And then there are biographies. There are so many fascinating biographies about people from all different generations and countries and reasons to read them. A good writer will tell all, the bad-or controversial- along with the good and let us judge which is which. The writer will let the story unfold with a flowing movement revealing the life, holding our attention. Not easy to do but necessary.
The person need not have been famous to be interesting. I write in past tense because I prefer reading about people who have already passed away. Their lives are over. There is no need to protect or hide anything. The flaws and failures make the final successes even more worthy. No embarrassment is considered. And it is the misadventures that create the fascination.
After all, a person who experienced no challenges, who glides through life with no losses, no pain and no scars is a very boring person indeed.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
More About Books
Also I love history. Not the dry, flaky history that used to be taught in high school although I loved history even then. But the history with real people showing particular strengths and weaknesses that I can identify with. Events that happened always had reasons. Like the mystery stories, who, what, where, when and why. Again I don’t need the play by play details of a battle fought and the individual result, i.e. bodies whacked to pieces, eyeballs hanging out, etc. Ugh.
But the inner workings of events, how they came about, the personalities of the key figures and their relationship to each other. Everyone has a story and the players in history had theirs. They are the ones who created the chronicle of their day. History wasn’t necessarily made by physical events but by individuals and their reactions to moments that happened to them. A slight? An embarrassment? An insult? A misunderstanding?
The personal is what brings history to life. The surface must be scratched to find the untold tales. After all it’s what our whole foundation is built on. Because it is a foundation we can learn from the mistakes of earlier leaders, rulers, and the average person who cared.
But the inner workings of events, how they came about, the personalities of the key figures and their relationship to each other. Everyone has a story and the players in history had theirs. They are the ones who created the chronicle of their day. History wasn’t necessarily made by physical events but by individuals and their reactions to moments that happened to them. A slight? An embarrassment? An insult? A misunderstanding?
The personal is what brings history to life. The surface must be scratched to find the untold tales. After all it’s what our whole foundation is built on. Because it is a foundation we can learn from the mistakes of earlier leaders, rulers, and the average person who cared.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
A Good Book
I love a mystery. A puzzle. A whodunit. Something that I can work along the lines with the author, trying to figure out who, what, where and most important, why. Challenge. But I want believable characters with common sense in settings I can visualize as everyday even if the story is set in Victorian times. Wealthy or not doesn’t make a difference. Gory details of a demented mind are not necessary to tell me when a body is dead. The author can state the weapon of choice but I don’t need a picture drawn for me. I can do that in my own imagination.
If I see the plot line and know the perpetrator of dark deeds early on, the joy is slain. No sense in finishing the story…unless it is a red herring with an unexpected twist. Ahh. The plot thickens.
Further, we are so fortunate to have more women writing novels of all genres today. This happening has all but eliminated the ‘dumb female’ character in stories. I used to choke on that depiction of a woman character, one who was running a household or holding down an intelligent job being portrayed as stupid. Ugh.
Of course even really good interesting mysteries aren’t always remembered. The authors are, particularly when they write many books and I can look for them by the author's name. The pleasure is simply in reading them. But the novels of the originator of the mystery novels Wilkie Collins and present-day novelist Sharyn McCrumb’s stories I remember. And also, of course, Agatha Christie’s.
If I see the plot line and know the perpetrator of dark deeds early on, the joy is slain. No sense in finishing the story…unless it is a red herring with an unexpected twist. Ahh. The plot thickens.
Further, we are so fortunate to have more women writing novels of all genres today. This happening has all but eliminated the ‘dumb female’ character in stories. I used to choke on that depiction of a woman character, one who was running a household or holding down an intelligent job being portrayed as stupid. Ugh.
Of course even really good interesting mysteries aren’t always remembered. The authors are, particularly when they write many books and I can look for them by the author's name. The pleasure is simply in reading them. But the novels of the originator of the mystery novels Wilkie Collins and present-day novelist Sharyn McCrumb’s stories I remember. And also, of course, Agatha Christie’s.
Monday, October 04, 2010
Sunday Deer
Sunday night after an early dinner, I decided to go for a walk to replace the morning walk I missed and to change my schedule a bit. It’s my habit, to look deep into the forest as I go along the paved road. It’s always so peaceful, full of something I’m not aware of. My thoughts tend to deepen as I get lost in the moment.
