Five Embarrassing Songs

I’ve been tagged by Britgal to list five songs that I am embarrassed
to admit to actually enjoying. This is not a hard task. I have tons!

The rules:
1. Post the link to the person who tagged you and post the
rules on your blog.
2. Share 5 songs you are embarrassed to admit to others that
you like and tell why.
3. Tag 7 random people at the end of your post.

Click on songs for a listen on YouTube.

1. The Spectrum Song, Ludwig Von Drake, Disney.
This is probably my most embarrassing song. I will always love it.
I had a 45 RPM single record in 1961 I played constantly on my
little record player. I still drive those around me nuts by singing it
...but only occasionally.

2. Substitutiary Locomotion, Angela Lansbury, Bedknobs
and Broomsticks. This is my song. I own it. I sing it while
cleaning up the supper dishes. (I think I am actually hoping the
magic kicks in and the dishes will do themselves.)

3. Rainy Days and Mondays, Karen Carpenter.
I am taken straight back to the summer of 1973 with this song.
It will always hold a special place in my heart. Don’t laugh.

4. I Love, Love, Love Being a Pig, Sesame Street.
Stuck in my head from the days when my kids used to
watch a lot of Sesame Street. This one is sung in a deep
baritone voice. Morning is best for the low, husky pig sound.

5. And last, but not least, My Favorite Things, Julie Andrews,
Sound of Music. It always makes me happy. Always. It induces
twirling around the room. Soul mates, remember?

So, there you have it! I have totally embarrassed myself
for your reading pleasure. I have many more, but I will
spare you the agony.

Thomas Hart Benton

I love, love, love the extraordinary artwork of Thomas Hart Benton, and not just because he was an old Missour-ah guy, like my WT. His naturalistic regionalism movement works are mostly associated with the Midwest. They are powerful and energetic, with just the perfect amount of fluidity, while exuding a marvelous sculpted quality.

When we lived in Kansas City, MO, I enjoyed the sizable collection of his work at The Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. Benton actually taught there from 1935-1941, his most famous student being Jackson Pollock. The museum is also home to his masterpiece, Persephone, his recast of the Greek myth in a rural setting, where a farm girl is caught sunbathing by Hades, portrayed by a lustful aging farmer. Much like his contemporary, Diego Rivera, his Indiana Murals stirred quite a controversy, when he refused to sugarcoat the state's history, including a portrayal of the Ku Klux Klan in this work. The murals are now on display at Indiana University in Bloomington,
where my daughter did her undergraduate work. If you are interested in discovering more on Benton, Ken Burns made an excellent documentary on his life, part of his American Stories
series.

People of Chilmark, Thomas Hart Benton, 1920

Lala's Olive and Ham Loaf

Here's another great recipe from Lala. If you love olives, like we do,
you will really enjoy this wonderful olive and ham loaf. It's delicious
and savory; perfect paired with a big salad for a light summer supper.
I doubled the recipe and baked it in a loaf pan. Emmenthal cheese is
what we call Swiss. You can convert the grams to ounces online, or
eyeball it, like I did. Thanks, Lala! This was a wonderful treat!

Olive and Ham Loaf

180g of flour
200g of green olives
100g of ham
100g of grated Emmenthal cheese
1 dosis of baking powder
13cl of olive oil
10cl of milk
3 eggs

Slice the olives. Mix the flour and the baking powder. In a bowl,
whisk the eggs, the olive oil, the milk, salt and pepper. Pour the
preparation into the flour and mix carefully until the mixture
becomes homogeneous. Then add the olives, the cheese and the ham.
You can also add some herbs, parsley etc. Pour the preparation into a
mold and bake in the oven for 40 min at 180ºC. Let it cool. Serve the
cake lukewarm or cold with a salad or as an appetizer.

Note: As you can see on the photo, I use green olives stuffed with red
pepper. They're already salted so I don't add salt in the recipe.

Willow's Weekly Word

Russian Queen of Clubs, Willow's collection

Poker is a big deal here at the Manor. Even before its recent rise in worldwide popularity, we have always played in on holidays and special occasions when the kids were growing up. All the participants must wear a silly hat, which adds to the ambiance, and it is extra fun because we play with a gigantic stack of old, pre-1989 Polish zlotys. We played it here on July 4th, but it was a tad too warm for the crazy hats!

