Tune for the Taking

All at Once - Jack Johnson - Deep Water Horizon

2010-06-28T19:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it feels a heart is no place to be singing from at all....... Jack Johnson

A Hole in the Ocean-the heartache of many

2010-06-27T23:23:00.000-07:00

Gulf Coast Oil Spill Disaster
Official Music Video - A Hole In The Ocean
This song was written to keep the focus on the BP oil spill disaster unfolding in the Gulf of Mexico. This is already the largest environmental disaster in United States history.

Lyrics and melody by Joe Monto & Steve Bartlett, performed by Joe Monto

Guinness on St. Paddy's Day

2010-03-17T08:23:00.000-07:00

On February 1st, we really should celebrate the life of Irish pagan goddess/christian saint/ledgend Bridget. Thankfully, it is Patrick who is remembered with such fun and silliness and good times and not Bridget. (It would be like partying on Mother Theresa's Day.) Here's to all my "Irish" friends, whatever their nationalities may be.

Happy St. Paddy's Day!

Christy Moore (live performance with master guitarist Declan "Decky" Dinnot)

All together now..........
Goodbye to the Port and Brandy, to the Vodka and the Stag, To the Schmiddick and the Harpic, the bottled draught and keg. As I sat lookin' up the Guinness ad I could never figure out How your man stayed up on the surfboard after 14 pints of stout.

Wild Mountainside

2010-02-14T10:47:00.000-08:00

More often than not, I find myself singing Wild Mountainside. Written by John Douglas (no doubt channelling Rabbie Burns) of the Trashcan Sinatras, and most famously performed by the Queen Eddi Reader at the opening of the new Scottish Parliament building.

Recently, a young friend brought his newly born sweet babe Betty Rose into the office. She was acting all red faced and fussy at being held by strangers. I was biting at the bit for my turn, trying hard to be patient. Once in my arms, instinct took over and as I softly sang her this oh so soothing melody she completely relaxed and opened her eyes. :)

Many thanks to mabooto for posting this video.

We all need somebody to lean on

2010-01-23T09:42:00.000-08:00

Hope for Haiti Now telethon benefit took over all our TV stations last night. (I can't post them all, but you should check out all the musical performances at http://www.cmt.com/videos/hope-for-haiti-now-performances/1630346/playlist-detail.jhtml) The program was also broadcast in Canada - North Americans coming together in song and love with money pledges to help Haiti. It was really beautiful and many thanks to a great humanitarian, George Clooney, for organizing and bringing a great many of his friends to the event. (In addition to the musicians, countless super prominent film and TV actors answered pledge phone calls in LA and New York.) This is what our country is really all about.

Click on the little box in the far right bottom corner of each video for FULL SCREEN.

Amazing Performances All (Dave Matthews and Neil Young performing Hank Williams' Alone and Forsaken...Stevie Wonder performing Paul Simon's Bridge Over Troubled Water, Coldplay, Madonna(w/awesome gospel choir) performing Like a Prayer, Sting, Shakira, the Boss.....)

Sheryl Crow, Kid Rock & Keith Urban - Lean On Me (Bill Withers)

Hard Times Come Again No More (Stephen Foster's Civil War song) has been sung by all the greats: Emmylou, Dylan, Cash, Nanci Griffith, JT, Bruce, and Ireland's Mary Black and Maura O'Connell among others. I was struck silent last night by Mary J. Blige. Wow! I'm not into R&B but will easily add my name to the list of her admirers - it is no wonder they call her the Queen of Hip-Hop Soul.

Christina Aguilera - Lift Me Up (Linda Perry-on piano)
Simply Sublime

Justin Timberlake and Matt Morris - Hallelujah (Leonard Cohen)

Haiti

2010-01-13T21:47:00.000-08:00

Haiti. Magnitude 7 earthquake. Complete devastation. Poor country with substandard construction - thousands dead and the suffering is unspeakable. We rock and roll through an 6.5 earthquake and come out relatively unscathed - the complete opposite of Haiti. I feel awful.

Earthquake footage - pump up the volume

2010-01-11T22:59:00.000-08:00

The story in the Hebrides is freezing rain. Time to stay indoors and be thankful for your source of heat.

The story hereabouts is the earthquake. We felt it 200 miles away so those folks in Ferndale, Eureka, Arcada...were rockin' and rollin' big time. That section of the coast is a favorite of ours. An earthquake feels a lot MORE INTENSE in person than it looks on the videos. You have no way of knowing if it is a small tremor or if it will turn into something more.

It would be amazing to watch a redwood forest move in an earthquake - talk about a spiritual experience! What about those folks in sailing and fishing boats out in the Pacific - hold on and ride it out mate!

Video below shows the aftermath of the earthquake (and like the music plays mother earth was "pumpin' up the volume". I have never heard of MAARS but the music is super fun - see, I appreciate more than just "that Scottish stuff").

Footage from the security cameras at the Times-Standard in Eureka CA. Visit www.times-standard.com for full coverage of the 6.5 magnitude quake on 1-9-10.

The awesome dog is Sophie and she is actually taking off to find her owner, the second girl out the door. Sophie did a lap around the room until she found her and stayed right behind her as they left the building. Sophie can also be seen running behind her owner out the door in the stairwell video below. What a good dog!

All shook up (earthquake in Nor Cal)

2010-01-09T23:04:00.000-08:00

Late this afternoon the rumbling under my feet made my heart race. What is THIS? Although it has been more years than I can recall, it was a feeling of helplessness I knew and dreaded. My childhood years were spent in Southern California and in a split second those memories came flooding back. Sitting in front of the computer listening to some Gaelic band (whose name escapes me) on iTunes I quickly ripped off the headset. A low flying plane can shake a house - perhaps that's it. But all was quiet. My sons were at their fathers house; it was just me and Lilly our dog. She acted like nothing was the matter (aren't animals supposed to sense these things?). I grabbed her and then it was over. All that remained was the soft swaying of the light fixture over the table. Although it had been soooo many years since I felt an earthquake, one never forgets.

A magnitude-6.5 earthquake struck off the coast of Northern California this afternoon, shaking buildings, knocking out power in several coastal communities and leaving a trail of broken windows, dishes and chimneys not to mention water, gas and sewer leaks throughout Humboldt County. Thankfully, no major injuries. A lot of mess to clean up. The powerful quake hit at about 4:27 p.m. PST about 22 miles off the coast of Ferndale. The quake hit at a depth of nearly 10 miles. It was felt as far east as Reno, Nevada.

All will be "fine" in time. It's California after all and the earth shakes, especially along the coast. A few short months ago we were vacationing on the redwood coast, an area I dearly LOVE. I feel bad for those who will have to deal with the aftermath of the quake. I don't mean to make light of it, but the possibility of earthquakes is a fact of life. It is out of our hands. Singing, especially in harmony, always makes me feel better. My Dad and the King have the same birthday-yesterday. Dad wasn't an Elvis fan, but I think he'd forgive me this one time.

Health and Happiness for 2010

2009-12-31T21:47:00.000-08:00

Robert Burns just gets better and better with the passing of every year. Long may his songs live. Absolutely no one (including Eddi Reader whom I greatly admire) owns this song like Mairi Campbell accompanied by Davis Francis.

Video by Procrasticus

toast to time

2009-12-23T22:12:00.000-08:00

Same Old Lang Syne-Dan Fogelberg

Video by kameiti1958

Go Lassie Go

2009-09-21T07:44:00.000-07:00

One short year has passed. Thanks for being by my side - it's not quite the same but it helps. Here's to you Mom.

RIP Mary Travers

2009-09-19T18:13:00.000-07:00

Before Emmylou there was Mary........

New York City 9/11/01

2009-09-11T07:54:00.000-07:00

Eddi Reader -
New York City, Cambridge Folk Festival, August 2, 2009

Luka Bloom

In America singers singing, our world could be as one
In America brothers killing some poor mothers' son
But I thank God for New York City
A rainbow of faces walks alongside me, right beside me
In America, there's an old chief, I'm waiting to see
In America, there's an old chief, he's talking to me
But I thank God for New York City
A rainbow of faces walks alongside me, right beside me
In America

My people left our troubled shore
Broken hearted knocking on your door
Small green fields, I could not be free
And your hopeful music is calling me
How can I survive without the ties that bind?
How can I let go off all the pain I left behind?

I leave my Irishness at home
To be among you just as one
To walk across this sacred place
To find the dignity and grace
Of lovers where the eagle flies
Of buffalo under blue skies
I leave all sense of race behind
To be among you colourblind
To learn what history has done
And to find the love in everyone

I thank God for New York City
A rainbow of faces walks alongside me, right beside me
In America
I thank God, I thank God for New York City

Polk Salad Annie - Tony Joe White

2009-08-22T09:51:00.000-07:00

Polk Salad Annie
Tony Joe White and Johnny Cash (from TV show 1970)

Folks down South have a way of talkin' makes understandin' a Scottish accent (not counting those from Glascow - yikes!) completely do-able. White and Cash together is pretty much perfection - two Southern boys having a whole lot of fun pickin' and singin' and makin' all us smile. I included the words below to answer "Say what?".

Note: Polk weed contains a lot of toxins/poison and can make you very very sick if not prepared properly. Only the very young leaves (never the berries, roots or seeds!) should be eaten (never raw) and they must first be boiled three separate times in clean water to reduce the toxins. My grandmother would fry spinach leaves in bacon grease (called it a wilted salad) which is very similar to how polk weed is prepared. In the past, poor families would cook polk weed as they had little else to eat. Fermented poke berries make an excellent ink and was used to write the Declaration of Independence, and the dye was used by the Native First People to decorate their horses. I'm not sure about dryin' an' smokin' it, or whether it make you 'more rested'. :)

POLK SALAD ANNIE
(words & music by Tony Joe White)

If some of ya'll never been down South too much
I'm gonna tell you a little bit about it, so that you'll understand
What I'm talking about
Down there we got a plant that grows out in the woods and the fields,
Looks somethin' like a turnip green. 'Except it ain't.
Everybody calls it Polk salad. Polk salad.
Used to know a girl that lived down there
And she'd go out in the evenings and pick a mess of it
Carry it home and cook it for supper
'Cause that's about all they had to eat
But they did all right.

Down in Louisiana
Where the alligators grow so mean
There lived a girl that I swear to the world
Made the alligators look tame

Polk salad Annie. Polk salad Annie
Everybody said it was a shame
'Cause her mama was working on the chain-gang
(a mean, vicious critter, sinful)

Everyday 'fore supper time
She'd go down by the truck patch
And pick her a mess o' Polk salad
And carry it home in a tote sack

Polk salad Annie
'Gators got your granny
Everybody said it was a shame
'Cause her mama was a workin' on the chain-gang
(a wretched, spiteful, straight-razor totin' woman,
Lord have mercy. Pick a mess of it)

Her daddy was lazy and no count
Claimed he had a bad back
All her brothers were fit for
Was stealin' watermelons out of my truck patch
Polk salad Annie
'Gators got your granny
Everybody said it was a shame
'Cause her mama was a working' on the chain gang
(Sock a little polk salad to me, you know I need me a mess of it)

Price of Freedom - Belated Independence Day Tribute

2009-07-12T18:23:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to the absolutely fabulous Darrell Scott.

With a Memory Like Mine
Darrell Scott & Anthony Wayne Scott

I can see that train a-coming
Watch that big light shine this way
Hear that whistle softly blowing
Lord, it’s been an awful day

I watched them leave that Friday morning
It was in the month of May
I told my son to be a good soldier
But return again someday

He did return just one year later
And I’ll not forget the day
The baggage car is where he traveled
In a casket where he lay

Chorus:
Train man, keep your whistle blowing
Make it moan, make it whine
You make a man feel mighty lonesome
With a memory like mine

In that little country graveyard
On a dark and dreary day
They placed a flag upon the casket
And the casket in the grave

I couldn’t stand it any longer
And I knew not how to pray
I cried, Oh, Lord, I hate to leave him
All alone beneath the clay

Chorus

I can see him as a baby
I can hear him call my name
I can feel him under fire
And see him rising from the flame
Lord, if I could I’d trade places
I would gladly give my all
I’d wrap that flag around me like a blanket
And listen for the clods to fall

Chorus

American Tune is one of those songs one feels privileged to sing - it fills you up like few others. It is in my top 5. Paul Simon is the master bard of my generation. I always prefer the songwriter's recording of a song but Darrell Scott's interpretation of American Tune is mighty fine.

American Tune is a true patriotic song. A country with imperfections and mistake ridden but one of endless possibilities. Of sadness and self reflection but more than anything else, a positive belief to keep working and looking forward. Happy Birthday America.

Many's the time I've been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
Oh, but I'm alright, I'm alright
I'm just weary to my bones
Still, you don't expect to be
Bright and bon vivant
So far a-way from home, so far away from home.

I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered
or driven to its knees
Oh, but it's alright, it's alright
for we lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the
road we're traveling on
I wonder what's gone wrong
I can't help it, I wonder what's gone wrong.

And I dreamed I was dying
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me
Smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying
And high up above my eyes could clearly see
The Statue of Liberty
Sailing away to sea
And I dreamed I was flying.

We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the a-ge's most uncertain hours
and sing an American tune
Oh, and it's alright, it's alright, it's alright
You can't be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow's going to be another working day
And I'm trying to get some rest
That's all I'm trying to get some rest.

Man Test

2009-07-12T09:20:00.000-07:00

Many years ago upon returning from beautiful Ireland (sadly, they never were able to visit Scotland), my parents presented me with a gift from their trip. Not Belleek china. Not a piece of Irish knitwear. Something quite different and completely fascinating the likes of which I had never seen. With a twinkle in her eye Mother handed me a slightly irregular object about 9 inches long by 5 inches wide. The object was dense and dark, heavy but not too heavy, compressed. Obviously organic in nature, smooth but rough around the edges, odorless, clean. Puzzling. What the heck is this? I was baffled and then it came to me. OMG it's peat! I instantly loved it and my parents for carrying it all the way home.

The block was carefully wrapped in tissue paper and packed away (yes, in tissue paper - go ahead and make fun of me my Hebridean friends, it's a strange notion to be sure) and I completely forgot about it. About 8 or 9 years ago I happily re-discovered my little block of peat and placed in on a small china platter (alongside various rocks and minerals I had collected over the years) on my bookshelf in a place of prominence. (Crazy American, have you lost your mind woman - it's to be burnt not displayed!)

One day I got the inspiration to use the peat, but not in the traditional way. I would never ever burn my peat no more than I would purposefully break a piece of fine china. Instead, it serves as my "man test". When a man would come to call so to speak, I would hand him the peat and ask him what it was. It's a game I found immensely amusing. Nary a one figured it out. Nary a one is around today. :)

Muir's backside and Sacagawea

2009-05-18T21:03:00.000-07:00

Derek MacLennan and his really awesome funk/fusion version of Bob Dylans 'All along the Watchtower' (Gaelic translation by Rody Gormans) Winner of Best Technical Direction at FilmG awards 2008 - Directed by Caty MacLennan
MacLennan's video has absolutely no relevance to the topic at hand, I just like it.

