dresses. That all changed the winter of my sophomore year when it was so frigid girls were allowed to wear pants to classes. That was one genie that never went back into the bottle.
Fashions changed quickly after the sixties, even for my mother and father. My mother went to pant suits as did just about every woman I knew. They were a concession between too dressy and too casual. My dad went the turtleneck route for a bit. He'd wear one under a sports coat. It was a man's concession to casual but appropriate. I won't even discuss the worst oxymoron of all, a leisure suit.
Now, few people get dressed up, maybe for a wedding or a funeral, maybe not. I can't even remember the last time I wore anything close to dressy. I do have a couple of all purpose outfits. One is for weddings, the other for funerals. I figure that's all I need to be fashionable.
Knee socks were fashionable for a while, with Bermuda shorts. I had several pairs; many were argyles. Every Christmas, without fail, I used to give my sisters a couple of pairs. It was a running joke. Last year, for fun, I gave them some again. I remember when girls wore their cardigans backwards, buttons in the back. Matching your cardigan and a sweater was also quite the style for a while. I always thought it a bit too dressy. When I was in high school, mother superior used to stop boys and demand to know if their pants were pegged. They always said no, just rolled at the cuffs. She actually bought that. Girls never wore pants to church or a party or a dance. Boys too dressed for the same occasions, usually in a sports coat, a white shirt and a skinny tie, with pegged pants, of course. When I first got to college, we were forced to wear skirts or dresses. That all changed the winter of my sophomore year when it was so frigid girls were allowed to wear pants to classes. That was one genie that never went back into the bottle.
Fashions changed quickly after the sixties, even for my mother and father. My mother went to pant suits as did just about every woman I knew. They were a concession between too dressy and too casual. My dad went the turtleneck route for a bit. He'd wear one under a sports coat. It was a man's concession to casual but appropriate. I won't even discuss the worst oxymoron of all, a leisure suit.
Now, few people get dressed up, maybe for a wedding or a funeral, maybe not. I can't even remember the last time I wore anything close to dressy. I do have a couple of all purpose outfits. One is for weddings, the other for funerals. I figure that's all I need to be fashionable.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
A World Without Love: Peter and Gordon
Another no folk music day, another day of commemoration.
HARTFORD, Conn. (AP) -- Gordon Waller of the pop duo Peter and Gordon, who were part of the 1960s British Invasion and had a string of hits including several written by their friend Paul McCartney, has died. He was 64.
Waller and Peter Asher hit No. 1 on music charts around the world in 1964 with their debut single ''A World Without Love.'' McCartney, who at the time was dating Asher's sister, actress Jane Asher, wrote the song.
The duo also hit the charts with other songs written by McCartney, including ''Nobody I Know'' and ''I Don't Want To See You Again.'' Although McCartney wrote the songs, they were jointly credited to him and John Lennon, as was all their work at the time.
''Gordon played such a significant role in my life that losing him is hard to comprehend -- let alone to tolerate,'' Asher said in a statement. ''Gordon remains one of my very favourite singers of all time and I am still so proud of the work that we did together. I am just a harmony guy and Gordon was the heart and soul of our duo.''
On his own Web page, Gordon said his time with Asher was ''some of the happiest moments of my life.''
MP3 File
yousendit
HARTFORD, Conn. (AP) -- Gordon Waller of the pop duo Peter and Gordon, who were part of the 1960s British Invasion and had a string of hits including several written by their friend Paul McCartney, has died. He was 64.
Waller and Peter Asher hit No. 1 on music charts around the world in 1964 with their debut single ''A World Without Love.'' McCartney, who at the time was dating Asher's sister, actress Jane Asher, wrote the song.
The duo also hit the charts with other songs written by McCartney, including ''Nobody I Know'' and ''I Don't Want To See You Again.'' Although McCartney wrote the songs, they were jointly credited to him and John Lennon, as was all their work at the time.
''Gordon played such a significant role in my life that losing him is hard to comprehend -- let alone to tolerate,'' Asher said in a statement. ''Gordon remains one of my very favourite singers of all time and I am still so proud of the work that we did together. I am just a harmony guy and Gordon was the heart and soul of our duo.''
On his own Web page, Gordon said his time with Asher was ''some of the happiest moments of my life.''
MP3 File
yousendit
"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul."
It's raining lightly. When the rain is gentle like this, I like to sit on the deck under the tree boughs where I can stay dry. I sit and listen to the melodic sounds of the rain on the leaves beside me and the umbrella overhead. The flurry of wings at the feeders accompanies the drops. Gracie walks and rustles the undergrowth in the back yard. It is a natural symphony.
The church bells on Sunday morning always sound best in winter. They seemed to echo in the still, cold air. I find the bells an inviting sound. A church organ reminds me of a silent movie. I think I should be watching Nosferatu.
The sweet aroma of burning wood is one of my favorites. I also love the smell of the ocean on a damp, foggy summer morning. Bread fresh from the oven is also on my list. The smoky smell of burning leaves on a crisp autumn day still lives in my memories. A Christmas tree smells the best of all and reminds me of lights and presents and sugar cookies.
I love to be covered in a soft blanket when I nap on the couch. I cozy under it and fall asleep. An old sweatshirt with frayed cuffs is comfort clothes. Wool socks in winter keep my feet warm. I like my bedroom cool, even in summer, so I can nestle under the blankets and fall asleep.
My senses tend to my heart, my spirit and my soul.
The church bells on Sunday morning always sound best in winter. They seemed to echo in the still, cold air. I find the bells an inviting sound. A church organ reminds me of a silent movie. I think I should be watching Nosferatu.
The sweet aroma of burning wood is one of my favorites. I also love the smell of the ocean on a damp, foggy summer morning. Bread fresh from the oven is also on my list. The smoky smell of burning leaves on a crisp autumn day still lives in my memories. A Christmas tree smells the best of all and reminds me of lights and presents and sugar cookies.
I love to be covered in a soft blanket when I nap on the couch. I cozy under it and fall asleep. An old sweatshirt with frayed cuffs is comfort clothes. Wool socks in winter keep my feet warm. I like my bedroom cool, even in summer, so I can nestle under the blankets and fall asleep.
My senses tend to my heart, my spirit and my soul.
Monday, July 20, 2009
"The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand."
Forty years ago today came back in a rush. I was all of twenty one and in training for the Peace Corps. We were at our live-in, now called, in Peace Corps parlance, a home stay. I was in Bawku, Ghana, in the Upper Region, staying with Imora Sanda and his family. Each day I pedaled downhill to the middle school where I taught poetry. I'd teach a couple of classes and start back uphill, pedaling until I had to push the bike. The road was laterite and was lined with trees, and pushing the bike was even a pretty walk. From there, I rode to the house of two volunteers, one of whom was working with us. I'd have lunch with the other trainees living with me in Bawku. We were seven, the smallest of all the language classes, and we were learning Hausa. After lunch, we usually had a language lesson, but not forty years ago today.
After lunch, the radio was turned to Voice of America. We sat around the kitchen table listening as the disembodied voice described the lunar landing. All I could think of was here we are in a small African village taking bucket baths and living without electricity while a man is walking on the moon. It was a profound moment. It is what I remember about that day forty years ago.
After lunch, the radio was turned to Voice of America. We sat around the kitchen table listening as the disembodied voice described the lunar landing. All I could think of was here we are in a small African village taking bucket baths and living without electricity while a man is walking on the moon. It was a profound moment. It is what I remember about that day forty years ago.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
“Now are any of these vegetables magic? I mean if I rub that bean on my foot will I run faster?”
