I met him in the fall, tanned from summer. He was a bronzed god, hair as gold as the sun, eyes like burnished copper glowed. He warmed the chill from out my bones, thawed the late Autumn frost in my heart. I met him in the fall tanned from summer.
It’s now one month post op. I have spent a lot of time looking out my bedroom window contemplating the healing transformation of my body and the seasonal metamorphosis as we gently slip from summer into autumn. I had been facing physical limitations as I aged; they have now been compounded by my back surgery. On bad days I curse myself for agreeing to this procedure but I know it was the right choice. Getting back on my feet is taking longer than I anticipated. Like the brittle tree branches that come with autumn, my bones are not what they once were. But now I have a chance to walk among the fallen crimson and golden leaves instead of simply watching them drop from the trees and for that I’m grateful. I am better today than I was two weeks ago and in two more weeks I’ll be better than I am today. It’s a process.
warm burnished tones of autumn as days grow short the earth prepares for new life
For as long as I can remember, music has been in my life in one form or another. There was never a time when I was not singing in a choir or choral group, either in church or school. My family was musical and the house was always alive with radio music, records playing, someone practicing the piano, someone else playing the mandolin, someone tinkering with the guitar, recorder, squeezebox, drums, and everyone singing, singing, singing.
I will always remember my Christmas present when I was 12 years old … a portable record player which my parents repeatedly made very clear was not ‘a toy’. I knew that! The toy phonographs came with Howdy Doody decals or Mickey Mouse ears and were made out of cardboard painted to look like leather or plastic. I had those toy record players which didn’t last very long; this was the real deal. To me, my teal blue General Electric Solid State record player was ‘the Holy Grail’! My parents spent “good money on that thing” and expected me to treat it with respect. What they didn’t predict was how I would worship that suitcase phonograph every day of my life.
This baby had built-in speakers that really blew! And a real diamond tip needle. My older cousin Joseph taught me the proper way to raise and lower the arm and how to safely get the dust off my records. My parents gave me and my sister a weekly allowance and I used most of my money to buy records.
The first 45 to grace my record player was “Da Doo Ron Ron” by the Crystals (which was prophetic because “his name was Bill”!). The early girl groups were my idols; I loved their sound and their lyrics were perfect for young girls with hormones working overtime. Then the Beatles invaded the US and my life was changed forever.
That GE teal blue record player became my best friend and I took very good care of it. After I was married, we had a hi-tech stereo system in the living room but I still kept my phonograph upstairs in the bedroom where we’d listen to romantic tunes like “A Million To One”, “Daddy’s Home”, “I Only Have Eyes For You” and “Ooh Baby Baby”. When our sons were old enough, I handed down my record player to them and now our 15 year old granddaughter has it in her bedroom. Her latest purchase was the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy which is pretty damn cool.
Thanks to Keith Allen for the invitation to write a little something on his new blog. I hope you enjoyed what I had to share today.
The exact year escapes me but it was a long time ago, to be sure. It was the summer we returned from vacation to find our tomatoes had ripened into gorgeous red orbs ready for eating. I could practically smell that grassy-green, spicy-sweet summery aroma. But something seemed wrong, off somehow. I felt like I was not alone in my garden, like I was being watched. Taking a closer look, I discovered disturbingly large caterpillars feasting on our lovely harvest. The bloated green creatures blended in so well with the underside of the leaves, it took a few seconds to register why our crop was full of gaping holes. Probing, boring, ravaging, gorging, hoarding. No tomato was salvaged that summer. Not one. That was the year I stopped planting tomatoes.
garden interlopers devastation signaling summer’s end
Written for Song Lyric Sunday. This week Jim Adams has asked his readers to choose a song that makes them think about life. Here’s mine.
To talk about my featured song, I first need to tell you about my friend, Roberta. She and I had been friends since our sons attended nursery school together, some 44 years ago. Even back then in her early 30s, Roberta had a shock of gorgeous silver-white hair that was always perfectly yet casually coiffed. Just like my grandmother, Roberta’s hair color changed when she was in her 20s and I never saw her with a different color or style.
Roberta’s laugh was one of a kind …. some might call it a cackle …. and you heard her long before you saw her! She rarely took life too seriously and was very forthcoming with her opinions, whether you wanted to hear them or not. I guess you could call her a ‘free spirit’; she lived very much in the moment, often arriving late for appointments because she ran into someone who needed a friend to talk to.
There was never any doubt where you stood with Roberta. If she was pissed off about something, you knew it. She’d speak her mind, clear the air and never mention the issue again. Done and forgotten. But not just forgotten …. forgiven as well. She didn’t hold a grudge; I always thought that was an admirable trait. And she didn’t lie. If anything, she was too honest and her ‘bluntness’ could turn people off. She really didn’t care what people thought about her; life was not a popularity contest. As I said, people always knew exactly how Roberta felt.