It's been ages since my last entry. Work and family duties have kept me dog tired.

When I started this blog, I began collecting the California quarter with John Muir's likeness. It's actually his backside on the backside of the coin, depending on how you see it. :))) I routinely check all quarters that pass through my hands, and it has been months and months and months since I have come across John. Until today. Today I found three! Eureka!

My count to date is now at a lucky 13. What is my eventual plan for these quarters? I am not quite sure; I just know they will come in handy. Someday when I finally set foot on the Outer Hebrides, I might simply give them to a schoolteacher for her kids. John Muir was a native of Scotland who loved California and made it his home. I envision the teacher giving each student a coin when they are learning about Muir - she could mention his legacy in both countries. Whether or not they would find it interesting I do not know, I can only assume. It just would be personally satisfying to share something tangible these kids might never otherwise have. Besides, my mother taught me to never visit empty handed - aways leave something small and thoughtful behind.

John Muir's quarter is the only coin I collect. However, the golden dollar honoring Sacagawea is really beautiful and meaningful so I might just have to collect a few of them as well. The US Mint just released a revised Sacagawea dollar with a different reverse replacing the standard flying eagle with a native woman sowing seeds in a field of corn, beans and squash (the Three Sisters). Very nice! I do not know when or if it will show up in the general circulation, as it is only issued by the Mint and not the Federal Reserve. Sadly, my bank will not be getting any. This lovely coin is only available for purchase from the Mint for an additional cost and for a limited time.

Sacagawea was the Shoshone First American who guided Meriwether Lewis and William Clark for thousands of miles on their arduous exhibition from North Dakota to the Pacific Ocean from 1804-1806. Her ‘husband’ was a French trapper hired by Lewis and Clark. She was an invaluable bonus! Her presence alone signaled their peacefully intentions with the natives. She translated/interpreted/negotiated with the tribes they encountered on their journey, including her own brother whom she had not seen since she was kidnapped as a young girl. She not only saved the party from being killed, her knowledge of native sources of food saved them from hunger. She bravely survived and assisted Lewis and Clark, all the while carrying her sweet papoose on her back. Her life's story is heart wrenching, timeless and inspirational to women worldwide. She was sold and bought like chattel, abused, neglected, loved, and ultimately respected and admired. She spoke Shoshoni, Hidatsa, English and French. By all accounts she maintained her dignity and self worth. She is a true American legend and much loved.

My niece Erin - the lovely & brilliant songbird

2009-04-25T12:10:00.001-07:00

I am the auntie of 6 interesting young women of whom I am so proud. Each different than the other - all special.

My second (I'm the last) sister's daughter Erin is a talented singer and my very dear friend. Erin is exceptional, and I do not use the word lightly. We share the bond of a passion for making song - the polished driven contemporary pop singer with a vocal range and perfect pitch which resonates and the simple kitchen/back porch singer currently learning a Gaelic song from the 18th century. :) Surprisingly we have much in common. I am her self-acclaimed biggest fan.

It flows through our blood. My mother, her grandmother, had a lovely high soprano voice. It was full of vibrato and very operatic - truly amazing. She could have spent her life on the stage singing, but she never felt comfortable about her voice. She instead chose a life of service to her family. (One family holiday dinner, Erin stood up and sang for her grandmother – it still brings tears to my eyes it was so beautiful - the way it moved my mother. She has passed now, and I am sure Erin cherishes that memory.) The confidence my mother lacked, her grand daughter has in spades. It may be a generation or two until Erin’s gift is found again, it is that special. But then, I am her biggest fan.

Erin called a couple of days ago while stuck in traffic (how very LA) with breaking news she was releasing two original songs. Of course I was tickled pink she called considering her busy life. Although we long ago crossed the bridge from aunt and niece to friends, she still calls me Aunty and always ends with “I love you”. Nice! Anyway, she has been working, and I mean working, on this project for a long time. Thankfully, her abilities reach beyond voice and songwriting, to a shrewd sense of business. She also produced her songs, not a small feat. A beautiful girl with a kind heart, a brilliant mind and a ton of determination.

Her original (yes, she wrote them) music (2 songs so far) is posted on her revamped myspace page located at http://www.myspace.com/erinmorgado. Her voice...is completely amazing!!!! Opening the page, one can’t help but notice how pretty she is (the photos are a bit sultry so they don’t show the mischievous gleam in her eyes, but it’s there, trust me) - a super gorgeous revved-up version of my sister. Perhaps it would be better to not look and just listen, but marketing is part of the business, thus the photos. And it always helps to put a face with a voice.

Her technical singing abilities are obvious. She is a singer's singer. Unfortunately there is no video posted as I wish everyone could watch her sing. What I love most of all about my dear niece is she sings straight from the center of her heart. You can read on her face and it's a beautiful sight. There are a million talented singers – a really tough business to break into. It is the feeling Erin projects that makes her a great singer, and her Aunty Marty her biggest fan.

Leprechaun in lederhosen

2009-04-19T22:10:00.000-07:00

I work in a school for higher education - specifically the doctorate degree in law. It’s a small program and my duties include assisting my friend the dean in the day to day operations, plus recruitment, admission counseling, attendance, tuition, exams, textbooks, graduation planning, keeping the faculty and students happy....the list is endless and occasionally includes plunging a toilet or two. We still do business the old fashioned way - up close and personal. I take great joy when a call comes in for my boss asking for her voice message machine, and I tell them they are speaking with it. I am without a doubt the shoulder the students cry on – the empathic listener, the go between, the boost when they are down and the raised eyebrow when they skip class. I remind them of the light at the end of the tunnel and how much I admire their personal sacrifice attending an evening program after working their usual jobs all day. Some have become my friends.

In the fall, one of our first year students was wearing a fancy fur sporran, which naturally made me curious as it is totally unusual and I had only seen pictures. (Now, I did not exactly ask to touch it at it as it is worn well, down there, and I have no interest of that nature in the man.) He had bought it while visiting Scotland (mainland - not the Hebrides) and decided it was handy for carrying stuff. In my opinion very few American men should wear a sporran, but on him it works ok (albeit a plain leather sporran would be more appropriate for casual wear, but no harm). He is a very quirky sort with an odd way of dressing/looking anyway – wispy long white hair held with a bandanna under a wide brimmed hat, full beard, suspenders, odd multi layering clothing, different accessories like a bright yellow coin purse made by women in South America…a culmination of all sorts of the unusual. The oddities make perfect sense because he is actually a roman catholic priest on some sort of leave-not exactly common knowledge. I guess when he took off the black pants, black shirt and white collar he went a bit nutty on the personal style expression. Early on, I shared with him my history with the church (raised in a strict catholic home, 11 years of parochial school, left the church on my 18th birthday…). Priests are somewhat regarded as demi-gods but not by me. As my Dad would say, they put their pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. One of our student librarians gives people nicknames, and she privately and aptly refers to him as the Leprechaun. I don’t know how he would react to such a title and I would never tell him, but I knew instantly whom she was referring to.

Anyway, he stopped by the office last week to say hello and as usual, I stopped my work to touch base. He said he was looking to buy one of those leather Bavarian shorts worn with suspenders. No disrespect to my Dad's ancestors, but good lord, not lederhosen! (Stereotypical visions of little boy embroidered short shorts crossed my mind.) I could feel my head and shoulders drop and my hand go to my forehead and through my hair in agony. Such was my fate to speak what he so desperately needed to hear. Without hesitating I told him absolutely NOT – to not even think of it. He already has his own style thing going, but there are limits. Get a pair of lederhosen and wear it to Oktoberfest and drink some beer and have fun, but that’s it. No lederhosen in Chico (leather shorts when it's 110 degrees? are you crazy?). No.

Then he said he was thinking about getting a kilt; how comfortable it would be. Are you kidding me!?! My answer was obvious (and no, he was not baiting me). I could not stop myself. Looking dead straight into his eyes, I told (ok more like scolded) him under no uncertain terms did I ever want to see him walk through the school doors wearing a kilt. Chico is not in Scotland, nor is he Scots! They make fun of Americans who do and he has to trust me on this. It would be ok to wear as formal attire at a wedding (kilt, jacket, hose, shoes and all is very handsome and appropriate), but not walking about town. No, no, no. If you have some sort of desire to feel the rush of air - wear it at home and in the yard, or go to a Highlands games in the Bay Area – knock yourself out. But no walking about town in a kilt.

After 25 years or so in the priesthood, the poor man just does not have a clue on how to fit in to secular society. One has to learn to check personal freedom from time to time. Even our college-age town transvestite dresses appropriately - simple blouse, skirt, heels, not too much make up - on a man way over 6 feet is quite unforgettable, but he pulls it off (of course it helps he has a pretty face and figure).

Why my otherwise intelligent student would want to open himself up to ridicule by wearing lederhosen or a kilt, I do not know. There is a time and place for such attire, and about town it ain't! Sadly, people might be judgemental and less likely to want to know the person he is inside. I am all in favor of personal style and rather like to see diversity, but there are boundaries (especially in the legal profession - especially if you hope to be employable). I could see he was a bit crushed, but it was for his own good and I told him so. (He actually said I was taking away his fantasy. What?!? This is his fantasy? Again, oh lord - they don't pay me enough for this.)

It was not easy to kindly give the hard truth knowing feelings might be hurt, but in good conscience I had no choice. Perhaps that is why he asked in the first place.

Guess I should now add “fashion consultant” to my job description.

super cute highland calfs

2009-04-07T21:33:00.000-07:00

Seeing Simon's handsome photo was just too much to bear, so until I do a new post, here's some Highland mamma cows and their SUPER CUTE babies. :))

Stewart's herd on the Isle of Eigg.

Simon

2009-04-05T08:49:00.000-07:00

Spring has sprung - bulbs are flowering, darling baby lambs are testing their legs, birds are returning/nesting, grey skies are lessening and the sun feels warm and promising.

Time moves on, but the Isles are in mourning.

Friday was the funeral of 21 year old South Uist son Simon MacMillan. Simon had recently joined the navy and made an unexpected visit home for Christmas when his ship dry-docked. What a wonderful surprise for his parents! That joy however, was short lived. On December 26th (Boxing Day) Simon was heading back home from a dance at St Peter’s hall in Daliburgh with a bunch of friends packed inside a minibus, when he got out to walk the couple of miles to his home. It was the last time anyone saw young Simon. The search was massive - 200 island volunteers participated as well as numerous divers, dogs, boats and helicopters - his father, his friends, his family searched and searched with no avail. Weather conditions were extremely harsh, thus hindering their efforts. How awful to sit indoors knowing he was out there somewhere! No doubt there were many arguments between his friends and their parents not to go off half caulked. Another tragedy would be even more unbearable.

Two weeks ago his body was found in a freshwater loch by five women, including his aunts. I was somewhat hoping it would be by loved ones and not the Coast Guard, but to find your nephew's body and take him in your arms is beyond comprehension. I do not know how one recovers. Simon's family had been living in the depths of the unknown. Closure helps but sorrow never goes away. Their boy/brother/nephew/friend comes home on leave and dies in a senseless accident. Life will continue - summer will follow spring and so on and so on, but it will never be the same.

To not make mention of Simon would seem wrong, for his death reached all the way across the ocean and into my heart. It is not out of the realm of possibilities my ancestral family knew, or knew of, his ancestral family. Paying respects is just what we do, regardless if his family ever knows.

Rest in peace Simon.

1. Black is the Color (virgin effort)

2009-04-01T09:14:00.001-07:00

Because they asked, and I love my sons, I found some courage. Settling my psyche down to find my center was a lesson in itself, and one I did not quite fully achieve much to my dismay. I have so much respect for artists who do this for real. Despite being completely out of my comfort zone and nervous as heck, the results are acceptable enough for a virgin effort by a kitchen singer. I guess. Going back to re-do some notes is a possibility, but for now it will remain raw and flawed. I would rather not take it all so seriously. It’s just for fun anyway. :)

Natalie Merchant said I could sing one of her songs (thank you Megan). However, after two takes it didn't feel or sound right. So I switched, and tried my variation of a classic song I dearly love, the timeless and heartfelt Black is the Color. And it stuck.

The whole experience felt a bit surreal. There's a recording studio in town, but I choose the one inconveniently located way out in the middle of nowhere. (Likewise, it's always been Margaret's Hebrides and not John's Edinburgh.) The drive is about 12 or so miles down a lovely winding country road; the kind of road whereon the locals drive like maniacs and the new-to-the-area like cautious grannies. I had not been on the road since the wildfires tore through the canyon and up the butte walls last summer and it was wrenching to see the charred remains. The road follows alongside Butte Creek, past the historic Honey Run covered bridge, and further up the road over the steel bridge (the starting point from where I tubed down the creek so many years ago - a right of passage for all Cheekoians), past Centerville Cemetery, past the point where the road narrows and there is no longer a center line, and then down, down a rutted side dirt road to the studio. Settled amongst scrubby woodlands and a towering butte for a backdrop it is quite the picturesque spot and well worth the drive to get there and back.

All the Clouds

2009-03-28T18:56:00.001-07:00

All the Clouds
by Kevin MacNeil (Love and Zen in the Outer Hebrides)

And it would be simpler to contain all the clouds
in a single jar unlidded
than to expect this love to be returned.
Just as the wind - breathless - carries a song
and never quietens its bustle to listen,
just as a bird's shadow streams over a lake,
just as our country exists and it doesn't,
and just as our world's original dawn
will never again equal itself, but rises blushing
that it be admired as a constant failing,
so you are here and are not here,
your face a brighter mist in my dreams gently fading.

'Ille Dhuinn, 'S Toigh Leam Thu perfomed by Julie Fowlis

Mairi's Wedding

2009-03-23T17:53:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/allanshr

If you look really close you can catch a glimpse of my sister Nanci and I dancing together in the foreground. We were marking her birthday and she is, as they say, a hoot. The tape is kinda dark so we are hard to find. I am fairly certain I had a happy grin on my face all night. How could I not! We did a fairly good job faking the steps as we went along and no one seemed to mind our mistakes. (To the guy in the green shirt: I am sorry for bumping into you. The dance kept changing directions!) I'm taller than my sister, so she got to do all the twirling which suited me fine since after two drinks I couldn't/shouldn't be a doin no extra twirling anyhoo. The song is Mairi's Wedding, an obvious crowd favorite, and I know the words so I was one happy girl. Except singing while dancing was a bit tricky what with learning the steps on the fly and all. The happy couple at the end (you know, the ones dancing with abandon) were on their honeymoon celebrating. There was also this really old couple (they had to be in their 80s) on the dance floor (unfortunately you can't see them on the tape). They were so perfectly matched and lovely to watch. Warmed my heart that cold winter's night.