It's a beautiful day, warm and sunny. It's a beach day. It's a deck day. It's a day to be outside.
Some people wouldn't touch the foods I've eaten on my travels, let alone taste them. They might even gag at the notion. I don't consider myself a picky eater, but, after saying that, I have to admit I have foods I'll never eat. The thought of them makes me screw up my face in disgust. I might even gag at the notion. I don't like olives or beets. I don't like peaches. They have furry skins. I like broccoli and spinach but only when they're raw. I don't like cauliflower no matter how it's served. I really dislike beans, and I find refried beans an atrocity. A kidney bean by its very name is disgusting. I don't even put beans in my chili. Radishes are good only as a garnish, the same with watercress. The only fish I won't eat is salmon. A pink fish is just too strange. I don't eat anything which once functioned as part of an animal's internal systems. I did try some odd parts, tongue and Rocky Mountain oysters, but I'll never eat either again.
One of my friends, whom I hadn't seen in a while, called to say she was coming over and bringing lunch. We sat outside on the deck, and she emptied her basket. She'd brought salmon salad in rolls and peach cobbler for dessert. I wondered if the bean salad was still in the basket.
Some people wouldn't touch the foods I've eaten on my travels, let alone taste them. They might even gag at the notion. I don't consider myself a picky eater, but, after saying that, I have to admit I have foods I'll never eat. The thought of them makes me screw up my face in disgust. I might even gag at the notion. I don't like olives or beets. I don't like peaches. They have furry skins. I like broccoli and spinach but only when they're raw. I don't like cauliflower no matter how it's served. I really dislike beans, and I find refried beans an atrocity. A kidney bean by its very name is disgusting. I don't even put beans in my chili. Radishes are good only as a garnish, the same with watercress. The only fish I won't eat is salmon. A pink fish is just too strange. I don't eat anything which once functioned as part of an animal's internal systems. I did try some odd parts, tongue and Rocky Mountain oysters, but I'll never eat either again.
One of my friends, whom I hadn't seen in a while, called to say she was coming over and bringing lunch. We sat outside on the deck, and she emptied her basket. She'd brought salmon salad in rolls and peach cobbler for dessert. I wondered if the bean salad was still in the basket.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Fly Little White Dove Fly: The Bells
“Without adventure civilization is in full decay”
The summer burst in yesterday with a flourish, with a hot, humid day. I even had to use my air conditioner in the bedroom for the first time. While I was sleeping, the heavens opened, and it poured. Today is a quiet, dark day, almost as if the clouds have come to Earth and muffled sound.
I have very little ambition today and an even smaller list of things to do. First is laundry then water the plants then make the bed then sit and read and eat bonbons. I've been staring at the screen for a while hoping to be struck with inspiration, but I'm drawing a mental blank. I'm figuring my muse is still on vacation, and something is probably stuck in my memory drawers keeping it shut. It always happens with an old bureau.
I wonder if people still go on picnics. We usually had one when we traveled. My father would stop at a picnic area alongside the highway, and my mother would pull out the picnic basket and the Tartan jug. She'd have sandwiches and sometimes my favorite, peppers and eggs, and there were always potato chips, cookies and usually grapes. Every now and then they'd be moon pies. The jug had Zarex. The picnic areas all looked the same, a few tables off the highway under some trees. Every now and then one was beside a brook. There were never any bathrooms so we usually had to take to the woods. I hated peeing in the woods. My brother had it easy, but we didn't. Girls never do. My brother just turned his back. We had clothes to contend with, and we needed to be out of sight. We'd complain, but my father would insist. Nothing annoyed him more than having to stop.
I haven't had an adventure in a long while. It's time to initiate my friends into the unknown: the get in the car and trust the driver trip. I'll even pack a picnic lunch. A surprise is the best fun of all.
I have very little ambition today and an even smaller list of things to do. First is laundry then water the plants then make the bed then sit and read and eat bonbons. I've been staring at the screen for a while hoping to be struck with inspiration, but I'm drawing a mental blank. I'm figuring my muse is still on vacation, and something is probably stuck in my memory drawers keeping it shut. It always happens with an old bureau.
I wonder if people still go on picnics. We usually had one when we traveled. My father would stop at a picnic area alongside the highway, and my mother would pull out the picnic basket and the Tartan jug. She'd have sandwiches and sometimes my favorite, peppers and eggs, and there were always potato chips, cookies and usually grapes. Every now and then they'd be moon pies. The jug had Zarex. The picnic areas all looked the same, a few tables off the highway under some trees. Every now and then one was beside a brook. There were never any bathrooms so we usually had to take to the woods. I hated peeing in the woods. My brother had it easy, but we didn't. Girls never do. My brother just turned his back. We had clothes to contend with, and we needed to be out of sight. We'd complain, but my father would insist. Nothing annoyed him more than having to stop.
I haven't had an adventure in a long while. It's time to initiate my friends into the unknown: the get in the car and trust the driver trip. I'll even pack a picnic lunch. A surprise is the best fun of all.
Friday, July 17, 2009
"Old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read."
I just took an outside shower. It was so refreshing I wanted to stay under the spray until all my fingers wrinkled. I thought of it as my adult running through the sprinkler experience only with warmer water and no clothes.
The deck is the perfect place for today, a truly hot, humid summer day.
Every now and then I think about being old, or at least older. My knees ache when I go up and down the stairs. Back breaking work is now simple stuff. My hair is no longer salt and pepper. It leans mostly toward salt. I have a slew of pills I take every day. I no longer can sleep through the night without a bathroom visit. My face has more wrinkles than a shar pei's. Word retrieval skills are fading. I hem and haw until the right word or a close approximation pops into my head. If worse come to worse, I try charades. Several of my memory drawers have started to stick. It sounds a bit bleak I know, but now I get to list all the best parts.
Every day is mine to do with as I want. I don't ever have to work again. I go bed late if I'm in the mood, and I get to sleep in. My alarm clock was last used a few years ago. I can dress in my comfiest, most casual clothes all the time, and nothing has to match. Old people get a huge leeway. Some days I don't even choose to get dressed. My friends come over all the time, even on school nights. Traveling is never in peak times. I can leave any day of the week. I get a senior citizen's discount. My life is easy going, filled with good times, good friends and few worries. The future is tomorrow. Maybe it does take me longer to get upstairs, but I have all the time in the world.
The deck is the perfect place for today, a truly hot, humid summer day.
Every now and then I think about being old, or at least older. My knees ache when I go up and down the stairs. Back breaking work is now simple stuff. My hair is no longer salt and pepper. It leans mostly toward salt. I have a slew of pills I take every day. I no longer can sleep through the night without a bathroom visit. My face has more wrinkles than a shar pei's. Word retrieval skills are fading. I hem and haw until the right word or a close approximation pops into my head. If worse come to worse, I try charades. Several of my memory drawers have started to stick. It sounds a bit bleak I know, but now I get to list all the best parts.
Every day is mine to do with as I want. I don't ever have to work again. I go bed late if I'm in the mood, and I get to sleep in. My alarm clock was last used a few years ago. I can dress in my comfiest, most casual clothes all the time, and nothing has to match. Old people get a huge leeway. Some days I don't even choose to get dressed. My friends come over all the time, even on school nights. Traveling is never in peak times. I can leave any day of the week. I get a senior citizen's discount. My life is easy going, filled with good times, good friends and few worries. The future is tomorrow. Maybe it does take me longer to get upstairs, but I have all the time in the world.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tsanga: Embowassa
“There is no such thing as a weird human being, It's just that some people require more understanding than others”
The sky is cloudy, and we may have a thunder storm so I'm staying close to home. Days like today mean tourists will be taking to the roads in slow, long lines of cars to gawk and look for something to do. The movie theaters will be crowded, and souvenir shops will run out of inflatable sharks.
