No words… song. For Wordless Wednesday.
No words… song. For Wordless Wednesday.
For the daily prompt: Treasure.
This is another song to raise girls. My sister and I loved the double twist at the end. This is a courting song, to be sung by at least two voices. At music parties, my parents would sing it to each other. We would join in joyfully.
First voice:
I’ll give to you a paper of pins
and that’s the way our love begins
If you will marry me oh me,
if you will marry me
Second:
I’ll not accept your paper of pins
if that’s the way your love begins
and I won’t marry you oh you
and I won’t marry you
I’ll give to you a dress of red
all sewn round with golden thread
If you will marry me oh me,
if you will marry me
I’ll not accept your dress of red
all sewn round with golden thread
and I won’t marry you oh you
and I won’t marry you
I’ll give to you a coach and four
so you can ride from door to door
If you will marry me oh me,
if you will marry me
I’ll not accept your coach and four
so I can ride from door to door
and I won’t marry you oh you
and I won’t marry you
I’ll give to you the keys to my heart
so we can love and never part
If you will marry me oh me,
if you will marry me
I’ll not accept the keys to your heart
so we can love and never part
and I won’t marry you oh you
and I won’t marry you
I’ll give to you the keys to my chest
so you can have money at your request
If you will marry me oh me,
if you will marry me
I will accept the keys to your chest
so I can have money at my request
And I will marry you oh you
and I will marry you
I love coffee and you love tea
you love my money you don’t love me
And I won’t marry you oh you
And I won’t marry you
I’ll take my tea and sit in the shade
I think I’d rather be an old maid
And I won’t marry you oh you
And I won’t marry you
We were interested in the escalation of the offer and that in the end, the woman was quite clear: she did not love him and was not for sale.
There are multiple versions on YouTube with different words. I like the one by Rose Lee and Joe Maphis.
The photograph is of a sewing kit. It belonged to Margaret White, my maternal grandmother’s oldest sister. It says: J. A Henckel, Twinworks, Germany. The paper is a paper of needles, needles of different sizes. I liked small things, so my mother let me have this kit. I have used it since I was a child. Some of the pieces were missing from the start, but I suspect that those that remain are ivory. My grandmother was born in 1899, so this kit would be from the early 1900s. I carefully kept all of the needles in their paper packets.
Wings
I try out
for a solo
singing
my director
is pleased
I am growing
she says
I am beautiful
she says
I look like a different person
she knows
a little of what I have weathered
my patient
is 86
and her husband died
in December
she misses him so
as she comes into the room
one day
she says
you look as if you have wings
and are ready to take off
and I freeze
for a moment
in surprise
that she can see
my wings.
Jump is the daily prompt today and that makes me think of JUMP BLUES!
I have been dancing jitterbug and swing and zydeco and salsa for more than 30 years. Met my kids’ father swing dancing. A friend made us a tape of Jump blues: It ain’t the meat by the Swallows is one of my favorites. GREAT song to dance too as well as being appreciative of all sizes and shapes of the opposite sex…Here is a more Jump blues: http://www.allmusic.com/subgenre/jump-blues-ma0000002678
I took the photograph at Synchronized Swimming Nationals in 2012… speaking of jumping. This double lift is done by the other six swimmers under the water, never touching bottom.
This is for photrablogger’s Mundane Monday #66, night lights! This is a light show with a band at the Palindrome, a summer solstice fundraiser for BOOMFEST.
I danced on the porch because it was too loud and smokey inside. The High Council was playing… I wanted to catch the laser show and I liked the frame of the doors. Worked on the third try!
In 2011, when my sister wrote Beast Cthulhu and bone metastases, about her breast cancer being a treatable chronic illness, I was so sad…..
….because it was not true, even though I wished it was.
The perils of being the doctor sister.
It was clear that her cancer was progressing. Yes, she could request to continue treatment. Yes, they would keep treating her….
….but it wasn’t working.
The hematologist-oncologist chooses the best treatment first. Chris Grundoon was 41 and very strong and healthy so they hit the cancer as hard as they possibly could. Chemotherapy, mastectomy, radiation therapy, a second degree burn on her chest wall. It was stage IIIB to start with. Cancer is staged 0 to IV. Zero is “carcinoma in situ”, cancerous cells that have not even invaded their neighbors. Stage I is very local. Stage IV is distant metastases. Stage IIIB of ductal breast carcinoma means multiple lymph nodes, but not the ones above the collarbone, and no cancer in bone, brain, lungs or liver.