So, how did this card game come to be called poker? Well, it's German in origin and came from German word pochen,which means to brag or to knock. Funny, because this knock is still used today to show that a player is passing on his bet and also quite a bit of bragging is involved among the players! The name seems to have originated into the United States from New Orleans, due to its similarity to the French game of poque. Southern gentlemen, in their

genteel drawl would pronounce it pok-uh. So, there you have it.

Beach Memories and Mr. Kaye

The Bathers, Pablo Picasso, 1918

We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy

ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater

off our bodies, and the sand out of our belongings.

.....

Erma Bombeck

I love this painting by Picasso. It conjures up memories of our family

trips to the beach when our children were young. It is so soothing

with nothing to do but to listen to the gentle roar of the waves and

spend the morning searching for the most beautiful shell. These

thoughts also bring to mind a cute little poem I loved as a child by

Dorothy Aldis.

The Picnic

We brought a rug for sitting on,

Our lunch was in a box.

The sand was warm. We didn't wear

Hats or Shoes or Socks.

Waves came curling up the beach.

We waded. It was fun.

Our sandwiches were different kinds.

I dropped my jelly one.

And since our discussions on Fred Astaire the other day led to the
subject of the sweet and charming Danny Kaye, who stars in some
of our dearest Manor favorite films like White Christmas, The Court
Jester, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and The Pirate and the
Princess, I couldn't resist including this priceless beach picture!

Dream Maker

Moon Painting, 2008, Louise LeBourgeois

Moon River
music by Henry Mancini, lyrics by Johnny Mercer
1961

.....

Moon River, wider than a mile,

I'm crossing you in style some day.

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker,

wherever you're going I'm going your way.

Two drifters off to see the world.

There's such a lot of world to see.

We're after the same rainbow's end--

waiting 'round the bend,

my huckleberry friend,

Moon River and me.
.....

I love Audrey Hepburn singing this song in Breakfast at Tiffany's.
It's slow, mellow, melancholic and so touching. For some reason,

unbeknownst to me, it has been haunting me all summer long, day

and night. I'm humming and singing it constantly; when I'm driving,

doing the dishes and even typing this blog. I know you are just itching

to know this little tidbit of valuable information. The suspense is

probably giving all of you a terrible case of insomnia! Just hum a few

rounds of Moon River. It will put you right to sleep.

Separated at Birth

TCM is having a month of big band movies and I saw Fred Astaire with
Paulette Goddard in Second Chorus (1940) Wednesday night. Sadly,
Astaire just didn’t sparkle the way he does when paired with the lovely
Ginger Rogers. It was fun, though, to see Artie Shaw playing himself,
along with his band. Fred Astaire is great, a legend, of course, but I
always prefer Gene Kelly. For one thing, Kelly is far more handsome
and I like the smooth, athletic feel of his dancing. And is it my
imagination, or do Fred Astaire and Nancy Reagan look exactly alike?

Christina the Astonishing

Last week I enjoyed adding many of my books to the little library
gizmo on my sidebar. I happened onto a book that I had totally
forgotten. Lucy's Eyes and Margaret's Dragon, The Lives of the Virgin
Saints, charmingly written and illustrated by Giselle Potter, whose
illustrations have been published in The New Yorker and The New
York Times Magazine. This book contains short bios on thirteen
female saints, accompanied by fabulously quirky paintings. Today,
July 24, happens to be the feast day of Saint Christina the

Astonishing, who is also the patron saint of psychiatrists. She was

born in Brussels in 1150, orphaned at an early age and suffered from

epilepsy. At 21, she suffered such a massive seizure, that witnesses

assumed she had died. At her funeral, she was said to have rose from

her coffin and levitated to the church rafters. The mourners all fled in

horror except for her sister, to whom Christina complained of the

offensive garlicky breath of the congregation! She explained that she

had returned to liberate the souls she had seen in purgatory. For the

rest of her life she had an acute sense of smell and often climbed tall

trees to escape the odors of man! (I have often wondered what life

before toothpaste must have been like.)

.....

"Many texts question the existence of some of these women, but
whether they are mythical characters of heroines of history, they
still have admirers around the world. These virgin saints are

examples of strength and courage for all women." Giselle Potter

Sleep (or Lack Thereof)

La Mere, Elizabeth Nourse, 1888

......