It is a blank mind day, a day when I have no muse. I sit and think and nothing of any value pops into my head. The first thought I had was about underwear. My mother would be proud of mine. I can get into any accident and not embarrass my family. Next I thought about lunch. I think I'll have bologna and cheese. The other night my chiminea was blowing black smoke. It reminded me of the Vatican and how black smoke meant a pope had yet to be elected, a strange thought that one. Sometimes one line of a song is in a constant loop in my head. It drives me crazy. I find myself walking to the beat. Downstairs in my Christmas box are presents I've already bought. I buy them all year and keep track on a pad of paper. Once I ate food so hot my fingers burned and so did the outside of my lips. The Chinese restaurant in Ghana was right by the Russian embassy. We used to walk by and wave. It was pretty silly. Mosquitoes buzzing in my ear are about as annoying as bugs gets though gnats, by their very existence, are a close second. Most of my socks have holes, but I wear them anyway. I can't remember the last time I wore boots, snow or rain. I love cheeseburgers. My travels have given me a unique skill. I can use a hole in the ground toilet with great accuracy. Bucket baths are refreshing and even a little fun. Cats throw up a lot. Dogs don't.
I'm thinking, before I go any further, this is the perfect spot to stop.
It is a blank mind day, a day when I have no muse. I sit and think and nothing of any value pops into my head. The first thought I had was about underwear. My mother would be proud of mine. I can get into any accident and not embarrass my family. Next I thought about lunch. I think I'll have bologna and cheese. The other night my chiminea was blowing black smoke. It reminded me of the Vatican and how black smoke meant a pope had yet to be elected, a strange thought that one. Sometimes one line of a song is in a constant loop in my head. It drives me crazy. I find myself walking to the beat. Downstairs in my Christmas box are presents I've already bought. I buy them all year and keep track on a pad of paper. Once I ate food so hot my fingers burned and so did the outside of my lips. The Chinese restaurant in Ghana was right by the Russian embassy. We used to walk by and wave. It was pretty silly. Mosquitoes buzzing in my ear are about as annoying as bugs gets though gnats, by their very existence, are a close second. Most of my socks have holes, but I wear them anyway. I can't remember the last time I wore boots, snow or rain. I love cheeseburgers. My travels have given me a unique skill. I can use a hole in the ground toilet with great accuracy. Bucket baths are refreshing and even a little fun. Cats throw up a lot. Dogs don't.
I'm thinking, before I go any further, this is the perfect spot to stop.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Seven Daffodils: The Brothers Four
The Gypsy Rover: The Highwaymen
“Celebrate the happiness that friends are always giving, make every day a holiday and celebrate just living!”
I find myself talking out loud more and more often. Usually it is when I'm exasperated after having dropped something, tripped over something or broken something. This is not a new phenomenon as I have always talked to the TV: correcting grammar, snorting at plot contrivances or groaning at silly characters. It seems, though, the older I get, the worse it gets. Soon I will be that mumbling old lady walking up and down the aisles of the grocery store getting pitiful looks. My clothes will be disheveled and stained while my hair will be wild and uncombed. I wonder how long I have.
Though I have more time on my hands than I've ever had, I do less work. I have a landscaper who tends to my lawn and bushes. Every spring he weeds and mulches, cuts down a tree or two and plants flowers. Every fall he readies the garden for winter and transplants whatever needs moving. My yard looks great, best it's ever looked. I don't even water the lawn any more. I have an in ground irrigation system. No more do I lug a hose all over the front of the house. Every two weeks someone comes and cleans. I do cleaning in between, like polishing bookcases and shelves or wet mopping paw prints off the floor, but I can't remember the last time I vacuumed. Sure, I have the time, but I definitely don't have the ambition. I'd rather sit and read or sit and eat bon bons. No guilt here!
Bastille Day was a success. My friends arrived dressed in red, white and blue. Tony was also wearing a jaunty beret, and he carried a French flag. Clare brought a stuffed poodle named Fifi, a pink one with a barrette on her ear. Dinner was delicious, and dessert was spectacular. We watched the all star game and tried to figure out what I'd next celebration would be. I leaned toward August 16, National Bratwurst Day, while Clare, a lover of ice cream, voted for National Banana Split Day on the 25th of the month. Tony just listened. All of us, though, were sorry we missed Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night on July 8th. I figure I'll circle that day on my calendar for next year.
Though I have more time on my hands than I've ever had, I do less work. I have a landscaper who tends to my lawn and bushes. Every spring he weeds and mulches, cuts down a tree or two and plants flowers. Every fall he readies the garden for winter and transplants whatever needs moving. My yard looks great, best it's ever looked. I don't even water the lawn any more. I have an in ground irrigation system. No more do I lug a hose all over the front of the house. Every two weeks someone comes and cleans. I do cleaning in between, like polishing bookcases and shelves or wet mopping paw prints off the floor, but I can't remember the last time I vacuumed. Sure, I have the time, but I definitely don't have the ambition. I'd rather sit and read or sit and eat bon bons. No guilt here!
Bastille Day was a success. My friends arrived dressed in red, white and blue. Tony was also wearing a jaunty beret, and he carried a French flag. Clare brought a stuffed poodle named Fifi, a pink one with a barrette on her ear. Dinner was delicious, and dessert was spectacular. We watched the all star game and tried to figure out what I'd next celebration would be. I leaned toward August 16, National Bratwurst Day, while Clare, a lover of ice cream, voted for National Banana Split Day on the 25th of the month. Tony just listened. All of us, though, were sorry we missed Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night on July 8th. I figure I'll circle that day on my calendar for next year.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Dusty Old Dust (So Long It's Been Good To Know Yuh): Woody Guthrie
"If one synchronized swimmer drowns, do all the rest have to drown too? "
Tonight we'll celebrate Bastille Day. I have my menu set so now I just have to grocery shop. I was trying to figure how to build a miniature Bastille and maybe a guillotine, but I figured that was just too over the top. I'll do my music later.
The town pool was about as far away from my house as you could get and still be in the same town. It had the big pool where I used to go and a children's wading pool with a fountain in the middle and benches all around where the mothers always sat. The big pool had a diving board at one end while the other end, the shallow end, wasn't really all that shallow. I once dived off the board and hit the bottom so hard my teeth went through my lip. I was eleven. It scared me off the board for a while. When you walked inside the door to pay your dime, all you could smell was chlorine. The changing rooms were to the left and right. Girls were to the left. These room had metal baskets where we used to put our clothes and our shoes. The basket number was on a small metal square on the front. The basket key came with a bracelet we could wear around our wrists. Outside, the concrete around the pool was always hot on my feet. I'd find a spot, lay my towel down then check the water temperature. Cold water meant easing in while warm meant all at once. My brother and I would stay all afternoon. By the time we left, our eyes were bloodshot from opening them under water, and our fingertips were totally wrinkled. If my mother had the money, we'd take the bus home. If not, it was a long, tiring walk after a day of playing in the water.