The Vatersay Boys are from the far southern isles of Barra and Vatersay and describe themselves as "five piece band playing traditional music with passion." One article I found said "...they have been creating a stir of madness and mayhem throughout the Western Isles and much further afield." Well, the "madness and mayhem" (what??) sounds a bit overstated :)), but I guess to a more sedate ceilidh dance crowd the Boys might be rough and rowdy. But I am no one to comment on ceilidhs (R. Stornoway pretty much blows his cork opinionating on the modern idea of ceilidhs). I just think The Vatersay Boys are fun.

Well, ok. I'll 'fess. There was a night we danced until the last song was sung. It was our darling niece's wedding not the ceilidh dance with Mairi's Wedding. It was not at The Ferry in Glasgow, but under the Rotunda dome in San Francisco. The band was not The Vatersay Boys, but a high end SF band which are probably famous. However, some of what I wrote was true. Nanci's husband wasn't there and I don't have a man, so yes she and I did dance together. (We also danced with the groom's buddy who had a certain appreciation of older women.) And we did laugh a whole lot and we did have a great time. And it could have been at The Ferry and it could have been the music of The Vatersay Boys, but it wasn't.

50 years in exile - The Dalai Lama

2009-03-17T16:48:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/userLukaBloomVideos

As I Waved Goodbye - Luka Bloom

There's an ancient place, it's a city of grace
Where I lived as in a dream
Where the elders prayed and the children played
By the mountainside and stream

As I waved goodbye from the riverside
It was too much to take in
I could see the place, and imagine the face
Of the young Tibetan God-King

It's a bad old wind, should no good begin
From a hurt that has been done
When the line was crossed and the land was lost
Oh, the holy exiled ones

As I waved goodbye from the riverside
It was too much to take in
I could see the place, and imagine the face
Of the young Tibetan God-King

I can hear the cry of the geese that fly
Between the mountain and the moon
And the flags that blow in Himalayan snow
Are carried like a haunting tune

As I waved goodbye from the riverside
It was too much to take in
I could see the place, and imagine the face
Of the young Tibetan God-King

whiskey in the jar - x2

2009-03-12T19:05:00.000-07:00

St.Paddy's Day is coming......
The original (Luke Kelly/Dubliners) and Thin Lizzy (Gary Moore and Eric Bell) versions. Love them both.

http://www.youtube.com/kellyoneill

http://www.youtube.com/Snegovic

Luke Kelly - Whiskey in The Jar
As I was going over the far famed Kerry mountains
I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced me pistol and I've then produced me rapier
saying stand and deliver for you are a bold deciever

Chorus:
musha ring dooram doo dooram da,
whack fol my daddy o
whack fol my daddy o
there's whiskey in the jar

I counted out his money it made a pretty penny
I put it in my pocket and took it home to Jenny
she sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me
but the devil take the woman for they never can be easy

Chorus

I went into my chamber for all to take a slumber
I dreamt of golden jewels for sure it was no wonder
but Jenny drew me charges and filled them up with water
then sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter

Chorus

It was early in the morning just before I rose to travel
up comes a band with footmen an likewise captain Farrell
I first produced me pistol for she'd stolen away my rapier
but I couldn't shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken

Chorus

There's some take delight in the carriages a rollin
and others take delight in the hurling and the bowlin
but I take delight in the juice of the barley
and courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early

Chorus

If anyone can aid me it's me brother in army
if I can can find his station in Cork or in Killaney
and if he'll go with me we'll go roaming in Kilkenny
and I'll sure he'll treat me better than my own disporting Jenny

Chorus

Gary Moore and Eric Bell
As I was going over the Cork and Kerry mountains
I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol and then produced my rapier
I said "stand and deliver or the devil he may take you"

Chorus:
In the rain, you might do, you might die, yeah-yeah
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o

I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny
I took all of his money, yeah, and I brought it home to Molly
She swore that she loved me, no, never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman, yeah, for you know she tricked me easy

Chorus

Being drunk and weary I went to Molly's chamber
Taking Molly with me, but I never knew the danger
For about six or maybe seven, yeah, in walked Captain Farrell
I jumped up, fired my pistols, and I shot him with both barrels, yeah

Chorus

Now some men like the fishing and some men like the fowling
And some men like to hear, to hear the cannonball a-roaring
Me I like sleeping, especially in my Molly's chamber
But here I am in prison, here I am with a ball and chain, yeah

Chorus

Whiskey in the jar-o, yeah

In the rain, you might do, you might die
In the rain, you might do, you might die, hey
In the rain, you might do, you might die
In the rain, you might do, you might die, yeah

American Self-loathing

2009-03-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/sofievm
(sound is out of sink with the visual, but no matter)

Another reason why I love Luka Bloom :)

Open up your arms
Let the healing begin
For those of us still standing
Let some light shine in
Shine on your hopeless days
Shine on your raging nights
Shine on the slip of a dream
Give us all new lives

Cry, and be still
Cry, cry the bitter tears
For the stolen years
Let's learn love songs
Sweet love songs

Songs that don't deny
What has been and done
Songs that throw some light
On each and everyone
Songs that reach across
Divides and barricades
Songs that civilize
And promise brighter days

Cry, and be still
Cry, cry the bitter tears
For the stolen years
Let's learn love songs
Sweet love songs

Songs that celebrate
When nothing has been won
Songs that agitate
For lives that might be fun
Why not? Why not?
Reach out and be a star
Why not? Why not?
We have come this far

Open up your arms
Let's learn love songs
Open up your arms
Let's learn love songs
Open up your arms
Let's learn love songs
Open up your arms

These thoughts follow Luka's lyrics because I figured if anyone from those dots on the map decided to scroll down the page this far, you have at the least, a curious mind. Anyway, at the risk of opening myself up to god-only-knows-what (thus posting this with a degree of trepidation), I propose the following because dammit, it matters. (I just 'finished' The Stornoway Way and it was fuckininspiring (profanity just applies) and those who have read it know what I am talking about, and those who have not picked up the book, do it. It is one of the most authentic and amazing works of art and life ever written. Pure genius.)

I never intended this little blog o'mine to be a tedious and boring political platform, or the rantings and ravings of some cranky malcontent. Others are much better at, and relish in, such writings. It's not my thing to be preachy or assume anyone gives a rat's ass/arse about my opinion. I would rather sing some songs. :)

That being said, my home is the U S of A. I am American born and bred, and despite all that is wrong, I still believe in my country. We come from every podunk corner of the world, every religious belief or non-belief, every language, every culture/background imaginable, you name it, we have it, we are it - our identity (if we have one) is as mixed up as we are. We are bits and pieces of everyone. Cohesiveness is an insanely ridiculous task. We are a very young, massive and powerful country and we make a lot of mistakes, many with profound consequences.

The Land of the Free and Home of the Brave is a mess and hated world wide. True. I see anger written about my country on the internet and it makes me sad. Americans are perceived as ignorant people who believe their shit don't stink. The thing is, we don't need others to hate us because we have plenty of self-loathing to go around. We hate us too. We like our neighbors, friends... and we love our country but we hate the collective us.

NPR's Dick Meyer explores all this self-loathing in his book Why We Hate Us: American Discontent in the New Millennium . You can check out an August 2008 podcast of him reading from his book at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=93583575

There is a general negative feeling about the way we collectively behave. We hate the obnoxious, selfish, greedy, narcissistic, self righteous, rude, boorish, and belligerent bad behavior (especially in our leaders and celebrities - so called roll models). Our culture represents the worst of us, not the best. Where are the sources where we find meaning in life? TV shows, commercials, just marketing in general totally screws with values with false and phony pictures of happiness. It is absurd to think contentment is related to what toothpaste one uses or what cracker you eat or what car you drive! Turn on the TV any time of the day or night, and you will see bad behavior glorified and human misery considered entertainment.

In many ways we have lost sight of what is authentic. We lack confidence and trust in our leaders (in politics, industry, judicial system...) to effectively and sanely solve problems. In 8 short years, a bully and his buddies told bald faced lies, started a war, killed needlessly and ran this country into the ground. Electing Obama is just one step in the right direction. Why have we not demanded more of our media, politicians, Wall Street, Madison Avenue, the clergy....?

Why, with the massive increase in material well-being since WWII are we so discontent? 'Stuff' does not translate to real and lasting happiness. Meyer partially points to the loss of community since the social changes in the 1960s as a huge factor. Unlike just a generation ago, we willingly choose to move about and away from family - we no longer live in stable generational communities. Living amongst the familiar has it's own downfalls, but living among strangers makes one so very much alone and frankly, nutty. Warm human relationships are essential to happiness. ("...this is why we're here: human warmth..." Ah, there it is on page 210 in Kevin MacNeil/R. Stornoway's book - god love him!) Without warm human relationships, people have looked to the tv box and it's kin for companionship and guidance, and have bought into a false source of values.

The obnoxious and the loud are the news worthy. Not so visible are my countrymen who love and respect the planet and all the people, plants and animals on it. Many make conscious efforts to help those less fortunate, to make positive change, to tread lightly on the earth, and live within their means, but they go about it quietly/behind the scenes. And even the well meaning get sucked in to the madness, into the very seepage of the crap we despise. It is pervasive and so hard to escape. And I too am guilty.

There is no viable alternative to concrete changes. At the risk of sounding simplistic, we have to first be aware of and acknowledge where we are and how we got this way. Some folks' eyes need to be opened up to see the big picture. Cause and effect on a global scale. We don't live in a bubble! One only has to look at the very real economic crisis to see how actions profoundly affect the entire world. I am not sure we can stop the media machine, but we can control how it affects our individual lives. I am not the only one who is fed up. There is a shift in what we demand from our leaders - we have to also demand more from ourselves. Not buy into the garbage on tv and speak up against it. Teach our children real values and to be kind in every sense. Reach out. Forgive (I for one, have no room in my heart for hate) and move forward.

One person at a time. Perhaps one song at a time. :)

Love-making in St. Kilda

2009-03-08T03:11:00.001-07:00

March was supposed to be all about Ireland, but you know what Robbie Burns would say about the best laid plans......

Views of Saint Kilda set to Oran Am An Iasgach
Sung by young Lewis Gaelic singer Calum Alex MacMillan. Music as soothing as this does not need translation. (Calum Alex is also in Daimh, a super talented and fun Gaelic pipe and fiddle band. There is some California connection with Daimh which someday I will investigate.)

I usually sleep like a baby. Fresh air coming in the opened window, comfy bedding, dog softly snoring, all's well. Not tonight. So, while the rest of my world slumbers, I have swaddled myself in a blanket and sit at the computer to find some of that Scottish poetry I am so fond of. After a bit of pecking on the net, I found the poem Love-making in St. Kilda by Donald Murray from his work The Dark Horse (Winter 07-08). Murray is from Ness in the Isle of Lewis. Not long ago I shared the story of Ewan Gillies (I forgot at the time to mention the St. Kilda Tapes), so the poem is a welcomed friend, wonderfully light and beautiful.

When a man makes love to a St. Kildan woman -
Her moans and sighs are like the cries of birds......

It can read in its entirety at http://www.spl.org.uk/best-poems/017.htm

An Gorta Mór - The Great Famine

2009-03-04T13:48:00.000-08:00

My Irish family has been frequenting my thoughts of late. Correspondingly, Luka Bloom’s songs play in a continuous loop in my head. That man is something else! I have 3 of his CD’s and love each one. Much to my one son’s chagrin, his mother has to learn the songs as well. The melodies move into my son just like osmosis. Without effort or thought he can easily quote Black is the Color (well, it’s actually a Scottish song) and City of Chicago. I am completely in love with the sound and lyrics and can’t quite get enough.

I have written much about my love for the small branch of my Mother’s family from the Hebrides. They are special in a way my words fail to describe. The rest of her people are from beautiful and awe inspiring Ireland. For more centuries than I can comprehend, their feet were on Irish soil. They had a strong and ancient culture - chiefs of note and clan leaders. Ireland was home - it was everything.

Ancient Ireland was divided into four Provinces: Ulster in the north, Leinster in the east, Connaugth in the west, and Munster in the south. My family came from both north and south. The Heaneys (O’hEighnighs) were from the old kingdom of Oriel which merged with Ulster in the 12th century. The Callaghans (O’Ceallachains) were from Munster. The Reilleys and Gallaghers were most likely from the northern Ulster region. Nowadays my family surnames are everywhere.

I cannot blog about them without first mentioning the events that changed everything. My family and their countrymen were the Disposable People. We have all heard of the Irish Potato Famine (1845-1852). For the millions of us of Irish descent, the Great Famine/An Gorta Mór is not just some period of time to be studied in a world history course and then forgotten. It is the very real history and tragedy of our family. In a nutshell, the blight invaded and spread and destroyed the crops, the main source of food. Things just compounded and worsened. Unable to pay the rents they were evicted from their homes and had to live out in the elements. There were outbreaks of cholera and typhus. One could stay and die of starvation, disease, freezing cold... or board the ships and immigrate to America. (Yes, America held out her arms to those who desperately needed her.) It was not much of a choice.

Their skin was literally hanging on their bones. Death was all around. Life was bleak. With just the clothes on their backs, they boarded the coffin-ships not knowing what the future held. Perhaps their children would survive the voyage, perhaps not. Hope was all they had.

Much has been written about the response from the government to this crisis. Although the potatoes were completely ruined, other sources of food existed but were not made readily available. Food aid was eventually sent, but one had to purchase the grain. And how exactly were these poor souls supposed to come up with money to do so? In the end, a million lie dead and a million immigrated. Ireland’s population was decreased by an unbelievable 1/3.

Time does help us heal. But for many, the genocide of Ireland’s people continues to be a sore and open wound. I for one, have no room in my heart for hate. Forgive yes, for those who failed to feed are long dead. But forget, no.

They may have been disposable, but they survived and thrived and built a new home in America. In the history of my family, it has been but a drop in the bucket of time since they arrived. For me, I am happy to focus on the truly inspiring strength of the human spirit of the Irish immigrants - my family of whom I am so proud. We will continue to sing and teach our children the songs from Ireland. Their legacy is alive and well.

Luka Bloom - City of Chicago/Cathair Mhór Chicago
Sung in Irish Gaeilge. The piece at the beginning is from "The field" with Richard Harris and Sean Bean. (written by John B Keane)
http://www.youtube.com/96cambridge

Thiar i gcathair mhór Chicago,
Is an oích' ag dul faoi scáth,
Tá daoine ann ag smaointiú,
Ar na sléibhte i nDún na nGall.