Suddenly a flash of movement lurched through the wood at a high rate of speed. Startled, I jumped. But it was just a doe racing between the trees. Like me, she was alone. Nothing was chasing it. I imagine it was out for a bit of exercise after dinner as I was. It’s delightful and somehow reassuring to see a connection between us.
Suddenly a flash of movement lurched through the wood at a high rate of speed. Startled, I jumped. But it was just a doe racing between the trees. Like me, she was alone. Nothing was chasing it. I imagine it was out for a bit of exercise after dinner as I was. It’s delightful and somehow reassuring to see a connection between us.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Puccini for Deer
Favorite Puccini Arias by Marton, Scotto and Te Kanawa was soaring from my sound system this morning at 10 a.m. as I sat at my kitchen table for a coffee break from cleaning the house. The windows were wide open for this fresh, crisp air to flow in. I glanced up to see a doe with her three fawn, heads bent, nibbling the sodden grass. My breath stopped at such beauty, such a sign of peace and gracefulness. One head down, one head up, one looking around, the other in between. Then Te Kanawa peeled out those glorious high notes of O Mio Babbino Caro. All four heads jolted up, eyes looked straight at me, ears twitched straining to hear this heart rending sound.
Mesmerized. The deer stood like statues, listening. They seemed to be as moved by the music as I am. When the aria ended the doe turned and leapt like a ballet dancer from the yard. Her fawn following her lead in dutiful obedience like the echoes of the music itself.
Mesmerized. The deer stood like statues, listening. They seemed to be as moved by the music as I am. When the aria ended the doe turned and leapt like a ballet dancer from the yard. Her fawn following her lead in dutiful obedience like the echoes of the music itself.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Respect of Title
Equality has long been a strong belief. As a result I cannot imagine calling anyone “Lord” or “Lady” anything. I’m determined to reject the idea of separate classes in society. I left titles behind in my young adulthood with a casual way of talking to anyone and everyone. But living in the south I’m beginning to feel a little differently on my harsh outlines about stated behavior.
I read an article by Denise R. Kaye is Sunday’s New & Observer titled ‘Respect: Please we are not on a first name basis.’ I newly agree with her. I have been greatly impressed by the good manners of the youth that I’ve encountered here in North Carolina. By youth I mean from four years up through the teens and even into the twenty-somethings. I’ve also experienced moments of embarrassment when I’ve called someone by their first name after just being introduced. Especially a person who I think is older than I am. (Just when I think there aren’t any.) I have no idea where that moment of feeling came from. In Jersey I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But here I do. It seems right and fitting.
Today I see Mr., Ms. and Miss as titles of respect not as a mark of difference in class.
I read an article by Denise R. Kaye is Sunday’s New & Observer titled ‘Respect: Please we are not on a first name basis.’ I newly agree with her. I have been greatly impressed by the good manners of the youth that I’ve encountered here in North Carolina. By youth I mean from four years up through the teens and even into the twenty-somethings. I’ve also experienced moments of embarrassment when I’ve called someone by their first name after just being introduced. Especially a person who I think is older than I am. (Just when I think there aren’t any.) I have no idea where that moment of feeling came from. In Jersey I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But here I do. It seems right and fitting.
Today I see Mr., Ms. and Miss as titles of respect not as a mark of difference in class.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Fall Meditation
From guest writer, Jyoti Wind
www.starshine-galaxy.com
www.writes-of-passage.blogspot.com
Go into nature…a backyard, a park, the beach. If you can, put your back up against a tree or sit next to a bush; lay your heart on the earth at the beach or in a garden or meadow. Give to the earth and trees the energy that churns inside of you, either too much or too stuck.
Just let it flow out. The earth will grow flowers with it.
Then receive the earth’s energies, through the trees or the earth herself,
Breathe long and deep, in and out…giving, receiving. Let it heal you.
www.starshine-galaxy.com
www.writes-of-passage.blogspot.com
Go into nature…a backyard, a park, the beach. If you can, put your back up against a tree or sit next to a bush; lay your heart on the earth at the beach or in a garden or meadow. Give to the earth and trees the energy that churns inside of you, either too much or too stuck.
Just let it flow out. The earth will grow flowers with it.
Then receive the earth’s energies, through the trees or the earth herself,
Breathe long and deep, in and out…giving, receiving. Let it heal you.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Changes
Inspired by a newsletter note from Jyoti Wind, I thought about her words on change. Life does knock us unexpectedly sometimes. While we may be dreading the future in one area, a tragedy happens in another. What we do and how we do it comes from deep within us. Often we don’t even know we had such strength but it’s there in all of us. We just have to dig for it.