The town pool was about as far away from my house as you could get and still be in the same town. It had the big pool where I used to go and a children's wading pool with a fountain in the middle and benches all around where the mothers always sat. The big pool had a diving board at one end while the other end, the shallow end, wasn't really all that shallow. I once dived off the board and hit the bottom so hard my teeth went through my lip. I was eleven. It scared me off the board for a while. When you walked inside the door to pay your dime, all you could smell was chlorine. The changing rooms were to the left and right. Girls were to the left. These room had metal baskets where we used to put our clothes and our shoes. The basket number was on a small metal square on the front. The basket key came with a bracelet we could wear around our wrists. Outside, the concrete around the pool was always hot on my feet. I'd find a spot, lay my towel down then check the water temperature. Cold water meant easing in while warm meant all at once. My brother and I would stay all afternoon. By the time we left, our eyes were bloodshot from opening them under water, and our fingertips were totally wrinkled. If my mother had the money, we'd take the bus home. If not, it was a long, tiring walk after a day of playing in the water.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Where's the %4$#@^^ Music?
SORRY, I HAVE TO GO TO BOSTON-DROP BACK LATER THIS AFTERNOON FOR THE MUSIC OF THE DAY!!!!
"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."
The weather is still beautiful. The sunlight has a clarity that almost hurts my eyes. Nothing is moving, not a branch, not a leaf. Last night too was beautiful, cool and perfect for sleeping. It will be again tonight. I think if I were allowed to control the weather my perfect summer day would be just like today.
Time is strange. When you're young, all the big events, all the milestones, are ahead, and it takes forever to get there, and I wasn't a patient kid. I remember each Christmas was about two years in coming. I would count the days, and each day got slower as we neared the big day. The last few days before Christmas took weeks. My birthday arrived when the first card arrived in the mail. I could barely wait; it always had a dollar or two. I counted the days. Nothing is worse than counting days. The events we dreaded arrived in a heartbeat. Summer vacation was over in a minute. I ran home with my final report card of the year on the last day of school, and it seemed the next day we were shopping for school supplies. School days were endless, except for lunch which took about a minute.
I don't dwell on time any more. The days all seem to pass too quickly. I don't need to be impatient. I remember turning thirty and thinking how horrible it was. I no longer could be trusted. All of a sudden I turned fifty. I was a half century. When I turned sixty, I couldn't believe it. I still sort of don't. The years pass so quickly now I get dizzy, but I grab hold of every one of them and won't let go until I have my fill. I just have to remember to be quick about it.
Time is strange. When you're young, all the big events, all the milestones, are ahead, and it takes forever to get there, and I wasn't a patient kid. I remember each Christmas was about two years in coming. I would count the days, and each day got slower as we neared the big day. The last few days before Christmas took weeks. My birthday arrived when the first card arrived in the mail. I could barely wait; it always had a dollar or two. I counted the days. Nothing is worse than counting days. The events we dreaded arrived in a heartbeat. Summer vacation was over in a minute. I ran home with my final report card of the year on the last day of school, and it seemed the next day we were shopping for school supplies. School days were endless, except for lunch which took about a minute.
I don't dwell on time any more. The days all seem to pass too quickly. I don't need to be impatient. I remember turning thirty and thinking how horrible it was. I no longer could be trusted. All of a sudden I turned fifty. I was a half century. When I turned sixty, I couldn't believe it. I still sort of don't. The years pass so quickly now I get dizzy, but I grab hold of every one of them and won't let go until I have my fill. I just have to remember to be quick about it.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Why do we love the sea? It is because it has some potent power to make us think things we like to think."
The morning is cloudy and damp, the remnants of another tremendous thunder and lightning storm which woke me up last night. I listened for a while before I fell back to sleep.
On my way back from breakfast this morning a strange thing happened. The cool, damp morning reminded me of a vacation we had in Maine, and all of a sudden I was taken years away.
The mornings near the water always seemed damp and foggy. I usually woke up early, earlier than any one else. I'd dress quietly and leave the cottage to walk to the water. It was a short distance away on a rutted dirt road with patches of grass in the middle. I loved those quiet mornings, and I loved being the only one awake. I'd get to the beach and sit on the sand. I remember the sand was always cold, and I remember the ocean, as still as I'd ever seen it. Small, gentle waves lapped the shore, almost noiselessly. The gulls overhead were loud, and they flew in circles over the water. Tidal pools dotted the shoreline. I'd watch as the morning cleared, as the fog disappeared. I'd hear people starting to stir and I'd hear a few cars off in the distance. That was when I left to go back to the cottage. My time was over.
On my way back from breakfast this morning a strange thing happened. The cool, damp morning reminded me of a vacation we had in Maine, and all of a sudden I was taken years away.
The mornings near the water always seemed damp and foggy. I usually woke up early, earlier than any one else. I'd dress quietly and leave the cottage to walk to the water. It was a short distance away on a rutted dirt road with patches of grass in the middle. I loved those quiet mornings, and I loved being the only one awake. I'd get to the beach and sit on the sand. I remember the sand was always cold, and I remember the ocean, as still as I'd ever seen it. Small, gentle waves lapped the shore, almost noiselessly. The gulls overhead were loud, and they flew in circles over the water. Tidal pools dotted the shoreline. I'd watch as the morning cleared, as the fog disappeared. I'd hear people starting to stir and I'd hear a few cars off in the distance. That was when I left to go back to the cottage. My time was over.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
"We make our friends; we make our enemies; but God makes our next door neighbor."
It's a beautiful Saturday morning, sunny and cool. I have been outside a few times to stand on the deck and survey my world. I caught Miss Gracie trying to dig her way out of the yard. A dog next door had caught her attention, and she figured she might just visit. A few pieces of the old fence post put an end to her aspirations, at least in that spot. I found an exploded cardboard firecracker shell while I was traipsing through the underbrush. Where that came from is a mystery. I picked up a bird feeder which had fallen and then I filled the bird bath. A chore had grown.
Only one item fills my dance card today, a family reunion. It is my friend's husband's family. None of us are even remotely related. All the cousins and I greet each other and say how long it's been. We pore over the family tree and look at the additions, the new generations. I've been going to this family reunion for several years. I suspect some of them actually think we're related but can't figure out how.
During the summer, my neighborhood was seldom quiet in the daylight hours. The place was loaded with noisy kids. Most families had three or four. The little ones played in the backyard, and all the backyards were connected. Only a small patch of grass and some clothes lines separated them. The grassy hill behind our house was perfect for rolling down to make yourself dizzy. Every kid knew there was something hilarious about standing up and reeling, unable to hold your balance. I also remember a summer when a slip and slide was on the hill. During the day it was kids. At night it was adults. They were louder than any kids. One time two fathers actually had a fist fight in the backyard. That was about the most exciting thing I ever saw. It was like in a western with first one punch then another then two men rolling on the ground. I don't remember who stopped it, but I remember being a little disappointed. We lived in that neighborhood from the time I was four until I was nearly seventeen. It is in almost all of my growing up memories.
Only one item fills my dance card today, a family reunion. It is my friend's husband's family. None of us are even remotely related. All the cousins and I greet each other and say how long it's been. We pore over the family tree and look at the additions, the new generations. I've been going to this family reunion for several years. I suspect some of them actually think we're related but can't figure out how.