An tráth sin, lár na haoise,
Le linn an Ghorta Mhóir,
Pianta gránna ocrais --
D'imigh milliún lán le deor'.

Gan saibhreas ar a n-intinn,
Gan ghlóir ar bith taobh thiar,
Ag streacailt 'is ag caoineadh,
Báid Bhána ar an mhuir.

Thiar i gcathair mhór Chicago,
Is an oích' ag dul faoi scáth,
Tá daoine ann ag smaointiú,
Ar na sléibhte i nDún na nGall.

Ar roinnt acu bhí saibhreas,
Roinnt eile, clú is cáil,
Bhí anró ann gan ghearán,
Is cailleadh ar an máigh.

Ag siúl ar fud na tíre,
'S ar bhóithre iarainn leo,
Ag scaipeadh cheol a gcroíthe,
'Tabhairt sochair dá gcuid bróin.

Thiar i gcathair mhór Chicago,
Is an oích' ag dul faoi scáth,
Tá daoine ann ag smaointiú,
Ar na sléibhte i nDún na nGall.

..hear the porridge bubblin' ...

2009-03-03T14:17:00.001-08:00

The time is right to pay respect to my Irish family roots, many of whom were from the land around Donegal County.

Jim McKee performing Homes Of Donegal (http://www.jimmckee.ie)
Adapted from lyrics by Seán MacBride around 1955.
Melody much older - 150 years or so.
Paul Brady performs this as well and he's wonderful, but I rather like this young man Jim McKee, who also plays in the White Hare Band.

Missing verse:
To see your homes at parting day of that I never tire,
And hear the porridge bubblin' in a big pot on the fire.
The lamp alight, the dresser bright, the big clock on the wall,
O, a sight serene, celestial scene, in the homes of Donegal.

Over across the sea, they eat a dish called porridge. I am pretty sure it’s a general catch-all term for hot cereal, but I could be wrong. Porridge is a word we see in books (Jane Austin’s characters eat porridge) and stories (Goldilocks ate porridge) and in old nursery rhymes (please porridge hot, please porridge cold) originating from England. But porridge is just never ever used in American English language. If I asked my sons if they would like a bowl of porridge, they would look at me sideways and say I was taking my interest in the old country a bit too far. And I would be hard pressed to disagree. Americans use the phrase a bowl of oatmeal, or bowl of Cream of Wheat.

In the American South they eat a hot cereal called grits or hominy. Grits are coarse grains of dried corn kernels. The texture is well....gritty, but the taste is somewhat palatable if you doctor it up. The First Americans made grits and taught the recipe to the settlers. Grits are only marketed in the South. California was once 'owned' by Mexico so we have a lot of Mexican heritage/culture. Grits are pretty much the same thing as masa, with masa being ground a bit finer. Tortillas and tamales are made from masa, which in my opinion is how grits should be used. On a side note, if someone tells you to “kiss my grits” it’s not a good thing. After commenting on their hot cereal of choice, some Southerner might just say such to me! :)

By whatever name, it’s a perfect rainy day meal regardless of which side of the sea one calls home. I would be very interested in learning how the Scottish and Irish cook their porridge. There are many variations, but here’s my basic recipe for one serving.

Cook your oats or Cream of Wheat in a bit less water, or milk than usual. Personally I think runny oats are kinda yucky and the butter some people add is completely unnecessary. Use whatever type of oats you have in the cupboard (rolled, stone cut...).

I keep a bag of unsweetened blueberries (grown up in Washington State) in my freezer. Some people prefer the pretty little wild blueberries, but the larger sized blueberries are just fine. We have a warehouse store called Costco and they sell everything in large quantities and at very low prices. Take some blueberries (1/2 cup or so) and nuke them until they are warm and juicy. Don’t fret about the berries if a few turn to liquid. Remember, you decreased the amount of liquid used in cooking the oats. Blueberries have the best antioxidant properties, but of course you could use blackberries or raspberries. Wild blackberries grow locally along the moist riparian zones and are best eaten right off the vine. :)

I like to add just a smidgen of raw organic blue agave nectar. Yes, from the same agave plant as tequila but without the kick. I visited a tequila “factory” in Mexico years ago. Factory just meant a shed with a fire pit and a press. They heat/cook the huge heart of the plant in the fire, and then extract the pulp in the press, which then gets fermented. The floor was all sticky from the agave juice. The whole process from harvest to finished product is very labor intensive. The agave sweetener is somewhat similar to honey, but is thinner and does not crystallize. It's very nice in a cup of tea. There are different strengths; the dark amber is the most flavorful. It is much sweeter than syrup or sugar so less is needed. Always buy the raw organic. I don’t know if it is available overseas. If anyone wants some, I would be happy to slow-boat over a bottle.

Add a couple tablespoons of unsalted sunflower seeds, or almonds or walnuts. You could roast the nuts first in the oven for a few minutes, but it's not necessary. If you don’t have berries, put in a couple tablespoons of raisins and skip the sweetener.

A word about almonds (actually a seed, but known as a nut). Surrounding my community in addition to rice fields and olive orchards are acres and acres and acres of nut tree orchards – mostly walnuts and almonds. It’s big business and vital to our economy. In the Spring when the orchards are in full pink and white blossom, it's a wonderful site to experience. And the fragrance is so sweet. Harvesting is done by shaking the living daylights out of the tree, until the nuts fall off. Poor little trees, they get quite a beating from the shaker machine. I mention the shaking because it is very significant when one speaks the word almond. Once the nut is shaken off the tree, the letter L is removed or "shaken off" the word. So, one might have an almond tree, but one eats amonds (pronounced with a short a), not almonds. :) I kid you not. It is a surefire way to spot a local from a transplant. Those good-old-boy-growers will give you no respect if you pronounce the L.

Stir it all together. I suppose you could add some milk but the blueberries have plenty of juice for my taste. For a treat, add a tablespoon of dark chocolate chips to your bowl. Yum!

Lon-dubh fly

2009-02-26T08:03:00.000-08:00

No two ways about it - I am heartbroken. Julie Fowlis is performing tonight in Berkeley at Freight and Salvage and I cannot go. At this point, the reasons/obstacles no longer matter. The one shining light is that one day she will come back. Next time will be different.

http://www.youtube.com/MRFHM

One time listening to her sing, and I already feel better. Such is the power of song.

...so far from St. Kilda's rocky shore

2009-02-16T20:28:00.000-08:00

Ewan Gillies was a real person who left the very remote and beautiful St. Kilda (Hiort - 40 miles west north/west of North Uist). He found gold in California, but....

(St. Kilda was evacuated in the 1930s)

Ewan and the Gold ©Grian Music
Lyrics and Music By Brian McNeill / Back O'The North Wind
Performed by Dick Gaughan
http://www.youtube.com/user/DonegalRaymie201

You caught the line they threw you,
You helped to make her fast
You heard the sailors talking in the rigging
And when the captain said he'd take
Another hand before the mast
You knew you were halfway to the diggings
So you rode the ocean swell
To Bendigo and living hell
In the camps and the creeks of Castlemane
For like a million other souls
You were haunted by the gold
And you'd never know a peaceful day again

And tell me Ewan Gillies did you still believe the dream
When the hard men of Victoria bought and sold you?
When you had to sell the farm that you'd sifted from the seams
Did you curse the tale the sailor laddies told you?
And did you fight against the call of the island
You knew would never hold you?

For all the gold Ewan Gillies ever found
Could not buy him peace or freedom
From the memory of the sound
Of the waves on St Kilda's rocky shore

And when the dream was done
You'd lost your children and your wife
And every single thing you'd ever had
But you told your friends the gold
Was still the centre of your life
And they told you one and all that you were mad
So you wandered through the years
Never stopping once to rue
And St Kilda heard your footsteps as you passed
Old Glory even put you
In a coat of faded blue
Till the older glory claimed you back at last

And tell me Ewan Gillies did you give the Lord your thanks
When he showed you where the gold and riches lay?
Or did you bow your head in prayer on the Sacramento banks
And ask him should you go or should you stay?
And did St Kilda call you home across the mountains
At the dawn of every day?

For all the gold Ewan Gillies ever found
Could not buy him peace or freedom
From the memory of the sound
Of the waves on St Kilda's rocky shore

So once more you made the journey
To that bare and barren land
To end your days among your kith and kin
To a winter when the devil
Held the island in his hand
And the shadow of starvation rode the wind
For it's hard upon St Kilda
For the folk to keep their pride
When every season brings them to despair
And to hear you tell the tale
Of a different ocean's tide
Made their bitter burden harder still to bear

Though they knew you for their own you were forced to stand alone
In a solitude that no one could endure
They made your home a living grave until the bravest of the brave
Was forced to leave the poorest of the poor
So you reached out once again and took hold of
The bonnie golden lure

For all the gold Ewan Gillies ever found
Could not buy him peace or freedom
From the memory of the sound
Of the waves on St Kilda's rocky shore

When first I heard the tale
Of Ewan and the gold
I was filled with bitter anger and with tears
To hear a traveller return
And be shut out from the fold
Drove a shaft into the deepest of my fears
For God made Ewan Gillies
And God gave him wings to fly
But only from the land where he belonged
But I'd fight with God himself
For the light in Ewan's eye
Or with anyone who tells me he was wrong

For there's some who use their dreams to tear themselves apart
And some who never find a dream at all
But how many find the courage to look deepest in their hearts
To find a dream they can follow till they fall
And when my heart cries out to wander I can hear him
Answering the call

For all the gold Ewan Gillies ever found
Could not buy him peace or freedom
From the memory of the sound
Of the waves on St Kilda's rocky shore

And on the island the greatest story ever told
It was always Ewan Gillies,
California and the gold
So far from St Kilda's rocky shore

To a Mouse

2009-02-02T22:49:00.000-08:00

Scotland's favorite son Robert Burns would be 250 years old this year, so there is a lot of buzz about the dear man. And for good reason! He was a prolific and gifted writer/philosopher whom we continue to admire and respect; one of Scotland's literary treasures. Hopefully all the hoopla surrounding the anniversary of his birth will spark a renewed interest in his poetry beyond Scotland, as well as bring some tourist money to their country.

On a side note, I read there is a feature film in the works on the life of Robert Burns and apparently Gerald Butler is playing the lead. No offence to Butler who is a fine actor (like the character Christine I was completely taken by him in the Phantom of the Opera), but he's just too over the top Hollywood handsome for the part. Butler does not have to say a word for one to want to jump his bones. It's distracting (albeit in a nice way) and completely misses the core essence of Rabbie Burns. Burns was a nice looking man yes, but it was WHAT he said and HOW he said it that reaches women even in the year 2009. Burns "dearly lov'd the lasses, O" but he was so much more than a poet chasing skirts as he is often portrayed. My pick to play him would be James McAvoy, who is perhaps the best actor of his generation. McAvoy has amazing depth and believability and physically just looks more like Burns. (I was completely smitten, as I think all women are regardless of age, by James McAvoy in Becoming Jane.) Perhaps they offered him the role and he wasn't available. Too bad. It is a cinematic movie after all, not a documentary, so they will undoubtedly focus on Burns' womanizing and not on his amazing writing. I do not envy Gerald Butler, as he has big shoes to fill so I will get off my soap box and wish him well.

But I digress...to my main reason for this post.

To A Mouse presented by David Sibbald of www.robertburns.plus.com set to photos of Scotland. (Seeing the Twin Towers and aftermath rubble is a bit heartwrenching.)

It helps to read along. :))

To A Mouse by Robert Burns
On turning her up in her nest with the plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle.

I'm truly sorry man's dominion
Has broken Nature's social union,
An' justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth born companion
An' fellow mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen icker in a thrave
'S a sma' request;
I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,
An' never miss't.

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!
An' naething, now, to big a new ane,
O' foggage green!
An' bleak December's win's ensuin,
Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter comin fast,
An' cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou's turned out, for a' thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the winter's sleety dribble,
An' cranreuch cauld.

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!

At first glance and beyond, the old Scots dialect is a foreign language difficult to dicipher, but it is also oddly somewhat familiar. Once you get accustomed to the sound, it flows so beautifully and you cannot imagine Burns' poetry written or spoken any other way. Professor Stacy explains this insightful poem for those of us who speak in American dialect. His lecture is wonderful as I think even Scots would agree.

Ok, so on a much less serious note, and because I really, really, really love a good laugh, here's Craig Ferguson:

The Master Boat Builder and the Rose

2009-02-01T13:50:00.000-08:00

Since the same master Hebridian boat builder has shown up three times, it is only fitting to make note. I guess I should have expected to find familiar names and such (e.g. the poem The Scarecrow twice referenced, the lynch-man Patrick Seller...) while doing research of a sparsely populated area, but it still feels a bit strange when it happens. Strange in a nice sort of way. Leslie Riddoch writes about him in her book, but then she interviewed lots of local people as she bicycled across the Outer Hebrides so I did not fully appreciate his significance.

In one of my favorite books so far, The Sea Room, Adam Nicolson writes extensively about the kindness of his friend the shipwright. Designing and building the perfect boat for Nicolson was not such a big stretch. Mentoring an outsider like Nicolson was quite another thing. As Nicolson sailed out from the bay into the unsettling waters of the Minch, "there on the headland by the Norse seamark, a tall, lichened stone pillar, stood a man. He was waving to me. I waved back, and then I realized. It was John MacAulay. He must have run a half a mile to get there...this was his farewell, a shipwright saying goodbye to his boat." (at pg. 25) Generations have sailed and navigated the challenging waters off the east coast of Lewis. Generations of respect. I had to stop and put down The Sea Room and thumb through Riddoch's book. Yes, it was the same person. And now, while looking up a completely unrelated article about some ancient bones recently uncovered in a kist, who should I run across but the very same man. He would be John MacAulay of Harris.

Rotting away on the shore of Valtos Harbor, on the east coast of Lewis, was one of the last remaining original Western Isles "double-enders", the Rose. Some ninety years old. The local historical society rescued her and who else but Mr. John MacAulay has the pleasure of restoring her. Not a difficult decision - who better to put your trust in to do the job right, but in the hands of MacAulay. It is a testament to the fine craftsmanship of the original boat builder the Rose survived at all. It will be a testament in another 90 years to the craftmanship of MacAulay in preserving this treasure.

The Rose will never again carry wet seaweed or peat or sheep. I can only hope they will celebrate the restoration by putting her in the water once again.

