Boys Will be Cowboys

In my LA political activist days (not to say activism has ceased) I met several times with Jane Fonda because of her work in the Indochina Peace Campaign. It's a long time ago, so I hope I'm getting this story right that she told:

Her father used to play poker with some of the other cowboy actors:   John Wayne, John Ford, Ronald Reagan.   Apparently they would dress up in full cowboy gear and toy guns when they played.  

When I first heard this story I thought,  "How Ridiculous!"   Now that I've indulged my own male poker ritual in Morgantown for nearly 20 years, I have a softer view of.. ..."kinda' sounds like fun."

General Store

A recent NY Times article described the decline of the child's picture books.   Expense to produce is one side, but more importantly is parents' presumption that pushing kids to read is important for their future (despite evidence of the importance of picture books to childrens' developmental progress.)

I recall vividly spending literally hours staring at some of my childrens' picture books.   My Golden Book of Childrens' poems was wonderfully illustrated.  I recall one picture of Ogen Nash's poem about Belinda and the "cowardly" dragon.  Another from the same  book was the illustration for the Owl and the Pussycat...all sea green and sparkly.

The picture I spent the most time looking at was of a poem about a general store.   The picture was full of so many objects.   I kept going over it identifying and naming and thinking about each item in the picture:  tools, clothes, candy, dishes, all in rich Norman Rockwell style realism and colors.  The picture was so rich with different "things"  that I could occupy myself focusing on one at a time, thinking about its purpose and uses.   But most of all marveling at the richness and splendor of so many things all in one place!   So much to see!   And if I were in the store, so much to touch!

For the time I spent with that picture,  I inhabited that world.  While words could take me on a journey, the journey is not as sensual as that of these pictures.  The picture world became surrounding with color and light.   I hope kids never lose that experience.    And video games don't get it either, because the imagination does not need to work.

Daisy Dog RIP

Friday I retrieved Daisy from the kennel.   She was happy but could barely walk.  She had just had a shot a week ago   The kennel people said she had been that way all week.

 At home she got stuck on the kitchen floor and couldn't get up.   For the first time she was crying.   Mom and I decided it was time.  This morning we took her to the vet at 11:00a.m.  We were both with her.   First they put in a catheter and administered a sedative.   That took about 15 minutes.   Then the vet administered phenobarbitol and she died within a minute.  She felt nothing.  We were holding and stroking her.

We brought her home in a basket covered with one of her cleanup towels.   I dug a hole in the soft soil under the porch right by the doors from the basement.  We said kaddish and erected a temporary set of stones.   She lies close by forever.

She was a dog who gave us so much for 14 years.   Just being her sweet loving self, she played with us when she and we were happy, and nuzzled and loved us when we needed companionship.   I know for you, there were times that hugging Daisy was the best way to sooth sadness or a wound.

We said goodbye for all of you.   Our memories will ever be with us.

Fleeting Acceptance for Accordions

" The modern piano accordion is rapidly making great strides in the legitimate musical world.   Once only a novelty instrument played at square dances, in taverns and social occasions, it is now heard in concert halls and syphony orchestras and it is accepted in conservatories, universities and schools."

The Accordion, by Toni Charuhas, 1955 (Masters's Thesis)  published by Accordion Musical Publishing Company

....and now again, mostly a novelty.....though frequently heard in advertisements to invoke nostalgia, and in some rock bands.

Words to "Chosen"

4. Chosen

She was old like the night

Thin like rain

Watermarked with pain

Her story had been mistold 

In her head it was all wrong

Her song should have been sung strong

The night was white heavy and dead

And stale thoughts rose to her head

I'm here  she said

Not for myself

I'm here for god 

And god has given me a child

to protect.

Her baby with a fever kept her body awake

Her dark eyes and strong hands never made mistakes

But the night shut her eyes when she woke from a dream

And the windows opened and closed as she screamed

The moon reflected in her eyes and in his sleep

The fruit of her womb was stolen

God's child now

To keep

Heather Masse - Chosen

True cruelty and transformation

One day in Newark I heard the Good Humor bells going down Huntington Terrace.   I rushed upstairs of 88, and got my quarter.   By this time the good humor man was down the block to Huntington and Seymour Ave.   Well I caught up to him on the corner and asked for an original ice cream bar....vanilla ice cream with chocolate covering.  I gave up my money and was handed a bar.   The good humor man drove off down Huntington Terrace towards Beth Israel Hospital.  I opened the wrapper, bit into the bar, and practically went into shock.   The ice cream was some kind of light brown stuff and it tasted HORRIBLE.    I couldn't bear to eat it.  The guy was gone, and I was too shy and scared to protest anyway (I assumed I had made some mistake.)   I ran home, and my mother identified this as coffee ice cream.    How can I look back now and understand, but it was a really bad bad moment.  

Now my favorite icecream at Cold Stone's is coffee lovers' delight.   What goes around comes around.