Posts Tagged ‘music’

Starlit darkness
graceful spirals
long slow leaps
cool clean entwinings
intergalactic plants sway in breaths of space air
       reaching, closing, withdrawing
       stretching, bending, slowly flexing
       but gently
       two directions towards one point
       fields of forces
       inexorable pull without gravity
       gyrate slowly
       face to face, turn, look back
       roll, twist, bend
       feather light
       holds, lifts
       moonlit, sunlit
       cool, smooth, alive
       welling joy
moonbeam touches
       darting, drifting
moth-wing brushes
shimmer of silver
                cool blue
                velvet black
                emerald green
                deepest ruby
                pure ivory
colors alive
       dancing, spinning free
       gentle power
       glorious light
       growing, expanding, living, breathing
       reaching out to
Slithering down my nerves, to dendrites,
         across synapses
with gentle heat
calling to muscles
massaging fingers of sound on brain cells
touches down neck
reaching, probing

Grow heavy.
Be lightness
Leave the body and travel elsewhere
remembered mysteries
exploring pathways
hand in hand with feelings
newness, growth, expansion


body dances as it rests
beyond all exteriors
permeates all interiors
passes frontiers

Is alive again.

History has always fascinated me, but it’s most interesting when you learn the stories of the people who lived it.  I love learning history from good historical fiction (or well-written non-fiction), but history in a song has its own special place.

I’ve always liked Al Stewart’s Roads to Moscow for its minor tunes but didn’t always give my full attention to the lyrics.  Then one day elsewhere, I read that Russian soldiers who were captured, even briefly, by the Germans, were suspected of having been turned and of now being spies.  They were given short shrift if they lived to return to Russia–either killed or sent off to Siberia. Hence this song, when I began really listening, took on new, heartrending meaning.


“You’ve got a real attitude” is not generally considered to be a compliment. But you can have an attitude if you want…a good one (or at least, a better one than you woke up with.) It’s easier than you think.  (more…)

Silence isn’t really silent.  There are always noises of some sort.  What the sounds of silence are depends on where you are. (more…)

 I’ve been thinking about copyrights lately.


I’m always seeing things that make me laugh or hearing things that don’t come out correctly or just stuff that’s weird and not as I’d expect it to be. Don’t give me any scientific explanations for any of it, either. It ruins the fun.

In no particular order….

When I’m at a restaurant and a waiter/waitress/waitperson/server comes up, they’ll often say, “If you need me, my name is (fill in the blank).” OK, what’s your name if I don’t need you? Sorry, but it’s a struggle for me every time someone says this not take ask them that follow-up question. I don’t, but I’d really, really like to.

Why do pancake recipes tell you to only turn the pancakes once? What horrible thing could possibly happen if you turned them a third time? What about 4 or 5 times? I’ll be brutally honest (and you don’t even have to bring out the comfy chair)….I have turned pancakes more than one and occasionally maybe even four times. Does that make me a bad person? What did it do to the person who ate the pancake so terribly abused? Please don’t tell anyone.

Why is it that leftover pancake batter, like diamonds, is forever? I can fill the empty bowl with water and let it sit all day. When I pour the water out, the leftover mix is still at the bottom, seemingly just as it was hours earlier. Even if I carefully wipe everything, then wash thoroughly, there always seems to be some pasted-on, dried-up batter somewhere, hanging on, like a barnacle on the bottom of boat, for dear life. I guess that’s why you can make paste with flour. Makes me wonder what my insides look like? Guess all those enzymes and things in there are pretty tough!!

Why should anyone selling coffee or any coffee-related beverage, tea or hot (remember the “hot” part) chocolate (excluding all designer drinks that have any of these in them but are made cold), have to put cautions on the cups or elsewhere warning people that the beverage is hot? (Do NOT give me the legal reasons. Just don’t.) You wanted a hot beverage; you paid for a hot beverage; you’re annoyed if your hot beverage isn’t hot. Why wouldn’t you expect it to be hot and behave accordingly? Now if you ordered iced tea and it was hot, you’d have something about which to complain.

Our mailman isn’t male. I guess that makes her a mailwoman, but not a male woman. Mailperson not male person. And no one, male or female, wants to be a garbageperson.

