Friday Music: Moon River (Clapton and Beck)

 I bought this card to send to a friend the other day. It's a picture of a painting by a local artist who we've seen painting out at the marsh several times. His work is quite beautiful. I looked at the back of the card and saw that the painting is called Moon River.  Oh wow, Moon River, that really sent me back to my very young days. I first heard that song when I was ten years old. I still know all the words. It was one of those songs that was everywhere for a time. So of course I went to youtube to hear Audrey Hepburn sing it, and then Andy Williams. But that's when I noticed something that surprised me... Elton John did Moon River live in concert in 2008. I listened. It's lovely. Then I saw another video that truly knocked me out... Eric Clapton and Jeff Beck did it live in concert as well. I would have never guessed that such an old "schmaltzy" (yiddish for overly sentimental and emotional) would wind up being played on two electric guitars so beautifully. I hope you like it.

Almost Wordless Wednesday: Corona In A Mud Puddle

After all of the relentless rain we've been having, when that sun finally showed its beautiful hot star face, we absolutely hopped skipped and jumped at the chance to go for a nice long walk. We took the neighborhood loop that goes by the big goopy cow pastures now full of puddles. Perfect for spotting the reflection of sky and clouds in the mess. And there it was, the gift of a lovely reflected corona and a hint of iridescence in the muck. Life is like that, especially these days. We have to keep our eyes open for any hint of beauty. Sometimes you actually have to look past the literal bullsh*t. (Whoops I just got sidetracked by the politics of our times... yikes...sorry about that.)

Everyday This Cat...

...stares in at us through the sliding glass door. Several times a day, everyday. We invite her in, but she much prefers (insists, really) that we come outside and pet her while she rolls around on the little deck out there. "Come out" she says, "I am waiting. I know you love me. Come out. Come out." I do go out a few times a day, but sometimes I just look at her and say, "Cleo, if you don't come in, I'm not going out there." She stares at me. She gets tired. She fantasizes about other critters in the yard and in a moment disappears in a mad dash after something that only exists in her mind. She is our neighbor's cat.When they got her a few years ago they said, "We got a cat. You know what that means, don't you?" We said, "No. What?" They said, "You got a cat too." Wow we had no idea how right they'd be about that. She's a very well-loved kitty cat. But sometimes we just have to pull the curtains and be done with it. Bye bye.

Friday Music: 1970

I chose this song for Friday music because it knocked me out to hear young, talented people singing a song from the perspective of someone with Alzheimer's. I so appreciate their music and their sensitivity. Lately I've been experiencing some memory issues, like not remembering all the parts of stretching exercise that I do twice a day for my relentless back pain. I've been doing those exercises daily for three years. Suddenly I can't remember the order. That is as scary as it gets, folks. And, I know that it definitely gets scarier than this.

1970 by Reina del Cid

I got a telephone
But it never rings
I’m just making calls
To memories.
On my better days I know
The last years have cost me dearly

Smoking cigarettes about a pack a day
Waiting for my lover
To come back to me
In my checkered dress I know
It’s been a long time
Since 1970

Pretty Baby…
The kitchen light is on
And I’m dancing
To our favorite song
I’ve been waiting
And I hope it won’t be long.

Don’t know where I am
Or who put me here
But by a trick of light
I'm in my Oldsmobile
See my best days are the worst days
Cuz I'm alive there in 1970

Pretty baby
They got the TV on
I’m watching reruns all night long
I’m still waiting
But I feel there’s something wrong now

They took my telephone
But I still hear it ring
I’m just making calls to infinity
I know it's just static, but I'm listening…

Ideas For Future Posts

I have a folder on my computer desktop called Ideas. I started it back in 2006, a year after we started the blog. Even back then I was wondering what we might consider writing about in future blog posts. I've been looking in that folder at the things I saved. I don't remember any of it at all. Some are pretty interesting stories, like this one I wrote in 2009. It's when Roger and I were living at the Capitola beach house (2008-2009). There must have been some stories on the internet back then about how people thought pigeons were really robot spies. If you google pigeon robots, you'll see that the stories persist to this day. The Audubon Society actually wrote about it in 2018. This is what I wrote back then with some photos from the time. I must have been writing it as a letter to someone we were corresponding with.

"In the law of unintended consequences, I now think of you every time I see a pigeon. I'm fairly certain that is not what you had in mind when you've spoken of these feathery robots, but that's what has happened.

"My husband and I walk down to the Capitola wharf nearly everyday. We always see lots and lots of pigeons there. We have begun to notice that it is now robot pigeon mating season because the males have been wired to puff out their chests, spread their tail and wing feathers, and do a wonderful little dance. We suspect that this ritual must spark some inherent wiring in the female robot, because she responds in some fashion and demurely resists but stays close by, or flies off looking for a more handsome robot with better components.

"We have explored under the wharf and have seen their secret compartments where they hatch out replicants. They've made it look very much like real bird nests, but we suspect a lot of engineering goes into constructing these twig, stick, shell nests to make it look like the work of real birds. We're not fooled though.

"We have been utterly convinced that these are robots, just as you had described them, until this past Saturday. Then something happened that changed everything. We were walking down the wharf when I noticed a fisherman had something on his line and was pulling it up from the water. There on the end was a pigeon with a lure through its wing. It flapped and struggled as the fisherman brought it up on to the wharf and then held it down on the bench. There he worked diligently to try and disentangle the creature from the filament. We approached and I asked if I could help. I stretched the pigeon's wing so the fisherman could unwrap where the line had doubled and tripled around the bird's neck and wing. The bird was completely limp in our hands. It looked at us, but in the way it might look at a hawk about to devour it. Not fear, but that resignation to the inevitable. I felt its soft feathers and the remarkable strength of its wings, so solid in my hands for something so incredibly light. Then the fisherman finished his work and the pigeon was free. He held it in his hands and threw it into the air towards the sea. It took off and never looked back.

"It was then I knew it was a living thing. Full of life and vitality. Or programmed incredibly well to look that way. I did have a sense of its beating heart, but I could have been projecting.

I just wanted you to know."

It was only after reading this letter that I actually remembered helping free that entangled pigeon. Makes me wonder what else I have forgotten over the years. Old ideas with the dust of time waiting to be blown off the faded page.