During the summer, my neighborhood was seldom quiet in the daylight hours. The place was loaded with noisy kids. Most families had three or four. The little ones played in the backyard, and all the backyards were connected. Only a small patch of grass and some clothes lines separated them. The grassy hill behind our house was perfect for rolling down to make yourself dizzy. Every kid knew there was something hilarious about standing up and reeling, unable to hold your balance. I also remember a summer when a slip and slide was on the hill. During the day it was kids. At night it was adults. They were louder than any kids. One time two fathers actually had a fist fight in the backyard. That was about the most exciting thing I ever saw. It was like in a western with first one punch then another then two men rolling on the ground. I don't remember who stopped it, but I remember being a little disappointed. We lived in that neighborhood from the time I was four until I was nearly seventeen. It is in almost all of my growing up memories.
Friday, July 10, 2009
The Return: Sally Fingerett
Another Country: Tift Merritt
I have one album of Tift Merrit's, and it is Another Country from which this title song comes. It was released in 2008. Tift Merritt's other albums are on my wish list.
Her web site: Tift Merritt
MP3 File
yousendit
Her web site: Tift Merritt
MP3 File
yousendit
"My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right?"
This morning I sat on my deck with a fire going in the chiminea to keep me warm. My yard was filled with the sweet smell of the burning pinion wood. I read my papers, drank my coffee and watched Gracie try to catch a critter in the wood pile.
Last night we had s'mores by the fire pit. We wore socks and sweatshirts to ward off the chill. It felt more like September than July. The temperature was in the 50's. I'm thinking summer really hasn't settled yet. She drops in for a bit then heads south. The paper says 70's tomorrow. I have my fingers crossed.
My friends and I celebrate holidays and special days together. We welcomed dawn on the first day of spring, burned sparklers for Chinese New Year, ate king's cake at the Mardi Gras fete, had corn beef on St. Patrick's Day, hot dogs and burgers on July 4th, and on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter we combined and enjoyed each others' family traditions and holiday foods. Tuesday we're celebrating Bastille Day. We don't really need excuses to get together; we do it all the time, but the special events are fun. We get to try new foods, listen to unfamiliar music and learn the customs of the day. I haven't yet figured out to commemorate Tuesday's storming, but I'll figure a way.
I worked fifty or more hours a week, went to bed early and got up every day at 5:15. I was at work before 6:30. Saturday night was about the only day I played. So, when I was about to retire, I wondered what to do with all the time I'd have on my hands. I shouldn't have worried. I don't fill all the time nor do I feel guilty about the down time. Every night is now a Saturday night, and I get to play whenever I want. I'm loving life.
Last night we had s'mores by the fire pit. We wore socks and sweatshirts to ward off the chill. It felt more like September than July. The temperature was in the 50's. I'm thinking summer really hasn't settled yet. She drops in for a bit then heads south. The paper says 70's tomorrow. I have my fingers crossed.
My friends and I celebrate holidays and special days together. We welcomed dawn on the first day of spring, burned sparklers for Chinese New Year, ate king's cake at the Mardi Gras fete, had corn beef on St. Patrick's Day, hot dogs and burgers on July 4th, and on Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter we combined and enjoyed each others' family traditions and holiday foods. Tuesday we're celebrating Bastille Day. We don't really need excuses to get together; we do it all the time, but the special events are fun. We get to try new foods, listen to unfamiliar music and learn the customs of the day. I haven't yet figured out to commemorate Tuesday's storming, but I'll figure a way.
I worked fifty or more hours a week, went to bed early and got up every day at 5:15. I was at work before 6:30. Saturday night was about the only day I played. So, when I was about to retire, I wondered what to do with all the time I'd have on my hands. I shouldn't have worried. I don't fill all the time nor do I feel guilty about the down time. Every night is now a Saturday night, and I get to play whenever I want. I'm loving life.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Georgia Lee: Tom Waits
You Don't Know My Mind: Guy Davis
"In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary."
Just as I'm falling asleep, I have the most brilliant insights, but because I'm too comfortable and drowsy to get out of bed to write them down, I usually forget them. I vow each time this happens to keep pen and paper by my bed for the next time I wax philosophic, but I never do. Alas, my insights, my pearls of wisdom, are then lost forever. Last night, though, I remember thinking life is amazing, no revelation, just a statement of fact. Why it popped into my head I have no idea. The day was a usual summer Wednesday. In the morning, I filled bird feeders, made my bed, did a few dishes and polished some furniture, all mundane tasks. I wrote Coffee. I had dinner with friends then a night at the theater, the same as every Wednesday. The play was an updated Moliere. It was clever and funny. The Red Sox won. David Ortiz hit a three run homer; all is right with the world. Nothing extraordinary happened yesterday.
Today I got to thinking about mundane tasks. I feed the birds and these lovely creatures thank me with their music. I sit and watch, and they delight my eyes with their brilliantly colored orange, gold or red feathers. Washing dishes gives me a chance to take a little time, to relax. I sometimes think wonderful thoughts and other times I just look out the window and think nothing at all. I make my bed the same way every day. I start on one side, tighten the sheet then move to the other side and do the same. I then do the spread, first one side then the other. This singular task done the same way every day connects my days, gives them continuity, a framework from which the rest of the day builds. I shower outside when I can. The steam rises from the shower and spreads into the backyard. It's beautiful in its own way. Some late nights I go outside, sit, close my eyes and let the night enfold me. The feeling is entrancing.
On second thought, there is nothing mundane about my day.
Today I got to thinking about mundane tasks. I feed the birds and these lovely creatures thank me with their music. I sit and watch, and they delight my eyes with their brilliantly colored orange, gold or red feathers. Washing dishes gives me a chance to take a little time, to relax. I sometimes think wonderful thoughts and other times I just look out the window and think nothing at all. I make my bed the same way every day. I start on one side, tighten the sheet then move to the other side and do the same. I then do the spread, first one side then the other. This singular task done the same way every day connects my days, gives them continuity, a framework from which the rest of the day builds. I shower outside when I can. The steam rises from the shower and spreads into the backyard. It's beautiful in its own way. Some late nights I go outside, sit, close my eyes and let the night enfold me. The feeling is entrancing.
On second thought, there is nothing mundane about my day.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
It Hurts Me Too: Karen Dalton
This is from Dalton's first album, It's So Hard To Tell Who's Going To Love You Best.
I've used this Fred Neil quote before but it is too perfect not to repeat. "Karen has been my favorite female vocalist as well as a heavy influence on my own style of singing since the early sixties. I first picked up on her one night in the village at the "Cock & Bull" (later the Bitter End). Her voice grabbed me immediately. She did "Blues On The Ceiling" (which is my song) with so much feeling that if she told me she had written it herself I would have believed her. After the set Dino Valenti took me up to Karen's place. Later that night we jammed. Karen was like a letter from home. Her voice is so unique, to describe it would take a poet. All I can say is she sure can sing the shit out of the blues"
MP3 File
yousendit
I've used this Fred Neil quote before but it is too perfect not to repeat. "Karen has been my favorite female vocalist as well as a heavy influence on my own style of singing since the early sixties. I first picked up on her one night in the village at the "Cock & Bull" (later the Bitter End). Her voice grabbed me immediately. She did "Blues On The Ceiling" (which is my song) with so much feeling that if she told me she had written it herself I would have believed her. After the set Dino Valenti took me up to Karen's place. Later that night we jammed. Karen was like a letter from home. Her voice is so unique, to describe it would take a poet. All I can say is she sure can sing the shit out of the blues"
MP3 File
yousendit
Banks of the Ohio: Glen Yarborough
"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move."
Last night we had rain. It was a gentle rain, and I left my bedroom window open so I could hear it as I fell asleep. This morning, I shut my windows. The rain left the day chilly. It's only 62 degrees. Rain is predicted for tomorrow. The paper said to expect a wetter July than usual.
