way back weekly – 10.3 to 10.9

In a general sense this week has seen some very cool events: the Beatles released their first single, “Love me Do,” Rod Stewart’s “Maggie May,” and Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire,” dropped this week as well. The pivotal battle of Kings Mountain occurred, my mom, my nephew and Matt Damon were born, and on Saturday, I’ll have been married for seventeen years.

Throw in Bill Clinton’s “great matter,” Woodrow Wilson’s stroke, the Warsaw uprising and Anne Rice and I could talk for days. However, I thought I would veer in a different direction. Although, you may not have received the invite — October is National Vegetarian Month.

Confession time — I’m always teetering on the edge of vegetarianism. My youngest daughter, my sister-in-law, and several good friends relish a meat-free existence, and since I cook for the baby girl our household always has the option. Chris’ heart attack renewed our focus on healthy eating and we’ve become followers of Thomas Jefferson’s philosophy describing meat “as a condiment to the vegetables which constitute my principal diet.”

I read Barbara Kingsolver’s exquisitely written, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle a few years ago and was struck by how it mirrored my childhood on the edge of the rural South. We raised the cows, and the pigs that became meals for the winter and spring. As summer crested with the garden bounty — there was less meat in our diets, mainly because there was less meat in the freezer! And as an “independent woman,” I discovered just how much buying meat at the grocery added to my bill, thus it wasn’t predominant in my grown-up lifestyle either. These days I make a conscious effort to ensure the animals I eat are not from a “factory farm,” deformed and drugged into a consumable. When my youngest and I have talked about going meat-free, I always bring up the idea of the farm and its rhythms. The animals were part of the farm cycle, we killed what was needed and let the rest frolic in the fields which until I write it sounds better as an argument. The inherent hypocrisy of my position is tackled rather deftly in the book, Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat: Why It’s So Hard to Think Straight About Animals by Hal Herzog. As an anthrozoologist, a researcher into animal/human interaction, Herzog puzzles over the inherent dichotomies of animals in human culture. One that comes up early in the book is the notion that in the West dogs are beloved companions, in many African/Islamic cultures they are something akin to vermin and in Asia they’re lunch. Why? Herzog never really answers in absolutes, he prefers to hold a mirror up to the dissonance, kind of a rhetorical “hmmmmm….”

So, what about you…. are you happily omnivorous, decidedly vegetarian or have you created your own bell curvish plot on the continuum of consumers?

Way back down deep: Sting’s Dream of the Blue Turtles – his first solo after leaving the Police – the band was AMAZING (incomparable Branford Marsalis on sax, Omar Hakim on drums, the kick-butt Kenny Kirkland on keyboards and Darryl Jones on bass, it was 2 albums before Dominic Miller joins them). While I think the live concert version is dynamic and for the most part better, and choosing a Sting album I would generally pick …Nothing Like the Sun or The Soul Cages; this one hits a time/place vibe for me, and it works beautifully as a birthday tribute for Sting who turned 60 on October 2nd… Imagine that.

• If you Love Somebody Set them Free (coming off the darkness of the last Police cuts, these first 2 songs charted a newer, less spare style for the solo performer – even though I see cheesy, dorm room posters when I here this)
• Love is the Seventh Wave (I prefer the “one world” mash-up on the live Bring on the Night album, but the rift on the stalkerish “every breath you take” is fantastic here)
• Russians (sampling Prokokiev is a nice touch – probably the most dated song on the album, although the memory lane it takes me down is fun)
• Children’s Crusade (I’ve done a Veteran’s Day program for several years and I would LOVE to figure a way to use this song – without offending the veterans who attend)
• Shadows in the Rain (My favorite song on the album and why I this album can’t be replaced with Bring on the Night – the studied chaos is pure joy in a 5 minute b-track)
• We Work the Black Seam (I grew up on John L. & the Appalachian mines, so a taste of Yorkshire folds right in – and there was this book…. not remembering the name is driving me batty)
• Consider Me Gone (much better on Bring on the Night –it’s a driving blues number, but here it doesn’t go off the cliff as it does on the live album)
• The Dream of the Blue Turtles (another play song – an extended noodle)
• Moon Over Bourbon Street (like Bob Weir & Bob Dylan, Sting usually has a “character” song – and this was timed nicely with Anne Rice’s Vampire LeStat’s pre-Twilight hotness)
• Fortress Around your Heart (one of the 1st MTV videos I watched over & over – an oddly militaristic, and suggestive love song/story)

Everyone’s a pacifist between wars. It’s like being a vegetarian between meals –> Colman McCarthy

Take care,
Aly

PS: And sadly, this week will be known for the passing of our generation’s Edison, Steve Jobs.

way back Wednesday, 9.21.11

On September 15, 1982 USA Today issued it’s first edition! I don’t remember those early papers, although I do recall some of the furor over the “McPaper” of news. Of course, that was just at the beginning of the continuous news cycles, before the “twitter” headline and the thirty-second sound byte as the complete story….. In other words, before the two paragraph articles of USA Today were considered in-depth coverage.

I love newspapers. I remember putting on my Dad’s shoes (they were size 13 and looked like clown shoes on my 12-year old feet) and walking down the driveway to get the paper for Mama. She would skim the headlines on the front page, and then lay it aside. After breakfast, and getting us at school or set up on some summer chore, she would sit down with the newspaper, a pad and pen for her “hour of power.” She would read each section, each article and make notes everyday. Sometimes, she highlighted articles for Daddy, or when my brothers and I had to bring “current events” to class, she would note those for us as well.

She would do it again in the afternoon on those days when the mail brought newspapers from the other towns in which she had lived. They were very small towns, with weekly editions full of friends, family and wedding announcements so descriptive you needed to send the happy couple a gift.

Finding current event articles in the local Greensboro paper for Mr. Farkas’ seventh grade science class turned into my own little challenge, when I started adding clippings from Mama’s other papers. Eventually, Daddy and I would seek out other papers to supplement the Stanley News & Press and the Smithfield Herald with the London Times, the Wall Street Journal and once I brought in an article from Le Figaro (mostly pics, since I read little French at the time).

Dateline wherever…. always thrilled me. When I was in college, I read about the exploits of Woodward & Bernstein and fell in love with All the President’s Men. And while I may have crushed a little on the real W & B, I think in my mind it was more Hoffman and Redford I was imagining, don’t you think? I re-read Oriana Fallaci’s book of interviews multiple times — she became rather bitter and xenophobic as she aged, but her early conversations have such passion and intimacy.