She was a devout Catholic, attending Mass every weekend, but she was never showy about it. Roberta and her husband Martin were in charge of the church’s food pantry …. collecting food for families in need …. and not just during the holidays or when a crisis hit but every day of the year …. however, the holidays were very important to Roberta, especially Christmas. That was when she amped up the drive for food, clothes and gifts for needy families in the area, especially the children. In all the years I knew Roberta, I don’t remember anyone else heading up the food pantry except her. She and Martin were special people, far from saints but doing God’s work in an unassuming way.
It came as a terrible blow to everyone when Roberta became dangerously ill almost overnight in August 2014 and was diagnosed with West Nile Virus (for which there is no vaccine or cure although most people recover with proper care). Roberta had an extremely virulent case and within days she lapsed into a coma and never regained consciousness. At one point, she was the only documented case of “death by West Nile Virus” in Westchester County, NY.
The day I visited Roberta at the nursing home was one I will never forget. Had it not been for her name on the door and her glorious mane of white hair, I would not have recognized my longtime friend; the virus left her body terribly swollen, facial features almost fused together. I sat by her bedside, held her hand and sang a song I had sung many times before. And as I sang to my friend, I saw her eyelid barely flutter and her finger quiver ever so slightly and no one will ever convince me that she was unaware of my presence. Four months later, during Christmas week, Roberta died. It was the perfect time for her to take her leave.
The song I sang to my friend that day in the nursing home was “What A Wonderful World”.
According to Wikipedia, “What A Wonderful World” was written by Bob Thiele and George David Weiss. It was first recorded by Louis Armstrong and released as a single in 1967. In April 1968, it topped the pop chart in the UK but performed poorly in the United States because the president of ABC Records disliked the song’s arrangement and refused to promote it. (There’s more on Wiki about that and it’s pretty interesting.) After the song was heard in the 1987 film Good Morning, Vietnam, it was reissued as a single in 1988 and rose to #32 on the Billboard Hot 100. Louis Armstrong’s recording was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999.
Every time I hear this song, I remember Roberta and our last visit together. This is “What A Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.
LYRICS
I see trees of green Red roses too I see them bloom For me and you And I think to myself What a wonderful world
I see skies of blue And clouds of white The bright blessed day The dark sacred night And I think to myself What a wonderful world
The colors of the rainbow So pretty in the sky Are also on the faces Of people going by I see friends shaking hands Saying, “How do you do?” They’re really saying I love you
I hear babies cry I watch them grow They’ll learn much more Than I’ll ever know And I think to myself What a wonderful world Yes, I think to myself What a wonderful world Ooh, yes
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are asked to get creative in 250 words or less using the photo below as inspiration. This is my 4th story about Harvey and Fiona; for my previous stories, please click here.
Early each morning on her way to work, Fiona passed the busy bakery in the heart of town. She loved the shamrock-green storefront and the delicious aroma of baked goods, and imagined herself working there.
Maneuvering the heavy pressing machines at her job took its toll on Fiona; she was exhausted and complained of backaches. Harvey barked that shebetter toughen up because no way was she quitting that job. And for the first time, he slapped her.
On Sunday morning Fiona asked Harvey to bring down the mixing bowl from the top shelf in the kitchen so she could make an apple pie. Grousing, but inwardly delighting at the prospect of dessert, Harvey took a long swig of his beer and got the stepladder out of the closet. As he started to climb, Fiona managed to hoist a five pound sack of apples, grimacing at the awful pain in her back, and bashed Harvey as hard as she could on the back of his head. He fell backwards onto the kitchen floor, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling. He would never slap her again.
Fiona tore open the sack of apples, dumped them into the colander on the counter and shoved the empty sack into the trash. She looked at Harvey’s dead body; blood had pooled under his head and she felt sick to her stomach. Fiona vomited in the sink, then washed her face and hands; she lifted the receiver of the wall phone and called the police.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our gracious host, Rochelle, has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration to get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Here’s my flash.
This is Week 38 of Glyn’sMixed Music Bag and we are being asked to choose a song by a group or solo artist whose name begins with the letters Q or R. This is my choice.
L to R: Nedra Talley, Veronica Bennett, Estelle Bennett
Perhaps the best remembered of the “girl groups” of the early ’60s were Veronica (Ronnie) Bennett, her sister Estelle and their cousin Nedra Talley, also known as the Ronettes. In towering black beehive hairdos and dark eye makeup, the Ronettes were a classic mid-sixties girl group with a sultry twist – vulnerable but tough, sexy but sweet.