I haven't traveled in a year and a half. My feet are itching to move. I want to see new places and revisit familiar places. I want to wander the narrow streets of an old town and stop to eat at a small restaurant serving only local people and offering a menu I can't read. I want to sit outside at a cafe and drink coffee and watch the world pass by me. I have planned a few trips but only in my imaginings. There's that trip back to Ghana. I dream of being there in 2011 to celebrate fifty years of Peace Corps and fifty years of Peace Corps in Ghana. I can also see myself in Istanbul at the markets haggling for goods. Botswana is on my list, maybe a game park and the falls. I'm thinking Guatemala or El Salvador. I can stumble through a bit of Spanish. I keep saying maybe next year.
No one else in my family has this need. They don't pore over maps of the world or check fares. They don't read travel magazines. They don't plan trips in their imaginations or see themselves worlds away. That makes me the lucky one.
I haven't traveled in a year and a half. My feet are itching to move. I want to see new places and revisit familiar places. I want to wander the narrow streets of an old town and stop to eat at a small restaurant serving only local people and offering a menu I can't read. I want to sit outside at a cafe and drink coffee and watch the world pass by me. I have planned a few trips but only in my imaginings. There's that trip back to Ghana. I dream of being there in 2011 to celebrate fifty years of Peace Corps and fifty years of Peace Corps in Ghana. I can also see myself in Istanbul at the markets haggling for goods. Botswana is on my list, maybe a game park and the falls. I'm thinking Guatemala or El Salvador. I can stumble through a bit of Spanish. I keep saying maybe next year.
No one else in my family has this need. They don't pore over maps of the world or check fares. They don't read travel magazines. They don't plan trips in their imaginations or see themselves worlds away. That makes me the lucky one.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
"He is like a good prewar house-solidly built. They don't build them that way anymore. He's also been repainted several times."
Yesterday a carpenter worked here all day replacing the stair treads on the staircase going upstairs. Three of the stair lips had snapped off. I was the injured victim of one of those and wanted no more victims on my conscience. The carpenter told me that the wood was really dry. He said it happens in older houses. That got to me to thinking.
My house is nearly thirty three years old. I bought it brand new. In the first years the mortgage was half my monthly salary. When I moved in, my den had a desk, the one I'm sitting at now, a TV and a studio couch, and that was it in the whole house. I had pictures for the walls, African art, carvings, sculptures and fabrics but no furniture. When the phone man came, he asked if I wasn't living a bit primitively. I didn't care. It was mine, empty or not.
I took time to furnish my house, doing it a bit at a time and looking for just the right pieces. Some were old like the kitchen table with the silverware drawers I bought at the tail end of an auction. It was around forty dollars. It still sits in my living room. It has been joined by a handmade tavern table from the workshop of a local craftsman. The living room rug was found at an antique fair. It was pretty dirty and really cheap, but I fell in love with it. It was made in Turkey and has men smoking pipes and drinking coffee while sitting in front of houses. It also has herds of sheep, lots of sheep. I have a bookcase in there painted along the top by an artist called Christopher Gurshin. He mixes stenciling with free hand. I also have a few of his paintings and other stuff he's painted like small buckets and metal boxes. The living room is red, not a subdued red but a deep red.
The dining room has a table a local carpenter made for me from plans I found in a book about Shaker furniture. It was made so long ago it only cost me $200.00, but it took me a long time to save up the money. Around it are mismatched chairs. I found them all over the place though one did come from my mother's house. There's a beautiful old chest and an antique schoolhouse clock. Both came from the same antique store, but they weren't all that expensive. My antiques seldom are. The room is painted nutmeg, and it is my favorite color in the whole house.
I won't give you a whole tour of the house, but I will tell you that the other rooms too have odd combinations of stuff I found. Each has an antique or two for character and also some special touches. On my bedroom wall is a child's cowgirl outfit in the exact accent color of the room. The guest room has a top hat, a mustache cup and old men's collars on one shelf. The fig tree has old ladies hats on it.
The house reflects me. It has my quirky taste in its furnishings, a casualness to make it comfortable, color to give it life, and it's getting older by the day.
My house is nearly thirty three years old. I bought it brand new. In the first years the mortgage was half my monthly salary. When I moved in, my den had a desk, the one I'm sitting at now, a TV and a studio couch, and that was it in the whole house. I had pictures for the walls, African art, carvings, sculptures and fabrics but no furniture. When the phone man came, he asked if I wasn't living a bit primitively. I didn't care. It was mine, empty or not.
I took time to furnish my house, doing it a bit at a time and looking for just the right pieces. Some were old like the kitchen table with the silverware drawers I bought at the tail end of an auction. It was around forty dollars. It still sits in my living room. It has been joined by a handmade tavern table from the workshop of a local craftsman. The living room rug was found at an antique fair. It was pretty dirty and really cheap, but I fell in love with it. It was made in Turkey and has men smoking pipes and drinking coffee while sitting in front of houses. It also has herds of sheep, lots of sheep. I have a bookcase in there painted along the top by an artist called Christopher Gurshin. He mixes stenciling with free hand. I also have a few of his paintings and other stuff he's painted like small buckets and metal boxes. The living room is red, not a subdued red but a deep red.
The dining room has a table a local carpenter made for me from plans I found in a book about Shaker furniture. It was made so long ago it only cost me $200.00, but it took me a long time to save up the money. Around it are mismatched chairs. I found them all over the place though one did come from my mother's house. There's a beautiful old chest and an antique schoolhouse clock. Both came from the same antique store, but they weren't all that expensive. My antiques seldom are. The room is painted nutmeg, and it is my favorite color in the whole house.
I won't give you a whole tour of the house, but I will tell you that the other rooms too have odd combinations of stuff I found. Each has an antique or two for character and also some special touches. On my bedroom wall is a child's cowgirl outfit in the exact accent color of the room. The guest room has a top hat, a mustache cup and old men's collars on one shelf. The fig tree has old ladies hats on it.
The house reflects me. It has my quirky taste in its furnishings, a casualness to make it comfortable, color to give it life, and it's getting older by the day.
Monday, July 06, 2009
"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."
I use my hand can opener, the same kind my mother always used. I turn the wheel and the opener spins around the metal top. I used to use my electric opener, but tabbed cans have made it obsolete. With my first bicycle I never had to worry which speed to use. It went slowly up hill, quickly down hill and as fast as I could pedal on the flat roads. The tires were big and bulky as were the fenders, front and back. Back pedals were the brakes. I always wore Keds all summer. They were just plain old sneakers with narrow toes. They had laces, and I had to learn to tie bows. My mother patiently help me tie bow after bow until I could do it on my own. My first portable radio had two knobs. One turned it on and off and was also the volume. The other tuned in all the AM radio stations. My radio was brown leather and had been a Christmas present. I remember all those Christmas lights on the tree. When one went out, so did all the others. My father would use a new bulb to test all of them. Woe betide if two bulbs were out. My father's car had a clutch on the steering wheel. The car had real air conditioning in those days. We opened the windows. On really hot nights we'd sleep outside or my dad would turn on the nosy fan which made whirring sounds every time it turned. My dad trimmed his bushes with hand clippers and used a push mower on his lawn. I had to dial a number on the phone, but first I had to check to make sure Mrs. McGaffigan, our party line partner, wasn't using it. My mother had a wringer washing machine and had to feed the clothes to get all the water out. She'd then hang them out to dry on the back line. I still love the smell of sheets off the line. Our games were played on boards. We either turned the card or flicked the spinner to move. Our men were mostly wooden pieces. The TV had tubes, and nothing about it was remote. We sat close to the small flickering screen and turned the channels by hand. It didn't matter to us. We still thought the TV a wonder of modern technology. My mother used a hand whisk to whip cream. She'd spin those rotors with a ferocity which still seemed to take forever. Jiffy Pop was another marvel. It was no more rotating a pan over a burner to keep the kernels from burning. I loved to watch the Jiffy Pop aluminum top get bigger and bigger.