Summertime, and the living is easy
Fish are jumping, and the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich, and your ma is good looking
So hush little baby, don't you cry.
Summertime, lullaby from Porgy and Bess, 1935
......

The original version of this song is quite soothing, and somewhat

slow and melancholy, in natural minor. Gershwin was actually

inspired to write the song after hearing a Ukrainian lullaby,

Oi Khodyt Son Kolo Vikon (A Dream Passes by the Window).

I love to fall immediately into a delicious deep sleep and then

sleep through the entire night. This scrumptious sleep was

always taken for granted in my younger years. Unfortunately,

I can all too often identify with this poem by Billy Collins. I think

next time, I’ll try counting jumping fish in a lovely field of water.

Insomnia

by Billy Collins
Sailing Alone Around the Room

After counting all the sheep in the world
I enumerate the wildebeests, snails,
camels, skylarks, etc.,

then I add up all the zoos and aquariums,
country by country.

By early light I am asleep
in a nightmare about drowning in the Flood,
yelling across the rising water
at preoccupied Noah as his wondrous
ark sails by and begins to grow smaller.

Now a silhouette on the horizon,
the only boat on earth is disappearing.

As I rise and fall on the rocking waves,
I concentrate on the giraffe couple,
Their necks craning over the roof,
to keep my life from flashing before me.

After all the animals wink out of sight
I float on my back, eyes closed,
I picture all the fish in creation
leaping a fence in a field of water,
one colorful species after another.

Jumping Trout, Winslow Homer

......

I even found The Willow’s Lullaby by Priscilla Hernández.

If this doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will...

Click (here) to listen.

I've noticed that other bloggers have recently reposted some of
their older posts. It's a great idea, especially since back when I first
started I only had about three readers; two were family members
and the third, myself! So, I dug this one out of my archives and
dusted it off. It was orginally posted February 28.

There Will Be (in my) Blood

This photo was taken in about 1912 in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My Great-Great-Grandparents are on the left, Palestine and Mary, their daughter Winifred, who we fondly called "Auntie", their friends Jesse and Mable in front, and Mable's mother and sister in back. They moved their family to New Mexico from Indiana in an effort for their son, Guy, who was ill with tuberculosis, to recuperate.

Parts of the movie, There Will Be Blood, were actually filmed outside of Albuquerque. When I saw this film, I was transported straight back in time to the 1910 Albuquerque of my ancestors. I have never been there, but immediately recognized the rocky stubble of the landscape.

I have often wondered how Palestine's voice and accent might have sounded. In the film, Daniel Day-Lewis, who played the part of Daniel Plainview, was silent through the opening mining scenes. When he started to speak, in the first meeting with the townspeople, I felt chills listening to his character's distinctive voice! I was instantly back in time ... it could have been Palestine himself speaking! Day-Lewis studied oral histories of the time period to create his unique American accent and style of speech. I was absolutely mesmerized by his Oscar winning performance.

I also felt my roots in the wonderful surveying scenes, since I have several generations of surveyors from this ancestral line. Palestine, as well as his father, Joseph Lorenzo Dow Hanna, were surveyors. JLD served as county surveyor in Howard Co., Indiana from 1861-1865. I just might have to go back and see this film again, before it leaves the theater, just to feel my DNA tingle.

Willow's Weekly Word

The word of the week, here at the Manor, definitely has to be
swashbuckler. Most of us know that it has to do with sword
fighting, but what is the connection? Well, I did a little research
and here is what I found. A buckler is a small shield and to swash
is what we might now call to swish. A swashbuckler swishes his
sword and rattles it on his shield or buckler. So, there you have it.

swords at Willow Manor

And why, you are wondering, is swashbuckler the word this week?
Because I just watched The Duelists, Ridley Scott's first feature film
and it is positively magnificent. Since it was made in 1977, I was
prepared for some shoddy costume design, slightly off sets and weird
70's hair, but was I ever wrong! This film is an absolute masterpiece.
The fabulous costumes were done by Italian designers, with over
19,000 pounds spent on the two officers' uniforms alone. (And we
are talking 1977 prices here.)

