Sunday Singalong - Wasting Away?

 

Another weekend has come upon us and I'm feeling rather maudlin. I started the day learning about Jimmy Buffet's passing and then had to take my dog, Klondike (16 years old last June) to be put down. He was a fighter and though I thought the time would have come many years ago (his breed is not known for especially long lives, plus he had some congenital issues that made for difficult times) and he had some "False endings" (opposite of "False starts"?) over the last 10 months or so. But he kept coming back to give it one more try. That last try was Friday night so on Saturday morning, what would have been Butch's 85th birthday, had he hung in for another round, on 2 September, I said goodbye to the little old fuzzy baby and handed him over to folks who were going to give him a much-earned rest.

I am not meaning to say that any of the creatures just mentioned were wasting away on any level, but I've been listening to "Margaritaville" pretty much all day and that one line keeps going around and around. It's a fun song to sing, but the lyrics are very poignant and speak to situations where a passive giving up is suggested. So, lest I be thought of as one who is "wasting away," I will counter that with a non-waste-away song selection. Now to think of one.

How about a song about the virtues of Life? Written in 1975, this is a recording of Tom Paxton, singing his composition "Life" from a 1978 live recording. It's not my favorite version, but it still packs punch.

Your turn: any songs that can remind us of the many good things there are to live for? We need to sing those loud and long!

Jean Hibben, Tom Paxton

Good times - no wasting!

2015, Napa, California

 

Sunday Singalong - Playing Music on the Porch Day

 

That day was yesterday. My body demanded that I not try to sing - on the porch or elsewhere - the voice is going through some nasty adjustments (and I don't adjust well). But my heart was out there singing, and there was much more room for that out there than my actual body trying to find a place to sit.

I recall many porches, and many singalongs, as well as solo performances, and have always enjoyed that ambiance, as long as the bug population is at a minimum and it doesn't get too cold to play an instrument (Butch's saw told him when to stop long before he or I wanted to - saws don't bend well in the cold).

I am reminded of a song that includes a verse about family singing together and I share it here. Hope that whether your singing is taking place on a porch or elsewhere, that your enjoyment of the experience provides you with lasting memories . . . I cherish ones that I have and look forward to sharing another with y'all next week.

"Music in my Mother's House" - by Stuart Stotts, (c) 1985, performed by Ronnie Gilbert on her 1989 recording.

Univ. of Calif. Press

Sunday Singalong - Who said it doesn't rain in California?

Hard to believe that I am in sunny Southern California this weekend . . . tropical storm? Really? Well, that's what we are experiencing, different wind & rain for different locations, of course. So far, it's been rather temperate here, but that may mean it's just the calm before the storm. It does remind me of my youth in suburban Chicago when the storms could be quite intense . . . we lived on the corner of a major street in our village and inevitably, the storm drains would clog up with debris - leaves and who knows what all. I don't think it was a rule, but there seemed to be an expectation that whoever lived on that corner was expected to clear out the drains so water could flow. I guess that could make sense: after all, if the water was backed up, it could conceivably flood our yard and, possibly, our house (not likely) so, regardless of the rainfall, Dad would don boots and his trench coat, get the rake and head out to the street while rain was still pouring down. There he would work until he was sure the water was running as it should. I remember watching him and wondering if all the other dads in houses on the other streets were doing the same thing. Never did find out, but that wouldn't have mattered to my father, who felt obligated to keep things running smoothly.

Rain songs? Got some? Yeah, I know . . . too many to count! I had a parakeet once that loved "Baby the Rain must Fall," by Elmer Bernstein and Ernie Sheldon as sung by Glenn Yarbrough, released in 1965.