A trio of sassy, glamorous young women from the Washington Heights section of New York City, the Ronettes exemplified the girl group ideal, exuding both youthful innocence and worldly sensuality. They were the perfect vehicle for the eccentric, visionary producer Phil Spector, who combined his innovative “Wall of Sound” production techniques with the Ronettes’ rich voices to create such teen classics as “Be My Baby,” “Baby I Love You,” and “Walking in the Rain”. To attain the “Wall of Sound”, Spector’s arrangements called for large ensembles (including some instruments not generally used for ensemble playing, such as electric and acoustic guitars), with multiple instruments doubling or tripling many of the parts to create a fuller, richer tone.
Lead singer Ronnie’s romantic relationship with Phil Spector began in 1963 as an affair while Phil was married. He divorced his wife in 1965 and married Ronnie in 1968, becoming controlling, paranoid and abusive during their relationship. Notorious behavior included making Ronnie drive with a life-size dummy of himself alongside her; he kept her imprisoned in their house and threatened her with murder. She eventually escaped in 1972 and he eventually did commit murder, shooting actressLana Clarkson in 2003 (click the link for the sordid details). On May 29, 2009, Phil Spector was sentenced to 19 years to life and died in a prison hospital in January 2021.
Ronnie Spector and her bandmates spent 15 years battling Phil for royalties they were owed, eventually successfully; in 2000 a New York court ruled that Phil owed them $2.6m. This decision was reversed in 2002 after judges found that the record deal the group initially signed meant that Phil Spector had rights to the recordings, but in 2006 the New York state supreme court awarded the group a lump sum and ordered Phil to continue paying them yearly royalties. There were further legal complaints later that decade, with Phil accused of withholding royalty payments.
Although the Ronettes are now known almost exclusively for their work with Spector, they actually got their start a few years earlier. As young teenagers, the girls began harmonizing together and won one of the famed Apollo Theater’s talent contests. Ronnie said she, Estelle and Nedra liked to play up their hot image; in 1961, their looks and moves got them hired as dancers at New York’s fashionable Peppermint Lounge, ground zero of the then-current Twist craze. They got a record deal with Colpix and recorded their first single, “I Want A Boy”, credited to Ronnie and the Relatives. The next single “I’m On the Wagon”, listed the girls as the Ronettes. Between their other activities, the girls found themselves in the recording studio backing artist such as Bobby Rydell, Del Shannon and Joey Dee.
There are conflicting stories as to how Phil Spector and the Ronettes actually met but after hearing the girls, Phil was hot to produce a record with them. Spector was taken with Ronnie’s hard but sweet sound and saw the “bad girls” in beehives as an act he could build an image around. Up until that time, girl groups rarely had an identity and never had their photos on the sleeves of their 45s. That changed with the Ronettes.
The first single on Spector’sPhilles label in July 1963 was a classic – the Barry/Greenwich/Spector “Be My Baby”. Ronnie’s seductive vocal delivery, along with her now legendary “woh-oh-oh-oh” and Spector’s “Wall of Sound” drove the single to chart success. By October, 1963 it was at #2 and became an international hit as it reached #4 on the English Charts.
The Ronettes’ career took off after they recorded “Be My Baby“. The following January, the group began its first tour of England, where they spent time with the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. The Stones opened for the Ronettes on that tour, and the Ronettes would open for the Beatles on their 1965 tour of U.S. stadiums.
The Ronettes split up in 1967, the victims of changing musical tastes and Phil Spector’s shifting interests and controlling behavior. After leaving Phil in ’72, Ronnie formed a new Ronettes lineup before beginning a solo career.
In 2006, the Library of Congress inducted “Be My Baby” into the United States National Recording Registry. It’s safe to say there was no other girl group like the Ronettes.
Ronnie Spector, 1943-2022. Rest In Peace, Ronnie. ❤︎
From 1963, here are the Ronettes with their classic “Be My Baby”.
Lyrics
The night we met I knew I needed you so And if I had the chance I’d never let you go So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me We’ll make ’em turn their heads every place we go
So won’t you, please (be my, be my baby) Be my little baby? (My one and only baby) Say you’ll be my darlin’ (be my, be my baby) Be my baby now (my one and only baby) Whoa-oh-oh-oh
I’ll make you happy, baby, just wait and see For every kiss you give me, I’ll give you three Oh, since the day I saw you I have been waiting for you You know I will adore you ’til eternity
So won’t you, please (be my, be my baby) Be my little baby? (My one and only baby) Say you’ll be my darlin’ (be my, be my baby) Be my baby now (my one and only baby) Whoa-oh-oh-oh
So come on and, please (be my, be my baby) Be my little baby? (My one and only baby) Say you’ll be my darlin’ (be my, be my baby) Be my baby now (my one and only baby) Whoa-oh-oh-oh
Be my little baby? (My one and only baby) Oh-oh-oh (be my, be my baby) Oh (my one and only baby) Whoa-oh-oh-oh (be my, be my baby) Oh-oh-oh (My one and only baby) Oh (be my, be my baby)
* In times of war or siege, Italian families would vacate their homes and rent apartments in safer areas. In order to protect themselves they would hire soldiers to sleep on the floor in shifts. The meaning of the phrase “going to the mattresses” symbolizes the association in Italian folk-memory of mattresses with safety in wartime. The phrase wasn’t well known outside the US and Italy prior to the Godfather movies. It was used there, and later in The Sopranos, to mean “preparing for battle”.