Sharing our thoughts and feelings do help to heal those deep wounds that life tosses at us. It’s the flow between friends that keep the wound clean so a heavy scab doesn’t settle from that anguish, just a light mark left to keep a memory alive to draw on when we need it.
Sharing our thoughts and feelings do help to heal those deep wounds that life tosses at us. It’s the flow between friends that keep the wound clean so a heavy scab doesn’t settle from that anguish, just a light mark left to keep a memory alive to draw on when we need it.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Women of World War II
What I really wanted to write about two days ago is the book I just finished reading, A Life of Secrets: Vera Atkins and the Missing Agents of WWII by Sarah Helm. It’s this story that moved me into thinking about women and our place in the world. The changes for women from the 1940s has been remarkable but weren’t brought about by gentlemen patting us on the head and calling us ‘little ladies.’
A book that can raise my ire, to get me stomping around the house in a rage is a book well-written and factual. It isn’t only that the women (radio operators) dropped behind enemy lines into France during that war were beaten, tortured, of course raped-violent men always rape-and tossed into gas ovens. That was certainly terrible but it was a fate suffered by men also and the women did volunteer for the duty.
After the war was finally ended the men in power wanted to keep the bravery of these women, some in their early 20s, secret. “Brush it under the rug and hide it,” they said. “Don’t let anyone know that we used women.” After all, the women who were allowed into military service uniforms were not allowed to actually carry weapons. Yuck. And the radio operators weren’t military. They were civilians.
Like a detective Vera Atkins traced each girl that she recruited from her department who did not return home after the war. She found out what happened to each one, how they died and where they died. She fought for honors and medals for them when the men of the military didn’t want to even acknowledge their existence. Regardless of who or what Ms. Atkins was, she did the right thing by these women. This all happened in England but that patronizing attitude was universal.
We have come a long way.
A book that can raise my ire, to get me stomping around the house in a rage is a book well-written and factual. It isn’t only that the women (radio operators) dropped behind enemy lines into France during that war were beaten, tortured, of course raped-violent men always rape-and tossed into gas ovens. That was certainly terrible but it was a fate suffered by men also and the women did volunteer for the duty.
After the war was finally ended the men in power wanted to keep the bravery of these women, some in their early 20s, secret. “Brush it under the rug and hide it,” they said. “Don’t let anyone know that we used women.” After all, the women who were allowed into military service uniforms were not allowed to actually carry weapons. Yuck. And the radio operators weren’t military. They were civilians.
Like a detective Vera Atkins traced each girl that she recruited from her department who did not return home after the war. She found out what happened to each one, how they died and where they died. She fought for honors and medals for them when the men of the military didn’t want to even acknowledge their existence. Regardless of who or what Ms. Atkins was, she did the right thing by these women. This all happened in England but that patronizing attitude was universal.
We have come a long way.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Jane Austen Calendar
Usually I buy two beautiful-quality- works-of-art-calendars each year online from Pomegranate. They hang side-by-side because I’m always working with various dates. My favorite for a few years now is The Reading Woman depicting various paintings by many different artists. I Love that whole series of calendars and boxed note cards so every year I look for them. Yesterday I was in Barnes & Noble. Since they have always carried the Pomegranate line I headed for the calendar section. I also buy a couple calendars for birthday gifts. Ugh. Not very many calendars offered at all. I’m grossly disappointed because I thought of saving the cost of shipping.
As I was walking away, the corner of my eye caught the words “Jane Austen.” My heart started pumping in excitement. I have looked each year wondering why no one has ever produced a good quality Jane Austen calendar. I mean she has been the hottest thing going, again, for at least fifteen years! Her name is everywhere. The only calendar I’ve ever seen was a puny offering from the Jane Austen Centre in Bath. That one has an exploded dollar amount, or pound really, exchanged into dollars.
My mind raced. Perhaps it will feature Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, Emma Thompson and Hugh Grant or Amanda Root or …………..Egads! The calendar is Jane Austen and the Zombies! That's enough to make me scream!!!!!!!!!