There were no sets constructed for the film; all the filming was done
in gorgeous original structures in rural France. Scott's masterful use
of natural lighting in many of the inside scenes is beautifully soft,
like a fine oil painting. The plot is taken from the story by Joseph
Conrad, The Duel, set during the Napoleonic Wars. It is the story of
two French Hussar officers, Keith Carradine and Harvey Keitel,
(love-love Harvey Keitel, by the way) whose quarrel over a minor
incident, escalates into a consuming and passionate contest, ruling
their lives for the following 30 years.

The stunning swashbuckling scenes between the two stars are
completely authentic, with genuine time period swords. And there
is a breathtaking horse riding duel scene that is now one of my
favorite movie scenes of all time. I highly recommend this story of
obsession and honor. This beautiful, beautiful film is a new manor
favorite.

Lala's Gazpacho

I know...I posted something already today, but I just made this
delicious gazpacho for lunch. It's the perfect summertime meal,
cool and refreshing! Lala posted this last week and it looked so
wonderful, I had to give it a whirl. I was right...it is!! Quick and
easy, too. Thank you Lala, for this scrumptious recipe!

Lala's Gazpacho
450 g (or 6-8) ripe plum tomatoes
1 green pepper, seeded and roughly chopped
1 red pepper, seeded and roughly chopped
1/2 cucumber, roughly chopped
1 onion roughly chopped
red wine vinegar (15 ml / 1 tbsp)
olive oil (15 ml / 1 tbsp)
salt, black pepper
ice cubes (3-4)

Mix and process all the ingredients in a food processor until
you get a homogeneous mixture. Pour the gazpacho into a bowl.
Add the ice cubes to chill the soup quicker and place in the fridge
to cool. When you serve it, you can sprinkle finely chopped green
pepper and cucumber to decorate. Once made you can keep the
gazpacho for a couple of days in the fridge.

(photo by Willow)

Friday Fun

Are any of you bloggies out there T.J. Maxx shoppers? It is a
hit or miss, treasure hunt kind of place, so you really can't have
anything in mind when you go. WT travels extensively, but when
he's home, we always eat lunch out on Fridays at our favorite
Chinese place, which conveniently happens to be located three
doors down from T.J. Maxx. Many times, I find absolutely nothing.
But this week I found one of my favorite Boleslawiec Polish pottery
mugs. Yay! And as you wait through the maze to the checkout
counter, all kinds of teasers are placed strategically along the route,
including books, one of my many weaknesses. This one, Williams-
Sonoma Breakfast, was lurking there, waiting for me. I can't wait
to try the Prune and Armagnac Clafoutis and the Broccoli Rabe,
Pesto and Smoked Mozzarella Strata. Mmm.

My Ten Year Old Self

Willow, age ten

Not too long ago, I read an older post by Susan, that was so touching. She suggested finding a picture of your ten year old self, framing it, and loving that little person. Travel back in time and imagination and see yourself at ten.

I remember the clean, light sky-blue walls in Miss Reddel's classroom. My best friend, Carol James, and I spent hours pulling the pills from her hand knit cardigans and saved them in giant fuzz balls in our desks. We would giggle with delight when we showed up at school wearing the same poor-boy sweater, with a blue-rose print. We were green with envy when Carol Newman wore her black pointy toe shoes without any socks. How scandalous. Peggy Guichard had the most wonderfully thick Rapunzle braids hanging long, past her waist. We took turns pulling them, like the reins of a pony.

Speaking of ponies, it was one of the most happy and carefree times of my life, frolicking around on wild colt legs. After ten, it is never quite the same. Preteen awkwardness and peer pressure anxieties set in; we are expected to grow up. I love how Billy Collins expresses his ideas on the subject.

On Turning Ten

by Billy Collins

The whole idea of it makes me feel
like I'm coming down with something,
something worse than any stomach ache
or the headaches I get from reading in bad light--
a kind of measles of the spirit,
a mumps of the psyche,
a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul.

You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
But I can lie on my bed and remember every digit.
At four I was an Arabian wizard.
I could make myself invisible
by drinking a glass of milk a certain way.
At seven I was a soldier, at nine a prince.

But now I am mostly at the window
watching the late afternoon light.
Back then it never fell so solemnly
against the side of my tree house,
and my bicycle never leaned against the garage
as it does today,
all the dark blue speed drained out of it.

