Following up on yesterday’s post, I dug out the shirt that I had made for my husband. Here it is:
I added flower on each shoulder, like epaulets.
This is a detail of the embroidery:
And, on the front, the sun and the moon.
Did he wear it? You bet he did!
While I was moving, I sorted through some of the stacks of poetry that I had written over the years and pulled out a batch of short ones. Perhaps Thursday will be the day of each week that I will post one of them.
I live in Pioneer Valley these days, but I wrote this one back in the 70s when I lived in another valley. I think one of the reasons I call this blog Kalilily Time is because of my memories of that past valley time.
Easterly,
the winds tease the the sun
toward morning,
brushing aside the easy showers
of early summer clouds.
Time follows the way of the wind
through this dawn-misted valley,
filters through the blue unfoldings
of fragile morning chicory,
flows through the slow, green seekings
of those low growing vines,
breathes honeysuckle and wildrose rain
into the season’s drifting light.
Westward,
the sun leaves the high horizon,
draping a dry autumn night
over the tired faces
of September sunflowers.
I am thinking today of my late once-husband, who loved the power of words more than anything in his life, except his children. We shared both of those loves, but not in the same ways or same volume.
I am, once again, searching for the voice that I misplaced somewhere during this last decade.
I wasn’t even this good back in my younger dance-addiction days. But, if she can do it, why can’t I?
From Time Goes By via Darlene:
It gets even better after the first minute or so.
This blog is still under construction, as is my life. Physically, I have finished moving into my new home; but I haven’t yet moved the rest of me.
Over on Facebook, David Rogers posts a note about the music albums that changed his life, and he challenges the rest of us to list our own. It occurs to me that, while there are no albums that actually changed my life, there are albums that are very clear audio markers for significant parts of my life.
As I’m putting together that list (it’s not finished yet), what I come to realize is that the songs from my childhood were not on albums; they were on 78 or 45 vinyl records. The first two popular songs I remember were played by my Aunt Helen on a crank-up phonograph:
Nature Boy by Nat King Cole
and Paper Doll by the Mills Brothers
Of course, then there were the crazy lyrics song, like (as close as I can remember)
Chickory Chick chala chala chekerloroni anifilanika folicka wollika can’t you see chickory chick is me.
Meanwhile, in the background as I blog this, my almost-seven year old grandson is listening to Vampire Weekend.
I guess home is where the music is.
I’m thinking of one of my favorite childhood memories, as a result of the post today on Time Goes By where there are mentions of many of the songs that were the playlist for the first decade of my life.
I can remember being about 8 or 9 years old. It is a warm, sunny summer day, and my cousin Dianne and are holding hands, skipping down Chestnut Street and singing
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
My, oh my what a wonderful day!
Plenty of sunshine heading my way
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Mister Bluebird on my shoulder
It’s the truth, it’s actch’ll
Ev’rything is satisfactch’ll
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Wonderful feeling, wonderful day!
It is one of those days when all seems right with the world. My cousin, ten months younger than I, is my best friend. Our mothers, who are sisters, often dress us alike. We have a close extended family. World War II is over. Rationing has finally ended, and we have just seen the Disney movie Song of the South — the first Disney movie that featured live characters interacting with animated ones.
–the simple, heart-warming story of a boy, a girl, and the person of Uncle Remus himself, who becomes a living personality. Set in the nostalgic memorable days of the late nineteenth century, the story enacted by the living players take place on a lovely Southern plantation. It is a deeply moving, romantic account of a lonely and bewildered boy, left to his own devices when his father, an aggressive Atlanta newspaper editor, is caught between domestic responsibility and political challenge
At least that’s how the Disney camp described it at the time. And, at the time, it enchanted me. Uncle Remus (the live, storytelling character) was a poor man, an old man, and a black man in a post Civil War America that offered few opportunities for him to better his life. Uncle Remus enchanted me with his humor, his compassion, his wisdom, his wonderful animal stories, his optimism.