As I was walking away, the corner of my eye caught the words “Jane Austen.” My heart started pumping in excitement. I have looked each year wondering why no one has ever produced a good quality Jane Austen calendar. I mean she has been the hottest thing going, again, for at least fifteen years! Her name is everywhere. The only calendar I’ve ever seen was a puny offering from the Jane Austen Centre in Bath. That one has an exploded dollar amount, or pound really, exchanged into dollars.
My mind raced. Perhaps it will feature Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, Emma Thompson and Hugh Grant or Amanda Root or …………..Egads! The calendar is Jane Austen and the Zombies! That's enough to make me scream!!!!!!!!!
Monday, September 20, 2010
Women of the Western World
In the decades since I came to the adult age (sometimes if feels like 200 years ago and others only two) women have made tremendous strides in taking a rightful place in the leadership and formation of our futures. Since the Dalai Lama stated last summer during his Peace Summit in Vancouver that western women are chosen to save the world I’ve begun to think about how far we have come. It hasn’t been easy for many of us.
Many of those that have taken the dais to balance out the power men have always assumed, are aiming at peace, nurturing, and using the heart as well as the head as guidelines. This is not to say that the world should turn to mush but that intelligence, respect, honesty, and that inner wisdom are utilized in connecting to other cultures and leaderships.
War, aggression, and atomic weapons have not won any country peace for their citizens. Perhaps this is the time for the birth of the Divine Feminine. Think of it. Art, poetry, music, beauty, and learning instead of violence, bombs, the boom of fighter jets and destruction.
What a world we could live in.
Many of those that have taken the dais to balance out the power men have always assumed, are aiming at peace, nurturing, and using the heart as well as the head as guidelines. This is not to say that the world should turn to mush but that intelligence, respect, honesty, and that inner wisdom are utilized in connecting to other cultures and leaderships.
War, aggression, and atomic weapons have not won any country peace for their citizens. Perhaps this is the time for the birth of the Divine Feminine. Think of it. Art, poetry, music, beauty, and learning instead of violence, bombs, the boom of fighter jets and destruction.
What a world we could live in.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Painting the Past
I stand at my easel with brush in hand
facing a blank canvas, ready for the image to emerge.
Today I’ll re-create a scene or castle
or perhaps a medieval doorway I’ve discovered.
Scenes from the past, echoes of another time.
Stories resting quietly just below
the surface, waiting to be told with the brilliant
colors of oil. Or written out,
a painting of written words. Words to accompany
the oils as notes on a page to the musician.
My tale will rest on top of the stories
of men, builders with rock and stone and cast iron.
Monuments left behind to remind us
of triumphs and sorrows of those who loved, lived
and left behind their eternal imprint.
Impressions for me to research, to learn,
to seek, to know their stories are the same as mine.
Heavy, thick, large oaken doors
with black cast iron hardware closing with echoes
bellowing down the stone laden halls.
Announcing that I am here to uncover
the secrets of the past. Though I feel the deep-rooted
emotions vibrating into every room
I stand in ready to absorb. My promise is to enlighten
those that care, but I know…..
the only difference of then and now are the accessories.
facing a blank canvas, ready for the image to emerge.
Today I’ll re-create a scene or castle
or perhaps a medieval doorway I’ve discovered.
Scenes from the past, echoes of another time.
Stories resting quietly just below
the surface, waiting to be told with the brilliant
colors of oil. Or written out,
a painting of written words. Words to accompany
the oils as notes on a page to the musician.
My tale will rest on top of the stories
of men, builders with rock and stone and cast iron.
Monuments left behind to remind us
of triumphs and sorrows of those who loved, lived
and left behind their eternal imprint.
Impressions for me to research, to learn,
to seek, to know their stories are the same as mine.
Heavy, thick, large oaken doors
with black cast iron hardware closing with echoes
bellowing down the stone laden halls.
Announcing that I am here to uncover
the secrets of the past. Though I feel the deep-rooted
emotions vibrating into every room
I stand in ready to absorb. My promise is to enlighten
those that care, but I know…..
the only difference of then and now are the accessories.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Spanish/Portuguese Cod Chowder
Well, autumn is here whether the Weather Gods know it or not. Last week I bought some cod from Trader Joe’s (bless the originator of Trader Joe’s as often as I curse Sam Walton’s business practices) and have been anxious to make some good Spanish/Portuguese Cod Chowder. Today was the day.