While journalism in the age of saturation has taken a hit, I still find that many of the writers I gravitate towards either start out as news reporters or bring that sensibility to their writing. Two that immediately spring to mind are Jon Meacham and Timothy Egan. Meacham’s Franklin and Winston delivers solid research couched in an eloquent narrative. And Timothy Egan could probably write the nutritional info on the back of my early morning cereal box and it would be compelling. Barring that career choice pick up either The Worst Hard Time or The Big Burn for some of the most compelling non-fiction you will ever read.

way back down deep: Cowboy Junkies –> The Trinity Session (the 2nd album for the Timmins siblings with Alan Anton on bass, recorded in an old church on a single day (more or less). The songwriting, the covers and the spare arrangements make for an intimate and amazing listening experience that doesn’t dim with time)
• Mining for Gold (you can feel the black dust, and I find myself wanting to read bios of Mother Jones & John L. Lewis)
• Misguided Angel (my favorite cut, one of the sultriest hooks ever devised)
• Blue Moon Revisited [Song for Elvis] (take off on “blue moon, you saw me standing alone,” I might, just might even love it more)
• I Don’t Get It (jazzy blues, this is where the recording acoustics really shine)
• I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry (Hank Williams would raise a glass or even a fifth to this achingly perfect cover)
• To Love is to Bury (narcotic is how the reviewer from the Tampa Trib describes the album, but in a medical sense as opposed to boredom, he prescribes it as a “morning after” album)
• 200 More Miles (absolutely dreamy road song, trudging not skipping)
• Dreaming my Dreams with You (country songwriter Allen Reynolds traditional country ballad becomes a sleepy little waltz)
• Sweet Jane (Lou Reed signed off on this cover, which is probably one of the best you’ll ever find)
• Working on a Building (traditional gospel song becomes sparer and yet larger in this version)
• Postcard Blues (slow build on this one)
• Walking After Midnight (Patsy Cline’s song, re-imagined by Margo Timmins into something almost gothic in scope)

Once in East Africa, on the shores on an ancient lake, I sat alone and suddenly it struck me what community is. It is gathering around a fire and listening to someone tell us a story. –> Bill Moyers

Take care,
Aly

Southern Girl Gone North…..

I don’t think I have a Southern accent… yet moving here, thirteen miles north of the Mason-Dixon line, everyone notices. Chris tells me I turn it on like syrup when I need to make a point. And I know when I get nervous, “g’s” drop off the ends of words like dogwood blossoms in a hurricane.

However, if we take the word of the History Channel’s latest special, “You Don’t Know Dixie” – I like fast cars, country music and likker. Oh, plus Jesus and a shotgun share equal billing on my mantel. Seriously, two hours prime time entertainment spent describing no Southerner I know except maybe Foghorn Leghorn. Hmmm… looking out into the rainy PA afternoon sans moonshine and actually wearing shoes, I’m wondering if there are any real differences left in this era of instant access?

Of course the low-hanging fruits paw-paws are the amazing foods that each region brings to a groaning table. I’ve yet to experience “hogmaw,” a Pennsylvania Dutch specialty that is a local variation on haggis, but the ubiquitous side dish of apple fritters is well worth anyone’s begging for a recipe! On the other hand, I can’t find good grits anywhere – so once I get settled in my house, y’all have to come over and I’ll make some. Throw in a little cheese, toss a few shrimp with some bacon, spring onions and hot sauce – and have a fantastic low country shrimp & grits night!

Back to the accent, I was talking to a lovely couple from Ontario yesterday, and they were very curious as to why I said “y’all” talking to just the two of them. I explained that y’all is number irrelevant as a term, however if we are trying to be group inclusive or teasing the non-Southerners, we’ll throw out an “all y’all” for irony. From Chris’ perspective, “Wednesday week,” and “carry her to the store” were strange and unusual ways to say “a week from Wednesday,” or “bring her to the store.” Having heard them all my life, they never struck a discordant note for me. And who knew? According to the History Channel talking heads, my drawl is the closest representation in the modern era of the way early American colonists spoke.

So we talk differently, eat differently – but are there substantive cultural divides that I will have to overcome as I settle into my new life?

Coming in, I assume the biggest difference will be that the two cities I know most intimately down South are each around a quarter-million in population, while my new home is a town of 8,000. Presumably, size will play a larger dynamic than any inherent North versus South cultural bias. Imagine my horror at finding the nearest Starbucks is thirteen miles away, how will I get my delicious and overpriced Chai? Luckily, I’m adventurous enough to try the local coffee shops, and there are a couple of local coffeehouses with amazingly skilled baristas (I’m looking at you Ragged Edge)!

There are probably one or two assumptions that I should clear up as I settle into my “old Pennsylvania” home. First, the American Civil War had everything to do with slavery, its seeds were planted in the compromises of the Constitution. And I do like William Tecumseh Sherman and US Grant, though neither is my beloved Dorsey Pender. And I’m not a NASCAR fan, sorry. I grew up ten miles from what is now the Petty Museum, and it was a field trip destination – so I know all about the appeal. I know there are just as many north of the M-D line that appreciate its vroom vroom, it’s just not a favorite. Whenever I watch it, I hear my Daddy talking about the old-timers running bootleg (he knew some of them) and I lose interest. We can talk all the basketball you want, Tobacco Road-ACC-even a little Big Ten if you push…

In Gettysburg or “the Movie” as its referred to by Civil Wars buffs, Longstreet remarks to the English observer that “we Southerners like our men religious and a little bit mad. I suspect that’s why women fall in love with preachers.” So, going back to the History Channel presumption that we are more religious in general – I have to wonder if that can be true. Just last week I saw a gentleman wearing a shirt that proclaimed “proud white Pennsylvanian clinging to his guns and religion.” Yikes. Therefore, much as my mama taught me, religion and politics are off the table north and south of the Mason-Dixon line.

One back-home tradition I’m eager to import is that of a “drop in” world, where if you were home folks just showed up. You offered them some tea/lemonade/bourbon and something more-or-less freshly baked from the oven. You visited, ate, and after a half an hour or so, they went on about the rest of their day. It always reminded me of the Victorian custom of calling cards and “at homes,” I so loved in novels. Do they have a similar tradition up here?

Summing up, perhaps the best way to describe how I define my Southern identity comes from the pictures I see when I close my eyes. I dream of ridges of red clay dotted with lopsided pine trees, music coming from unexpected venues, and someone sliding across the words of Faulkner, O’Connor or Humphreys sounding like bourbon-slicked velvet.

Wish me luck, and as we say in North Carolina, “y’all come….”