She had two years in remission.
The cancer recurred with a metastasis above the collarbone. The cancer had morphed as well, as it often does. Most, most, most of the cells were killed… but those that survived… were different. Now she was estrogen receptor negative, progesterone receptor negative and her2 negative. All genetic markers which help decide which treatment is best and how to target the cells. More and more are being found.
Our mother died of ovarian cancer. I went with her to her oncologist only once. My mother said that her CA 125 was rising, and of course she could do more treatment if she needed to. The doctor said something positive. I followed her out of the room. Once the door was shut I said, “My mother is talking about another clinical trial! She can’t do that, can she?”
“No,” said the oncologist, “Of course not. She is too advanced. But we will treat her for as long as she wants.”
Whether it works or not. Because she wants to be treated. In spite of diminishing returns.
My sister passed her five years from the day treatment ended. So technically she is in the five year survival group even though then she died. When she was diagnosed, the five year survival for her type of breast cancer and stage was about 5%. It had improved to 17% by 2011.
Her oncologist told her “I am referring you to hospice.” in the spring of 2012. She went to San Francisco to talk to another group about a clinical trial. But it was too far and too late. She refused hospice until about two weeks before she died. Fight to the end, she was willing to fight even when the oncologist said, “You are dying.” She had promised her daughter and promised her husband.
I saw her three times in the last two months before she died. She seemed angry to me on the last visit, glittering, knife edged. I tried to sing a lullaby, but she wanted something else. “Samuel Hall?” I guessed. She smiled and I sang it. My name is Samuel Hall and I hate you one and all. To the gallows I must go, with my friends all down below. Hope to see you all in hell, hope to hell you sizzle well, damn your eyes, damn your eyes. Then she trusted me to be present whether she was angry or sad or confused or once even happy, glowing, transported, transformed….
Some people do not go gentle. That is their right. It is their death, not ours, not mine.
The photograph is from the memorial here… My father had end stage emphysema, on steroids and oxygen, and I was hospitalized with strep sepsis the weekend of her first memorial in California. We could not go. Many people from our chorus Rainshadow Chorale came and we are singing the Mozart: Requiem Aeternum. My father died fourteen months later.
Sing for the girls who grow up in war zones.
Sing for the girls who grow up scared.
Sing for the girls who grow up abused.
Sing for the girls unprepared.
Sing for the girls who grow up with alcohol.
Sing for the girls who grow in broken homes.
Sing for the girls who don’t tell anyone.
Sing for the girls alone.
Sing for the girls who grow up beaten.
Sing for the girls who grow up raped.
Sing for the girls who care for siblings.
Sing for the girls who learn to hate.
Sing for the women who now look frozen.
Sing for the women who now look old.
Sing for the women who survived it anyway.
Sing for the women who told.
Sing for the girls who grow up broken.
Sing for the girls who break everything.
Sing for the girls who break the silence.
We are broken and breaking: sing.
I took the photograph at the US Synchronized Swimming Nationals in 2012.
E for envy. Envy is the second of the 7 sins. Perhaps a sin, but we are all human. I think that we all have the full spectrum of feelings. It is not a matter of refusing to feel something: that does not work well. My minister speaks of when we feel very virtuous and raised up, that is when we are most in danger of treating others badly, and he quotes Luke.
Luke 11:43 “Now when the unclean spirit goes out of a man, it passes through waterless places seeking rest, and does not find it. 44″Then it says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came’; and when it comes, it finds it unoccupied, swept, and put in order. 45″Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first. That is the way it will also be with this evil generation.”
Is the unclean spirit a feeling that we think is a sin or a feeling we interpret as bad or evil? That could be one interpretation.
In contrast, Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi in The guesthouse says:
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
As an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
And why welcome and entertain them all?
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
—–translation by Coleman Barks
So: envy
noun, plural envies.
1. a feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another’s advantages, success, possessions, etc.
2. an object of such feeling:
Her intelligence made her the envy of her classmates.
3. Obsolete. ill will.
verb (used with object), envied, envying.
4. to regard (a person or thing) with envy: She envies you for your success. I envy your writing ability.
He envies her the position she has achieved in her profession.

