Decorating for the Holiday, Naturally: The Holly and The Ivy

Long work day yesterday, but I did take some time today to enjoy the fresh air, sunshine, warm weather, and do some trimming of the holly and the ivy* - both literal and seasonal. I just thought the office porch and environs needed some holiday decor.

 My air conditioner condensation catcher looks prettier this way.

All materials sourced from the grounds; pine limbs, 

holly I trimmed from random bushes, and ivy pulled away from taking over Education buildings.

Ah, leftover rosehips from last night's party ...

(*%)@(#*%

You so pretty,

 But why you got to stab me with your razor sharp thorns?

Pretty Evil little ... Beauties

* If you don't have "The Holly and The Ivy" stuck in your head yet, you will soon.

 The holly and the ivy,

When they are both full grown,

Of all the trees that are in the wood,

The holly bears the crown. 

The rising of the sun 

And the running of the deer, 

The playing of the merry organ, 

Sweet singing in the choir. 

~ Sharp's English Folk-Carols (1911)

Click here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=57l6dSbVppM

~ photos by iPhone

Note: I WAS wearing gardening gloves, but not leather ones. I was pulling thorns out for a few days. 

Even later note: c. January 2016, I have a SCAR in my palm from not getting one of these little buggers out.

Simon and Sting Sing: Sweet Scenes

When in Hershey, PA, at the Hotel Hershey, you fill up on protein for the hours of probable dancing ahead.
Perhaps with a Reese's Peanut Butter Pie slice - split three ways.

Sustenance

Simon and Sting Tour.com

The evening at the Giant Center could be a blur of excitement, dancing, shrieking, whistling,
stamping along in rhythm, and "singing" along.

Feeling Groovy

Document for posterity as able,

but don't forget to 

Experience the now as it happens.

Look away from the screen.

Direct your attention to the larger screens
when body blocked by other concertgoers.

Snap

Lights. Cameras. Action

Power duo

Dancing Girl Grins

pero ... Ellas dancen solos

Remember this post?

STING, BABY!

Rock legends in their own right. 

A musical journey around the world in about three hours.

Musical Allies and Brothers in Song

Paul Simon and Sting on Tour Together

NYTimes

I took turns shooting on the iTouch and the Nikon. 

It took the whole show to figure out which Nikon presets to best use to get these two:

 And then ... there was backstage.

Which I didn't shoot.

Because.

Well.

Let's call it my: Gaiman Give Back Philosophy

which I developed one night after sitting waiting for Neil Gaiman's autograph after a reading.

These artists have given us so much already - often for many years,

often, with literal blood, sweat, and tears,

not even including the epically wonderful 3 hour show we just attended;

and usually they are in transit, tired, 

and must be weary of the same old song and tune off the stage.

Let me "give back" some of your time, 

by demanding no more 

than what you have already given.

I am already so grateful for you and your art.

This "give back" is my gift to you.

But thank you, Paul Simon,

for being so gracious to me and my friends,

for the words, the photo op, the autographs for those who requested,

and,

most importantly,

at least to me,

and for reaching out to one

who would have been happy just to 

give back 

to you.

It really meant a lot.

Sincerely,

An even bigger fan than before. 

March 9, 2014 Setlist:

Brand New Day

(Sting cover)

 Boy in the Bubble

Fields of Gold

(Sting cover)

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic

Englishman in New York

I Hung My Head

Driven to Tears

(The Police cover)

Walking on the Moon

(The Police cover)

Fragile

(Sting cover)

Mother and Child Reunion

50 Ways to Leave Your Lover

Dazzling Blue

Graceland

Still Crazy After All These Years
 

Me and Julio Down By The School Yard

America

(Simon & Garfunkel song)

Message in a Bottle

(The Police cover)

The Hounds of Winter
 

They Dance Alone

Roxanne

(The Police cover)

Desert Rose

That Was Your Mother

Hearts and Bones

Mystery Train/Wheels

Obvious Child

Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes

You Can Call Me Al

The Boxer

(Simon & Garfunkel song)

Encore:

Bridge Over Troubled Water
 

Every Breath You Take
 

Late in the Evening
 

When Will I Be Loved

 

Photo of the Day: Sphinx with No Name

 Maker Faire, Saturday, September 21, 2013

Side of Cargo Container

Artist still working on additional panel to the right, out of view.

Substitute Sphinx, and it almost still works.