The Only Rose (Runrig)

Between the shifting shadows
In the no-man's zone
There's a bar at the end of the street
Some poor country music
One or two sixties songs
This is the place where the night owls sleep

Oh, loneliness
You're a hard earned crust
You're the night at the end of the day
'Cause you pay your dues
On the road you choose
With the price you have to pay

Down the neon aisles
And the twilight miles
Where the world takes comfort in shame
And all I can hear
Is a voice in my ear
And its calling out your name

Still the silence glows
The four winds blow
And a dark moon rising above
To rest by your side
In the heat of the fire
In the sleep of the night of love

When darkness hangs
On the dirty city
Winter falls on a foreign town
And it's all I can do
To be with you
Tonight as the sun goes down
But I would cross
The ocean wide
I'd walk the mighty foam
If I could lie
In your arms tonight
You're the only rose I know

The lovely youtube video of the sea and sky and dancing dolphins and The Rose was pulled off the air. So, here again is the Divine Bette without the scenes.

The Rose
Written by Amanda McBroom
Performed by Bette Midler

Farewell you lonely travelers all

2009-02-01T11:47:00.000-08:00

Farewell
lyrics: Richard Thompson
vocals: Mary Black
guitar: Declan Sinnott
bass: Molly Mason
fiddle: Jay Ungar and Aly Bain
electric slide: Jerry Douglas

Farewell, farewell to you who’d hear
You lonely travelers all
The cold north wind will blow again
The winding road does call

And will you never return to see
Your bruised and beaten sons
Oh I would, I would if welcome I were
For they loathe me every one

And will you never cut the cloth
Or drink the light to be
And can you never swear a year
To anyone but we

No I will never cut the cloth
Or drink the light to be
But I’ll swear a year to one who lies
Asleep along side of me

Farewell, farewell to you who would hear
You lonely travelers all
The cold north wind will blow again
The winding road does call

Winter temps in the Isles

2009-01-19T16:31:00.000-08:00

Patty Griffith, composer and artist - Rain

We are having an unusually warm winter in my neck of the woods. Global warming I guess. For the past week, day time temps have been around 70°F. Yep, that's not a typo. 70°F. It's Spring in January. The birds are all a twitter. The nights dip down to freezing, but no rain. Zip. Nadda. I feel a bit guilty about enjoying how lovely it is to feel the warmth, when we desperately need rain. A friend of mind drove north past Mount Shasta and she told me the mountain looks bare-just a small amount of snow near the top. A mild storm is expected to come in off the Pacific the day after tomorrow and any precipitation, however small, is welcomed.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of the little Hebridean islands' landscape and weather, as they are so intertwined. Sometimes when I am driving about town the familiar photos come to mind. I wonder what the day holds on the islands. The gray sky and gale force winds, the rain and snow, the surf, the openness.... and the people in the houses scattered about the rocky land. Pretty fantastic and real images. I don't talk about it much, as no one would quite understand.

Today's weather report for Isle of Skye: Mostly cloudy to cloudy in the evening, becoming dense overcast after midnight. Patchy light fog in the evening. A chance of a mix of snow and rain in the evening, then a mix of snow and rain likely after midnight. Low 1°. Wind chill down to -5. Wind west around 25 mph, gusting to 37 mph. Chance of precipitation 80 percent. Precipitation (liquid equivalent) mostly between 5 and 10 mm. Little or no snow accumulation expected.

Skye's weather is famous for being changeable, and I imagine it is pretty much really, really cold throughout the islands. Winter in the Hebrides is serious. And on flat South Uist where my own Margaret lived with no mountain to block the winds off the sea, winter was/is a force to respect. You would not ever think of turning someone away at your door; a visitor might very well stay a while to keep warm and dry. Hence, playing music, singing and storytelling were/are a way of life. One would never send anyone back out into the elements without first a hot cup of tea and a bite to eat (strupak). It is much more than just being polite, it's common sense. The islanders have all the modern electronics, some more than I as I still use rabbit ears, but when a storm takes down your electric power, it's back to board and card games. They are probably the best read people on the planet. And, of course there's gotta be a whole lot of lovemaking going on as well. The schools must have a plethora of birthdays to celebrate in the Fall.

I try to imagine what "Low 1°. Wind chill down to -5" feels like. I suppose it is much like the heat. Hot is hot. Temps can climb to 115°F every summer, but I feel no substantial difference after say, 105°F. It's just hot. One just gets used to the extreme. Perhaps freezing cold is the same. Cold is cold. Hot and cold - opposites but the same. Interconnected. Yin and yang.

Tomorrow the 'dark cloud' lifts from my country. Barack Obama will be sworn in as our 44th President. So many hopes, from all around the world, rest on his shoulders.

Auld Lang Syne - Slainte

2008-12-31T13:39:00.000-08:00

Robert Burns wrote some of the most beautiful poetry/lyrics. Ae Fond Kiss is perhaps my favorite. At the stroke of midnight of the new year (aka Hogmanay in Scotland), all over the world people join hands and sing For Auld Lang Syne.

Below is the traditional way Burns intended the song to be heard. Performed by Mairi Campbell and Dave Francis.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind ?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o' lang syne ?

CHORUS:
For auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp !
And surely I’ll be mine !
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pu’d the gowans fine ;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot,
Sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS

We twa hae paidl’d i' the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine ;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.

CHORUS

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
And gie's a hand o’ thine !
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
For auld lang syne.

CHORUS

Can't resist posting Ae Fond Kiss, performed acapella by Gemma Hayes.

Ae Fond Kiss
by Robert Burns

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever
Ae farewell, and then forever
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and goans I'll wage thee.

Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him
Me nae cheerful twinkle lights me,
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy:
Nothing could resist my Nancy
But to see her was to love her
Love but her, and love for ever.

Had we never loe'd sae kindly,
Had we never loe'd sae blindly,
Never met - nor never parted -
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, Enjoyment, Love and Pleasure

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever
Ae farewell, alas, for ever
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

Christmas for Cowboys (Gareth in the Whites)

2008-12-20T19:13:00.000-08:00

The video Christmas for Cowboys written by Steve Weisberg sung by John Denver was taken down for copyright reasons; this version done by Wylie Gustafson (filmed at his ranch up in Washinton) is a nice alternative.

In August of 2005, I was fortunate to spend a week up in the White Mountains of east central California. About an hour from Bishop, the Mountains rise to about 14,000 feet. Unlike the Sierra Nevadas located just 10 miles west across Owens Valley, the Whites are extremely dry with almost no precipitation at all. From a distance the land looks barren, but once you are in the mountains, the landscape is beyond beautiful.

The 'campsite' was located in an extremely remote location about 15 miles down a 4 wheel drive only road at about 9,000 feet. Nestled in canyon walls 2 miles or so past the nearest campers (fishermen), the site had a rock fire pit and complete privacy. Sleeping under the stars took on a whole new meaning, as the night sky was very crisp and clear and truly breath taking; the stars so incredibly close, you could even track the movements of satellites across the night sky.

It was late in the summer and the sweet sent of sage was everywhere (I brought bouquets home and it just about broke my heart when at long last I had to throw them out). Patches of red and yellow and blue wildflowers flourished near the small trout stream. We brought drinking water, but took water for washing from the stream.

At 9,000 feet the sun was hot, but one only had to stand in the shade of a scrub tree or canyon wall to feel instantly cool. At night, the jackrabbits were plentiful and active, as I assume was their predator. Thankfully all the critters stayed to themselves.

You quickly become accustomed to the solitude of the wilderness. Oh so very quiet; only the sounds of the birds, insects and such. So, I was surprised to see a man on horseback ride into camp. Never mind the couple head of cattle he was herding, he was truly the most handsome male I have ever seen ever. Bar none. Looked like he just stepped out of a Zane Gray novel, complete with gun in holster (defense from rattlesnakes and mountain lions). The young man was a cowboy from the cow camp a canyon or two away. On our arrival, we had gone through 2 cattle gates in the road, and had seen and heard the lowing of cattle grazing, but did not know the herd was moved about. We were actually on private land, but it was not a problem. He was moving the cows and could not stay long to talk, so he invited us to his place. We we walked over the following day.

A small private college (Deep Springs) in the eastern valley below runs the cow camp each summer. The mountain cowboy serves three summers. First summer as the junior cowboy, the second alone, and the third as the senior cowboy mentoring a green trainee. It was Gareth Fisher's second summer. He was in charge of the herd - moving them about to protect sensitive areas from overgrazing and tracking down strays. The camp consisted of two small drafty one room cabins built in 1914; one a tidy living space with a bed and the other cabin served as the tack room. No running water or electricity. I don’t remember seeing or hearing a generator, but he had cold beer (and we brought some) so there must have been one or a ice box. There were three horses and a large fenced corral. The cow camp completely blended in to the landscape. He was brought provisions every few days. It was idyllic.

Ok, so I had to consciously try not to stare at him, as he really was very handsome so one could not blame me, but it was more than that. The young man also had a thoughtful and contemplative nature about him, a lovely aura. You could sense he was completely in his element in the canyon. I thought - if those girls down in Bishop knew about him, they would be finding ways to get up the mountain and get stranded. Too bad he wasn’t 25 or so years older.

Gareth is a very unusual name, so upon my query as to how he was named, he said his mother was born and raised in Scotland and he had spent time there. Perfect! I had not yet started my Scotland quest so I did not know much about my own heritage, but I did mention my family name was MacDonald. Upon learning that, it was as if we were distant kin - he opened up and talked about his family. I mentioned his Mother must worry a bit about him being in such a remote place all alone. When I asked if she had sent him cookies, he said yes, cookies and an old thick warm wool blanket from Scotland which he showed us. It was exactly what I would have sent my own son. There is nothing quite like a well loved blanket which smells of home.

We talked about life in the canyon, music (of course), books, trout fishing and such. He spoke of his college which was student run and geared towards preparation for lives in public service; he was very serious about his studies. I mentioned my youngest niece was just starting at Prescott College which concentrates on community involvement and the environment. He knew the school and said they were similar, although his was much smaller and more intense. Deep Springs College is an all male working cattle ranch and alfalfa farm where academics, manual labor and self governance are its cornerstones. He said it was very hard to get admitted as class sizes are small. We were sitting on the porch of an old cabin, miles from civilization, looking out on an amazing landscape few have ever seen. A most enjoyable visit with a most interesting young cowboy.

Circumstances changed, and I never did make it back to the White Mountains the following summer. No doubt, young Gareth is off doing his part to help change the world for the better. And no doubt, breaking hearts along the way.

"All of the good gifts given today,
Ours is the sky and the wide open range."
Merry Christmas.

Joe and the photo

2008-12-10T19:39:00.000-08:00

Schubert - Liszt: Ständchen (Serenade) performed by Tobias Sing

A few days from now is the birthday of my father’s mother, Elsa. She was born in the year 1880 and passed three days before her 98th birthday. I was 22. Every year around December 18th I think of her and remember......

She came to live with my parents when I was in my mid-teens. I was her youngest grandchild, born 20 years after the first. I was the grandchild of her old age.

One day, I asked her if she would please tell me something about life in Ohio. She told me the most beautiful and magical story of how she met my grandfather. Not so long ago, I shared this story with my mother and sisters, and surprisingly no one had ever heard it before. I must have caught my grandmother in a weak moment.

When Elsa was about 19 or 20 or so, she sat for a portrait in her village of Glandorf. This was the era of beautiful high collared lace embellished blouses and long hair held up with combs and pins. (Elsa was an accomplished seamstress and had a love of finery.) The photographer was so pleased with his work, he asked if he might display the photo in his storefront window. She of course, was flattered and agreed.

Joseph was an up and coming young man from a neighboring village, also of German descent. His father was a hard working saddle/harness maker, and the family scraped together just enough money to send the oldest son to medical school. With no means to pay for law school, Joseph studied law on his own while working for an attorney who mentored him. Joe happened to be in the village, walking down the main street, when a photo in a storefront caught his eye. It was a portrait of a young woman with dark hair and smoky eyes and a certain je ne sais quoi. Dear Joe was instantly smitten-love at first sight. He immediately went inside and asked the shopkeeper about the young woman in the photo. Resourceful and determined he found out her name, Elsie Kolhoff, where she lived.....

Sometime later, Elsa’s church sponsored a picnic type social. The women would bring a box or basket filled with culinary works of art. They would have a raffle of sorts for the boxes prepared by the unmarried women. Single men would bid on a box lunch and then have the pleasure of eating it with the lady who brought it. A young man she knew asked Elsa to accompany him, and she agreed. The poor man of course, assumed he would be eating what Elsa had prepared.

Joe lived in the town of Lima, about 20 miles from Glandorf. He somehow found out about the picnic social. It was the opportunity he had been waiting for. The girl in the photo was sure to be there. He was a man on a mission. Now, traveling 20 miles on horseback is do-able, but traveling in a small horse drawn buggy would take some time. Joe showed up at the social with a horse and buggy. Perhaps he rented it in Glandorf. There was no reason for a single man to need a buggy, except if he was hoping perhaps someone would be sitting beside him. Buggies were built rather narrow, and one had to sit very close, perhaps even touching. What an optimist, that Joe. What must have gone through his mind as he made his way to Glandorf. Was he rehearsing what he would say to her? How his heart must have quickened at the sight of her in flesh and blood. Did she see this stranger in the crowd and wonder who he was? Did his face betray him? When did he approach her?

She had absolutely no idea anyone had noticed her photo, let alone had gone through some considerable effort to meet her. The dear girl was clueless. I do not know what Joe told the photographer for he did not run and tell Elsa about the young man who inquired about her. Glandorf was a small village, and no doubt he knew Elsa’s family as her father owned a small sawmill. Had Joseph appeared less than worthy, the photographer would have told Elsa’s father. Of this I am certain. Perhaps he was just an old fool who loved the possibility of such a love story, especially one in which he and his photo played such a pivotal part.

As my grandmother told me, to make a long story short (I would have given anything to have heard the long version), she did not return home with the young man who took her. I remember her pause and the sparkle in her eye. The sparkle was a mix of remembering her own youthful coquettishness and of a tear starting to well. Completely shocked and dumbfounded beyond belief (this was my very proper and correct grandmother after all), I blurted “Do you mean you dumped your date for my grandfather?” “Yes”, she replied simply. “Please tell me more” I begged. “Well” she replied, “Joe had a horse and buggy and we took the LONG way back to my house and Joe drove REALLY slow..., and you are a smart girl and you can fill in the blanks”.

Some memories were hers and hers alone. Too precious to speak. Elsa got up and went into her room. Following her, I watched her pick up the framed photo of my grandfather. In that moment and for the very first and only time, my grandmother and I were in perfect harmony. We both loved Joe.

They lightened their lives with song

2008-12-05T19:54:00.000-08:00

Julie Fowlis - I just love this girl. So special.

Thanksgiving

2008-11-25T18:50:00.000-08:00

This Thanksgiving Day I give tribute to Squanto of the Pawtuxet nation, his friend Samoset and all the First Americans (especially Chief Massasoit of the Wampanoag nation) who shared their harvest feast celebration with the poorly equipped and starving Pilgrims in 1621.

I'll be singing all these songs while cooking......