I sautéed in olive oil (the gift from the Healthy Skin God) some thinly sliced onions, adding thinly sliced garlic, (please don’t burn) adding some cubed Golden Yukon potatoes, adding some good quality dry vermouth, adding a quart of fish stock (if you don’t make your own from shrimp peels and lobster claws and shells and of fish heads and bones, use water mixed with chicken broth—NOT CUBES) adding some fresh, if possible, or good canned tomatoes, adding a bay leaf, one or two whole cloves, parsley, tarragon, a bay leaf and marjoram. Simmer for approximately an hour.
Add chunks of cod (it’s a blessing of Trader Joe’s that I can get this here,) taste and add sea salt and dried hot pepper flakes to suit your self. Simmer for ten more minutes. While you are waiting with a glass of good, chilled white wine that will improve your taste buds, toast a slender slice of bread-I used a rosemary/olive oil bread-brushed with butter or olive oil. Lay this on top of the chowder after it is in your favorite soup bowl.
I don’t use measurements but I made enough-that’s a bowl full for me for at least two or three days because it is even better the next day or day after that. Adjust amounts to your own likings. Go wild! Be adventurous! Put your own personal imprint on it! Enjoy!
I sautéed in olive oil (the gift from the Healthy Skin God) some thinly sliced onions, adding thinly sliced garlic, (please don’t burn) adding some cubed Golden Yukon potatoes, adding some good quality dry vermouth, adding a quart of fish stock (if you don’t make your own from shrimp peels and lobster claws and shells and of fish heads and bones, use water mixed with chicken broth—NOT CUBES) adding some fresh, if possible, or good canned tomatoes, adding a bay leaf, one or two whole cloves, parsley, tarragon, a bay leaf and marjoram. Simmer for approximately an hour.
Add chunks of cod (it’s a blessing of Trader Joe’s that I can get this here,) taste and add sea salt and dried hot pepper flakes to suit your self. Simmer for ten more minutes. While you are waiting with a glass of good, chilled white wine that will improve your taste buds, toast a slender slice of bread-I used a rosemary/olive oil bread-brushed with butter or olive oil. Lay this on top of the chowder after it is in your favorite soup bowl.
I don’t use measurements but I made enough-that’s a bowl full for me for at least two or three days because it is even better the next day or day after that. Adjust amounts to your own likings. Go wild! Be adventurous! Put your own personal imprint on it! Enjoy!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Cats
I know why there are so many books to choose from when looking for something to read on cats. I smile when I see Lady Jane stretched out under the cloth-covered center table in the entry room of my house. The folds of the burgundy damask add a graceful look to the room and Jane adds a feeling of home to it.
Chuckles cut loose from me when I see her white paw reaching out from under the guest room bed. She’s found a cool spot in summer and warm one in winter. Not to mention the peace of that room between visits of dear friends.
Laughter fills the room when Jane practically sits up for some treats. Whoever heard of a cat acting like a dog? But she loves food. And she talks now. Really!
Jane comes to me when her bowl is getting low on food. She wouldn’t do that two years ago. She would notify her sister and Lizzie would come after me demanding that I follow her to the bowl. And she would never come to me for stroking or to smell the food I’m about to eat as she always does now.
A few years ago the fur along the back ridge of her body became matted. I thought it was a part of her breed. She’s a big cat, rescued from the wilds of Bordentown, New Jersey. Well, the wilds being that her mom and dad were feral cats. But she is definitely part Manx. The Manx cats I researched on line looked just like Jane's back. My dog-grooming friend Laura suggested that she trim Jane of the matted fur. A new cat emerged! It changed her personality completely. So I brush her nearly every day and watch closely for any beginning of clumps forming.
It seems my pets must suffer from my mistakes just like my kids did. Fortunately they love me just like my kids do in spite of my imperfections.
Chuckles cut loose from me when I see her white paw reaching out from under the guest room bed. She’s found a cool spot in summer and warm one in winter. Not to mention the peace of that room between visits of dear friends.
Laughter fills the room when Jane practically sits up for some treats. Whoever heard of a cat acting like a dog? But she loves food. And she talks now. Really!
Jane comes to me when her bowl is getting low on food. She wouldn’t do that two years ago. She would notify her sister and Lizzie would come after me demanding that I follow her to the bowl. And she would never come to me for stroking or to smell the food I’m about to eat as she always does now.