This is the beginning of sadness, I say to myself,
as I walk through the universe in my sneakers.
It is time to say good-bye to my imaginary friends,
time to turn the first big number.
It seems only yesterday I used to believe
there was nothing under my skin but light.
If you cut me I would shine.
But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,
I skin my knees, I bleed.

The Widow of St. Pierre

I was chatting with Poetikat about how much we both adore the film
The Widow of St. Pierre, a French film set in 1840's New Foundland.
Starring the fabulous Juliette Binoche, who seems to be the star of the
week over here at the Manor, and the oh, so handsome French actor,
Daniel Auteuil. This true story is about a captain of the guard and his
wife, who adopt as their protege a sweet and gentle man, who has
committed a meaningless murder. As they wait for the arrival of the
guillotine from France, the captain's wild and unconditional love for
his wife results in his own destruction. The gentle giant of a prisoner
is expertly portrayed by the talented Yugoslavian director, Emir
Kusturica. The excellent screenplay, costumes and breathtaking
scenes of the islands and sea are an added bonus to celebrated
filmmaker Patrice Leconte's wonderful ability to allow the stellar
talent of these veteran actors to carry the film. WT fondly calls me
his "an iron fist in a velvet glove", but I think the phrase is perfect
to describe Juliette Binoche in this role. She is the perfect melding
of softness and strength, as the benevolent wife of the captain.
There is also a poignant irony in this film, in the fact that the
townspeople dub the guillotine the widow. This exquisite, slow
moving, period piece is filmed in French with English subtitles,
which in my opinion, adds to the authentic history and romance.
It's perfect, absolutely perfect; a story of redemption, forgiveness
and true love.

And a little interesting side note, the ship that brought the guillotine
was played by the Gazela Primeiro, a Portuguese fishing vessel,
which now lives at Penn's Landing in Philadelphia. I was fortunate
enough to see it in May while visiting my daughter.

Gazela Primeiro, Penn's Landing, Philadelphia

photo by Willow

Willow's Weekly Word

Stag at Sharkey’s, George Bellows, 1909,

Cleveland Museum of Art

WT was enjoying an old movie on TV the other night, in the same
area where my computer desk is set up. I overheard one of the
thugs say, "Put up your dukes!" You know the accent. Now

where in the world did this phrase originate? I did a little research

and found that it was because the Duke of Wellington had a very

large nose. Just wait...I’ll explain. Therefore, men with large noses

were called dukes. Then, over time, just their noses became known

as dukes. A hand, clenched into a fist, was called a duke buster. The
buster part was later dropped and the fists became dukes. I know
this sounds a bit far fetched, but take my word for it!

I love, love, love the artwork of George Bellows, 1882-1925.
He was a native of Columbus, OH and best known for his bold
depictions of urban life in New York City. The Columbus
Museum of Art has a sizable collection, that I often enjoy.

...and while we are on the subject of dukes, have you seen the
movie Gosford Park? Jeremy Northum, in the role of Ivor
Novello sings this charming little ditty, that is sure to make
you grin.

What a Duke Should Be, from Theodore and Co., 1916

In B.C. 33 Ah, me! That's a dash long time ago.
There lived a Roman hero who had shaken hands with Nero.
And the history you shall know.
He was introduced to the king of Gaul, whoever that might be.
And crossing in galley with a Norman wench got pally
They went and founded me.

When old Canute was buying fruit one day, so runs the tale.
A young convicted felon brought him a juicy melon.
And was then released from jail.
This noble youth to tell the truth, Sailed right away to sea.
And the Duke of Malta's daughter brought up his shaving water.
And the grand result was me.

So if you wonder what a duke should be,
Just you take another look at me.
I'm doubty, I'm gouty, I'm wonderful to see.
All my people 'pon my soul it's true.
Look on Noah as a parvenu.
By gad, you can search your family tree,
But you'll never find - you'll never find - you'll never find
a duke like me!

Willow's Potato Salad

It must be my Scots-Irish DNA speaking, but I love potatoes; any

kind, prepared any way. This summer, I concocted this version of

potato salad. Everybody here at the Manor is absolutely nutty about

it. Hope you and yours enjoy it as much as we do!