Walela "Cherokee Morning Song" sung in rote below:

We n' de ya ho, We n' de ya ho (I am of the Great Spirit)
We n' de ya, We n' de ya, Ho ho ho ho
He ya ho, He ya ho, Ya ya ya

So, now from absolutely lovely Morning Song to heartbreaking and all so familiar.

Ulali - Lyrics by Pura Fe "All Our Relations" below:

As posted on youtube: The music for All My Relations is based on an Irish drinking song from the late 1700's. Gary Owen is actually the American pronunciation of two Gaelic words that roughly translate into Owen's Garden,(and I do mean roughly) which is or was a place in Ireland where people gathered to drink and whatever. It was listed as "Auld Bessy" at a publishing in 1788 and subsequently attributed to "Jackson of Cork" around 1800. It was adopted by the American military during the 1800's as a marching song. It is often referred to as Gary Owen March or Hale in the States. It was often used by the American military as they marched into battle to kill the Native Americans, most notably by Custer at the battle of Little Big Horn as he marched against the Lakota Nation. It continues to this day to be used by the American military. Pura Fe wrote the narrative that Ulali speaks over the music. We use it as the background of the narrative to commemorate and honor all our relations and others who have died throughout the wars.

Tom Russell and Andrew Hardin "Sitting Bull in Venice"

Sitting Bull toured Europe (including Venice) with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show in the late 1880s.

Peter Rowan's classic "Land of the Navajo" performed in 1990.

Land of the Navajo by Michael Martin Murphey

Oh the wind blows cold on the trail of the buffalo
Oh the wind blows cold in the land of the Navajo
In the land of the Navajo

A hundred miles from nowhere out on the desert sand
One-eyed Jack the trader held some turquoise on his hand
And by his side sat Running Elk his longtime Indian friend
He vowed that he would stay by Jack till the bitter end

Jack had gambled everything he owned to lead this wandering life
He might have had a happy home or a tender loving wife
But his hunger was for tradin' trappers' furs for turquoise stones
Anything the Indians had Jack wanted for his own

Oh the wind blows cold...

Said Jack to Running Elk I'd gamble all my precious stones
Before I'd leave my body here among these bleached bones
For now my time is drawin' near and I'm filled with dark regret
My spirit longs to journey as the sun begins to set

We've raped and killed and stole your land we ruled with guns and knives
Fed whiskey to your warriors while we stole away your wives
Said Running Elk what's done is done you white men rule this land
So lay your cards face up and play your last broken hearted hand

Oh the wind blows cold...

When you're dealin' cards of death the joker's wild the ace is high
Jack bet the Mississippi river Running Elk raised him the sky
Jack saw him with the sun and moon and upped him with the stars
Running Elk bet the Rocky Mountains Jupiter and Mars

The sun was sinking in the west when Jack drew the ace of spades
Running Elk just rolled his eyes smiled and pssed away
Jack picked up his turquoise stones and cast them to the sky
Stared into the setting sun and made a mournful cry

Oh the wind blows cold...

Diamond and Edmund Fitzgerald

2008-11-10T15:32:00.000-08:00

The Bonny Ship the Diamond (Traditional)

Oh the Diamond is a ship me lads, for the Davis strait she's bound
And the keys they are all garnished wae bonnie lassies round
Captain Thompson gees the orders, to sail the ocean wide
Where the sun it never sets me lads, and darkness dims the sky

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale

All along the key at Peterhead, the lassies stand around
Wae their shawls aw poo'd aboot them, and their sawt tears runnin' doon
Oh don't you weep my bonnie lass though you be left behind
For the rose will grow on Greenland's ice before we change our mind

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale

Here's a health to the Resolution and likewise the Eliza Swan
Here's a health to the Battler o' Montrose and the Diamond ship o'fame
We wear the troosers o' the white and the jackets o' the blue
When we return tae Peterhead we'll hae sweethearts anew

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale

It'll be bricht both the day and nicht when the Greenland lads come hame
Wae a ship that's full of oil me lads and money tae oor name
We'll mak the cradles for tae rock and the blankets for tae tear
And every lass in Peterhead sing 'hushabye my dear'

And it's cheer up me lads
May your hearts never fail
While the bonnie ship the Diamond
Goes a fishing for a whale

The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they called Gitche Gumee.
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
when the skies of November turn gloomy.
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty,
that good ship and crew were a bone to be chewed
when the gales of November came early.

The ship was the pride of the American side
coming back from some mill in Wisconsin.
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
with a crew and good captain well seasoned,
concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
when they left fully loaded for Cleveland.
And later that night when the ship's bell rang,
could it be the north wind they'd been feelin'?

The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the railing.
And ev'ry man knew, as the captain did too
'twas the witch of November come stealin'.
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
when the gales of November came slashin'.
When afternoon came it was freezin' rain
in the face of a hurricane west wind.

When suppertime came the old cook came on deck sayin'.
"Fellas, it's too rough t'feed ya."
At seven P.M. a main hatchway caved in; he said,
"Fellas, it's bin good t'know ya!"
The captain wired in he had water comin' in
and the good ship and crew was in peril.
And later that night when 'is lights went outta sight
came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does any one know where the love of God goes
when the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
if they'd put fifteen more miles behind 'er.
They might have split up or they might have capsized;
they may have broke deep and took water.
And all that remains is the faces and the names
of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
in the rooms of her ice-water mansion.
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams;
the islands and bays are for sportsmen.
And farther below Lake Ontario
takes in what Lake Erie can send her,
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
with the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed,
in the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral.
The church bell chimed 'til it rang twenty-nine times
for each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

joy - pride - relief

2008-11-09T21:52:00.000-08:00

The pen was a perfect wet marker. It glided smoothly and effortlessly. I wanted to savor the moment, and so I traced my already completed ovals one extra time for good measure. Walking out of the precinct, I felt an emotional wave of hope and happiness spread over my body. Locking eyes for a moment with another voter, I knew he felt it too. It was a sensation I had never felt before in all the years of casting my ballot. I was a part of something momentous - a shift - a current that would put things back on the right track.

Later that night when Ohio, who had been so wrong 4 years ago, gave their voice to change, I knew history was made. And to hear it be called - the election of Barack Obama as our 44th President. Speechless. It was a moment to weep and to be grateful this mutt of a nation pulled together and finally did good. Tears of joy and pride and relief. America is like little pieces of everyone - every race, every religion, every background, every economic status, every anything one can imagine; like those photos that look normal until you zoom way back and discovery it is actually made up up thousands of individual pictures. For us to overwhelmingly agree to put our trust and faith in Barack is beyond words. He has all the qualities to be a great leader and now he has the support of a nation.

I reached to call my Mother to celebrate, but was stopped short when I remembered she was gone. And then a huge smile overtook my sorrow. She always voted absentee ballot, and those were mailed out a long time ago. Perhaps she mailed it back before she fell; I do not remember seeing it in her papers. She was just shy of 91 -had grown into an enlightened human proud to mark her ballot for a black man. What an inspiration and role model!

I am filled with hope not just for my country, but for all the people of the world. This little blue dot is all we've got. There is a lot of work to be done. But now we have the one thing that had been missing - hope. Come January 20th, to crudely paraphrase Shakespeare 'the 8 long winters of our discontent' will be over. The chill will be around for a while but it's season is over. :)

Charlie from Lewis

2008-11-08T12:35:00.000-08:00

Just when life seem predictable again, something wonderful happens.
Conversations with my son on Wednesday and Thursday.

That boy we saw by the green van, he's my friend from Scotland.
Excuse me, did you just say that boy is from Scotland?
Ya.
And he's in school with you? And he's your friend?
Ya, he's been here for a couple of weeks. Is going back home soon on Saturday.
Are you kidding me?
No.
Why is he in Chico and why have you not mentioned this before?
His grandmother lives here and she is really sick. (pausing-warning) It's really sad Mom.
Oh dear. Go on.
She's dying. I don't know what it is but she wants to go home while she can. She might have Alzheimer's or something. She wants to go back while she can still remember. So they came to take her.
(sad)What a bittersweet story. (sad) We are all too familiar with grandmas dying. I feel for them.
I know. It's sad. (sigh) He's here with his parents.
Do they have other family here? (Thinking - community everything in Gaelic culture.)
Not sure but I think so.
Good. They have a lot of decisions to make, especially if she has Alzheimers. Where in Scotland is he from?
Well, I am not absoutely sure she has Alzheimers, but she is dying. He's from some island. Has to take a boat. I think they also have a house somewhere else.
Excuse me, an ISLAND! No way! Did he say which one? Skye, Lewis, Harris.....
I don't know. The one with the "funny rocks"
You mean the standing stones? They are sprinkled all over the islands.
He said people came to see them.
He has to mean Callanish. So, he is from the Isle of Lewis. Stornoway's the big town.
I guess Lewis. Didn't say. Had to take a boat.
Ok, yes the C McB ferry. The far north end of Lewis they call the Butt. Way north of them is Iceland.
The Butt???
Yes, kinda funny. Just like we live in Butte County and for fun we call it Butt. You have Butt in common. (smile)
He has a special paper to be allowed to stay here.
Probably some type of Visa. Pretty cool he's going to school.
Lives in a really old house that belonged to his grandmother's grandmother or something.
Did he say a croft house? Has to be.
Don't know. He also speaks a different language.
He speaks Gaelic son. Have I not taught you! What's his name?
He said to call him Charlie.
"Call him" sounds like he might have a Gaelic name he thinks you can't pronounce so just call him Charlie. (thinking: whom do you belong to) How many classes do you have together?
Just 1st period. PE. He's really good with poetry.
Interesting observation. Yes, poetry is much more a part of their culture than ours.
He said it is really crappy here.
(kids are so honest) I am not surprised - he is from a beautiful landscape. It's home here to us and we love it, but to someone from the islands, not so much so. I can show you pictures of Lewis. They have lots of wildlife like deer, sheep, highland cows, lots of birds, and at one time were over run by hedgehogs, and of course lots of fish.
He said we have too many cars and traffic. Where he is from there aren't a lot of people.
He is right about the traffic. Did not used to be this way though. (sigh)
He did say the girls here are very beautiful.
Aw, how sweet. Well, I am sure all the girls absolutely love his accent and have big crushes on him.
Maybe. He says we talk funny. We talk through our noses. Try it (pinches his nose and talks). See, he's right.
Where is he staying? With grandma?
No, they have an apartment over behind the Holiday Inn. He's leaving on Saturday.
This Saturday! Too bad. You could have invited him over. We could have offered help to his family. His parents must have been working very hard the short time they were here. I was so grateful for the neighbors and friends of my Mom's who looked in on her from time to time. And school has to be really different for him, to be mixed in with kids who also look different like the Hmong and Hispanic. Who does he have lunch with? Did everyone make him feel welcomed? Does he have siblings?
Oh yea, it's all good. No worries Mom. He's really nice and he hangs out in my group. His parents told him it would be really different here, but he says it's not so much so. He likes the fact there are a lot of kids here to make friends with. Their aren't a lot of kids where he is from. There was Hmong guy sitting with his eyes closed and Charlie thought it was a dummy.(smile) He doesn't have any brothers or sisters.
(what great kids we have) I am glad he met you as you can understand what he is going through with his sick grandmother. It is not an easy time for him. And he came a very long way.
It was 18 hours on the plane. We are all reading the same book and it's a really long book, so he'll be ok on the plane back.
Did you tell him you were of Scottish descent? From South Uist? Never mind John from Edinburgh side of the family. Just don't say we ARE Scottish, as he might take it literally and think you're crazy. It's frigging special to come from the Hebrides son. And your Mom knows a bunch about his place on this planet!
Ya, told him my Mom's kinda nutty about it and you have a bunch of books and stuff. I could not remember the name of the place. I did say we were MacDonalds. Charlie said "cool" and that his grandmother was a MacDonald.
Grandma's great grandma was from South Uist son. Lewis is at the top, then Harris, then....
I told him I went with my Mom to hear this Scottish guy Dougie something.
Dougie MacLean son. Hmmm, I think he has a house on Lewis too. (breaks into song ...the old man looks out to the island, he says this place is endless thin....) I am really jealous you know son. I would love to have a friend from Lewis.
Ya, ya, ya I know. It's not that big a deal Mom. I play WOW with people from all over the world.
Well it is to me. What an opportunity! Exchanging ideas and such with someone who lives on the other side of the world. How amazing is that! You could go visit someday and vice versa. He did not get a chance to see much of our country. (wistful)
Sure, I'll get his email address.

Charlie was here to witness the election of Obama as our historic next and great president. What a positive memory for him to share with his friends back on Lewis. And the kids at school included him naturally and without thought they were actually ambassadors of this country. Makes me so proud.

Iain Crichton Smith and Alastair McIntosh

2008-10-26T12:19:00.000-07:00

My favorite Island photographer had a quote from Iain Crichton Smith on his web page. It expressed so easily what I have always thought.

And being of a curious nature and so loving research I looked up Mr. Smith and there in Wikipedia is a pdf document containing pages of Towards the Human; Selected essays published in 1986 and timeless. Here it is. http://www.alastairmcintosh.com/general/resources/1982-Iain-Crichton-Smith-Real-People-Real-Place.pdf The moment I saw the photo of Iain Crichton Smith I knew he was a kindred spirit and a lovely man. And the writing, well, one has to read it for them self. A photocopy will be made and read and saved on the bookshelf.

The person who made the pdf available, Alastair McIntosh, is another notable individual worthy of investigation. What he is all about, I could not hope to explain. Most signficant perhaps is his work in the community buy-out of the Isle of Eigg, now held in Trust. What struck me most of all about McIntosh more than his social and spiritual activism, and books and articles he has authored on human ecology, was the sharing of emotions in the form of letters to friends over the loss of his unborn son two years ago this January. I have not found Scottish people to be so open about such private matters and I was really surprised. And the photo of little Ossain, so beautiful and perfect. It was really touching and I instantly grieved for him and his wife. (I would very much enjoy meeting and sitting down with her to share stories about women's role in changing the world.) I considered sending an email, but I do not know the words. So, I send my thoughts through those mysterious waves of universal consciousness.

Speaking of grief, my Mother passed just over a month ago, and I miss her deeply. She would tell me I was her rock, when it was really the other way around.

RIP Sweet Momma

2008-09-22T10:13:00.000-07:00

Before a battle, Crazy Horse, leader of the Lakota Sioux, is quoted as saying.........Today is a good day to fight.......
Today is a good day to die.

Today is a very good day to die.
Every living thing is in harmony with me.
Every voice sings a chorus within me.
All beauty has come to rest in my eyes.
All bad thoughts have departed from me.
Today is a very good day to die.
My land is peaceful around me.
My fields have been turned for the last time.
My house is filled with laughter.
My children have come home.
Yes, today is a good day to die.