We all thought we lived in a marvelous age.
We all thought we lived in a marvelous age.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
"The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky."
Another perfect day today with a bright sun and a lovely breeze has put the rain in the far corners of my memory. I sat outside and watched as the birds flew in and out of the feeders. One chickadee flew so close it skirted the top of my head. Orioles were here, both Mr. and Mrs., the ever reliable chickadees and a cat bird or two who dropped in to scoop up the jelly. When I finish, I'll go back to the deck. It's a day too lovely to waste inside the house.
The crowds are here. The summer is in full swing. Traffic was lined up for miles waiting for a turn over the bridges. The cars all seem to be from Massachusetts, New York or Connecticut. In the old days, when I was younger, many tourists came from Canada. French could be heard in all the restaurants and shops. I babysat one summer for a French Canadian couple who were working at a restaurant where the waiters and waitresses sang show tunes while they served. My parents used to love to bring their vacationing guests there. It was old time Cape entertainment. The place closed a long while back then resurfaced as a twenty-something club. Many of the old places have disappeared over time or been reincarnated complete with crowds and loud music. A pitch and putt golf course with also a pond for paddle boats and a barn full of games was once a stop on the tourist route for my parents' younger guests, their nieces and nephews. It disappeared because the land was too valuable. Mildred's was the first restaurant where I ever had a drink with dinner. I was twenty and my dad ordered me a daiquiri. Where it once stood is now an empty lot. The movie theater is a church. It still uses the old marquee which now touts the benefits of a sinless life instead of the current movie. I'd have kept the movies and added my touch. It would read Gone with the Wind If You Don't Change Your Sinful Ways, but I don't think most churches have much of a sense of humor.
I do miss the Cape of old when only the summer was crazy. On the day after Labor Day, tourist shops with their inflatable rafts and Cape sweatshirts closed, streets were two way again, and motels turned off their lights. Our world went back to normal.
The crowds are here. The summer is in full swing. Traffic was lined up for miles waiting for a turn over the bridges. The cars all seem to be from Massachusetts, New York or Connecticut. In the old days, when I was younger, many tourists came from Canada. French could be heard in all the restaurants and shops. I babysat one summer for a French Canadian couple who were working at a restaurant where the waiters and waitresses sang show tunes while they served. My parents used to love to bring their vacationing guests there. It was old time Cape entertainment. The place closed a long while back then resurfaced as a twenty-something club. Many of the old places have disappeared over time or been reincarnated complete with crowds and loud music. A pitch and putt golf course with also a pond for paddle boats and a barn full of games was once a stop on the tourist route for my parents' younger guests, their nieces and nephews. It disappeared because the land was too valuable. Mildred's was the first restaurant where I ever had a drink with dinner. I was twenty and my dad ordered me a daiquiri. Where it once stood is now an empty lot. The movie theater is a church. It still uses the old marquee which now touts the benefits of a sinless life instead of the current movie. I'd have kept the movies and added my touch. It would read Gone with the Wind If You Don't Change Your Sinful Ways, but I don't think most churches have much of a sense of humor.
I do miss the Cape of old when only the summer was crazy. On the day after Labor Day, tourist shops with their inflatable rafts and Cape sweatshirts closed, streets were two way again, and motels turned off their lights. Our world went back to normal.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
"May the sun in his course visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than this our own country! "
The day is perfect. I've been busy all morning. Something about getting up early and being greeted by the sun gives me lots of energy. For a while I was out on the deck enjoying the morning but decided to drag myself in to write Coffee. Here, from my den window. I can see the sun glinting through the leaves of the oak tree. The leaves almost seem to shine. A cooling breeze is blowing. Today is a gift.
I remember the 4th of July when I was a kid. The town next to us always had the biggest parade, still does, and the town green was a center for all sorts of festivities. They had a decorated doll carriage contest. My sister once was a hula girl with a carriage to match. The decorated bicycle contest was usually next. Red, white and blue crepe paper was fanned around most of the wheel spokes, and I think every bike had a card attached with a clothespin for that clacking sound effect. One time there was even a pie eating contest. A band always played in the big gazebo. People milled around enjoying the day and each other. At night, in that same park, there were always fire works. I remember the oohs and ahs of the crowd as each one burst overhead. I loved the ones with multiple bursts of color. The last firework seemed to last forever. It was a spectacular finish.
Yesterday I put out all the flag banners on the fence and back porch. Today I'll be wearing my flag t-shirt. I'm going to a barbecue later. I love the 4th of July, all that it stands for and all the festivities that celebrate the birth of our nation.
I remember the 4th of July when I was a kid. The town next to us always had the biggest parade, still does, and the town green was a center for all sorts of festivities. They had a decorated doll carriage contest. My sister once was a hula girl with a carriage to match. The decorated bicycle contest was usually next. Red, white and blue crepe paper was fanned around most of the wheel spokes, and I think every bike had a card attached with a clothespin for that clacking sound effect. One time there was even a pie eating contest. A band always played in the big gazebo. People milled around enjoying the day and each other. At night, in that same park, there were always fire works. I remember the oohs and ahs of the crowd as each one burst overhead. I loved the ones with multiple bursts of color. The last firework seemed to last forever. It was a spectacular finish.
Yesterday I put out all the flag banners on the fence and back porch. Today I'll be wearing my flag t-shirt. I'm going to a barbecue later. I love the 4th of July, all that it stands for and all the festivities that celebrate the birth of our nation.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Hot Tamale Pete: Bob Skyles and His Skyrockets
“The barbecue was tasty,”
We used to buy punks when I was a kid. They were long and thin and brown. They were as close as we ever got to fireworks. We'd light them and then watch as they flamed to the bottom. I think they also kept the bugs away. Starting a couple of days before the 4th, you would start to hear firecrackers all over the neighborhood. You never saw them: they were ground level and noisy. The next town over always had the real things on July 4th.
Hot dogs and hamburgers are as much a part of the 4th as flags and fireworks. You've also got to have potato salad. No self respecting 4th of July barbecue is official without potato salad. My mother told us she used to have salmon and peas on the 4th. It was traditional. I'm glad I wasn't alive back then.
It's the man's job to cook the meat at a barbecue. I have no idea why. Maybe it hearkens back to the days of the first fires. Maybe back then men felt they were obliged to cook what they'd hunted. My dad always sat outside with a drink in one hand and a fork in the other. He was a believer in lots of fuel to get the charcoal going. I loved watching the whoosh of flames when he started his fire. If it wasn't burning fast enough for him, he'd add more fuel. This made him prone to setting himself on fire. If we heard stomping from the backyard, we knew he was trying to put out his shoe. My mother would ask if he was okay, and he always was. Once even his pant leg caught on fire. I think he used his drink to put out the flame. Somehow, despite everything, my dad always cooked meat to perfection.
Hot dogs and hamburgers are as much a part of the 4th as flags and fireworks. You've also got to have potato salad. No self respecting 4th of July barbecue is official without potato salad. My mother told us she used to have salmon and peas on the 4th. It was traditional. I'm glad I wasn't alive back then.
