Slothoughts Hypolite

Yet another place for musings from a guy in the choir 

Christmas Memories

Many years ago, we visited the Unitarian church in the town where we were then living. They happened to have a music director, named Luther, who, among other things, had an amazing tenor voice and an aqua-colored, flowered Tuba. For some reason, I chatted with him for a bit, and found him to be friendly and not at all as forbidding as the conservatory students where I went to college. Those students made it clear that there were real musicians in the world, i.e. them, and then people who liked to do music, but weren't talented enough to be real musicians, i.e. people like me. Sort of like my friend Henry Brodkin used to say of the word goyim. There are the chosen people, and then there are the others. Musically, I was an other.
 
Anyway, Luther, the music director, didn't make me feel like an other, and next thing I knew, he was trying to teach me to sing. After all, as Luther used to say, "everyone can be taught to sing acceptably". In some respects, he did pretty well. I improved greatly under his patient tutelage, and most people would say I do indeed sing acceptably, perhaps even better than that. One is, however, limited by one's innate talent, and I never got good enough that anyone would ever consider giving me money to sing. But that wasn't important to me. All I ever wanted to be was a guy in the choir. Thanks to Luther, I got good enough that very few church choirs would now turn me away.
 
At some point, Luther decided to write some songs and record them. So he came out with a series of tapes. The subject of this post is the one he called Christmas Memories. The first side contains songs he wrote about the joys of Christmas from the perspective of Norwegian Lutheran from North Dakota. He extols the virtues of the various Norwegian Christmas delicacies, such as lutefisk and gamelost (some kind of smelly cheese), but most importantly about glögg.
 
Glögg is a potent adult-style beverage. My son Zach and I like to make it every year. While we make it, we sing along to Luther's Johnson's Glögg. One of the recipe requirements for Glögg is that you sample as you cook along. Such sampling means, among other things, that singing Johnson's Glögg along with Luther, over and over again, is never boring. At least not to Zach and me. Out spouses might have a different opinion on this.
 
 
Anyway, the point of all this is to tell you that I have made a special on-line flash player that plays all the songs in Luther's Christmas Memories, including, of course, Johnson's Glögg.
 
Skol!

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Adventures of a Househusband -- Part 1

In the middle of September, I decided I no longer wanted to show up regularly at
what had been my place of employment for the past umpteen years. I won't go into details, but suffice to say that there were issues with the environment at work that I was no longer willing to tolerate. To be fair, my own interests had also changed. For some reason, I decided that becoming a househusband would improve my overall quality of life.
 
Yes, I said househusband. I could not have contemplated leaving work had I not had a working spouse to provide health insurance. One of the most insane things in this life is the alleged health care system in this country. If you're rich, you can buy yourself some. If you're not rich, well, "life is tough". This is America, if you weren't born fortunate, then that's your problem, and most likely your fault as well. At least that's been the attitude of the people running the place the past 25 or so years. Obviously, they never read Matthew 21: 31-46. Weird, because they've been staunchly supported by people professing to be Christians, who really should have read Matthew 21: 31-46 multiple times.
 
Anyway, back to the househusband thing. The first thing I figured out was that househusbands had to fix dinner. I am a chemist, so I figured cooking was similar: just mix stuff up, heat gently for a while, and voilà, something good happens. We're not talking gourmet stuff here. Just comfort food, mostly. I must confess, that in addition to being a chemist, my mother vowed that no child of hers would leave home without being able to cook a simple meal and iron a shirt. Ironing shirts is a thing of the past, but cooking skills have retained value. Eventually, I'll post a photo gallery showing some of my creations.
 
Then I figured out that you can't really cook meals unless you have some idea as to what is in the pantry. So I had to take over buying the groceries. My wife thought that was a good deal. She hated grocery shopping on her own, and found it only barely tolerable even when she could get me to come along to help, which was most of the time. Actually, I didn't think it so bad. We went after church, and met a lot of our church friends in the grocery store. Ofttimes, we saw church friends in the grocery store who hadn't actually made it to church that day. UCCs aren't exactly known for their religious fervor or constancy.
 