Transplanted tunes:
• Dixie Storms (Lone Justice: Maria McKee’s band from the 80s, this quiet little song screams South to me)
• Rock a Bye Your Baby With a Dixie Melody (Rufus Wainwright: love his gravelly version)
• Pennsylvania 6-5000 (Brian Setzer Orchestra: this is a fun cover, the song was how I learned to spell PA, and to dance the jitterbug)
• The Long Way Home (Norah Jones: eventually you end up where you need to be)
• Carolina In My Mind (James Taylor: he’s a Northern Southern boy, and his easy melodies paint lyrical pictures of my red mud backroads)
• Walk Alone (the Roots: while hip/hop has urban roots, an awful lot of it can trace to the Southern gospel tradition)
• Drive South (John Hiatt: he pushes the guitar like a gas pedal as he revs this song forward)
• Up South (Regina Carter: call it a violin, call it a fiddle, she can play – google her version of Chattanooga Choo-Choo)
• Near North (Duke Ellington: jazz legend, evocative melody – can’t miss)
• Tobacco Road (Southern Culture on the Skids: quintessential Southern bar band with fantastic homegrown songs)
• Won’t Give In (the Finn Brothers: dreaming a dream forever – and making it come true)
• Southern Kind of Life (Kasey Chambers: beautiful, descriptive country anthem by a laid-back Australian roots singer)
• Dixie (the Union Confederacy: did you sing this in Elementary School? I wish it wasn’t relegated to the haters now)
• Southern Belles in London Sing (the Faint: and now for something completely different…)
• Life in a Northern Town (Sugarland: trying to find a place – sweet ballad even though I generally prefer their rock-out numbers)
• Going North (Missy Higgins: Indy rocker, with a catchy empowerment song, “where the answers fall like leaves….”)
• Girl from the North Country (Johnny Cash & Bob Dylan: self-indulgent duet between two legends)
• Daddy’s Gone to Knoxville (Mark Knopfler: bouncy, ragtime-ish number from someone who can handle just about any style)
• Dixie Chicken (Little Feat: one of the oddest songs ever written – this and fat man in the bathtub – they give a whole new meaning to pet names)
• Are you from Dixie? (Jerry Reed: it’s really just an excuse to list all the states, but Jerry and Glen Campbell’s Bonaparte’s Retreat remind me of summer cookouts)
• Homeward Bound (Paul Simon: remember that feeling of driving at night. All you see is the reflection from your headlights on the road, until finally you see that warm amber spilling from the porch waiting to envelope you in its light)

The way to despair is to refuse to have any kind of experience –> Flannery O’Connor

Take care,
Aly

Persisting Memory, 7.24.11

I don’t like oysters, their slimy succulence completely eludes me.

Although my Daddy, in ever optimistic efforts to tempt with his oyster stew (only the best in three counties) told me repeatedly how I would eat raw oysters by the peck as a toddler. So often, in fact, that I remember the wood panels and oaken chairs of the kitchen, I remember Daddy in a short sleeve button-down shirt soft and sun-smelling from its many washings, and I smell the piquant brininess that comes from fresh ocean food. But the oysters, no recall whatsoever.

By contrast, I remember sitting up on a nurse’s station telling Dr. W that I was going to be a thoracic surgeon and fix other kids’ moms the way he’d done mine. The clicky floors, the hospital green walls, the smell of disinfectant and fear are vivid when I close my eyes. I must have been four, but I distinctly remember how dry and papery his hand felt as he patted my knee, telling me that would be a long time, but he believed I could do it… mmmmmm, medical school now — don’t think so — though I felt horrid abandoning the PLAN for “liberal arts” when I outgrew my Dr. Aly phase.

Why does one memory resonate to this day and the other remains just a story in the family logbook?

As I’ve been working on the book, I’ve been trying to triangulate the interviews, accounts and other information — making sure that I’m following sound journalistic/historical standards. Sometimes that’s problematic. How do you verify context?

For example, a friend and I were talking about the cultural context for the monuments on the Gettysburg battlefield. If you think about the symbolism on all that stone — it asks the visitor to speak not only the language of the battle, but to understand a classical education, to “get” the references the veterans were making.

In other words, I not only have to take the personal memories that are colored by each subject’s life experience, but also filter them for cultural clues, and what was the “accepted” understanding of the era….. which makes the stories vastly more complex and the unravelling more fantastic!

Memory-tripping songs:

"persistence of memory"

• Seasons in the Sun (Terry Jacks) we sang this song in my elementary school chorus class, I remember the tiered chorus room with its echoing tile floor, and the smell of chalk & industrial cleaners. This is an odd song for 4th graders to sing, don’t you think?
• Dooley (check out the Dillards’ version) — my parents listened to all sorts of music, but bluegrass brings me over to Charlie Parker’s house (not THAT Charlie Parker). He taught a welding class for my Dad, actually he taught me to use a blowtorch when I was eight. Back to music — I would sit out on the porch with Daddy & his guitar, Charlie & his banjo and their friends as they plucked, picked and played. Drinking sweet tea, smelling the cut grass of summer and listening for the guitar to join the banjo and the fiddle as they followed each other into familiar paths of melody…
• Upside Down (Diana Ross) — the smell of raw lumber, fresh paint and my brother teaching me funky dance moves in an almost built house
• Piano Man (Billy Joel) — snow storms in Durham, smoky bars where you could only order Coke and RA’s who were wicked good singers (or so my sixteen year self thought)
• Ways to Be Wicked (Lone Justice) — the front porch at my first house. I was still young enough to think of it as “playing house.” Listening to Lone Justice, the Stray Cats, Siouxie and the Banshees as I learned.
• Higher Love (Steve Winwood) — school days and realities. It conjures burnt umber and grey, an old photo that you don’t have the heart to take from its frame.
• What About Love (Heart) — they were never my favorites, but this song reminds me of long talks, unmade journeys à la Robert Frost and taking myself way too seriously….
• All Around the World (Paul Simon) — Graceland is such an iconic album and this song was my explore the world dream song, and for some reason I picture Noah Wyle??? Not that that’s a bad thing, it just a little baffling.
• She Moves One (Paul Simon) — A lot of people who loved the above just didn’t adore this album. For me, it was midnight dreaming and waterfalls — the songs ease you into a blue-green place…
• US Blues (Grateful Dead) — Buffalo Bills stadium July 4th. Blazing hot day having given way to a humid night. The encore starts, and a light rain mists down on sun-reddened skin. The smells of patchouli, sunscreen and an ozone-y rain odor mingle in the darkness, with the occasional sharp tang of fireworks. Pure bliss.
• Not Fade Away (Grateful Dead’s version, although Florence & the Machine have a cool cover on the new Buddy Holly tribute album) — camping and music. Listening to a motorcross race somewhere in the distance, while a drum circle in the camp nearby pulsed out rhythms that rumpled the night….
• Teach Me Tonight (Amy Winehouse’s cover, may she rest in peace, is awesome, the song was originally made famous by the deCastro sisters, I also love the Diane Schuur version) — for someone who has always found learning that most potent of aphrodisiacs, this joins the pantheon of inappropriate school songs that conjure scents of chalk, marker, new packs of notebook paper and that bubbly nervous anticipation of infinite possibility in the first day of class
• One Clear Moment (Little Feat) — the happiest sad song ever. With this one, I’m transported to a spring in NC when one life was ending and another was beginning. The newly-widened road to my childhood home seemed a sun-bleached tether keeping me from flying into pieces.
• Moondance (Van Morrison) — somehow I end up in Georgia with this one, high ceiling fans, old houses and billowy curtains — and roadside stands bursting with fat peaches.
• I Take My Chances (Mary Chapin Carpenter) — my single girl anthem! “Cut the deck right in half, I’ll play from either side!” I remember coming back from a girls night out, damp from midnight swimming, getting to my apartment and twirling in “independent” pleasure…
• Harbor Lights (Bruce Hornsby) — I hear this song and I’m two places, both back in NC. In one memory, I’m riding in a car down Benjamin Parkway, the windows rolled down, the music turned up summer blazing and in the other, I’m high in the nosebleed seats at Ovens Auditorium hearing Bruce from a distance, and enjoying on of the best concerts I’ve ever imagined.
• On Every Street (Dire Straits) — hmmm, this song has a guitar solo in the middle that echoes those primal melodies, and it also brings a faint odor of printer toner…
• Sending Me Angels (Delbert McClinton) — a mild winter day, swinging in the porch swing with a bundled up baby in my arms, hearing the stereo through the reversed baby monitor, I would sit in the sunshine, sharing the afternoon with a baby and a big-footed cat.
• All Four Seasons (Sting) — think about those crazy days when you’re running hither and yon as babies need changing, comforting, feeding — and oh! the mood swings. Then transpose the song to the teen years — it works either way
• Breakaway (Kelly Clarkson) — this song carried me back and forth over the Blue Ridge as we began our adventure in TN
• Love it When you Call (The Feeling) — cars & moms go together, when I here this I think of piano books, basketballs, backpacks, snacks, and girls creating a dance that provokes giggles and lots of mom looks in the rear view mirror…
• For Good (from Wicked) — We share music, and this song takes me to a snowy afternoon in Kentucky, a dark, crowded theater and looking at Chris over the heads of the girls as they lose themselves in a play. Music makes memories a “handprint on my heart.”

