Rear window

After a week of low gloomy rain dumping clouds, this sunset today was a sight for sore eyes.

Tomorrow morning we take Dad in for surgery so I expect to be scarce this week.

Play misty for me....

A lighter, gentle wetness...thankfully the last vestiges of tenacious tinted leaves still cling to their branches muting the vast depressing gray vistas enveloping us.

No change, still raining...

Still raining...

A nor'easter now on top of Ida, charming.

wet blur

One should usually think of rain as a positive event not of course if it is dangerous and causing damaging floods but normally rain is a good thing, replenishing, quenching, refreshing, cleansing...but today I can not associate anything pleasant or positive with this constant unrelenting beating, thumping, pounding, slashing, slapping, imprisoning, punishing, Chinese drip torturing, mind bending, egregious ongoing flush. Hurricane Ida you are a pain in the ass.

Perhaps I should send a "Rain Drops Keep Falling on My Head" ringtone to my cell to counter this wet malevolence?

Book hungry

Yesterday afternoon I was in want of a book to read and libraries were closed. I had recently finished two Christie mysteries collecting dust on the shelf and was desiring another of the same genre but kept an open mind to novels generally. I perused my shelves for something unread dismissing the plethora of short story collections and history, specifically Dana's Two Years Before the Mast, Conan Doyle's The Great Boer War, both found in a grandmother's attic two decades ago, books on Winston Churchill. A slim clean unabridged Dover paperback The Thirty-Nine Steps and an aged yellowed paperback of The Saga of Gosta Berling both started once but never finished didn't suit my mood. The Story of Edgar Sawtelle started but left indefinitely resting on the night table patiently awaits my return but still I couldn't rise to the cruelty I know is coming, another time, when it's cold and dreary. Abandoning the search I decided to return to this month's book club selection, People of the Book, which I had read, mostly, skipping and skimming. Diving into it the second go-round it proved equally unsatisfying so I did not persist, pursuing the girl scout reading badge would be more worthwhile. The narrator is still in the way asking us to fumble with her through her personal affairs that add not a jot to the storyline. She is only essential as a conservator examining an ancient Jewish prayer book. People would have read better had the author segued immediately into the past tracing the haggadah's survival through history after the conservator discovered each foreign object or substance on it's pages.

My craving has abated but my mind is compiling a list of books to retrieve from the library so when it returns, I'm ready.

Taxi service

Drove up to N.Va. today to pick up Dad; tomorrow he goes in for the pre-ops. We returned, I fixed dinner and am now waiting on an apple pie in the oven.

Have you ever wondered why some apples when cut oxidize faster than others? I haven't done an official experiment but have noticed McIntosh "rust" the fastest, they also have the whitest flesh of a shade that should be captured in paint. Why hasn't somebody developed a paint in celebration of it - "McIntosh White?"

Bumbershoot Day

Dad arrives today

Sometime this afternoon late or early evening my brother will have transported my Dad here where he will stay overnight. Tomorrow I take him to a consult with the kidney specialist. He has a large growth on his right kidney so the entire organ has to come out. I'm hoping for laparoscopy especially because he's 85. Surgery should have been done at least a month or more ago but the piss ant physician back home just seemed to be rotating on his thumb. One would think that being a suburb of D.C. the medical profession in Warrenton would be more on the ball but as we learned with my brother, John, such is not the case. I had to take the bull by the horns and have him scheduled with a surgeon here as the Dr. wanted to send him to Charlottesville, VA. We are not hiking down there and have to set up camp in an hotel. Besides better medical care I believe is here for all that UVa is a medical college and their negligence a few decades ago nearly cost my aunt her life, they failed to diagnose a brain aneurysm. The surgeon here is top in his field and has even instructed Russians on laparoscopic surgery. My dad had never been under the knife so seriously as he will be with this. Back in the 70s he had a vein removed from the temple area when he suffered from cluster headaches but that was nothing in comparison.

Stemless wine glasses - dumbing it down

Poor things land mines everywhere, the dishwasher, the cat, granite counter tops, tiresome hand washing, carpet stains....It was bad enough when screw-top wine bottles broke the scene but roly-poly stemless wine glasses. OK, fine, just make sure the wine is out of box and while your at it throw some ice cubes in the glasses.

Mellow Yellow Vistas

The last couple days the Long and Medium wavelength cone cells in my retinas have been getting a workout from the predominantly yellow foliage around here: muted, tarnished, and bronze-kissed golds, bright to dark yellows, deep and pale ochres, flax, but nothing electric. It's unmistakeably fall however warm and tropical it has been feeling. Despite the overcast skies yesterday and threatening rain which eventually did arrive, the amarillo scenes overrode and drove off all unpleasant connotations, evoking warmth, fun, and optimism. The days seem ripe with possibility. Today it is brisk again, the leaves flirt outrageously with other shades.