When Kay met Michael, scenes from an Italian wedding (Godfather, 1972) featuring Al Martino as Johnny Fontane. This is “I Have But One Heart (O Marenariello)”
Author’s Note: As most of you know, I had back surgery on August 22. Recuperation is much tougher than I thought or expected. I have no idea if I’ll ever be the same. What I do know is I’m not as bad as I was three weeks ago and in another three weeks I’ll be better than I am today. Thanks, D, for helping me realize that. ♡
Written for Song Lyric Sunday. This week Jim Adams has asked his readers to choose a song they remember from their childhood.
Music has always been a huge part of my life since my days growing up in The Bronx. Every self-respecting Italian family has a finished basement … one wide open room with a kitchen, eating area, a space for family activities, a TV area, a bathroom and closed-off workshop. Our television was one of those big console units which also included a radio and stereo with a storage cabinet and looked something like this:
When my sister and I listened to our music, my mother would either be cooking or in her sewing area and Dad would be at the kitchen table working on a crossword puzzle. He claimed he didn’t like our music but he never actually left the room when it was on. However, on Saturday afternoons my father commandeered the radio so he could listen to his favorite Italian show called “Pasquale C.O.D.” I remember it being just like WMCA … the station I listed … only in Italian. Pasquale was the DJ who’d talk about everything from food to politics and play the top hits from Italy and the US.
In 1958 there was a song we heard often and it became a family favorite; it got to be so popular, it wasn’t just limited to Dad’s Italian station. People all around the world could hear Domenico Modugno singing his hit “Nel blu, dipinto di blu“, more commonly known as “Volare”. Modugno composed the music and, along with Franco Migliacci, wrote the lyrics. The single was released on February 1, 1958.
The song spent five non-consecutive weeks atop the Billboard Hot 100 in August and September 1958, and subsequently became Billboard’s #1 single for the year. In 1959, at the 1st Annual Grammy Awards, Modugno’s recording became the first ever Grammy winner for both Record of the Year and Song of the Year. For more info about “Volare”, you can click HERE.
Here is “Nel blu, dipinto di blu (Volare)” by Domenico Modugno. This one’s for you, Dad.
LYRICS
I think a dream like this will never come back Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più
I painted my hands and face blue Mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu
Then suddenly I was kidnapped by the wind Poi d’improvviso venivo dal vento rapito
And I began to fly in the infinite sky E incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito
Flying oh, oh Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh Cantare oh, oh
In the blue painted blue Nel blu dipinto di blu
Happy to be up there Felice di stare lassù
And I flew, I flew happily higher than the sun E volavo, volavo felice più in alto del sole
And even higher Ed ancora più su
While the world slowly disappeared far away down there Mentre il mondo pian piano spariva lontano laggiù
Sweet music played just for me Una musica dolce suonava soltanto per me
Flying oh, oh Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh Cantare oh, oh
In the blue painted blue Nel blu dipinto di blu
Happy to be up there Felice di stare lassù
But all dreams fade away in the dawn Ma tutti i sogni nell’alba svaniscon perché
When the moon sets, it takes them with it Quando tramonta la luna li porta con sé
But I continue to dream in your beautiful eyes Ma io continuo a sognare negli occhi tuoi belli
Which are blue like a sky studded with stars Che sono blu come un cielo trapunto di stelle
Flying oh, oh Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh Cantare oh, oh
In the blue of your blue eyes Nel blu degli occhi tuoi blu
Happy to be down here Felice di stare quaggiù
And I continue to fly happily higher than the sun E continuo a volare felice più in alto del sole
And even higher Ed ancora più su
While the world slowly disappears in your blue eyes Mentre il mondo pian piano scompare negli occhi tuoi blu
Your voice is sweet music that plays for me La tua voce è una musica dolce che suona per me
Flying oh, oh Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh Cantare oh, oh
In the blue of your blue eyes Nel blu degli occhi tuoi blu
Happy to be down here Felice di stare quaggiù
In the blue of your blue eyes Nel blu degli occhi tuoi blu
There were more than 100 different recordings of “Volare” worldwide but my favorite from 1960 was the version by Italian-American pop singer Bobby Rydell (Ridarelli). Even my dad thought he sounded pretty good! His recording reached #4 on the Hot 100 during the summer of 1960, #22 in the UK and #3 in Canada. Here is Bobby Rydell’s version.
Of course, we couldn’t go flying without the wonderful Il Volo (flight) and their rendition of “Volare”. These young vocal sensations came on the scene long after my father passed away; I wonder what he’d think of them. Here is Il Volo.