Willow's Potato Salad

12 large sized red potatoes
1 1/2 cup mayo
1/4 cup Dijon mustard
2 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper
1/4 cup dried or fresh snipped chives
1 tsp smoked paprika

1/4 tsp onion powder (not onion salt), optional

Simmer the whole potatoes, skins on, in large stock
pot until very tender. Cool completely. Mix ingredients
and add to sliced, cooled potatoes. Serve immediately
at room temperature.

A Kind of Sorcery

One of the books I am currently reading is Chocolat, by Joanne
Harris. It is a short novel and could easily be read in an afternoon,
but I have about five books in my current stack, and it keeps on
growing. Since I've been spending more time blogging, I find I am
spending far less time reading! Anyway, I adored the movie
starring Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp and am just now getting
around to reading the book, which I am absolutely loving, by the
way. Here's a wonderful little excerpt, which describes exactly how
I feel about the art of cooking:

This is an art I can enjoy. There is a kind of sorcery in
all cooking; in the choosing of ingredients, the process of
mixing, grating, melting, infusing, and flavoring, the recipes
taken from ancient books, the traditional utensils--the pestle
and mortar with which my mother made her incense turned
to a more homely purpose, her spices and aromatics giving
up their subtleties to a baser, more sensual magic. And it is
partly the transience of it that delights me; so much loving
preparation, so much art and experience, put into a pleasure
that can last only a moment, and which only a few will ever
fully appreciate.

Sleeping in Church

Pappy posted about the topic of sleeping
in church last week and it reminded me
of a conversation I had with my dear 93
year old grandfather, who passed away
last year. We were chatting and he asked
me if I remembered going to church with
him, when I was a little girl. I did, indeed,
remember and had fond memories of
sitting, curled up next to him in the pew.
I was inspired, a few years back, to write
this poem as a tribute.

Indian Church, painting by Emily Carr, 1929


First Brethren Church, 1959

The steeple bells are silent
and all now assembled.
Backwards in the pew,
I scan the parishioners.

Men are tall dark trees.
Ladies in plumed hats, tropical birds.
One, with red lipstick, a parrot.

Sun kaleidoscopes through stained glass.
I wonder at the windows in revered worship;
torch, harp, and Jesus the Shepherd.

I trace the carved chairs at the altar.
The pattern of my eyes
are mirrored in their wooden backs.

Nodding head slumps to Grandpa's knee;
a prized butterscotch lifesaver
sticks in the palm of my hand.

Suddenly awake; seats creak
as the forest groans to its feet.
Trees and birds sing out in unison.
So it ever shall be! World without end. Amen. Amen.

Assassin

I've mentioned before that my youngest son is home from college
on summer break. When he came home from work the other
day, he had a fascinating bug in his hand, which he found on
some foliage outside. I'll have to admit, it's been a while since
I've had a bug in a glass jar on the kitchen counter, but we had
to get a better look at this unusual guy! His tail was curled up like

a scorpion. After looking online, we decided that he was an assassin

bug. Venomous saliva is pumped into his victim through his beak.

Ick! Not only that, but if he bites a human, it can be very painful

and cause an allergic reaction. So, after we took a few photos,

through the glass, Mr. Assassin was escorted back outside, by

Manor Security.

Willow's Weekly Word

I think etymology is incredibly interesting and have decided to
make it a regular feature on my blog. I am constantly using odd
words and phrases and wondering where in the world they came
from and why. Here’s an interesting one, that is part of my
vocabulary. Scuttlebutt. No, it doesn’t have to do with a part
of your anatomy. It is a compound word formed from scuttle, “a
small opening or hatchway in the deck of a ship, furnished with
a lid” and butt “a large cask, especially for holding wine or water”.
So, a scuttlebutt was a cask used to carry a day’s worth of
drinking water aboard a ship, or, in more modern times, it is a
drinking fountain aboard a ship. The term scuttlebutt “gossip”
emerged as sailors would congregate around the scuttlebutt
and engage in friendly chat and gossip. I guess you could say
that blogging was a form of scuttlebutting, don’t you think?
And I think these handsome young sailors look dashing in their
hats, too!

Captain's Hat

Then...
The Ladies Home Journal, September, 1905
Willow's collection


and Now!
Vanity Fair, August 2008

I was thumbing through the latest edition of Vanity Fair magazine

today and saw this nice little piece on the talented Kelly Macdonald.

