For the Daily Prompt: riff.
I think of a rock and roll riff.
Lots of them.
And here is a rock. A rock and a leaf. A riff on rock and roll….
For the Daily Prompt: riff.
I think of a rock and roll riff.
Lots of them.
And here is a rock. A rock and a leaf. A riff on rock and roll….
In medical school I made a difference.
I was with two women and two men from class. We’d had a lecture on rape that day. One of the guys piped up, “If I were a woman and I was raped, I’d never tell anyone.”
“Man, I don’t feel that way.” I said, “I would have the legal evidence done, have the police on his ass so fast his head would spin and I would nail his hide to the wall.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Um, wow. Why?”
I took a deep breath and decided to answer. “You are assuming that you would be ashamed and that as a woman, it is somehow your fault if you were raped. I was abused by a neighbor at age 7. At age 7 I thought it was my fault. I thought I might be pregnant, because I was a bit clueless about puberty. I made it stop and tried to keep my sister away from the guy. When I went to the pediatrician the next time with my mother, I decided that since he didn’t say I was pregnant, I probably wasn’t. When I started school that year, second grade, I thought sadly that I was probably the only girl on the bus who wasn’t a virgin.
In college, I heard a radio show about rape victims, how they blame themselves, often think they did something to cause it, are often treated badly by the police or the emergency room, and feel guilty. All of the feelings that I had at age 7. I realized that I was 7, for Christ’s sake, I wasn’t an adult. It was NOT my fault.
If I walk down the street naked, I’m ok with being arrested for indecency, but rape is violence against me and no one has that right no matter WHAT is happening.
And child sexual abuse is one in four women.”
The two guys looked at the three of us. After a long pause, one of the other women shook her head no, and the other nodded yes.
The guy shook his head. “I never believed it. I didn’t think women could be okay after that.”
“Oh, we can survive and we can heal and thrive.”
We had the lecture on child sexual abuse a few months later. My fellow student talked to me later. “I thought about you and — during the lecture. I thought about it completely differently than before you talked about it. I would deal with a patient in a completely different way than I would have before. Thank you.”
previously posted on everything2.com in 2009
for the Daily Prompt: release
For the Daily Prompt: brave.
I took this in 2010, at a synchronized swim meet. These are very young swimmers, yet each girl is being lifted by three others, who are lifting only by swimming. They may not touch the bottom. It takes enormous amounts of practice and teamwork.
I hope that more women speaking up and saying “Me too” and refusing to tolerate the Weinsteins and all of the others will change the pattern.
Strong girls and brave women.
For the Daily Prompt: fortune, an old poem. This is the version I learned, but there are others… I think that I learned this from a nursery rhyme book, that had been my mother’s. A cautionary tale, perhaps….
“Where are you going, my pretty maid?”
“I’m going a-milking, sir,” she said
“May I go with you, my pretty maid?”
“No one will stop you, sir,” she said
“What is your fortune, my pretty maid?”
“My face is my fortune, sir,” she said
“Then I can’t marry you, my pretty maid.”
“Nobody asked you, sir,” she said.
Other versions:
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Where_are_you_Going_My_Pretty_Maid_(A_Baby%27s_Opera)
https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/A_Book_of_Nursery_Songs_and_Rhymes/Nursery_Songs/LIII._WHERE_ARE_YOU_GOING_MY_PRETTY_MAID%3F
http://www.bartleby.com/360/2/138.html
I took the photograph a few days ago at sunset. We are almost at the solstice. Blessings all.
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.
In 2011, when my sister wroteΒ Beast Cthulhu and bone metastases,Β 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.
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 and The Fox are what I think of as the two core family songs. We sang this from as early as I can remember and my father played the Band’s version on the record player all the time. I taped his records to take to college…
This is the song my parents chose to raise girls on? Oh, and I do have it memorized….
Ten years ago on a cool dark night
There was someone killed ‘neath the town hall light
There were few at the scene and they all did agree
That the man who ran looked a lot like me
Ok, it starts with a murder. Someone is killed, in the town, at night. Be careful, little girls, bad things can happen at night.
The judge said “Son, what is your alibi?