The ambience in our house was different today, quietly busy as delivery men and acquaintances paying their respects came and went. My father and mother’s uncles directed the traffic of floral deliveries and positioned the many arrangements throughout the parlor. My mother and her aunts labored in the kitchen like silent worker bees preparing trays of food for the funeral dinner tomorrow.
We children sat meekly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically restrained. Occasionally we would glance toward the elevated casket in the center of the room and quickly look away. At 6:00 we were whisked off to the dining room where we wordlessly ate our evening meal, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil.
There seemed to be a never-ending flow of people, a soft parade of mourners entering our house. Veiled women dabbed their eyes and men removed their hats, heads bowed. This stream flowed seamlessly from 2:00 in the afternoon until 9:30 that evening, many people lingering to reflect while caressing their rosary beads. A priest arrived shortly after 9:30; he spoke softly in our native Sicilian dialect, offering prayers and words of consolation. When he was finished, everyone except my mother’s aunts and uncles departed. My little cousins, some no longer able to stay awake, were carried home and my sister and I were shooed off to our bedroom upstairs.
It had been a long and sorrowful day. My great-grandmother, the family matriarch, had died.
*Bisnonna is the Sicilian word for “great-grandmother”.
Author’s Note: I was nine years old when my great-grandmother died. Much of that day is etched in my mind; in particular, I remember being unable to sleep that night knowing there was a dead body in a coffin downstairs in my parlor. Never ever will I forget the cold and waxy feel of my bisnonna’s skin on my lips as I, along with all the other children, lined up to place a kiss on her forehead … not something we did willingly.
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration to get creative in 100 words or less, making every word count. Here’s my flash.
Jenny looked around the no-frills room which was now her home. A shy girl, she’d never spent a single night away from home; now she was half-way across the country at an unfamiliar university with thousands of nameless faces.
At first she didn’t want her parents’ help moving but at the last minute she relented. They were on their way home now and all Jenny wanted was to grab her phone and beg them to come back and take her home.
The sound of girl’s excited laughter echoed in the hall; Jenny peeked out and someone happily waved her over.
This is Week 37 of Glyn’sMixed Music Bag and we are being asked to choose a song by a group or solo artist whose name begins with the letters Q or R. This is my choice.
Disillusioned and fed up with the chaotic state of Deep Purple in the mid-’70s, guitarist Ritchie Blackmore made the stunning announcement in May 1975 that he was quitting the group he had founded and led for over seven years in order to start from scratch.
Teaming up with up-and-coming American vocalist Ronnie James Dio, Blackmore built Rainbow around the singer’s former band, Elf. Featuring bassist Craig Gruber, keyboard player Mickey Lee Soule, and drummer Gary Driscoll, the group’s 1975 debut Ritchie Blackmore’s Rainbow was quickly embraced by European fans and yielded their first hit single, “Man on the Silver Mountain”.
Blackmore and Dio were dissatisfied with the album’s sound, however, and decided to re-vamp Rainbow (by then sufficiently established to do without Blackmore’s name) by drafting bassist Jimmy Bain, keyboard player Tony Carey, and former Jeff Beck Group drummer Cozy Powell. It was with this lineup that they entered Musicland studios in February 1976 to record the landmark Rising opus – once voted the greatest heavy metal album of all time in a 1981 Kerrang! magazine readers’ poll. Capturing Blackmore and Dio at the peak of their creative powers, Rising chronicled both the guitarist’s neo-classical metal compositions at their most ambitious and the singer’s growing fixation with fantasy lyrical themes – a blueprint he would adopt for his entire career thereafter. Following its release, the band embarked upon a successful world tour, culminating in a sold-out European jaunt which spawned a best-selling live album entitled On Stage, released in 1977.
By the time they returned with the equally acclaimed Long Live Rock ’n’ Roll album, Rainbow had established themselves as one of Europe’s best-selling groups and top concert draws. But the volatile relationship between Blackmore and Dio had already begun to deteriorate, as the American-born singer became increasingly frustrated with standing in the guitarist’s shadow. To make matters worse, Blackmore had been so impressed with Long Live Rock ’n’ Roll’s success as a single, that he began to consider altering the band’s sound in order to pursue a more mainstream hard rock approach … a change in which Dio was not interested. A chance meeting with Tony Iommi of Black Sabbath (recently split for good from unreliable frontman Ozzy Osbourne) helped Dio make up his mind and he officially quit Rainbow in early 1979 to join Black Sabbath.
Rainbow A.D. (After Dio) had two more frontmen … Brit Graham Bonnet and American Joe Lynn Turner; however that’s another story for another time … and no less tumultuous. Blackmore was a very difficult person to work with, or so I’ve read.