It's the man's job to cook the meat at a barbecue. I have no idea why. Maybe it hearkens back to the days of the first fires. Maybe back then men felt they were obliged to cook what they'd hunted. My dad always sat outside with a drink in one hand and a fork in the other. He was a believer in lots of fuel to get the charcoal going. I loved watching the whoosh of flames when he started his fire. If it wasn't burning fast enough for him, he'd add more fuel. This made him prone to setting himself on fire. If we heard stomping from the backyard, we knew he was trying to put out his shoe. My mother would ask if he was okay, and he always was. Once even his pant leg caught on fire. I think he used his drink to put out the flame. Somehow, despite everything, my dad always cooked meat to perfection.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Some Day Soon: Ian and Sylvia
Fire and Rain: James Taylor
“Acting is illusion, as much illusion as magic is, and not so much a matter of being real.”
The Boston Globe this morning gave illustrated directions about choosing the wood, framing and completing an ark. Yes, we still have rain, and yesterday we had the mother of all storms. From off in the distance I heard what sounded like the sky's stomach rumbling. It went on and on until it reached here and became loud thunder and flashes of lightning. Finally the heavens opened. Heavy rain fell for the longest time and flooded the low roads. I had rivulets down my driveway. But when the rain stopped, the night was cool, perfect for sleeping. This morning I immediately looked out the window only to see gray skies. It is now raining again. I am going shopping. It is a remedy I seldom need, but I think today is the right day.
I could always use the day to clean, but that seems such a waste of any day, rainy or not. Besides, I see no cobwebs and in the dark of the day even the dust has disappeared. I now understand about clouds and a silver lining.
I have play tickets every other Friday at the Cape Playhouse and every Wednesday at Monomoy. I have been going for years, nearly thirty to the Playhouse. The first Friday play was last week, and last night I went to my first Wednesday play. On those nights, my friends and I have dinner at each others' houses first then it is off to the theater. The opening play last night was Anything Goes. I sat there and enjoyed every minute of it even though I have seen the play more than a couple of times. I love the theater. The curtain goes up, and I am drawn. I remember the first live play I ever saw was when I was in high school. It was The Unsinkable Molly Brown with Debby Reynolds at the Melody Tent in Hyannis. The Melody Tent used to be a theater in the round. The stage revolved so we had a front view or a back view at one time or another during every play. I could see all the lights and their wires. There was no backstage. I was mesmerized. I was hooked. I saw several more plays there before it became a venue for singers. I went to the theater in Falmouth many times before it closed. I go to Boston to a play and combine it with dinner, a real night on the town. It is never inexpensive, but I don't care. It is theater. It is always an event.
I could always use the day to clean, but that seems such a waste of any day, rainy or not. Besides, I see no cobwebs and in the dark of the day even the dust has disappeared. I now understand about clouds and a silver lining.
I have play tickets every other Friday at the Cape Playhouse and every Wednesday at Monomoy. I have been going for years, nearly thirty to the Playhouse. The first Friday play was last week, and last night I went to my first Wednesday play. On those nights, my friends and I have dinner at each others' houses first then it is off to the theater. The opening play last night was Anything Goes. I sat there and enjoyed every minute of it even though I have seen the play more than a couple of times. I love the theater. The curtain goes up, and I am drawn. I remember the first live play I ever saw was when I was in high school. It was The Unsinkable Molly Brown with Debby Reynolds at the Melody Tent in Hyannis. The Melody Tent used to be a theater in the round. The stage revolved so we had a front view or a back view at one time or another during every play. I could see all the lights and their wires. There was no backstage. I was mesmerized. I was hooked. I saw several more plays there before it became a venue for singers. I went to the theater in Falmouth many times before it closed. I go to Boston to a play and combine it with dinner, a real night on the town. It is never inexpensive, but I don't care. It is theater. It is always an event.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
My Town: Paul Siebel
I'm sending you off to a great page about Paul Siebel
I have liked his music since the beginning.
MP3 File
yousendit
I have liked his music since the beginning.
MP3 File
yousendit
"A bad neighbor is a misfortune, as much as a good one is a great blessing."
It was dinner on the deck last evening, one of my favorite summer pastimes. We get to sit up high among the trees and enjoy the sounds of the night. We had fajitas. They were perfect.
I would have a front porch if I could. I'd sit out there and rock and wave at every neighbor who went by the house. Lemonade would be a necessity. The pitcher would be clear glass and filled to the brim. It would sit on the small table next to my rocker. The porch swing would be at one end and have a flowered cushion. I think it should squeak just a bit. Bright flowers in clay pots would sit in the corners. At night, we'd sit outside and play board games. Our voices and our laughter would carry around the neighborhood, and everyone would wish they were sitting on my porch.
When I was a kid, we lived in a neighborhood where we knew everybody. My parents were friends with our neighbors. They had parties at each others' houses or just a drink or two after work or on a Saturday night. My best friend lived up the street. All the neighbors looked out for one another. We neighborhood kids were good everywhere. You never knew who was watching. A cry brought every mother in hearing distance to the door. Bikes lying on the grass stayed there. No one would ever steal them. Our mothers knew we were safe no matter where in our neighborhood we were.
The street where I now live is small. Two of my neighbors are my closest friends while the rest of my neighbors are people I say hello to when we meet. The people across the street and I chat a bit more and ask about each other's families, and I like to tease them about their obsession with their lawn and yard. The people next door come seldom, and they rent out their house all summer. Their dog's name is Peanut, but I have no idea their names nor they mine. We talk deck to deck about the weather, the grass and the summer. I do know all the rest of my neighbors by name. We have, after all, been together on this street a long while.
I don't know when the switch happened, but neighborhoods now seemed to be defined only by geography. I miss the neighborhood of my growing up years. I did host all my neighbors for dinner once, but nothing much came of it. We still just wave.
I would have a front porch if I could. I'd sit out there and rock and wave at every neighbor who went by the house. Lemonade would be a necessity. The pitcher would be clear glass and filled to the brim. It would sit on the small table next to my rocker. The porch swing would be at one end and have a flowered cushion. I think it should squeak just a bit. Bright flowers in clay pots would sit in the corners. At night, we'd sit outside and play board games. Our voices and our laughter would carry around the neighborhood, and everyone would wish they were sitting on my porch.
When I was a kid, we lived in a neighborhood where we knew everybody. My parents were friends with our neighbors. They had parties at each others' houses or just a drink or two after work or on a Saturday night. My best friend lived up the street. All the neighbors looked out for one another. We neighborhood kids were good everywhere. You never knew who was watching. A cry brought every mother in hearing distance to the door. Bikes lying on the grass stayed there. No one would ever steal them. Our mothers knew we were safe no matter where in our neighborhood we were.
The street where I now live is small. Two of my neighbors are my closest friends while the rest of my neighbors are people I say hello to when we meet. The people across the street and I chat a bit more and ask about each other's families, and I like to tease them about their obsession with their lawn and yard. The people next door come seldom, and they rent out their house all summer. Their dog's name is Peanut, but I have no idea their names nor they mine. We talk deck to deck about the weather, the grass and the summer. I do know all the rest of my neighbors by name. We have, after all, been together on this street a long while.
I don't know when the switch happened, but neighborhoods now seemed to be defined only by geography. I miss the neighborhood of my growing up years. I did host all my neighbors for dinner once, but nothing much came of it. We still just wave.
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