If you were somewhere else then you won’t have to die”
I spoke not a word although it meant my life
I had been in the arms of my best friend’s wife
It is about infidelity and not only infidelity, but infidelity with his best friend’s wife. This song is a morality play. He doesn’t speak. I see the magazines at the counters in the grocery store and think about how different this song is from our current culture. Divorce and splashed all over the papers, that’s what the celebrities do today.
She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave where the night winds wail
Nobody knows, no, and nobody sees
Nobody knows but me
So she doesn’t speak either. She remains faithful to him in visiting his grave, but the marriage must continue, because she only goes at night.
The scaffold was high and eternity neared
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But sometimes at night when the cold wind moans
In a long black veil she cries over my bones
She watches him die for what they considered a sin. This song is about ethics, really. The two of them had broken their code of honor and paid the price, which was that he died for a different crime. And did the man who really killed the person in the first stanza then go free?
Why wouldn’t they speak up? Perhaps she had children and he couldn’t support them. Perhaps they truly considered it a sin, a dishonor, a horrible mistake. Perhaps honor and honoring his best friend was more important than love…. Our current culture seems to think that love conquers all, but it doesn’t in this song. Did they do the right thing? This is a song to discuss and to think about and yes, a song to raise girls.
Though I think the husband and any children would know that there was something…. a parent and partner can’t really hide that deep sorrow….
It was written by Danny Dill and Marijohn Wilkin in 1959 and originally recorded by Lefty Frizzell.
Lefty Frizzell: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50k18gL76AU]
The Band, 1968
Johnny Cash, 1968
Lots of others…. and us.
The photo is me and my sister, probably in 1993 or 1994.
I knew the song “Billy Barlow” as “Let’s go hunting”. It was one of the silly songs that we recorded. I adored this song when I was little for two reasons. One was that it was funny. The other was that I interpreted it as a song that could be changed and sung about more than one animal. I can remember when I realized that no, the adults sang it the same way each time and they would not change the animal. I was disappointed but I still loved the song. And I could change the animal on my own.
It’s a good song to raise girls: an illustration of a group of guys….
Let’s go hunting, says Risky Rob
Let’s go hunting, says Robin to Bob
Let’s go hunting, says Dan’l and Joe
Let’s go hunting, says Billy Barlow
When my son was a teen, another parent commented that the IQ dropped in half for each teen added to a group. Two boys cut the IQ in half, three had it to one quarter and four was trouble.
What’ll we hunt for, says Risky Rob
What’ll we hunt for,
What’ll we hunt for,
Let’s hunt rats, says Billy Barlow
How’ll we catch them,
How’ll we catch them,
How’ll we catch them,
Let’s borrow a shotgun, says Billy Barlow
How’ll we divide them,
How’ll we divide them,
How’ll we divide them,
How’ll we divide them, says Billy Barlow
I also loved this song because the last line changed. Sometimes Billy Barlow said the same thing and sometimes he said something different. When I was very small and still learning the song, that was part of the joy of it, to see what Billy Barlow would do. And clearly he was wicked, like Coyote or Pan or Loki and going to lead the group to trouble if he could….
I’ll take shoulders,
I’ll take sides,
I’ll take hams
Tailbone mine, says Billy Barlow
How’ll we cook them,
How’ll we cook them,
How’ll we cook them,
How’ll we cook them,
I’ll fry shoulders,
I’ll boil sides
I’ll bake hams,
Tailbone raw, says Billy Barlow
Oh, delicious ickiness, raw rat tailbone… It would give my sister and me shivers….
Let’s go hunting, says Risky Rob
Let’s go hunting, says Robin to Bob
Let’s go hunting, says Dan’l and Joe
Let’s stay home, says Billy Barlow
And relief. Billy was messing with them all the time and he doesn’t want to go and he never did, which is why he suggested a shotgun to hunt rats…. I like this Billy.
When I search on Billy Barlow, here is an entirely different song, a civil war marching song for Company B from New York City that marched into Maryland in 1863 and had a 63% loss. My sister had a civil war marching band play at her rehearsal dinner and we ended up marching in pea gravel for a couple hours. It turns out that my oldest cousin had ambitions to be a marching band drum leader. The band thought we were so funny that they offered to return. But the civil war fighters on both sides had marching bands with them. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M1ZlfsP7dZA
And here is Pete Seeger with our song, in a slightly different style: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrgTOPufru4
And here is another site that says the song is a version of “The Cutty Wren” or “The Hunting of the Wren”. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P_oAPCVkMP0
The picture is my daughter. She was playing alone and was having a wonderful time with her imagination. I am not sure who took this picture…..