“Man On the Siver Mountain”, Rainbow’s first hit with Ronnie James Dio, has been described by Blackmore as “a semi-religious song with the man on the silver mountain as a kind of God figure people are crying out to.It’s about spiritual enlightenment, reaching the top and calling on your inner strength … like finding inner peace and confidence. The man on the silver mountain I think is finding my higher self.”
I wouldn’t know anything about that; I just think it’s an awesome metal track. Here is “Man On the Silver Mountain” by Rainbow.
Lyrics
I’m a wheel, I’m a wheel I can roll, I can feel And you can’t stop me turning Cause I’m the sun, I’m the sun I can move, I can run But you’ll never stop me burning Come down with fire Lift my spirit higher Someone’s screaming my name Come and make me holy again
I’m the man on the silver mountain I’m the man on the silver mountain I’m the day, I’m the day I can show you the way And look I’m right beside you I’m the night, I’m the night I’m the dark and the light With eyes that see inside you Come down with fire Lift my spirit higher Someone’s screaming my name Come and make me holy again
I’m the man on the silver mountain I’m the man on the silver mountain Come down with fire Lift my spirit higher Someone’s screaming my name Come and make me holy again
I’m the man on the silver mountain I’m the man on the silver mountain Just look at me and listen I’m the man, the man, give you my hand Come down with fire Lift your spirit higher I’m the man on the silver mountain I’m the man on the silver mountain I’m the night and the light I’m the black and the white The man on the silver mountain
How I long to walk to the water’s edge, to dip my toes and cool my burning feet.
There are times I think if I could just reach the water all my pain would wash away.
Where are the days when I skipped along the shore collecting shells and rocks and starfish?
My body would bake in the brilliant sun as I danced like a gazelle from one end of the beach to the other. I’d look back in amazement wondering how I walked that far.
Sometimes I would catch my reflection in the water and see that young woman, vibrant and alive.
Hair of burnished gold, skin smooth and lustrous, deeply tanned, and eyes as green as the ocean itself.
I smile at her but she does not smile back. Perhaps she knows the hurt that lies ahead and is already grieving.
I desperately want to be free from these chains of pain but the key has long been buried in the sand. I reach for it and again it eludes me.
Where is that young, desirable woman? Where did she go? If you see her walking by the water’s edge, please send her home.
I have much to tell her. My heart is strong and my lust for life and love has not diminished. Only my muscles fail me.
How I long to walk to the water’s edge, but my tired and failing limbs will not support me. Oh, how they mock me!
Out! Go on! Take your stuff and hit the road. You are not wanted around here anymore. You broke my heart with your lies. I abhor the feel of your mouth. My bed is not big enough for three! Out! Go on! Take your stuff and hit the road.
My husband came home from grocery shopping and after putting away the ice cream said to me, “I stopped by the Chatsworth Auction House. Look what I found.”
He handed me a small box; inside were vintage lilac gemstone and silver filigree earrings.
I started to cry … tears come easy … and he asked “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. They’re perfect” I sobbed. “Just like the ones I lost years ago.”
Written for Song Lyric Sunday. This week Jim has asked his readers to choose a song that reminds them of themselves.
When I read the theme for today’s SLS, I had a pretty good idea what my song was going to be. It’s been one of my favorite songs for a long time. And while it may sound melancholy, it’s message is one of the most uplifting ever written.
Who am I? Just an average person who has been blessed many times over in my life. I had so much fun as a young adult, going to concerts almost every weekend and meeting many extraordinary performers. I have a terrific husband, wonderful adult children and four grandkids. We live in a beautiful town with great neighbors who happen to be our best friends. The only thing I can complain about is the arthritis that has plagued me for the past 24 years. There have been times when the pain really brought me down and healing from surgeries seemed impossible but here I am, still standing. (No, that’s not my song!)
My featured song today is a real classic but some of you may think Michael Jackson was the one who made it popular; it’s much older than that. The music for today’s song was originally written and orchestrated by none other than silent film star Charlie Chaplin, starting as an instrumental for the soundtrack to his 1936 film Modern Times. And instead of being entirely a silent movie, it was the first time Chaplin’s voice was heard on a film. The idea for the movie came about from the Great Depression of 1929; messages of hope were essential to keeping people optimistic despite their circumstances. In 1954, John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons added lyrics to the song based on lines and themes from Chaplin’s Modern Times and gave it the title known around the world as “Smile”.
I know how fortunate I am; hell, Bill and I made it through a horrific rollover back in 2001 and he beat bladder cancer 6 years ago. 2024 hasn’t been a stellar year so far with my brother-in-law’s death and this god-awful spine surgery but we keep going and looking to each other for a smile. I’m an emotional person and wear my heart on my sleeve. Tears come easily but so does laughter. I love to have fun and make people laugh. And each laugh begins with a smile.
This is Tony Bennett.