Astro Boy without proper sound effects would be a dud for me

Film makers have wasted all their time and money if they have omitted the intriguing suction sound, schlick schluck, of Astro Boy's boots while walking and running.

Choir making me cranky

Although I have sung them over the last two decades, I don't like cantatas, never go out of my way to hear one. Yet here I am again forcing myself to go to choir practice to rehearse a cantata for the Christmas season, however, this year it is especially irksome. For reasons I know not, the choir director/accompanist, really just the latter, selected a lengthy challenging cantata and accompanying cds for each choir member and has proceeded to butcher it, discarding songs and parts of songs until forty percent of the purchased cantata is not going to be performed while two outside pieces, one from a previously performed cantata, have been inserted. On top of all that she hasn't learned her part, oh, she is playing the vocals, but admitted last night the accompaniment is difficult and she hoped to be playing it next week. We have been rehearsing this since mid-August. She is not a shabby pianist and I am utterly perplexed and annoyed by all this. Trying to sing through it is sooo frustrating with the constant cut and paste job we are confronted with each rehearsal night. We still aren't close to being able to sing this thing and given the way we rehearse, I have to learn it at home which I just seriously began doing this morning. I decided my frustration wasn't going to get any better unless I got a grip on my part. If the cantata was too long for the service and too difficult why was it purchased? What a waste of money.

Starry night

It was worth not being able to go back to sleep this morning. After crawling out of bed near 5:30ish having been awake for an hour, I brewed coffee, then sat down to work on Friday's Wall Street Journal crossword. Restless I rounded up the dogs for a walk. Stunning sky, clear and vibrant, the stars so thick they could be dipped, gazing up, transfixed, I walked only a little.

Wind turbines

Why do I feel like we are moving backward?

"Ah, ah, bitter dregs"

Guinness Extra Stout tastes like water that's been stagnating in a rusty rain barrel full of wood chips for a year or two. While sipping it Spock singing "Maiden Wine" from the Star Trek episode Plato's Stepchildren kept looping through my head. Served ice cold as suggested makes the quaff barely tolerable. Take with food.

Grrrr, concert called off

Usually it is not a big deal if a gig is cancelled but tomorrow I had three solos, one in particular "St. Louis Blues" from Satchmo (A tribute to Louis Armstrong), I was especially looking forward to playing. Oh, well, guess it will have to wait until next year as performances for the rest of the year will be Christmas concerts with the exception of Oct. 31. and then we are required to play ghoulish stuff.

Richmond Folk Festival concludes without me ... sigh.

A vocal solo, my first ever, in an African-American spiritual no less went off without a hitch this morning. Of course it wasn't much just an echo line twice in "Sombody's Knockin at my Door." If only we had been a little less ramrod straight white-honkified. Oh well. Anyway, between having to perform myself this morning and leading a Bible study on Matthew this evening at church the RFF fell off the radar. I wanted to go to Spoon Playing with Bob Zentz at noon but that was impossible. Also a like-to-have-heard would be Canto Irena Altshud from Russia as well as Jorge Negron's Master Bomba Ensemble. But I'm well pleased with offerings Friday and Saturday so another time perhaps besides I am somewhat tired today after the miles I covered yesterday and the terrain. What a workout! I was a camel not stopping for food or drink or a pee all day, just shouldering my chair and hooded rain jacket with my oil cloth Filson hat cascading down my back and my feet shod in Columbia hikers for good traction.

Friday night, however, was far more leisurely with less to see and hear as four of the seven stages were not hosting performances and darkness shut out the picturesque views creating conditions that suppressed the ocular and optic senses allowing the nose and taste buds to respond fully to the assault of aromas from a wide range of culinary fancies, their booths lit up as if by neon in the darkness. Tom opted for the fried trout with caramelized onions and green peppers while I indulged myself with gator nuggets and then we shared. It was hardly appropriate food for Wylie & the Wild West we had just sampled but is was perfect preparation for Jeffery Broussard & the Creole Cowboys. I was looking forward to hearing zydeco but disappointed we left after four songs, everything sounded the same. How they made me long for Beaujolais! This brings me back to Swamp Dogg who concluded our Friday evening. One of the finest things about him is that each song, whether his creation or the work of another, sounded fresh and brand new and unmistakably Swamp Dogg. We left that evening sated but still wanting more.

Richmond Folk Festival: Saturday - and the rains held...mostly.