One of the oddest things in life, I think, is the things one remembers –> Agatha Christie

Take care,
Aly

Rhapsody in Blue (dark, that is…)

“It’s basketball, baby….” Dick Vitale’s kazoo-meets-megaphone voice jumps from the TV and I start smiling. It’s time for my Blue Devils to play ball. After a couple of rough games at the end of the season, they showed real depth in the ACC championship.

As that final game progressed, with Carolina playing like they were saving it for the next couple of weeks, I started reading some of the messages and wall posts on FaceBook. Every aspect of the Blue Devils and the game got trashed — their abilities, their looks (????), their honesty and the refs…. Now I can smack talk with the best of them (OK, I can’t — basically, because it’s really mean), but some of that was a little over the line.

It’s not like I’m unused to it — believe me, loving the “Dookies,” breeds a certain amount of armor. It can come from nowhere. One can be watching an episode of Glee, Glee, when a character sits down to watch a game and states, “ I hope it’s not the Blue Devils. I hate Duke like I hate the Nazis (4/27/10).”

I should be in bed right now. There’s weekend plans, things that must be done in the AM. But I need to be here. The Blue Devils are on the court. If my boys lose, sadness — triumph, jubilation.

Though I cherish watching in the late night when I have to muffle my cheers and swallow my despair, I’ve watched many, many games with those who actively loathe my darlings. Beginning with my mom — who thought the Tarheels hung the moon. You see, growing up on Tobacco Road, you picked your blue early. Light blue meant the Tarheels, while the true dark blue showed your Duke allegiance. There were a few reds and golds as some people actually chose to be fans of State or Wake, not that there’s a problem with that. And in my childhood, the ACC teams from out of state were as exotic as the pampas we studied in Social Studies.

I started watching as a little girl. If I remember, the year I discovered basketball, that is to say Duke basketball was the last year Bill Foster coached at Duke. And then with Coach K, came the team that I adored: Gminski, Spanarkel, Bender, Denard & Banks. In Greensboro, we were so lucky because the conference championship was always at our Coliseum. Back in those days, the boys chosen to be ball boys owned the school in the weeks afterward, especially if they’d managed to score any swag or if we’d seen them on TV. And yes, our teachers brought televisions into our classes during the tourney. Hey, they wanted to watch as well. I read everything about the team — some girls had Shaun Cassidy, or Leif Garrett — me, I had five boys to worship, and they came to my town every year!

The second half has started — for the past couple of years Duke has done this lull thing to start up after halftime. I don’t think they mean to, they just ease off their game. Of course, the test comes to see if they can rally from whatever hole they’ve created….. realizing that should Duke lose, I’m forced to cheer for Carolina in a bid to salvage ACC pride

So, wish me luck, watch some bball, and I’ll see you in the AM!

Blue songs:
• Sweet Caroline (Dave Matthews’ version) while the original is lovely, and Dave Matthews is my personal favoritealthough Mr. Allred, my 6th grade social studies teacher’s husband made me love the song)
• Take Me Back To My Old Carolina Home (Uncle Dave Macon & His Fruit Jar Drinkers) — OK, I think I like this old song because of the band’s name
• My Dreams Are Getting Better All the Time (Les Brown & His Orchestra Feat. Doris Day) — one of those happy, hopeful songs that always seems like something is beginning
• Sir Duke (Stevie Wonder) — another happy go lucky, make-you-groove song, but the name is providential
• Blue Sky (Emily West) — laid back paean to that home sky
• Fight Blue Devils Fight (Duke pep band) — total geek out that I love this song….
• Blue Skies Again (Jessica Lea Mayfield) — driving rhythm makes this song a breakout
• Light Blue/Rhythm-a-ning (Andy Summers) — former Police member, is such awesome jazzman
• Blue Ridge Mountains (Fleet Foxes) — the defining edges of my childhood world
• Angel in Blue (J. Geils Band) — I remember dancing to this at block parties down in Durham
• Tangled Up in Blue (Bob Dylan) — in my mind, the tangle is a tousled mess of sky darkened with rain
• Rhapsody In Blue (Glenn Miller) — one of the best songs ever created
• Carolina In the Morning (Dean Martin) — doesn’t this just make you happy?
• The Winner Takes It All (ABBA) — this reminds me of those shots after the “big” win of the other team — I really don’t like those shots….
• Find My Way Home (None Of The Above) — another driving back to NC song, from an awesome bluegrass band
• Abracadabra (Steve Miller Band) — for some reason, lots of college bands know this one
• Raised Up Family (James Taylor) — love the “take me on back to Raleigh, NC..”
• Carolina In My Mind (JT with Carole King) — the live album just makes this
• Greensboro Blues (Bruce Piephoff) — fantastic song, that just calls up home
• Carolina Shout (Branford Marsalis) — old ragtime, reinterpreted by a new Master….
• Hungry Like The Wolf (Duran Duran) — do you think the band knows there’s a whole section of the country that can’t hear this song without visualizing Jim Valvano & the 1983 “Heart Attack Pack”?
• Won’t Go Home Without You (Maroon 5) — I love that camera shot when the sports reporters show you the team coming home, getting off the bus & win or lose someone is there to meet them…