LYRICS
Smile though your heart is aching Smile even though it’s breaking When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by If you smile through your fears and sorrow Smile and maybe tomorrow You’ll see the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness Hide every trace of sadness Although a tear may be ever so near That’s the time you must keep on trying Smile, what’s the use of crying You’ll find that life is still worthwhile If you just smile
That’s the time you must keep on trying Smile, what’s the use of crying You’ll find that life is still worthwhile If you just smile
Writer(s): Music – Charles Chaplin; Lyrics – Geoffrey Parsons, John Turner Publisher: Tratore Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind
Here is a clip from Modern Times, Chaplin’s last silent film.
I was coming up empty today, friends … uninspired, tired, and dragging my sorry ass around the house. Then I came across this brilliant post by my friend, Bluebird of Bitterness, and all was right in my little world. What’s that you say? You don’t like cats? Oh, FFS, don’t go getting your knickers in a twist; you don’t have to love cats or the theatre to appreciate these funnies. Blue always saves what is considered the best for the last. Let’s see if you agree. And while you’re here, check our what else is on Blue’s site; you’ll be glad you did!
“Kevin! Wake up, man! You gotta see this. Wake up!”
“Quit it, Luke! I’m trying to sleep!” Kevin mumbled crossly. The disgusting smell of stale beer, Slim Jims and weed slammed Kevin in the face; gagging, he pushed his brother away.
“C’mon, Kev. Something heavy happened down at the beach, man. I swear it’s not of this world, bro!”
“The only thing ‘not of this world, bro’ is your breath. You’re stoned, Luke; go to sleep.”
“I swear on the Bible, Kevin. If you don’t see this, you’re gonna kick yourself.”
Kevin sighed deeply and swung his legs out of bed. “Alright, man. I’m up. Let’s get this over with.”
Kevin and Luke drove out to the Pacific Palisades beach where Luke had his sighting. Kevin recognized the beach right away.
“Hey, Luke … doesn’t your buddy Gonzo clean this beach?”
“Far out, man! I forgot about that. This is gonna blow his mind!”
When they reached Luke’s spot, he dropped to the sand and began to belly crawl to the top, motioning for Kevin to do the same.
“Check it out, Kev. Have you ever seen anything like this, man? They’re crop circles, like in that movie!”
“You got that right, Luke. This really is something else! Could be an alien vehicle way out on the left side. If I squint I can make out the words ‘GONZO’S LUNAR ROVER. I BRAKE FOR WEED!’ Brilliant detective work, Carl Sagan! C’mon, bro. I’m buying breakfast. I’ll explain it on the way.”
Written for Friday Fictioneers where Rochelle asks us to get creative in 100 words or less. Making every word count and using Dale’s photo below as inspiration, here is my flash.
Since we was kids it was just me and Roxie. Nobody wanted us but we didn’t care. We was crazy in love, wild about each other. We didn’t need nobody stickin’ their noses in our beeswax.
Long as we was together, nothin’ else much mattered, y’know?
We got a gig flippin’ flapjacks, a tin roof over our heads, a bed, and a hi-fi for spinnin’ tunes.
We do our jobs each day, make mad love every night, and dance in the glittery moonlight.
We’re happy and there’s no hidin’ the signs. The whole shack shimmies.
The Sopranos, Episode 2.09. A post-surgery Christopher Moltisanti frantically pumps his morphine drip.
Those were my thoughts at 4AM after waking up in agony; my 8-Hour Tylenol had worn off two hours early, alerting the pain timepiece in my brain.
Clearly the Tylenol isn’t cutting it, but due to federal guidelines and crackdowns, a doctor’s ability to prescribe necessary painkillers has been seriously restricted and people like me living in the US are getting screwed.
“Hm, what’s this?” I asked myself, cycling up to an abandoned car … a bit of excitement in my otherwise dull existence.
It struck me as odd that the car appeared to have been deliberately driven to the side of the road, the engine turned off while, in sharp contrast, the door had been hastily left open. The key was in the ignition, the constant reminder of “ding-ding-ding-ding” shattering the stillness.
Instinctively, I yanked out the key, pocketing it. I exhaled, savoring the calmness. Looking around, there wasn’t a living thing in sight, but two trash bins implied the presence of civilization.
I stood at the silent intersection, the roads reaching out to the horizon. The only change in landscape was a mound strewn with tree cuttings. I decided to scope out the area to see what was about, but my exploration yielded nothing. The car and I stood idle.
Shrugging my shoulders, I began walking back to my bicycle when an indistinct sound penetrated the air – a muffled voice coming from the mound.
With renewed vigor, I ran up the rise, stopping abruptly at the sight below – a traveling circus being dismantled. It was then I noticed a silver-haired man giddily leaping toward the carny folk, waving and shouting “wait for me!”
Before I knew what was happening, I was bounding after the man, yelling for him to “take me along, too!” He motioned for me to “c’mon!”
At some point the car key fell out of my pocket, no longer needed.