A Horse With No Name

On the first part of the journey,
I was looking at all the life.
There were plants and birds. and rocks and things,
There was sand and hills and rings.
The first thing I met, was a fly with a buzz,
And the sky, with no clouds.
The heat was hot, and the ground was dry,
But the air was full of sound.

I've been through the desert on a horse with no name,
It felt good to be out of the rain.
In the desert you can remember your name,
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.
La, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la

After two days, in the desert sun,
My skin began to turn red.
After three days, in the desert fun,
I was looking at a river bed.
And the story it told, of a river that flowed,
Made me sad to think it was dead.

You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name,
It felt good to be out of the rain.
In the desert you can remember your name,
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.
La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la

After nine days, I let the horse run free,
'Cause the desert had turned to sea.
There were plants and birds, and rocks and things,
There was sand and hills and rings.
The ocean is a desert, with it's life underground,
And a perfect disguise above.
Under the cities lies, a heart made of ground,
But the humans will give no love.

You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name,
It felt good to be out of the rain.
In the desert you can remember your name,
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.

La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la
La la, la, la la la la, la la la, la, la

Songwriters: BUNNELL, DEWEY

Found at: http://youtu.be/zSAJ0l4OBHM

Poem of the Day: Beim Schlafengehen

Beim Schlafengehen

(Going to Sleep)

Now that the day has made me tired,

my longings shall be accepted kindly

by the friendly, starry night

like a weary child.

Hands, stop your activity,

head, forget all of your thoughts;

all my senses now

will sink into slumber.

And my soul, unobserved,

will float about on untrammeled wings

in the enchanted circle of the night,

deep and thousand fold to live.

From Richard Strauss' song series Vier letzte Lieder, text by Hermann Hesse
Translated by Heather Engebretson, soprano


Context for the worried parental unit: I attended a Liederabend, a vocal arts recital by one of my work-study students, a young and upcoming soprano. This is the English translation of a Strauss song featured on the recital (not the soprano mentioned above). It caught my attention because sometimes I have a problem going to sleep - turning my brain off from its busy-ness, and shutting down my other senses. My hands sometimes twitch like I'm still typing, and I need to enter a meditation trance to calm them and my mental activity. The words seemed to echo this state and I wanted to remember how relevant it was to me not long after I heard the song.

(Good grief Mom. It's not a call out for the shrink)

Photo of the Day: Photographic Personal Revelation

For all the Silver Girls, like me, who may need a Friend, or friend or two, to help ease a mind over some troubled waters.

I'm having a series of revelatory moments, which I'm now realizing started last week, of all things, on my morning commute. After a horrendous night with no sleep, due to construction and jack-hammering, and other urban disturbances, I decided to take a later train. Unfortunately, it was one of those commutes where I had to stand in the vestibule the whole way, due to crowding, which is murder on my feet and back, and I got overheated and nauseated. But that's not what was unusual. That morning, I did something seemingly uncharacteristic.

I had the urge to take a photo.

Last night, while flipping through folder of totally unrelated photos,
I had another important little personal revelation.

I realized that sometimes the answers you don't know you need,
come as mere whispers of thought ...
and trigger actions you can't explain.

Look up.
Look up now.

Get your camera out.
Get any camera out.

Look out the windows.
Now.

Really.

Yes.

Now.

Take pictures.

Just here.
Doesn't matter of what.
Doesn't matter if they come out.

Just do it.
That's it.
That's all.

Good girl.

It wasn't until last night that I got the message.

This picture.
Study it.
So you see it almost everyday;
What does it say to you ... today?

Yes.

Beauty can be all around.
In the things you see every day.
Through the grime,
through the routine,
through the drudgery...

LOOK.

Look up.

Fair skies are just on the horizon.

Perhaps the song that I've now triggered in your heart needs to be there for a reason.

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.

Write this down.
You'll need to remember.*

When you're weary, feeling small

When tears are in your eyes,
I will dry them all
I'm on your side
When times get rough
And friends just can't be found

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

When you're down and out
When you're on the street
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you
I'll take your part
When darkness comes
And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down

Sail on Silver Girl,
Sail on by
Your time has come to shine
All your dreams are on their way
See how they shine
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind

Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind

~P. Simon, 1969

*Post-script: Today I learned this message wasn't just for me.
Turns out, I may be just the messenger for a Friend.

National Poetry Month: The Highwayman

Any girl of a certain age who loved reading the Anne of Green Gables series by L.M. Montgomery also loved the Kevin Sullivan productions of the films based on those novels.