A few years ago the fur along the back ridge of her body became matted. I thought it was a part of her breed. She’s a big cat, rescued from the wilds of Bordentown, New Jersey. Well, the wilds being that her mom and dad were feral cats. But she is definitely part Manx. The Manx cats I researched on line looked just like Jane's back. My dog-grooming friend Laura suggested that she trim Jane of the matted fur. A new cat emerged! It changed her personality completely. So I brush her nearly every day and watch closely for any beginning of clumps forming.
It seems my pets must suffer from my mistakes just like my kids did. Fortunately they love me just like my kids do in spite of my imperfections.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Nighttime on Lake Gaston
There is something special about riding in a boat on Lake Gaston at night-such as10:00 pm last night. The stars filled the sky just as the poets write about them. They were full of the same sparkle as the diamonds they are always compared to. Pam, Laura and I tried to pick out the different constellations. The Dippers were easy. Pam found the Hunter. Lily just cuddled up and watched/listened to us. I think she was tuckered out from all the earlier activity.
Lights from the houses lining the lake splashed light across the water in streaks. The outline of the trees created a darker than dark vision waiting for the artist to paint it. Not another boat parted the water, only us heading back home after a lovely gathering of friends. It was a magical moment to be tucked away and remembered again at a later date.
Lights from the houses lining the lake splashed light across the water in streaks. The outline of the trees created a darker than dark vision waiting for the artist to paint it. Not another boat parted the water, only us heading back home after a lovely gathering of friends. It was a magical moment to be tucked away and remembered again at a later date.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Reading Biographies
If you are reading biographies of writers it is so much better if you read their writings and vice versa. Reading the work pulls you in, reading the biography leads you to where the works originated and festered and came out on paper in the form of a story.
Since I’ve learned that, I’ve applied it to reading the biographies of artists. Now that I’m reading the biography of John Singer Sargent I’ve laid out five books that contain pictures of some of his paintings on the table next to where I sit. Unfortunately the same paintings are repeated in a couple of the books. It’s a pity they couldn’t have chosen others from the 3000 plus canvases he painted. I lay the books open to the pages where his paintings are featured. It makes a difference. As I read the background of how the painting came to be, I look at the pictures and it pulls everything together. It’s like getting to know someone inside out.
Since I’ve learned that, I’ve applied it to reading the biographies of artists. Now that I’m reading the biography of John Singer Sargent I’ve laid out five books that contain pictures of some of his paintings on the table next to where I sit. Unfortunately the same paintings are repeated in a couple of the books. It’s a pity they couldn’t have chosen others from the 3000 plus canvases he painted. I lay the books open to the pages where his paintings are featured. It makes a difference. As I read the background of how the painting came to be, I look at the pictures and it pulls everything together. It’s like getting to know someone inside out.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Americn Roots Musical Showcase
Last Saturday proved to be a new experience for me, sort of anyway. The Musical Showcase for the New Harmonies Traveling Exhibit rocked with music affirming the exhibit at the library. Emcee Sherman Johnson happily gathered people together, introduced the performers and kept the show moving like a brook sparkling along. First up were performers for the Haliwa-Saponi with the Native flute, then hand drums. My mind went immediately back to a few rock concerts I attended in my younger years. The Armory (gorgeous in its new look) vibrated with sound. It was exhilarating!
A pleasant softer sound of Colonial music performed a cappella by Dolores Clark brought the movie “The Songcatcher” to mind. Smiles and giggles broke out when she sang “I Wish I Were A Single Girl Again.”
Freida Egerton and many of her regulars represented the Ridgeway Opry House with some Country and Bluegrass. She played the dulcimer and gave a bit of history. Joe B Cutchins poured out the Blues with a smooth bounce to it. The natural progression of American music, which is what this is all about, led us to the Street Genie, Freddie Greene playing Jazz with his soul bleeding through his instruments.
Always enjoyable Steve Hyman sang some Rhythm & Blues. I remembered that he’s appearing at the upcoming Pawfest on May 16 at Magnolia Manor. We wound down with Gospel, actually wound up because the sound was an outburst for most of the groups but creamy when The Royal Jubilee Singers came on stage. These four gentlemen also sang a cappella, are all in their eighty’s and put me in mind of the Ink Spots and the Platters. They were just delightful. As were the Bullocks, Arnetta Yancey, the Ayscues and the Warrenton Echoes who ended the program with style and grace.
It was a grand day. We ran from 3 pm to 7:30. Folks were coming and going, sometimes fitting parts of the program into their pre-scheduled day. I watched Emily Shaw moving from place to place wherever she was needed just like she has done since she dropped into this project. She’s earned high commendations for all her efforts to be so successful.