And for a bit of culture …. from the musical “Stop the World – I Want to Get Off”, this is the incomparable Anthony Newley with “What Kind of Fool Am I?”
Ten days out from spinal fusion surgery and my lower back still hurts like a bitch on wheels. This is a much more difficult surgery/recovery than I expected; bearing in mind what’s involved …. what has been cut through, ground down, fused together with various types of hardware, and stapled, sutured and bandaged closed …. I should have realized it would not be easy. And my doctor sent me home with Tylenol …. not even extra strength but regular Tylenol. Really?
Getting around the house with a walker, dressing myself and doing basic toilette is not problematic; beyond basic, it’s damn near impossible. What’s not allowed: stomach sleeping, bending or twisting at the waist, lifting anything heavier than 5 pounds. And, apparently, pain medication.
These days, I just about live in my electric recliner, getting up every hour or so to walk around, followed by icing my back. I tried eating my meals in the kitchen with Bill; it’s good to have a change of scenery and some normal time with him. The chairs, however, are not comfortable just yet so we eat together in the living room where there’s an over-large electric recliner with my name on it.
Making myself comfortable in a recliner is easier than in bed but still more difficult than I would have thought; the vertical 6″ incision is centrally located on the small of my back so I’m aware of every movement. There’s always something that hurts, that’s too big or too small, too hard or too soft, flattened out or all scrunched up, or just out of reach. Finding the perfect cushion has been a crusade; thankfully, Bill holds on to everything! Fortunately, once I fall asleep, I’m out for most of the night. Getting out of the recliner in the morning is slow-going as I’m stiffened-up from sleeping all night. It’s a process.
As far as my blogging goes, I’ll write when the mood strikes. I miss you and our camaraderie but my energy and strength are down. It took me two days just to write this! I apologize for not reading or commenting on your posts and I’m sure I’m not going to …. at least not for a while. I’m just not up to it.
Well, that’s the story, kids; taking life one day at a time.
Be good to yourselves. See you on the flip side. 😎
PS – As much as I’d love to hear from you, please try not to compare your own situation to mine or tell me about your dear Aunt Betty who was never the same after her surgery. I know you mean well but we’re all different and heal differently; downer stories don’t help. It’s human nature but a “get well soon!” would be far better and greatly appreciated. Thanks!
Hi, kids! I’m still here … a little worse for wear but hanging on.
It’s been just over one week since my spinal fusion surgery and I’ve asked myself the same question a few dozen times:
“WHY DID I DO THIS??”
I was talking to a friend today about back surgeries and, since my incision is centrally located on my lower back, I feel the pain everywhere regardless of my position or what I’m doing … and it hurts a lot.
Having gone through this herself a few times times, my friend reminded me that back surgery is a major deal and to cut myself some slack. I did what was necessary and recoup is going to be hard but I also need to remember it’s only been one week. I feel pretty dreadful right now but I realize that’s the norm.
“You’re strong … you got this” she said, and she’s right.
Well, on the bright side, I walk around the house with my walker every 90 minutes, then apply ice. I was walking every hour but by the time I finished walking and icing, there was little time to do anything else!
There’s no point in trying to play catch-up with your posts; once I start blogging regularly, I’ll begin reading your posts as well. But I’m not back yet; this is just a note to say “Hi” and to let you know I’m still here! And big hugs to those of you who scoped out my email address. It was really nice to hear from you.
I didn’t want to end this message with a downer of a song so here’s one of my favorites … a classic R&B tune by Booker T. & The M.G.s to help us chill out. It’s called “Green Onions”.
Well, kids, the possibility has become a reality. First thing this morning I will be having back surgery. It’s time; I can’t put it off any longer. Hopefully it won’t be too much of an ordeal but one never knows with these things. I’ll be off WordPress while I recuperate. Comments on this post have been disabled simply because I won’t be able to respond to them as quickly as I’d like and I apologize for that. I’m sure you understand.
That’s the story, my friends. See you on the flip side. 😎
Best always
~ Nancy
This is the R.E.M. song “Everybody Hurts” performed by Joe Cocker.
LYRICS
When your day is long And the night, the night is yours alone When you’re sure you’ve had enough Of this life, well hang on
Don’t let yourself go ‘Cause everybody cries Everybody hurts sometimes
Sometimes everything is wrong Now it’s time to sing along
When your day is night alone (hold on, hold on) If you feel like letting go (hold on) If you think you’ve had too much Of this life, well hang on
‘Cause everybody hurts Take comfort in your friends Everybody hurts
Don’t throw your hand, oh no Don’t throw your hand If you feel like you’re alone No, no, no, you are not alone
If you’re on your own in this life The days and nights are long When you think you’ve had too much Of this life to hang on
Well, everybody hurts sometimes Everybody cries Everybody hurts, sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes So hold on, hold on Hold on, hold on, hold on Hold on, hold on, hold on
The Elephant's Trunk 