She is exceptionally great in Gosford Park, by the way. But the thing

that caught my eye was the fact that she is wearing a captain's hat in

this photo shoot, just like the model on the cover of the September

issue of The Ladies Home Journal, 1905, painted by Harrison Fisher.

After 100 years there's still something very attractive about a

woman in a military hat!

The Juice Guy

This summer, both of my sons work at an upscale local deli. The older
is the manager and the younger is working there between college
semesters. At the dinner table they often talk about this odd character
who is constantly trying to convince my son to stock his international
boxed juice. The routine basically goes like this. Older son will be
back in the deli, busy whipping up a massive container of artichoke
dip, when he feels something tickle the back of his neck. He whirls
around and there is this quirky mumbling juice salesman, who, for
some unknown reason, likes to sneak in and stand as close as
possible to him, his beard actually touching the back of his neck!
This peculiar juice guy thinks my son is eventually going to give in
and stock his strange juice, if he becomes his friend. Now, I have
never seen this unusual man, but they say that he is short and has
a ten inch red beard, growing straight out from his face. When he
talks, he tilts his head back and actually peers up at you through
his dense red beard. In my mind, I have conjured a "Billy Gibbons"
kind of guy, with a backpack full of curious looking juice boxes with
flavors like beet-rye and some kind of unknown berry nectar.
Interestingly enough, this summer at The Manor, the term
"The Juice Guy" has amusingly taken on a similar connotation to
"The Cable Guy". If he shows up here this week, looking for my
son, he'll need no introduction. I'll know exactly who he is and I'll
tell him to leave a juice sample in the old ivy covered mailbox at
the front door!

I've Been Tagged!

Stevyn has kindly bestowed a meme upon me! Here’s how it

goes…List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what

the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any

good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping

your summer. Post these instructions in your blog along with

your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what

they’re listening to. So, without further adieu, here are my seven

songs. They are a random, odd mix, and probably not exactly

what you would call "summer songs", but these are the ones I've

been enjoying, in no particular order, that are currently rattling
around in my head.

1. Take This Waltz, Leonard Cohen. I just got The Essential
Leonard Cohen two disc set and this one has been stuck in my
head for two solid weeks. Its haunting waltz rhythm, combined

with Cohen's deep voice has me completely mesmerized.

He is addicting.

2. j'ai perdu mon Eurydice, Gluck. This is another hauntingly
beautiful song, only toh-ta-wee different from the first. Maria

Callas does a nice job singing it, but I much prefer my daughter's

lovely rich mezzo voice. Gorgeous, absolutely
gorgeous. I can listen to this over and over and over.

3. Skylark, k.d. lang. I love her voice..."sad as a gypsy
serenading the moon"...smooth and touching....ahhh.

4. Three Shakespeare Songs op. 6, Roger Quilter. Bryn

Terfel sings these on his Silent Noon album. Melting, powerful
baritone voice. Okay, you are realizing by now that I am in
the "hauntingly beautiful" mode.

5. Goldberg Variations, J.S. Bach. My recording is of Glenn
Gould playing this, which I think is best. But Anthony
Hopkins does a great, creepy job playing it himself in

Hannibal.

6. Laura, Kevin Mahogany. Even more haunting with a twinge

of melancholy. Perfect for my particular summer mode.

7. Moon River, Audrey Hepburn. One of the few recordings of
her actually singing herself. Yep. Sad and slow. Love it.

And... 8. A song that is in my head, totally against my will,

because WT has watched The Producers twice, is Keep it Gay.

Someone help me, please!!!

~~Now, I am off into the Bloggyhood to play some tag...

Make me a willow cabin...

Fisherman's Cottage, Harald Sohlberg 1907

William Shakespeare (1564-1616),

from Twelfth Night, Act I, Scene V.

Make me a willow cabin at your gate,

And call upon my soul within the house;

Write loyal cantons of contemned love

And sing them loud even in the dead of night;

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills

And make the babbling gossip of the air

Cry out 'Olivia!' O, You should not rest

Between the elements of air and earth,

But you should pity me!

Happy Fourth!

Have a safe and happy Fourth of July, dear bloggies!