This poem was excerpted for the production and was the "gateway" through which many new narrative poem lovers were introduced to this epic poem by Albert Noyes.

(Purists, please note: I know the second to last line of each stanza should be indented. I just can't get it to format on this post!)

The Highwayman

Part One

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler, listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter:
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand;
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Part Two

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead;
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest:
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
“Now, keep good watch!” and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years;
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her Love's refrain.

Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned; he spurred him Westward; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, and slowly blanched to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her Love in the moonlight; and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

~Alfred Noyes

Pgs 96-100
Story Poems: An Anthology of Narrative Verse selected and edited by Louis Untermeyer, Washington Square Press, New York 1961

Excerpts as used in the Sullivan film Anne of Green Gables, as performed by Megan Follows.

If you can't see it, click here or cut and paste this into your browser: http://youtu.be/wcAzEea4j-w

It's also been put to music by Loreena McKennitt.

If you can't load the video, click here, or cut and paste this into your browser: http://youtu.be/teq2m0BN-Wo

Now, I bet you can't get this out of your head for the rest of the day!

Photo of the Day: Sculpting Dreams

Cathedral of St. John the Divine, June 2011
Sculpture Garden

Song in My Heart

This is a retro-blog post, of sorts.

I was revisiting Caramoor again on Friday and finally remembered to stop by Paul's office and take a picture of the present I made for one of his important birthdays. We'd always know when Paul was on the property, or in a particularly odd frame of mind, when we would hear the lovely melody and words of the old Western song, Blood on the Saddle wafting through the air. (Click here to hear Tex Ritter perform his rendition, which surely influenced Paul's performances.)

I don't know why I didn't take a picture of this crafty project when I made it, but I'm glad it's documented for posterity.

In the words of a MasterCard commercial:

Shadowbox frame, beaten to heck and then scorched on my stove $X.00

Making sure smoke detector in apartment works FREE

Stickers, twine, parchment, leather, matches $X.00

Glue gun and glue $0.00

Burnt Fingers FREE

Band-aids $0.00

Christmas Ornament in the shape of a saddle, boots, and spurs $X.00

Odd looks at the Western Wear store FREE

Hysterical laughter at birthday party, followed by years of enjoyment PRICELESS!

Away in a Food Trough

In honor of the season and my love all of the Brit accents,

I present ... once again ...
The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre
riffing on "Away in a Manger"
(slightly off-colour, in a Scottish-kind o'wae)

I figured we all needed some more giggles at this time o'year.

Fish Tale

I’ve talked about my fake names on this blog before, but I realized I hadn’t talked about the other reason I was known as “Juanita.”

Before I escaped to work at the Big J, I spent 12 years toiling for my last employer. Don't get me wrong. It was a lovely place to work. The staff was a small and very motley crew. We spent a lot of time in the trenches (some times 18-20 hour days and many weeks in a row), and we bonded like family. Some times we would burst into hysterical laughter for no reason, or end up singing very silly songs. To relieve stress, a previous executive director liked to sing Pasty Cline songs, and another distinguished member of senior management liked/likes to sing the old cowboy Western “Blood on the Saddle." One day Paolo* came into work and began to serenade me with this little ditty, to a “tune” of dubious origins. Thus my nickname was secured for years to come.

Juanita the Spanish Lobster
(Caradoc’s aria)

Oh Juanita, Juanita beloved,
Turn not your anger on me, I implore,
You are the ocean’s rarest crustacean.
You are the shell fish that I adore.
You are the shell fish that I adore.

Oh Juanita, Juanita beloved,
Why are you sullen, why so enraged?**
I love you, I want you, I need you forever,
Say you’ll be mine, and we’ll get engaged.***
Say you’ll be mine, and we’ll get engaged.

The crabs, they have not claws like thine,
And jellyfish, no shell no spine;
You dance far better than the conger,****
You’d be the pride to any rich fishmonger.

Oh Juanita, Juanita beloved,
Be peaceful, be gentle, be savage no more,
You are the ocean’s rarest crustacean.
You are the shell fish that I adore.
You are the shell fish that I adore.

Now, oddly, I think lobster is highly overrated. Give me a good platter of shrimp and scallops and I'm your girl. Hopefully I can get some good seafood next week on a visit to the Cape during Thanksgiving break. If seafood was good enough for the natives and the Pilgrims, it's good enough for me.

*Name changed to protect the innocent
** Have you met me?
*** No thank you.
**** I have two left feet, so that’s not saying much.