With accomplishments comes confidence and with confidence comes belief. It has to be in that order. –> Mike Krzyzewski

Take care,
Aly

Monday music, 2.28.11

Yesterday was the last day of Valentine’s Month. Perhaps, it seems I don’t have a calendar. I do. I realize one day gets marked with a big red heart. I followed the debates on the commercialism, sexism and rather pronounced hetero-normative valuations of that day — and I still like that heart. I want the the joy, the romance, the sheer thrill of the “mushy moment,” as my girls call it.

However, one day just isn’t enough. Love in all its variations seems to be sorely lacking in modern society. We spin so frantically that taking fifteen minutes, an hour or even a whole entire weekend to sink into love seems indulgent, even decadent.

So last weekend’s trip was fantastically delightful! We had food (the most amazing sushi, in Shelby, NC — Sushi Dojo — you would not believe their inventiveness), music (In the Heights and tix to James Taylor at Tanglewood, oh, and the baby brass band!!); and chocolate (two amazing independent vendors — Bradleys makes the best dark chocolate orange peel in the universe, while Chocolate Fetish, awesome name, makes the most unusually divine truffles you’ll ever find). The main attraction was Shoji Retreats in Asheville. They bill themselves as 2000 feet above stress, and wow!! do they live up to their billing. We had the hot tub, sauna time and then the most amazing massages. Scott, the masseur, did something to my shoulder that had me considering bigamy for a moment. And we laughed, and talked, and explored a town we adore — remembering, blue skying, dreaming — things ignored on our daily to-do lists.

Six months ago, we began a new phase of our “heart’s journey.” And thanks to the February klaxon of hearts & flowers for reminding us to take the time to share more than the duties of each day. That’s one reason, among multitudes, to love the romantic poets of the early-19th century. Darlings like Keats, Wordsworth and Shelley didn’t need the calendar to make each moment of life sensual….

Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another’s being mingle—
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain’d its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?

smoochy tunes:
• Almost Like Being in Love (from Brigadoon) — Gene Kelly puts the romantical in romantic leading men
• Ticks (Brad Paisley) — an oddly, sweet & funny love song
• Big Red Heart (Tracy Bonham) — indy artist, check out the new Masts of Manhatta album
• Silly Love Songs (Paul McCartney) — the girls discovered this song on Glee, but I love the steam engine sounds on the original
• Everybody Needs Somebody to Love (the Blues Brothers) — while I love Solomon Burke, and Mick’s trib at the Grammys was something, this is Jake & Elwood’s to sing
• Say you Love Me (Fleetwood Mac) — we were in Asheville, what can I say…..
• Have I Told you Lately that I Love you (Van Morrison & the Chieftans) — the song is one of those oft-covered, check this kicking version
• My Heart Skips a Beat (the Secret Sisters) — love these sisters, who have lovely harmonies & old school song stylings
• The Man I Love (Coleman Hawkins) — have a little wine, listen to a little Coleman and the world will be right!
• History of Lovers (Calexico with Iron & Wine) — their 2005 collaboration, In the Reins, was a golden spike in the east-west world of folk/alt. country music….
• Make a Little Love (Alex Chilton) — he just makes me smile
• Lovers Speak (Joan Armatrading) — she has such power, and practically wills you to listen
• How Deep is your Love (the Bird & the Bee) — their cover of the iconic BeeGees song is both a little twisted and a little cool
• Lovefool (the Cardigans) — a novelty song that is just fun to have on a playlist
• I & Love & You (the Avett Brothers) — my NC boys are taking off, and this song showcases some of the reasons
• Love and Happiness (Al Green) – the Reverend Al Green to me, he defines love & happiness for us
• I Love you ‘Cause I Want to (Carlene Carter) — I love her fiercely independent take on being in love
• The Little Things my Baby Does (Bruce Springsteen) — such an unexpected love song, from the Boss’s outtake album, The Promise
• I love you for Sentimental Reasons (Linda Rondstadt) — her voice, designed for the smoky ballad
• I’ll Cover You (from Rent) — this song is so innocently lush, so uncomplicatedly romantic
• Ain’t No Mountain High Enough (Marvin & Tammy) — best version, and everything is improved with a little Motown

There is no remedy for love but more love –> Henry David Thoreau

Take care,
Aly

making a list

I love these questions to spark conversations in my brain, definitely an asset in the writing process Have fun with some holiday queries —

1. Real tree or Artificial? Real trees are wonderful. We never had a live tree in the house when I was a kid — I don’t know if it was for a fiscal or Mama’s breathing reason. We would light up this fir tree outside with those gigantic colored bulbs. Since I’ve lived on my own, I think I’ve not put up a tree, maybe 3 times…. my favorite tree story is one from the years I was in my apartment — I wanted a tree, had very little cash. So, I went to the tree lot on the 23rd or 24th and told the guy I had $10, and did he have any “Charlie Brown” trees. He was lovely, and picked out the largest tree he could strap to my Tercel, charged me $5 (because I insisted) and wished me a “Merry Christmas, little lady.” I got the tree home, called a bunch of friends, used the other $5 for a couple of gallons of cider. We decorated my tree, had the cider bubbling on the stove all cinnamon-y and orange-y, and had a memorable, joyous night. afterwards: every year I (and then we) went back to that lot until we moved to TN…..

2. When do you put up the tree & when does it come down? Well, it could be the night before Christmas (and has been) — but generally, it’s up for about 10 days to 2 weeks before Christmas. I’m not one of the everything goes away Christmas afternoon, my general rule is anytime up to January 6th works. Staying longer than the Magi is kind of outstaying the welcome….

3. Lights on the tree? We’ve found a combination of mini white and colored lights looks most festive on our trees.

4. Angel on the tree top or a star? Usually we have an angel — the girls picked her when they were little. This year, the treetop scrapes the ceiling, so we have a perky, golden bow tied way up there.