However,
The animal stories were conveyed in a manner in which they were not deemed as ostensibly racist by many among the audiences of the time; by the mid-20th century, however, the dialect and the “old Uncle” stereotype of the narrator, long considered demeaning by many blacks, as well as Harris’ [the author] racist and patronizing attitudes toward blacks and his defense of slavery in his foreword, rendered the book indefensible to many. Without much controversy the stories became less popular.
Several years back, some people began to think that it’s time to bring back the Song of the South, bring it to a much different audience, an audience that lived through the Civil Rights movement, an audience that celebrates Black History Month, an audience that can view the Song of the South through the lens of history.
Those who have criticized “Song of the South” have claimed that it makes slavery appear pleasant or pretends that slavery didn’t exist at all. Nevermind the film is set in the years following the abolition of slavery. I always have thought the movie offers a good, honest representation of the lives that some black Americans lived in a time that really existed.
I would love to see Song of the South again. I’d love to see it with my grandson, who has grown up without being hampered by old stereotypes. I’ll bet he would love Uncle Remus for the kind and entertaining man he is. At least he is, still, on the disintegrating film locked up somewhere in Disney’s vault.
So, I’m signing this petition to get the film released on DVD.
Here’s a look at Uncle Remus and his pals.
More to the point, I miss getting costumed up on Halloween.
At my last job (which lasted 20 years, and there’s lots of reasons why), my boss loved Halloween, and every year we all dressed up and made the rounds of all the offices.
This is some of us as Snow White and some of her dwarfs. That’s me on your bottom left, and that’s my boss behind me. Other years we dressed as the Seven Deadly Sins, Hogwart faculty (I wish I knew what happed to my costume for that; I wonder if I loaned it to someone), gangsters, and, of course witches. I’ve forgotten some of the other themes we used. There are photos, somewhere, but it was all before any of us had digital cameras, and they were never scanned in.
Two years ago, when my boss retired, she chose Halloween as the day for her farewell party, and she urged people to dress in costume. Of course, I did.
About six years ago, I went to a few dance parties as Medusa.
I guess that’s where my grandson gets his love of costumes. You sort of become whatever you wear.
Earworm: The Mills Brothers singing “Paper Doll.” Of course it was a totally sexist song. But it was the forties. I was five years old. What did I know. It sure sounded pretty.
And I loved to play with paper dolls. The ones of famous movie stars.
I guess I was surprised that there are still paper dolls for sale out there
Even more surprising is the new
Actually, there’s a McCain one as well.
I suppose that’s one way to get little kids aware of the election coming up. Although I imagine it would be more appealing to girls than boys, who tend to like more physical activities where they don’t have to sit still for so long. At least that’s the case with my 6 year old grandson.
1984 — the year my dad passed away and the year that my son b!X acquired his first Macintosh.
I unearthed it from under the steps in my brother’s cellar today, padded khaki case covered with at least two and half years worth of cobwebs and twenty years worth of the dust it has accumulated as I’ve hauled it around through move after move. B!X long ago moved on to other parts of the country and other versions of the Mac.
I don’t know why I kept it. And I don’t want to have to lug it through one more move.
I can’t help wondering if it’s worth anything, this boxy Macintosh 128K.
I also can’t help wondering — if I kept it for another twenty years, would it be worth something then?
It’s astounding to realize that the damned thing cost close to $3000 back in 1984. My dad was a very generous man, both in life and in death.
That’s been my ear worm for the past several days. The song is from the 1940s stage musical “Finian’s Rainbow.” — How Are Things in Glocca Morra?
When I hear that song, I am back in my little cocoon of a room where my asthma has me ensconced for days on end listening to the radio and playing with my endless supply of movie star paper dolls. The sun is shining through the sparkling window panes, opened just a bit to let in the fresh air. The room is filled with my breath and my music and an otherwise silence that negates any stress. My imagination takes me wherever I want to go, and the music on the radio is my magic carpet.
Even today, as the ear worm circles through my brain, somewhere deep inside me, I retreat into a safe, secluded place, where the sun shines through clear window panes and I am left to conjure a life of peace.
I’m caught up in a wash of nostalgia these days, with friends I haven’t been in contact for a long while emailing photos with messages saying “Were we ever that young?”
And so this poem, one of Jim Culleny‘s dailies, reminds me of just how young I once was and how much has happened since.