A pleasant softer sound of Colonial music performed a cappella by Dolores Clark brought the movie “The Songcatcher” to mind. Smiles and giggles broke out when she sang “I Wish I Were A Single Girl Again.”
Freida Egerton and many of her regulars represented the Ridgeway Opry House with some Country and Bluegrass. She played the dulcimer and gave a bit of history. Joe B Cutchins poured out the Blues with a smooth bounce to it. The natural progression of American music, which is what this is all about, led us to the Street Genie, Freddie Greene playing Jazz with his soul bleeding through his instruments.
Always enjoyable Steve Hyman sang some Rhythm & Blues. I remembered that he’s appearing at the upcoming Pawfest on May 16 at Magnolia Manor. We wound down with Gospel, actually wound up because the sound was an outburst for most of the groups but creamy when The Royal Jubilee Singers came on stage. These four gentlemen also sang a cappella, are all in their eighty’s and put me in mind of the Ink Spots and the Platters. They were just delightful. As were the Bullocks, Arnetta Yancey, the Ayscues and the Warrenton Echoes who ended the program with style and grace.
It was a grand day. We ran from 3 pm to 7:30. Folks were coming and going, sometimes fitting parts of the program into their pre-scheduled day. I watched Emily Shaw moving from place to place wherever she was needed just like she has done since she dropped into this project. She’s earned high commendations for all her efforts to be so successful.
Monday, May 03, 2010
New Harmonies, American Roots Music
Last Friday was docent training day for us New Harmonies’ volunteers at the library in Warrenton. Now I understand the high excitement Dr. Sue Loper and Emily Shaw have been showing. This is an impressive exhibit to explore as well as look at. Some musical instruments can be played, including a pair of spoons, (my step-father was great with spoons, playing them up and down my arm, on my head, etc.) an old time radio emits music as well as some buttons pushed bring forth music to reminisce. Headphones are also available for listening to the various music venues.
The roots of American music are represented by the various groups who brought music together with backgrounds from Native Americans, West African slaves and early European immigrants. The Blues, Gospel, Blue Grass, Country and Western lead us up to Rock ‘n Roll, Folk and Protest music. It’s all there and more for everyone to enjoy with no more effort than to walk in during library hours Monday through Saturday until the middle of June.
The roots of American music are represented by the various groups who brought music together with backgrounds from Native Americans, West African slaves and early European immigrants. The Blues, Gospel, Blue Grass, Country and Western lead us up to Rock ‘n Roll, Folk and Protest music. It’s all there and more for everyone to enjoy with no more effort than to walk in during library hours Monday through Saturday until the middle of June.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Ancestral Homes
One of the homes on the House Tour has been owned 144 years by the same family! Another was occupied by three different pharmacist’s families (two of them related) beginning prior to the War Between the States followed by a family who lived there for 50 years.
This is awesome to me since I’ve lived in seven different houses in my lifetime and knew none of my relatives older than my mother and father. Esteem for the large portraits hanging proudly on the walls of these historic homes is at the top of my list. Again, I have one photo of one grandmother and grandfather and two pictures of a great-grandmother. All are snapshot size. I long for more. I want history and lineage.
This is awesome to me since I’ve lived in seven different houses in my lifetime and knew none of my relatives older than my mother and father. Esteem for the large portraits hanging proudly on the walls of these historic homes is at the top of my list. Again, I have one photo of one grandmother and grandfather and two pictures of a great-grandmother. All are snapshot size. I long for more. I want history and lineage.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Walls Talk
Houses hold the imprint of families that lived in them for as long as they stand. And when they fall they probably take that imprint back into the ground with them. Sometimes I will get a message when I enter a home but rarely when surrounded by the crowds swarming into the houses with me on the Preservation Warren County, North Carolina House Tour this past Saturday.
I split up my tour and visited a few on Sunday when I seemed to miss the groups. As I sauntered from the ‘newer’ section of a few homes-meaning added on in the 1800s or even 1900s- into the original sections built in the 1700s a different feeling emanated from the rooms.
Walls talk. We only need to listen.
I split up my tour and visited a few on Sunday when I seemed to miss the groups. As I sauntered from the ‘newer’ section of a few homes-meaning added on in the 1800s or even 1900s- into the original sections built in the 1700s a different feeling emanated from the rooms.
Walls talk. We only need to listen.
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