We sang Dark as a Dungeon as a family song and at singing parties from when my sister and I were very little. We learned many of the songs before we knew what the words meant. At some age I considered this a cautionary song and was glad that my father was not mining coal. I also decided that I didn’t want to mine coal.
It was written by Merle Travis, whose father was a miner in an Appalachian shaft mine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FPmSLzsbdM&list=RD-FPmSLzsbdM#t=1. Johnny Cash sang it: and Willie Nelson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKGCKwACj1I and Willie Nelson https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s66nbyzqq8o. It became a protest song, to fight for safer conditions. We learned this and Drill ye Terriers, Drill and Sixteen Tons, so we were raised on protest songs.
The song words have morphed a little, since we sang from memory. Here is our version:
Come all ye young fellows so young and so fine
And seek not your fortune in the dark, dreary mines
It will form as a habit and seep in your soul
‘Til the stream of your blood runs as black as the coal
Where it’s dark as a dungeon and damp as the dew
Where the danger is double and the pleasures are few
Where the rain never falls and the sun never shines
It’s dark as a dungeon way down in the mines
I wrote an essay in college about a song that I learned from my mother. I researched versions of Green Grow the Rushes Oh. I had always wondered about some of the verses, because it’s a counting song, from one to 12. Twelve for the twelve apostles and eleven for the eleven that went up to heaven. In an atheist household it takes a while to figure out the meaning of apostle. But other verses are mysterious to this day: nine for the nine Bright Shiners and eight for the April Rainers. In oral traditions if you forget a verse you make up a new one.
There’s many a man that I have seen in my day
Who lived just to labor his whole life away
Like a fiend with his dope and a drunkard his wine
A man will have lust for the lure of the mine
The comparison ofΒ mining to addiction impressed me: “it will creep in your soul, til the stream of your blood runs as dark as the coal”. “Like a fiend with his dope” — opiate addicts were called fiends. And people were called drunkards. So this song also made me cautious about both drugs and alcohol.
We didn’t learn the third verse:
The midnight, the morning, or the middle of the day
It’s the same to the miner who labors away
Where the demons of the death often come by surprise
One fall of the slate and you are buried alive
The last verse interested me. I liked the idea of bones turning to coal over time. My parents were atheists and did not go to church, but there were lots of songs that talked about God or heaven or the devil: including sacred music. We went to big chorus rehearsals when my parents couldn’t find a sitter and we were expected to behave politely during concerts: The Messiah. And we got to go to operettas. I saw Ruddigore in Ithaca at Cornell when I was 5 and the ancestral ghosts stepping out of their portraits and singing was terrible and wonderful.
I hope when I’m gone and the ages shall roll
My body will blacken and turn into coal
Then I’ll look out the door of my heavenly home
And I’ll pity the miners A-diggin’ my bones
The photo is my father’s family and he is in the back, first trumpet. This is the Bayers Family Orchestra. My great grandfather is conducting, my grandmother on violin and my grandfather on saxophone. They became a band when my grandparents moved away, because my grandmother was the only string player.
BLIND WILDERNESS
in front of the garden gate - JezzieG
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Or not, depending on my mood
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain!
An onion has many layers. So have I!
Exploring the great outdoors one step at a time
Some of the creative paths that escaped from my brain!
Books, reading and more ... with an Australian focus ... written on Ngunnawal Country
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
spirituality / art / ethics
Coast-to-coast US bike tour
Generative AI
Climbing, Outdoors, Life!
imperfect pictures
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
En fotoblogg
Books by author Diana Coombes
NEW FLOWERY JOURNEYS
in search of a better us
Personal Blog
Raku pottery, vases, and gifts
π πππππΎπ πΆπππ½π―ππΎππ.πΌππ ππππΎ.
Taking the camera for a walk!!!
From the Existential to the Mundane - From Poetry to Prose
1 Man and His Bloody Dog
Homepage Engaging the World, Hearing the World and speaking for the World.
Anne M Bray's art blog, and then some.
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