5. Favorite ornament theme or color? One year as a kid, we did a blue, silver and white tree to match the room, and it was gorgeous. For me, I love kitschy trees, full of ornaments gathered through the years, each one sparking a story (OK, a story that’s told every year as well). We usually have a wreath, but seldom have outdoor, Griswold-ish lighting displays.

6. Favorite for Christmas dinner? For the past several years, we’ve done sushi on Christmas Eve — love the tradition!! For the feast, I’m all about the sides. Growing up we did turkey, while Chris’ family does roast beast. I adore the potatoes, the salads, the lovely wines and of course the desserts (see next question).

7. Christmas treat of choice? There are four: 1) Red Band candy canes — there is nothing more Christmas-like than their soft and pepperminty deliciousness. My mom used to poke them into the center of a big, juicy orange and suck the juice through the porous, mint and sugar stick. The daughters love it, OK, so do I. 2) Starbucks cranberry bliss bar — I have this one time during the season. I’m not usually a white chocolate girl, but mixed with the zing of the cranberries and orange it really works. 3) wedding cookies — I usually make several batches and give away the majority (hi Kristi!!), but they are knee-weakeningly good. and 4) dark chocolate peppermint bark — homemade, cheap, expensive — it doesn’t matter. It tastes better in December.

8. Christmas beverage of choice — eggnog, cocoa or cider? All, please — the eggnog needs good bourbon & fresh nutmeg, the cocoa needs to be homemade with a candy cane, and the cider needs to simmer long enough to make the house smell like Christmas. Also, champagne is an excellent Christmas beverage, don’t you think?

9. Mail or email Christmas cards? Horrid confession — I had all the cards ready last year, and forgot to send them out. So, I’m determined this year to send them. I love to send cards as far flung reminders that we’re all connected and we’re thinking of each other at this time of the year. There have been years where I sent almost 200 — I think it’s a little more manageable now.

10. Favorite Christmas Movie? I love Holiday movies — I enjoy getting caught up. I still choke up a little when General Waverly stands at the top of the stairs and granddaughter Susan tells him he looks “wonderful.” I love when George Bailey finds Zuzu’s petals in his pocket and kisses the ball on the banister (if you like It’s a Wonderful Life, check out Meet John Doe — it’s not a “Christmas” movie, but there’s a tie-in). And oh, when Barbara Stanwyck and Dennis Morgan are in the runaway sleigh or Sydney Greenstreet says everything is a “cat-a-strophe,” I want to go to Connecticut and frolic for the holidays. A new favorite is Love Actually, but I assume if you put Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman in a cereal commercial it might be entertaining. We also must watch George C. Scott’s Christmas Carol. Chris loves Scott, but for me, Edward Woodward’s Spirit of Christmas Present just rings in the holiday. We always share the joy that’s the Nutcracker. We love to see it live, however if life intervenes — we catch the best of all possible versions. This year, PBS aired a fantastic version created by the San Francisco Ballet.

11. Favorite Christmas song? This is impossible — I can’t do one song for brushing my teeth. Gun to my head, I would say I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, Joy to the World, Winter Wonderland, the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah — but there are dozens of others, so I feel like I’m slighting them.

12. Travel at Christmas or stay home? I had never spent Christmas away from home until Chris and I started dating. That first year I got to experience my very own, “Christmas in Connecticut,” complete with snow flurries, church bells and family festivities. There wasn’t enough snow for a sleigh ride — one day, I’d love to do that, although I think I would have to accept that I’ll be cold — for me winter starts at 40˚. I love that the girls have experienced all sorts of holidays, at home, and traveling to family. I think it might be fun to take them to a big city for the lights and pomp of a holiday season. And someday, I think I’d like to have a tropical Christmas, sing “Mele Kalikimaka,” while sipping a cider smoothie on a beach somewhere….

13. Most annoying thing about this time of the year? Catching myself so caught up in the “busy” that I forget to enjoy what I’m doing. There’s tizzies where you’re spinning around to silly Christmas songs or can’t catch your breath for laughing, and there’s the 2am tizzy where you find yourself counting how many checks you’ve put on the “to do” list. Every now and then, I need to remind myself to take time for the former.

14. When do you start shopping for Christmas? I always tell myself that I’ll have everything finished before Thanksgiving, and I’ll spend all of December sitting by the fire caroling and sipping wintery beverages. That’s usually a delusion that comes crashing down around mid-December as I’m crossing things off the list. I learned it from my Dad, who loved to hit the stores on Christmas Eve. We would go to a Mall, which both parents loathed, he would get us each an Orange Julius, and we would sing with the muzak, and smile at the frenzy.

15. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Usually things like wine can be shared, but when it comes to an item picked specifically for me, I’m a little leery.

16. Wrapping paper or gift bags? hmmmm….. I love Christmas wrapping paper. I’ll use gift bags for the convenience and for oddly sized parcels, but there’s something so satisfying about the “rip & tear” factor on neatly wrapped packages. My parents “cherished” the paper so much they wanted us to peel each bit of tape carefully from the paper, and it was reused over and over and over.

17. Worst Christmas gift you ever received? I don’t like this question — if you get a gift, by its very nature, it’s lovely as a gesture of caring from the giver, right? I’ve only had a couple that just caused the jaw drop reaction. My favorite is probably the Christmas the year after my mom’s death. I had my own apartment, a dashing boyfriend and was coming home for Christmas with him in tow. Well, my dear, sweet, clueless Daddy presented me with a gilt-framed portrait. Of me. Dressed for the prom. Not so awful you say. Did I mention that it was five feet tall. Proportioned to hang over a mantel at, perhaps, Biltmore Estate. My brothers still laugh remembering my expression, and the “oh, ****” that came out of my mouth, before I could cover. I used the frame for years — it was truly lovely.

18. Favorite gift received as a child? Always books, at Christmas I would get a hardcover of one of the “Children’s Illustrated Classics,” and I would spend days poring over the pictures of Gulliver, or David Balfour, or the lovely Rowena. As an adult, probably a bracelet Chris gave me our first year together as we opened presents under the tree to the sound of the “Beavis & Butthead” holiday special.

19. Hardest & easiest person(s) to buy for? Chris is kind of a combination — it’s awfully difficult to surprise him. It can be done. Often, the trick is buying something close enough to the holiday that he hasn’t bought it for himself. There’s nothing more fun than finding a perfect gift, sometimes, however the chase becomes arduous.

20. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? Sometimes we do the one present on Christmas Eve, but generally it’s a Christmas morning as early as the girls arise tradition. However, lately it seems Chris and I wake up before our sleepy heads.