I did Gallery Walk in our downtown on Saturday. We are blessed with artists and there were many pieces that I liked. I did not buy any. I ended up in a small shop with singing bowls. The owner sells them but he also has a set that he keeps. He started to play the bowls, each on it’s small cushion. I have three bowls, smaller ones, that I have bought over the years. I love the ring and the resonance and the held note. But I learned something new: he used the felted end of the mallet and could make the bowl sing another way. I have never seen this before. Some bowls sing a different note with the felt. I covet the large deep bowls: I bought the largest one I could afford five years ago. But his are gorgeous in sound. I looked at a price tag. Ten times the cost of the one I bought.
He also explained that different notes are used for healing and for the different chakras. The size and the thickness of the bowl affects the note, whether it is high or low, whether it rings. The metal affects it as well and he has a bowl with meteorite. A full set would be seven, though many people use sets of three that sing together.
I bought mine separately, so I came home to try whether any would sing with felt and whether they are tuned to each other. They are tuned, but I cannot make them sing with the felt yet. I will take them to him for a lesson…. I am envious of his bowls….
And the photo is my daughter, at the end of a twelve mile mountain bike race Sunday. She does not even look tired! I am envious of how in shape she is: she swims three to five miles six days a week during swim season and exercises most days. I am just starting to build back up, but I am unlikely to catch up with her! Envy… I am hoping that it will motivate me to exercise more….
The last time I visit my sister in hospice, my cousin is sitting by the bed when I arrive.
My sister looks terrible and like she is suffering. She is in renal failure and her eyes are slitted against the light. She is in a hospital bed and barely eating. It takes me three days to figure out how to make her comfortable.
But when I first arrive, I say hello and hug her. She laughs and it is dark.
She doesn’t want to talk. “Shall I sing to you?” I ask.
She nods.
I start singing a lullaby: I gave my love a cherry.
She shakes her head: no.
I study her. “How about Samuel Hall?”
She smiles and nods.
“My name is Samuel Hall,
Samuel Hall, Samuel Hall.
My name is Samuel Hall
And I hate you one and all
you’re a bunch of buggers all
damn your eyes, damn your eyes
you’re a bunch of buggers all
damn your eyes.”
Another song to raise girls. We adored it, because it is unrepentant, horrible and had swears.
I killed a man tis said
and I left him there for dead
with a bullet in his head
damn his eyes
My cousin’s eyes widen. “I haven’t thought of that song in years.” he says. He starts singing along, remembering.
They took me to the quod
They left me there by God
With a ball and chain and rod
Damn their eyes
My cousin has two children. I guess he is not raising them with the dark songs we were raised with….
The preacher he did come
And he looked so goddamn glum
As he talked of Kingdom Come
Damn his eyes
My sister is smiling, eyes slit against the light, angry.
The sheriff he came too
With his boys all dressed in blue
They’re a bunch of buggers too
Damn their eyes
To the gallows I must go
With my friends all down below
Saying “Sam, I told you so.”
Damn their eyes
I see Nellie in the crowd
I am shouting right out loud
I shout “Nellie, ain’t you proud!
Damn your eyes!”
“Let this be my parting Nell
Hope to see you all in Hell
Hope to Hell you sizzle well
Damn your eyes!”
And my sister laughs and then she sleeps for a while, angry, angry at death.
My name is Samuel Small: http://www.wtv-zone.com/phyrst/audio/nfld/02/sam.htm
My name is Samuel Hall: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iSpk1t4WYNY
My name is Samuel Hall: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pxiPCw21T-w
and Johnny Cash: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ss_KyPfM1es
This is not the suffering photo. I can’t bear to post that….
This is for photrablogger’s Mundane Monday #34.
I was downtown in the early morning for coffee and a walk. I walked out to Port Hudson. The wind was blowing very hard and the rigging was singing that eerie whistle wail. There are giant cleats out as both seats and advertising. I put one of my earrings on the cleat and took the picture. The earrings were my mother’s. After she died I looked at her jewelry. She loved little boxes and I was trying to understand the organization of the earrings. It was not by value, since plastic and gold were all mixed together. She was an artist and organized the earrings by color. These little plastic eiffel towers were in the box with red and pink earrings of all sorts. They are probably at least 30 years old. The tower looks so small against the black cleat with the rainwater. I hope that we can all care for each other through storms and fear.
BLIND WILDERNESS
in front of the garden gate - JezzieG
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