MANY WINTERS, author, Nancy Wood

Dr. from S Uist

2008-07-28T17:12:00.000-07:00

Runrig "Year of the Flood" with Scenes of Lewis, Harris, North and South Uist.

Mother broke her hip on Friday. She’s hard of hearing and was having difficulty understanding her doctor (her GP’s associate whom she had never met before). To make her feel better I mentioned his British accent as the culprit. I just wanted to die when he said he was from Scotland, not England. Yikes! It is one thing to confuse Scot with Irish, but it is quite another to confuse Scot with English. And I know better. (In my defense he went to school at Oxford and had picked up some of that accent.) He was a good sport about it so no harm was done, especially when I told him we were MacDonald descendents and I had been reading and learning about his lovely homeland.

He was very friendly and quite happy to talk. His wife is from California so they settled here. Originally from Glasgow, he served in the Army at the missile testing base on South Uist. His duties included acting as the doctor for the non-military islanders. Unbelievable! (It felt like an Elaine “get outta here” moment from Seinfeld, you know when she is so flabbergasted she pushes poor Jerry or George backwards.) Few have even heard of South Uist, let alone lived there and drove the road (well, they have more than one road, but the one that connects the Outer Hebrides is a single lane road with occasional passing lanes) on a regular basis. He quickly figured out I had knowledge of the area, and we had a grand chat – a real conversation. Fun for both. He of course said I must visit, and gave advice on where to stay and such.

I won’t go into it all, but while in the military he had gone out to St. Kida in a landing boat. Umonst other things, we discussed Glasgow and the high unemployment rate - 2/3 of all children living in homes with parents who are on government assistance. Some born into that culture/mind set and some simply unable to get out. Welfare with no end date. The gap between the haves and the have-nots growing. I do not pretend to understand their politics. However, like Bush, it seems Gordon Brown has messed things up pretty badly in the UK. A consensus I find time and time again.

They were preparing my Mother for surgery and the doc and I were visiting and Mother was smiling and enjoying it all.

Society - Eddie Vedder

2008-07-18T08:52:00.001-07:00

George W flew into Redding yesterday to survey the damage from the recent and ongoing fires. The last sitting president to visit the far north state was President Kennedy in 1963. JFK stayed for two days; spent the night in Lassen Volcanic National Park before giving a speech before a throng of 10,000 at Wiskeytown Dam; and he mingled with the locals, chatting and shaking many a hand. Bush graced us for a short 2 hours. He did the obligatory photo shots with Eagle Scouts and Fire Jumpers, surveyed the damage from a helicopter, promised Federal aid and left. His arrival was greeted by only a sparse scattering of locals. Comments aired by the local TV channel were of the "I came to see him just because he is a president, not because I support his politics. I voted for him but now realize he has been so wrong about the war" variety. Before the fire, Bush was already scheduled to travel to Napa for a private fundraiser for McCain. Coming to Redding under the guise of surveying the fire damage made for a perfect opportunity to shift the cost of the cross-country flight to taxpayers. He only had to pay the cost of Air Force One from Redding to Napa. How convenient. How sad. I really hate being cynical, but it is what it is.

Our country is bleeding and he is off raising money for McCain.

Paradise's sad 15 minutes of fame

2008-07-12T13:33:00.000-07:00

Paradise is now on the global map. Quite a shame its "15 minutes of fame" is on account of the Humboldt and Camp fires. Now that the Camp fire is 55% contained and the danger of it coming up the canyon is lessening, we all feel a collective sigh of relief, albeit guarded as this fire's movement has been unpredictable.

The smoke in the valley is really crappy and not predicted to leave anytime soon(the air quality folks use index terms like unhealthy and hazardous. Years ago I was very much in love with a high muckety-muck in that field. He was older and worldly and I was a pleasant source of surprise. A true "be here now" lovely time of my life. Sorta what I imagine visiting the Hebrides would be like - living each moment fully, no regrets, knowing that the moment will never be again. And the man, well he is a rolling stone and I am, happily, moss. But I digress...) Everyone is bucking up, but you can read the weariness in our faces as the fires are still ongoing and the season is young.

With the situation somewhat under control, some fire trucks are heading out of town, going home to their loved ones. Yesterday we saw a convoy of trucks from SF - how they must long to feel the coolness of their fair city by the bay. The last 4 or so trucks got separated from the leaders at a signal and almost turned the wrong way. The mistake was noticed, they turned on their lights, and through the red light they drove. It would have been a beautiful sight had they had left the lights on all the way to the highway. Without their help, so much would have been lost and we are eternally humbled and grateful.

Response to AllyMar July 6 blog

2008-07-10T08:21:00.000-07:00

Ken and Harp,

The sounds of the AllyMar cutting through the water, the mist, the movement and the wonder all in perfect harmony with the haunting music of Lorenna McKennitt - I close my eyes I am right there with you.

With much love and affection,

Marty

Loreena McKennitt - Beneath A Phrygian Sky

(She was inspired to write this after visiting an archaeological site in Turkey near Gordion where Celtic stone ruins were uncovered.)

The moonlight it was dancing
On the waves, out on the sea
The stars of heaven hovered
In a shimmering galaxy
A voice from down the ages
So haunting in its song
These ancient stones will tell us
Our love must make us strong

The breeze it wrapped around me
As I stood there on the shore
And listened to this voice
Like I never heard before
Our battles they may find us
No choice may ours to be
But hold the banner proudly
The truth will set us free

My mind was called across the years
Of rages and of strife
And of all the human misery
And all the waste of life
We wondered where our God was
In the face of so much pain
And I looked up to the stars above
To find you once again

We travelled the wide oceans
Heard many call your name
With sword and gun and hatred
It all seemed much the same
Some used your name for glory
Some used it for their gain
Yet when liberty lay wanting
No lives were lost in vain

Is it not our place to wonder
As the sky does weep with tears
And all the living creatures
Look on with mortal fear
It is ours to hold the banner
It is ours to hold it long
It is ours to carry forward
Our love must make us strong

And as the warm wind carried
Its song into the night
I closed my eyes and tarried
Until the morning light
As the last star it shimmered
And the new sun's day gave birth
It was in this magic moment
Came this prayer for mother earth

Reprise:

The moonlight it was dancing
On the waves, out on the sea
The stars of heaven hovered
In a shimmering galaxy
And a voice from down the ages
So haunting in its song
These ancient stones will tell us
Our love will make us strong

The Antique Vase

2008-07-08T15:02:00.000-07:00

Well, the blue skies favored us for only a day. It has been scorching (113 degrees tomorrow) and miserable. Air quality very unhealthy...headaches and irritated eyes again. Upon leaving the house for work this morning, I found ash all over the car. And later today, old Magalia, and the entire east side of Paradise was under immediate mandatory evacuation orders, and more of my little town was under precautionary evacuation. The hospital where my children were born has evacuated its patients. The fire situation grows more and more serious. My heart is worried. So stressful on so many people, many of whom are elderly. We will get very little sleep tonight. Tomorrow it will be one month since the start of the Humboldt fire and the steady stream of new fires and threat of fires and the unknown.

Although I have lived many more years in Chico, Paradise remains my nostalgic home town. I wonder what would I pack. A daunting task for sure. No doubt every nook and cranny of my car would be full. And if the cat has to be on my lap as I drove, that would be ok. I know a woman who is being evacuated for the second time and she brings just her animals. A few important papers and that's it. An empty car. She seems to become overwhelmed by it all and calmly just decides to do nothing as it can all be replaced. Part of me wants to tell her to snap out of it and pack some photos, instruments, pebbles from the beach, grandma's china, anything.....dammit, and part of me admires her non-attachment to the material things. She is clearly not owned by her belongings. It brought to mind a beautiful parable I stumbled upon years ago.

The Antique Vase by Derek Lin

There was a general in ancient China who retired after many years of military service. Not wishing to sit around doing nothing, he took up the hobby of collecting antiques.

One day, he sat in his study to admire his latest acquisition – a small antique vase. It was expensive but worth it. He turned it this way and that, examining the exquisite patterns that ancient craftsmen had worked into it.

Suddenly, a careless movement of his fingers caused the vase to slip from his hands. The general tried to catch it, but its slick surface was difficult to grasp. He dove forward to try again. It was a close call, but he finally managed to hold on to it, mere inches from the floor.

The general's heart was pounding rapidly. His breathing was frantic. He gripped the vase tightly and stood up slowly. After a while, he was able to regain some composure.

He was relieved to have avoided damage, but something was not right. Instead of elation, he felt only puzzlement. "In all my campaigns," he thought to himself, "charging against the enemy, leading men into battle, even facing much bigger armies than mine… I never felt as much fear as I did just now. Why?"

Throughout his military career, the general always recognized the possibility of losing his life, but it didn't frighten him at all. Somehow, on this particular day, the possibility of losing the vase frightened him a lot.

In an instant of clarity, he saw the problem. He had become too attached to the vase. That attachment was the cause of emotional turmoil. He looked at the vase again, seeing it in a completely different light. Then, with his mind perfectly at ease, he relaxed his hands. The vase dropped and shattered into pieces.

The Dying Redcoat

2008-07-04T10:17:00.000-07:00

Today, Americans remember our Independence from the British crown in 1776. Young men and women are ordered to kill and sacrifice their own life, and not necessarily for causes they believe in. I found this old ballad written by a British soldier, titled The Dying Redcoat.

'Twas on December's fifteenth day,
When we set sail for America;
'Twas on that dark and dismal day,
When we set sail for America.
'Twas on that dark and dismal time,
When we set sail for the Northern clime,
Where drums to beat and trumpets sound,
And unto Boston we were bound.

And when to Boston we did come,
We thought by the aid of our British guns,
To drive the rebels from that place,
To fill their hearts with sore disgrace.
But to our sorrow and surprise,
We saw men like grasshoppers rise;
They fought like heroes much enraged,
Which did affright old General Gage.

Like lions roaring of their prey,
They feared no danger or dismay;
Bold British blood runs through their veins,
And sill with courage they sustain.
We saw those bold Columbia's sons
Spread death and slaughter from their guns:
Freedom or death! these heroes cry,
They did not seem afraid to die.

We said to York, as you've been told,
With the loss of many a Briton bold,
For to make those rebels own our King,
And daily tribute to him bring.
They said it was a garden place,
And that our armies could, with ease,
Pull down their town, lay waste their lands,
In spite of all their boasted bands.

A garden place it was indeed,
And in it grew many a bitter weed,
Which will pull down our highest hopes
And sorely wound our British troops.
'Tis now September the seventeenth day,
I wish I'd never come to America;
Full fifteen thousand has been slain,
Bold British heroes every one.

Now I've received my mortal wound,
I bid farewell to Old England's ground;
My wife and children will mourn for me,
Whilst I lie cold in America.
Fight on America's noble sons,
Fear not Britannia's thundering guns;
Maintain your cause from year to year,
God's on your side, you need not fear.

Blue Skies

2008-07-04T09:50:00.000-07:00

At last.........we can breathe and be oh so grateful to once again have blue skies. It's got me singing one of Irving Berlin's best.

"Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see
Bluebirds singin' a song
Nothin' but bluebirds all day long

Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see"

West is on fire

2008-06-28T08:47:00.000-07:00

I read a headline today which stated "The West is a Tinderbox".
No s _ _ _ Sherlock. When you enlarge the NASA photo and see the circle of fires at the northern part of the state, that's us.

Dry lightening strikes caused hundreds of wild fires last week all over Northern California. Big Sur on the coast was hard hit; 12 miles of Hwy 101 is closed. So sad to see the coastal redwoods ablaze. And in the far north, we are surrounded by fire and have been living for days in smoke and haze. The air quality is considered "very unhealthy", the second highest level just below "hazardous". It is best to keep all windows closed with the air on 24/7 and limiting time out doors. Some are wearing masks which block the small particulate matter. Before I bit the bullet and closed up the house I suffered headaches, runny nose and allergy type symptoms. Kids seem to be faring much better. My dog is now stir crazy. We had a tiny bit of wind and the sun actually tried to burn through the haze today, so we took the dog out to stretch her legs. As night fell the conditions worsened. With over 450 miles affected by the smoke, we do not expect to get any relief until all the fires are contained and we get some wind to blow it all away.

There is a great deal of concern about the wildlife displaced from their homes and stressed out searching for breathable air and shelter. There is not many choices for wildlife as the fires are all over the place. Alerts were made about the mountain cougars coming into upper park seeking water and food. They live in the foothills and I saw one years ago driving in Cohasset. What a beautiful creature but not one to ever turn your back to. We saw a couple of buzzard volchers at the lake for the very first time. They took to flight we we approached; what a wing span. I kept a watch out for rattlesnakes as well.

So far, firefighters have managed to keep the fire from jumping the West Branch of the Feather River somewhere north of the old Whiskey Flats gold mining area, located down the steep unmaintained dirt road off Coutelenc. The road is the same one used every Gold Nuggett Days for the Donkey Derby; it also brings back high school memories of keggers at Whiskey Flats.

The cavalry finally arrived in the form of four massive Air National Guard C-130s from No Carolina and Colorado. The big boys work with Cal Fire, dropping retardant along fire lines. Interestingly, they arrived the day after Gov Arnold was in town to access the situation. They need 3 miles of visibility to fly and were grounded for a day, but were able to take off and head out to Whiskeytown. The largest water supertanker in the world, a 747 is expected to arrive soon from Vancouver. (6/30/08 Update. The Martin Mars has the same wing span as a 747 but is shorter and lighter. It arrived yesterday in Redding.) It can't come soon enough. Of course help could have been sooner and a lot more if not for the fact our National Guard is off being mercenaries in the name of W.

Air strikes (and clearing skies) are also hampered by the inversion layer which is covering the fires. That's a cold layer of air holding smoke near the ground. We need the layer to lift, but it is like a lid on a pot. If the lid is lifted too quickly, fire activity will increase drastically, like water in a pot boiling over. We need it to lift so more aircraft can be used for remote areas. If it does lift and the winds come, fire activity will increase but since the whole state is smokey the skies are not likely to clear up if the layer lifts.

What I would not give to be standing at the Butt of Lewis where the wind blows strong and the air is clean and it permeates every pore!!

Humboldt Fire

2008-06-15T21:12:00.000-07:00

The Humboldt Fire (so named as it started on Humboldt Road)started on Wednesday, June 11th and burned about 23,500 acres and destroyed 74 homes. Aided by heavy north winds, the fire moved incredibly fast up and down the dry fingers of the canyons. About 1/3 of Paradise was evacuated. Everyone came together to help. Incredible effort by the firefighters who came from all over the western states. As of last night it is now 100% contained.