21. What do you want for Christmas this year? I got the best gift ever, when Chris made it through his heart attack. I want my friends nearby, the girls to be healthy and happy, and no hints before the day… I’m pretty easy when it comes to gifts — go sentimental and I’m a pushover.

Christmas Shuffle (the perfect Christmas song rotation is supposedly 3 to 1): I’ll be Home for Christmas (try Harry Connick’s version, or Linda Rondstadt’s), Little Drummer Boy (I like Ray Charles and the Bing/Bowie duet is oddly compelling); Must Be Santa (the Mitch Miller version, of course — unless you want the really odd Bob Dylan version, which kind of grows on you); Hey Ahab (Elton John & Leon Russell — The Union album is just cool); Wish List (Neon Trees — upping my cool cred with the teenager); Hark the Herald Angels/Angels we have heard on High (Straight, No Chaser does this awesome a cappella mash-up); Linus & Lucy (Vince Guaraldi version is classic, though Bela Fleck’s cover is impressively wonderful); How Deep is your Love (the Bird & the Bee’s cover is unusual); Joy to the World (Aretha has it cold); Someday at Christmas (Jack Johnson has a nice cover — do you think he’ll grow up to be Jimmy Buffet?); Sugar Rum Cherry (Duke Ellington); River Deep-Mountain High (the girls like the Glee version, but Tina Turner just rocks out the original); Merry Swiftmas (Evan Taubenfeld, Chris loves this song); It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas (Perry Como’s cover for my Mom); I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day (Sarah McLachlan’s version is ethereal); Just Breathe (Pearl Jam); Snow (from White Christmas with Bing, Rosemary Clooney, Danny Kaye); Go Tell it on the Mountain (Mahalia Jackson’s version is spectacular, but I also love James Taylor’s restrained take); Grown-Up Christmas List (Amy Grant, although Michael Bublé has a great cover) and You’re Not Alone (Mavis Staples – wow!!).

the girls, 2008 @ Opryland

It was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, “God bless us, every one!” – Charles Dickens

Take care,
Aly

Monday music – 9.27.10, aka Peaches

I love peaches. One of the joys of late summer is finding that perfect “georgia belle,” firm, pale-fleshed and juicy — sweet with that little edge of floral tartness. I think I had the last one for the year this week, marking the end of a season.

I know I could have canned or frozen peaches throughout the year, but it’s just not the same. Even the peaches my Mama canned in the way back, the closest I’ve ever come, weren’t exactly right. Although, in the dark of a frozen February night, they did warm and brighten the table.

You may know peaches are akin to roses — and in its perfect ripeness you can taste the flower. I learned that ages ago, and maybe that’s one of the reasons for my peachy passion. Another came with Chris into my life….

My skin is some sort of “life” barometer — blushing, flushing, bruising and prickling with willful randomness. Chris, who I began dating in the heat of a Carolina summer, amused himself tracking the vagaries of his “peach,” as my skin provided an ever changing show. When he discovered my love of the actual fruit, a tradition was born. Some time around my birthday, Chris showed up from a sales call near the South Carolina border with a basket of gloriously ripe peaches.

That was seventeen summers of babies and laughter, travails and travels, and bushels of peaches ago. This year, about a week after my birthday, Chris went in for a routine heart catheterization. And that was, as they say in the song, is when “things start[ed] to go wrong…” As the doctors were implanting what they had determined was a routine stent, he arrested and the left side of his heart stopped. The doctor told me there was a point where he was as frightened as he’d ever been doing a procedure. However, thanks to the team’s skill and Chris’ resilience some five hours later, they wheeled him into the Intensive Care Unit, and time could begin passing once more.

There were two points during that long day that threatened my composure, and played hell with my ability to take a light approach to life in general. First, Dr. Wood suggested that it might be a good idea for the girls to come to the hospital and see their father, with an unspoken “just in case” hovering on the fringes of our conversation.

Second, somewhere in the deep darkness of that night, I was in the room with Chris as they brought in a tray for him to mostly observe. It had a fat, yellow canned peach half cupping a scoop of cottage cheese. He groggily focused on the food, trying to eat something as I fed him toddler-sized bites. He stopped me, touched my hand, and said, “I’m sorry….”

“What for,” having been married too long to not ask the question… “I haven’t gotten your peaches yet,” he glanced at the shiny example on the plate. I stroked his hand and had to turn away…

The next week, after he was released from the hospital and into the world of cardiac rehab, I came home from school and found a big bag of late summer peaches spilling onto the kitchen table.

Enjoy those little traditions of life, read some Gary Soto. His poems, and stories, both adult and kid, are lovely. The girls love his Christmas tale, “Too Many Tamales,” about another food memory.

Looking Around, Believing by Gary Soto

How strange that we can begin at any time.
With two feet we get down the street.
With a hand we undo the rose.
With an eye we lift up the peach tree
And hold it up to the wind — white blossoms
At our feet. Like today. I started
In the yard with my daughter,
With my wife poking at a potted geranium,
And now I am walking down the street,
Amazed that the sun is only so high,
Just over the roof, and a child
Is singing through a rolled newspaper
And a terrier is leaping like a flea
And at the bakery I pass, a palm,
Like a suctioning starfish, is pressed
To the window. We’re keeping busy —
This way, that way, we’re making shadows
Where sunlight was, making words
Where there was only noise in the trees.

musical fruit basket: Tu M’as Fait Rire (Beausoleil — “our” band, they epitomize true happiness); Something to Talk About (Bonnie Raitt– we should tell you about how we told our improv class we’re dating ); Always Something there to Remind Me (Naked Eyes); I don’t want to Walk Without You (the Harry James orchestra — big bands & bluegrass on Sundays); Walk Right In (the Rooftop singers); We Still Talk the Way Lovers Do (Johnny Favourite Swing Orchestra); Quelle Belle Vie (Beausoleil — one of the most perfect “hurtin’” songs ever); Accidentally in Love (Counting Crows); I’ll Cover You (from Rent, while I adore Seasons of Love, this is my fav from the musical); Wake Up (Don Dixon, saw him live once or twice, great producer — but kick butt as a performer); Almost Like Being in Love (from Brigadoon); I Want to Walk you Home (one of Fats Domino’s classics, but Paul McCartney has an excellent cover); Peaches & Regalia (Zappa, do I need to say more?); Big Bad Handsome Man (Imelda May — love her voice); Peachy (Missy Higgins); Lay All your Love on Me (Abba, and the version from Mamma Mia is just fun); Beauty in Everything (Jessica Harper) and Harbor Lights (Bruce Hornsby — desert island song).

It is good to have an end to journey towards, but it is the journey that mattered in the end. –> Ursula K. LeGuin

Take care,
Aly

way back Wednesday – 8.18.10

Every now and then, as you look at the arc of a day — you can find a theme that runs through its history, sort of a historical Same Time, Next Year.