Have you ever thought about how many brain cells are occupied with words from songs from your past? I can hear something from the 60’s or 70’s and often chime right in without realizing I even know so many of the words! Some of the songs were shorter but still. For instance, I know all the words to “Secret Agent Man”, “Red Rubber Ball” and “Happy Together”, but I also know “Bye, bye Miss American Pie” and “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”, plus lots and lots of things…including much of “Smoke on the Water”. Anyone for a rousing round of “Inagaddadavida”? Would I be a brain surgeon (maybe on my own brain) or a rocket scientists if I had all those cells otherwise occupied? But if the latter, then I couldn’t say “It isn’t rocket science”, because it would be.

Having done and proofed bulletins and newsletters as well as having been part of a committee to re-work the constitution of our church, I’ve always wondered at the plethora of extraneous capital letters that abound in church missives. “We will meet in the Narthex of the Church. The Pastor will lead the Congregation in singing from the Song Book. Please remember that Dogs are not allowed in Church any day of the Week, unless they are Service Dogs.” (Sorry about the pun.)

Did you ever think about the fact that a fiend is only one letter removed from a friend? Literally one letter removed. Makes you think.

Saturday morning’s always been a special time for me; a time of leisure, of relaxation and renewal, a time for something special to eat, like a doughnut or pastry. Even when Saturday morning wasn’t like that, it felt as if it should be. Saturday morning’s the gateway to the weekend, the time when families are together, yard work gets done, people are outside saying hello to neighbors, the barbie is fired up, maybe a time to sleep in or read for a bit, when the choices of the weekend stretch out before you and the weekend feels twice as long as the two days it really is.

When I was in high school and college, in a small town in eastern Nebraska, I used to walk downtown some Saturday mornings and get a fresh glazed doughnut from the bakery. I’ve always loved glazed doughnuts, although I rarely eat them, and was sad when the nearby Krispy Kreme closed. It was so exciting to drive past, see the neon doughnut lighted and hurry in for a free, warm doughnut. Bliss! It takes a lot to tarnish that sort of joy but working in a health food store and doughnut shop (yes, I’m well aware of the paradox of that) in Steamboat Springs, Colorado years ago did the trick. Coming in early in the morning, the smell of the oil the doughnuts cooked in dominated the back area of the store and clung to my clothes, skin and hair long after I left. I didn’t eat doughnuts again for a long time.

When I was in grade school in Omaha, Nebraska, I would have a half hour piano lesson on Saturday morning and then, in winter, my brother and I would go ice skating at the indoor rink at Ak-sar-ben Nebraska spelled backwards. (You can read a short history of Ak-sar-ben race track and coliseum here, Not only did we get to ice skate but we sometimes saw some of the hockey players for the Omaha Knights professional hockey team and actually got to know one of them personally, Gary Sabourin, who later went to the NHL, When you’re a kid, it doesn’t get any better than that!

This Saturday morning, I’m enjoying the sunshine, (indoors, because it’s cold), sipping tea and writing, remembering the song from my past that brings to mind the feel of Saturday morning’s time of freshness and possibilities.

Come Saturday Morning
The Sandpipers
Words by Dory Previn and Music by Fred Carlin

Peak chart position # 17 in 1970
Featured on the soundtrack of the film “The Sterile Cuckoo” starring Liza Minnelli

Come Saturday morning
I’m goin’ away with my friend
We’ll Saturday-spend till the end of the day-ay
Just I and my friend
We’ll travel for miles in our Saturday smiles
And then we’ll move on
But we will remember long after Saturday’s gone
(Come Saturday morning, come Saturday mo-o-rning)

Come Saturday morning
I’m goin’ away with my friend
We’ll Saturday-laugh more than half of the day (ay-ay-ay)
Just I and my friend (my friend)
Dressed up in our rings and our Saturday things
And then we’ll move on
But we will remember long after Saturday’s gone
(Come Saturday morning, come Saturday morning)

Come Saturday mo (Saturday) rning

Just I and my friend (my friend)
We’ll travel for miles in our Saturday smiles
And then we’ll move on
But we will remember long after Saturday’s gone

(Come Saturday morning, come Saturday mo-o-rning)
(Come Saturday morning, come Saturday mo-o-rning)

Enjoy your Saturday morning!