It was iffy weather wise when I left the house yesterday after 11:00a.m. but I was prepared for all contingencies. I arrived in time to catch the beginning of La Gran Banda(Columbian brass)at the Richmond Times Dispatch pavilion on Brown's Island but it wore thin for me after a few numbers so I moseyed back over to the other end of the festival to hear Martin Hayes & Dennis Cahill (Irish fiddle and guitar)at the Ukrops stage, pulled out my chair and settled in for the duration of fiddling which to my ears acted like a tonic. I could have listened to them a great deal longer but alas it ended and I shuffled back to the RTD pavilion for Bob French's Original Tuxedo Jazz Band which has been in existence for nearly a century with obvious player changes. They performed in true unadulterated New Orleans jazz fashion and gave an enjoyable rendition of "Sunny Side of the Street." But having restless feet and ears I wandered off to hear a little of Bebashish Bhattacharya's Indian slide guitar and soon after found myself ensconced at the Dominion Power stage to catch the fiddle and mandolin traditions featuring Hayes & Cahill, Paul Williams Victory Trio(gospel bluegrass), and Don Roy Trio (Maine French fiddle). Towards the end it began to rain lightly but steadily which chased away only a few and fortunately ended soon after the session. The location was in front of a train bridge and midway through one number a freight train slowly passed by arriving and exiting with a toot. It's rumbling providing a curious under pulse which in a odd way fit. They finished with a couple lively collaborations. I next headed back to the RTD pavilion to hear Samba Mapangala & Orchestra Virunga. They were already in full swing so I stood to the side and enjoyed their pulsing rhythms until my happy feet took me elsewhere. I settled in at the MWV Family stage to hear Khogzhumchu(Tuvan throat singers). They had to be the most unusual musical group present. They were brought over from Tuvan, a small extremely remote area the size of Florida some 2000 miles east of Moscow. The seats were full and standing room only around the perimeters was packed. They were welcomed enthusiastically. I can't explain how they sounded, how bizarre yet fascinating, but if as a child you recall ever trying to making weird noises with your throat maybe you can get an inkling but I doubt it. It is something one simply has to hear. Unbelievable. Ah, but I left after several pieces to catch the end of Swamp Dogg back at the Pavilion. I'm glad I went because the trumpet player was shown off in "Synthetic World" unlike the previous evening. He played exquisitely, tonging crisply with tones delightfully light and bright. Unfortunately Dogg changed up the order and regrettably left himself without a good closer. Glad I caught them Friday night. By the close of that performance it was after five so I slowly and leisurely made may way back through the crowds over the canal past the iron works up the metal stairs continuing up the hill to the Ukrops stage to listen a bit of Trouble Funk before heading home. A very little bit is all I heard. Trouble Funk is a Washington D.C ghetto boomimg throbbing blast of a band which I could not endure. Unfortunately I get queasy when my innards start vibrating. Many were loving it but on the opening mega- amped throttled beats I regrettably had to pack up. But I enjoyed every minute of my time in the heart of the old historic city listening and catching swatches of tunes, and rhythms whether familiar or highly unusual. It's a fabulous spot for a music festival, I'm looking forward to the who, what, when of next year.

Richmond Folk Festival: Friday night Swamp Dogg brought it home

If rhythm and blues is your bag, you woud not have left the Ukrop's stage area disappointed after seeing Swamp Dogg. We knew we were in for a thrilling hour of music under the stars when Swamp Dogg's (John Williams) elderly mother opened with "I'm eighty-three and still playing with the Boys". Playing the keyboard and belting out the lyrics with sass she made you believe every word. Swamp Dogg made his entrance after her second number and had us eating out his hand instantly with humor and a natural quirkiness enhanced by his chartreuse oversized leisure suit. A true showman, well seasoned in his craft, he nimbly commanded the ivories and sang flawlessly, taking his voice to ever higher pitches with a raw emotion so real and fresh, we all felt what words could only half convey. And where his voice went his body often followed. His gyrations punctuated his vocalized emotions further urging his soul music to seep into us. He was supported by a drummer, two guitars and a synthesiser, and a tremendous horn section from the local musical pool, a trumpet, tenor sax and trombone, essential to propelling several of the numbers. The sax player, Roger Carrol featured frequently throughout the performance, displayed extreme mastership. He rode that pony, fingers dexterously gliding up and down with outstanding breath control, the horn responding to every manipulation with ease and grace producing sounds most tenor players only imagine. Swamp Dogg closed with his pulsing, rousing, riveting signature piece "Total Destruction to Your Mind". We were wild for him. Today I have no doubt I'll be stopping by to hear them again.

Yesterday standing in the yard I caught sight of a mini whirlwind rustling up several leaves. I stared fascinated as always at this phenom of nature then it struck me it was stationary. I hastened to leap into the middle of it. Upon entering the sensations of swirling air enveloped me lifting my hair straight up as well as my shirt. This thrill lasted several seconds. After it was over I contemplated my age and smiled wryly - who needs a bungee cord. Now today I have this hankering to visit the botanical garden to see the butterfly exhibit.

Richmond Folk Festival nears

Go here Keyword: Folk Festival where an interactive jukebox awaits you.