August 18th is one of those days. Women dominate the day. Naturally, there’s good news and bad news in that.

I’ll start with the bad, because that’s how I usually order my news — kind of like liver & onions followed by a sweet, juicy and flaky apple pie. Roman Polanski was born on the 18th. And in a lovely twist of irony, Nabokov published Lolita a quarter of a century later.

When I think of Polanski, which doesn’t often happen, I don’t completely picture him as Humbert. Thrown into the mix, is a sympathy for Sharon Tate and a horror of that tragic summer. Do you remember reading Helter Skelter? – I finally had to stop reading it at night – I kept hearing noises outside, windows rattling, and weird shadows from the streetlights.

Lolita has always made me uncomfortable, although Nabokov’s use of language is strikingly beautiful. What allowed me to examine it anew was Azar Nafisi’s Reading Lolita in Tehran. Her book allows me to come back to some remembered classics with “new” eyes.

Adventure defines the good news segment for today.

Virginia Dare was born today in 1587. You do know Virginia, right? She was the first European child born in the Americas. She was born at Roanoke, NC and became famous as part of the mystery of the Lost Colony. If you ever get the chance, go down to the Outer Banks of North Carolina and catch the outdoor drama. However, for my money — as far as adventure goes, I’ll take Elinor White Dare. Born in 1563 or so, this intrepid daughter of Governor John White chucks her conventional life in England and travels into a New World, pregnant. After she gives birth, she vanishes from history as completely as the Colony itself… Why is that good news, you may ask? For me, that means Virginia and Elinor, and the mysterious “Croatan” carved into the lintel always exist in the “possible.” There’s an unknown journey out there somewhere, offering vast scope for history, imagination, science and pleasure.

However, the big news for the day is that in 1920, the 19th amendment to the US Constitution was ratified. Abigail Adams plea for America to “remember the ladies,” was finally granted. I did not know this until a few years ago, but the final state to ratify the amendment was Tennessee. That impresses me about the state — and they never mentioned it when the girls did state history. I love Davy Crockett and Sam Houston — but universal suffrage kind of trumps. And it’s touchable history. Do you realize that means I’ve interviewed people who were around when their wives, mothers and sisters had no civic voice? I’ve taken my girls to the polls since they were infants. As a result, they are curious about the system, interested in the candidates, and willing to listen to all viewpoints.

way back down deep: Ghost of a Dog • Edie Brickell & New Bohemians: this band was one of my go-to college angst-y groups. Brickell’s lyrics are convoluted, and just perfect with a big glass of wine and a group of friends hanging out. Or so they were. Now, a fond smile flashes when one of the songs comes on, and a few stay in the rotation…. and I still wonder about the breakfast conversations she has with Paul Simon.
Mama Help Me; Black & Blue; Carmelito (these 1st three remind me of both Sting & Bob Weir when they wanna play cowboy); He Said; Times Like This (one of my desert island songs, it has everything love, rain, cats); 10,000 Angels (another that I won’t fast forward through); Ghost of a Dog; Strings of Love; Woyaho; Oak Cliff Bra (so short and so odd); Stwisted; This Eye; Forgiven; and Me by the Sea

Well-behaved women seldom make history. –> Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Take care,
Aly

Monday music – 8.16.10

The girls start school tomorrow — where did the summer go?!

They aren’t babies to be dressed in frilly skirts and patent leathers, their own choices reflect the image they want to share with the world. And yes, I will probably still take their picture in the am, trying to get a shot between the eye rolls.

I remember back to school shopping with my mom — oh, I wanted it to be as easy as it was for my brothers — go to Belks, buy some jeans, some polos, some button downs and underwear & socks. But no, we would spend hours in Laurie’s….. looking back, what was I thinking? How could I have been so clueless? Laurie’s was incredible — one of the neatest stores I’ve ever experienced. My mom would find these skirts, totally prepped out, but so well-made I would end up wearing them later in college. And the sales ladies, older and friends of my mother, would mix and match and pamper my sulky, teenaged self. I would start smiling, as we finished, and I got the promised visit to Will’s Book Store a few doors down the street. Perhaps via the laws of unintended consequences, I can now watch my daughters try on five versions of the same jeans, without trauma or a Borders fix. And luckily for them, I tend to be fairly hands-off about their choices.

Christopher Bursk writes of unanticipated lessons in today’s poem. Born in 1943, he’s referred to as an abstract poet — and he’s garnered much praise and a little controversy for his use of politics in his poetry

Why Latin Should Still Be Taught in High School by Christopher Bursk

Because one day I grew so bored
with Lucretius, I fell in love
with the one object that seemed to be stationary,
the sleeping kid two rows up,
the appealing squalor of his drooping socks.
While the author of De Rerum Natura was making fun
of those who fear the steep way and lose the truth,
I was studying the unruly hairs on Peter Diamond’s right leg.
Titus Lucretius Caro labored, dactyl by dactyl
to convince our Latin IV class of the atomic
composition of smoke and dew,
and I tried to make sense of a boy’s ankles,
the calves’ intriguing
resiliency, the integrity to the shank,
the solid geometry of my classmate’s body.
Light falling through blinds,
a bee flinging itself into a flower,
a seemingly infinite set of texts
to translate and now this particular configuration of atoms
who was given a name at birth,
Peter Diamond, and sat two rows in front of me,
his long arms, his legs that like Lucretius’s hexameters
seemed to go on forever, all this hurly-burly
of matter that had the goodness to settle
long enough to make a body
so fascinating it got me
through fifty-five minutes
of the nature of things.

school dayz: Something Better Beginning (the Kinks); To Love the Language (Harry Connick — this song is just infectious); September Grass (James Taylor — makes me think of Friday Night football); Where Do I Begin (Idina Menzel); Wonderful World (Sam Cooke — don’t know much…); Morning Train (Sheena Easton); I’ve got a Crush on You (Steve Tyrell); Morning Glory (Chrissie Hynde); Hello Good Morning (Sick of Sarah); School of Hard Knocks (Radney Foster); Just Like Starting Over (John Lennon); Wake Me up When September Ends (Green Day); Me & Julio Down by the Schoolyard (Paul Simon — what a hook); ABC (Jackson Five); Late for School (Steve Martin); Please, Please, Please Let me Get What I Want (the Smiths); American Slang (the Gaslight Anthem); She Walks this Earth (Sting); Hello, Goodbye (the Beatles); and Oh, How I Hope to Get up in the Morning (Irving Berlin — I sometimes sing this to the girlies on school days)

True creativity often starts where language ends. –> Arthur Koestler

Take care,
Aly