Horseshoe Lake

2008-05-28T06:37:00.000-07:00

My best guess is Lily is shepard and boxer. Did I mention she is super cute? Yesterday at Horseshoe Lake (I love my town, just a hop and a skip down the road and there's Upper Bidwell Park, wild and open and the entire west side is dog friendly) we found a deep pocket and she was quite entertaining swimming back and fourth fetching a stick. Such a happy girl (ok, happy girls). There was only a couple of people fishing so we had the far doggie side to ourselves. She would have loved to play with another pooch (she likes other dogs!), but it was nearing dusk so it was just she and I at the water's edge. The Maidu trail runs past the lake and so far she is not interested in the bicyclists or runners, unless they have a "playmate". I do keep a close eye on her to make sure she has nice manners and doesn't pester anyone with her puppy-ness. Everyone we have encountered have been very friendly, which is typical of Chico. We are all out just enjoying being out. She is very curious of the geese and ducks and everyday we see the momma with her two darling ducklings circling the tall reed island. There's always other birds including hawks above to watch. Thankfully, Lily has the short coat of a boxer and is easy to clean and dry after her romp. I say I am taking my dog to the lake to work off pent up energy and get some exercise...but actually she is taking me. :)

John Muir

2008-05-24T18:11:00.000-07:00

John Muir was born and raised in Dunbar "Dùn Barra" (North Sea coastal town just east of Edinburgh "Dùn Èideann") until his family emigrated to the US when he was 11. (High Street statue on right) If I was taught this in school, the knowledge did not stick. I assumed he was a California son, which he really was as one does not need to be born in a land to belong to it. And John Muir truly loved California.

John Muir was a long time friend of John and Annie Bidwell, the founders of my town. Their friendship started when Muir and Asa Gray (Father of American Botany) stayed at the Bidwells in 1877 and they traipsed about Mount Shasta studying wildflowers. (Annie in a corset and long dress and not a hiking boot in sight!) Asa Gray was a buddy of Charles Darwin so the conversations must have been quite lively with conservative Annie Bidwell. John Muir stayed on with the Bidwells after Gray left and later corresponded with both Annie and John separately for over 35 years. When she died, Annie deeded acres of land to the people of Chico for a park (now at 3,670 acres/nearly 11 miles in length, making it one of the largest municipal parks in the United States). John Muir, John and Annie all shared the belief that nature should be preserved for all generations to come.

But I digress...back to Muir and Scotland.

This all came about when I was digging around the net for information about the amazing island of Skye. I came across the John Muir Trust. Of course, we all know Muir founded the Sierra Club and is responsible for preserving Yosemite..., and I wondered why these Scottish people were honoring him in such a way, being so nationalistic and all. Well, duh, he's Scottish! I am also a bit ashamed to admit, but I did not realize John Muir (standing with his walking stick looking towards Half Dome with a Calif condor flying above) was on the California quarter. Apparently, the quarter is something Scottish school children know about - they even have an on-line puzzle of it. Well, I have been on a mission ever since to collect the coin in the hopes that someday I can mail them to kids in Scotland. Just two "problems" - I don't know anyone in Scotland to give them to and the darn coin is hard to find. There are 50 states and each one has a coin and then there is the old quarter. Georgia peaches, Oregon Crater Lake, Idaho bird of prey (thanks Nanci for taking me to the preserve), Kansas buffalo, South Dakota Mt. Rushmore....abound. The California quarter is as elusive as the condor itself. Rolls of the quarter are only available from the banks when it is first minted. So, I have two rolls that I continue to swap each week for fresh rolls when I do the office banking. I have found only 4 coins so far, and one was on the floor of my son's room. No worries. I'll find them when I find them.

Lord, three blogs in a row!!! Kids at their dad's so computer is mine, an early long walk with the pooch in the wind and light drizzle, and top it off with PBS's Globe Trekker with Megan in Scotland makes for a grand day so far.

snippits

2008-05-24T09:10:00.000-07:00

When she was named, two songs played in my mind. The first, from one of the greatest albums of all times. I pulled the song book off the shelf and sang it one more time, all 16 verses. Like visiting with an old friend from a lifetime ago.

Lily was a princess
She was fair skinned and precious as a child
She did whatever she had to do
She had that certain flash every time she smiled
She'd come away from a broken home
Had lots of strange affairs
With men in every walk of life
Which took her everywhere
But she'd never met anyone
Quite like the Jack of Hearts
(Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts by Bob Dylan, From Every Stage Joan Baez 1977)

Me and my best friend Lillian
And her blue tick hound dog Gideon
Sittin on the front porch cooling in the shade
Singin every song the radio played
Waitin for the Alabama sun to go down
Two red dirt girls in a red dirt town
Me and Lillian
Just across the line and a little southeast of Meridian
(Red Dirt Girl by Emmylou Harris)

I had first thought to call her Flora. I had not thought of the old song, Lily of the West, until today. :)

When I first came to Louisville, my fortune there to find
There was a maiden there from Lexington, was pleasing to my mind
Her rosy cheeks, her ruby lips like arrows pierced my breast
And the name she bore was Flora, the lily of the west
(Traditional, Irish origin)

Lily

2008-05-17T08:48:00.000-07:00

Something just came over me. I had resisted for years and finally decided the timing was right much to the shock and disbelief of my sons (and myself). Even though I am a complete person all by myself, I do love a relationship, but only one with unconditional love and the complete knowledge my kids are a bonus, not a liability. One that sticks thru the good and the bad and does not care if I am not perfect. Not so easy to find. That's not to say I would turn away from the two legged kind if fate was kind, but I have not the energy right now to devote myself to an unknown.

Cute little Shep caught my eye but there was just no chemistry. And then there was pretty Mai Tai, a small German Shep mix some idiot never claimed. So smart and calm for a 1 year old and past the bulk of the puppy training stage. Knew 'sit' and 'down' and walked well on a leash and most important did not bother or show much interest in the shelter cats. Because she was so well behaved, she got to spend time in the shelter front office and was much loved by the staff. It takes some time to go through the adoption process and while I was there I got to name two tiny adorable kittens. Duncan and Dougie. (Duncan after my Great Great Uncle and Dougie after Dougie MacLean.) Pretty fun stuff. So I signed adoption papers, she got microchiped... and the two of us went to Pet Co (they give discount coupons to those who adopt from the shelter) and bought a bunch of doggie stuff (she picked out her toys herself) and went home. Brian was in the living room and the look on his face was pure joy when we walked through the door. I had not told a living soul of my wild hair idea to bring a dog into the family. With Tasha kitty so old at 18 I did not want to bring home a kitten as she would get pestered and deserves better. Lily (renamed by Brian as Mai Tai was just a shelter name) just sniffs Tasha and then leaves her alone. She listens well and so far has left Tasha's food and box alone. I cannot imagine who would abandon such a nice dog; she was well taken care of, shows no signs of abuse. She is so smart and willing to please and will even 'shake' her paw when asked. She sits in the back seat of the car-no pacing or acting up at all. Both boys love her and is my not so secret weapon in waking them up in the morning. She got a bath and has settled into her new home. Granted I have known men with dogs, but it's been many years since I shared my life full time with one. We have had a couple of setbacks which is expected (she thought the towels drying on the line were her play toys) but all is well. In her behalf we have had gusty winds so they must have been flapping madly. (Now, in the lovely Scottish islands they have REAL wind, the kind that blows the rain sideways (no kidding), so our gusts are not so much.) I hope the vet will have a better idea of what is her other breed. She does not have the fluffy tail and fluffy hind quarters of a Shepard - and the shedding is very minimal (thankfully). Memo to self - take photos.

Bringing her home meant I had to finally get off my butt and fix the fences and gate and I am quite satisfied with my carpenter skills. We had a very early hot spell (in the high 90s, maybe broke 100! Yuck.) so it was a sweaty job but now it is done. There are a couple more boards I need to replace in due time as the cedar is rotten out in spots. I am sure the fence on the north side will fall down next winter so I am not wanting to put too much money into boards. The south fence fell down this past winter and my neighbor and I shared the cost in a new one. Thankfully, my insurance paid for the bulk of it. I saved a couple of unused kick board which came in handy!

In just a few years the boys will be gone and if I was going to get a dog, it would have to be now. They play with her and wear her out. She is so much fun to have around and I am sure my blogs will contain some news of her doings from time to time.

Connected

2008-05-10T20:15:00.000-07:00

Today was the last commitment Saturday for awhile! The ever growing weeds can now be pulled......

I guess I should have named my blog “Ode to the Hebrides” or something along those lines. But since music is my life long passion, a lyrical theme won out (at least for now).

For a while, I have immersed myself in researching the Hebrides through books, music, photographs and the internet (my book collection and research binder keeps growing). My head has been full of bits and pieces about the Gaelic people, past and present. I am afraid family and friends are just humoring me when I start in with, for example "did you know, in South Uist they discovered these really ancient mummies......" They are in for a long haul, as sharing what I am learning is part of the fun.

When I started this journey, I had no idea what I would find. I never imagined how invested I would feel.

I started looking at the past, but it is the present that is at the forefront. The outer islands are at a crucial crossroad. How do they balance maintain/preserve their culture and embrace the change needed to survive? The issues are varied and complex. Their young surf the world wide net and look to futures beyond fishing, crofting, micro-businesses,...of their parents and grandparents. Young women seek equality and a means for independence. The young people leave for opportunities simply not available on the islands, and in come the outsiders, looking for a place to retire. The outsiders (mainland Scots, English...) do not always understand the deep relationship the natives have with the land, or the customs so much a part of their lives. For hundreds of years they survived a harsh land. They did it as a family community with laughter and music and I think they did it well. The Gales do not get the respect they so deserve. Any change has to come from within and needs to be addressed now. Our world is a much different place, more so than in any other time in recent history. Along with economic concerns they face finding solutions to the environmental issues. Communities have come together to purchase and preserve large land grants. Small scale wind turbines dot the landscape, instead of massive turbine fields, which allows the multitude of birds to continue to flourish. The issues go on and on - there are no easy answers.

There is so much to write, which I will attempt at another time. But I have to mention the language- so amazing and so very mysterious. It is the hardest thing to attempt to wrap my brain about. Looks like nothing I have ever seen. I read they are not so concerned we outsiders pronounce words correctly (such kind people), as it is the meaning behind the words that matters most. Behind the name of a location, for example, is a story. The story has meaning - a history to be remembered. The connectedness is ever present. They do not simply ask you your name, but rather whom do you belong? How beautiful. So names would include daughter of so and so, grandson of so and so..... Keep in mind babies were (I guess still are) named after family members, so it is a way to keep everyone straight as to who's who (my own GG Grandfather John MacDonald shared his name with countless others; including his family lineage in his name was a simple solution). The names of towns are looking more and more familiar but I am positive I am butchering the pronunciation in my mind.

My children's first middle names are family names with a twist, which of course means there is a story behind them. They also both have my last name (which I reclaimed when their dad and I divorced) as a second middle name. It was really important that their names have meaning and a connection with their heritage. I may be a modern independent woman, but it looks like I am my ancestor's daughter after all. :)

stereotypes

2008-04-07T12:40:00.000-07:00

I have been pondering a bit about stereotypes and misconceptions ever since speaking with the Londoner who stopped by the office. (He works for an international company with an office in the north state.) I told him I was planning a journey, a pilgrimage of sorts, to the Hebrides, mainly to South Uist. It was very exciting as he was the first person I have met who had been to Scotland! I seized the moment and he was very agreeable to answering all my questions. We chatted for a while about Scottish Gaelic and heather and midges and Scottish “independence” from Great Britain and all sorts of things and I could tell he was amused. I continue to learn a lot by researching the net and it is all becoming sweetly familiar, but the practical stuff is evasive, like how much should one pay for a pair of Willies? (5₤) And yes, Skye is as impressively beautiful as the photos. Of course, I am partial to the windswept flat landscape of S Uist, but one can't deny the absolute majesty of Skye. (I found this dusty old book at the used bookstore amonst all the newer typical travel books. Had to use the footladder to get it off the upper shelf and from the moment I took at peak inside, I knew I had found a treasure. Written in 1929, H.V. Morton describes beautifully his emotional reaction to seeing Skye for the first time. On the boat through the mist.....)

I was taken aback by his comment that being from California translates to living in Hollywood, or at least having a Hollywood type lifestyle. Yikes. I don’t know what that means, but to be thought of as one of the self absorbed Plastic People is horrifying. LA is about 450 miles and a world away. I don’t live next to a movie star, I am not rich, I have never surfed, freeway driving makes me anxious, gas guzzlers disgust me, I don’t spend my days shopping, my breasts are real thank you, Botox injections are gross, my children were born naturally... (I know I appear guilty of stereotyping; there are many wonderful and genuine people living in So. Calif.)

It is challenging enough to come from a country whose politics are disliked (with good reason) by many. I never voted for George W or his father. (That's not to say those who voted for him are bad people.) I disagreed completely with the war from day one. I am far from perfect, but I do live within my means while many of my countrymen run up debt and use up natural resources. Naturally one cannot help but be an ambassador and represent ones country. My hope is to somewhat blend into the landscape (after all my face is Scot/Irish) and if I am to be sized-up, to be judged for who I am.

S Uist is a small place and I imagine everyone knows what you are doing before you do it! I have nothing but love in my heart and have faith in the people of Scotland to see that. From all accounts, they are warm, lovely people. I am a bit worried I might somehow offend without meaning to offend. Sunday sabbath is strictly observed for example. In the book A House By the Shore, Alison Johnson describes the American visitors as being polite, enthusiastic and friendly. Sounds just about right. (My friendly nature has not worked so well in my favor, as my attempt to make friends in the Hebrides has not been successful...yet. I hold to the belief one will click when it is supposed to.) I suppose there is some need to be accepted but I do not require validation to be content.

Just knowing my family lived and loved and died on this land is good enough for me. I can't ignore the call anyway. My sense is the natives are a very close nit, proud nationalistic people who have been screwed over time and time again by the English (government not people). Might make one cautious of strangers and to question motives. I think the language, music and culture is remarkable; it is strange to be on the outside looking in. 150 years ago John and Margaret, like so many others, had no choice but to leave. But, what would have happened if everyone had stayed. John & Margaret had 10 children which was probably typical. Could the island have supported the generations from all the families who left? I wonder. The islands would not be as pristine as they are today. It helps to think my family leaving had a positive effect in the long run.

And when I go, technically I may be a tourist, but inside I won't feel like one. If I help dispel any misconceptions about myself and where I call home, all the better.

All because of Ken

2008-02-26T08:36:00.000-08:00

This blog is a new project, and not of my choosing. I will however, attempt to figure it out so I can follow the AllyMar and make comments from time to time. So, Ken if you ever read this, it's all because of you. :) (I am also watching another blog containing amazing photos of the Western Hebrides. )

4/10/08 Update: Can't figure out how to add a great blog, Tales From the Outer Hebrides, to my link list. MySpace is so easy to use - this format is friggin frustrating. Oh well. Just wishful thinking.