Don't forget the dishes and laundry. Apparently, househusbands have to learn to wash things. It's not so bad, really. You just dump stuff in machines with appropriate amounts of soap and push a button. Eventually, things automagically become clean. At least that's the hope. I have yet to figure out general cleaning. Vacuuming rugs and the like seems to be actual work, so that's a task still to be learned. The one thing I learned about vacuuming, the one time I
tried—after spilling dirt all over the floor while I was re potting plants rescued from my former office—, was that it is hard work. It was very cold inside that day, but by the time I was finished vacuuming, I was becoming hot and sweaty. Clearly househusbanding is not for pansies.

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I pulled out all the stops...

... and it didn't help this year.

A few years ago, I discovered that if I folded origami cranes while the Red Sox were playing, that they would usually win. The crane folding even got them a couple of World Series wins. I'm sure it was the cranes that put them over the top, not the back-stabbing turncoat, Manny.

This year, I figured they needed a tad more help, so I kept a set of peace-seeds prayer beads handy while I folded the cranes. It almost worked. The Sox fought back from the brink of elimination in game five and went on to win game six. But, game seven was a different story. Either I didn't fold enough cranes, or I folded them with inadequate precision, or else the prayer beads thought the world would be a more peaceful place if an underdog won for a change. Bummer is all I can say.

Rest assured, my cranes and I will be back to make a difference next summer.

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Wish Me Luck as You Wave Me Goodbye ...

Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye by Vera Lynn  
(download)
... is what I should have used for the parting song I offered to the folks at the company I left last week, a place where I'd worked for more than half my life. Instead, I gave them a dose of We'll Meet Again. Both Vera Lynn songs, and both, no doubt, sufficiently outdated as to be meaningless to the folks I more-or-less left behind.
We'll Meet Again by Vera Lynn  
(download)

I won't get into why I up and left, but suffice it to say that I was not happy. I figure that after a few weeks of solitude and meditation, I'll have more positive views of the whole thing. So, to reflect this, I also left them all with the Edith Piaf classic, Non, Je ne Regrette Rien.

Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien by Edith Piaf  
(download)

Most likely, I should have also left them with another Vera Lynn song, a rather corny one, but one geared toward combating high levels of stress and uncertainty, Be Like the Kettle and Sing.

Be Like The Kettle And Sing by Vera Lynn  
(download)

In the coming weeks, I may begin to document my unemployment chronicles. We'll see.

 

 

 

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Bro. Claude I Ain't ... or Bro. Greg Either

Choir shuts down in June and we have to soldier on with volunteer musicians to provide special music in the summer, things like anthems and offertories. So, every year, I get volunteered to do music on the last Sunday of the summer, Labor Day weekend. The thought is that the fewest people will be in attendance for me to annoy. I view myself as a sort of Pete Seeger wanna be who is trying to sing gospel music.

One advantage to being at the end of the summer is that I can prepare music on vacation. In the evenings I sit down with my guitar, strum a bit, listen to the Red Sox a bit, sip beer a bit. A fine time. This year, it rained for all but about three days of my two-week vacation, so I figured the Good Lord was telling me to do music with a water/rain theme.

Before I understood the theme I was called to address, I had been learning a number of tunes I'd downloaded from Greg Scheer's site. Once I understood the theme, I only had two pieces from Greg that fit my water theme. Thus, I cast about for something else. Why not Send Down That Rain, by Bro. Claude Ely? Sure, the concept of latter rain led to heresy, but it's a nice tune, and the idea of a last-minute rain preparing us for the harvest, so to speak, isn't a bad concept.

I had learned Bro. Claude from an mp3 I acquired a number of years ago from the good folks at The Dove Song Foundation (who, alas, are no longer making mp3s available). I just made up some words and chords similar to what I had been hearing, and I was good to go.

As from Bro. Greg, I had learned the tunes from sheet music. This past Friday night, I discovered that Greg now also has mp3s available for many of his tunes. I decided it would be cheating if I heard how the song was intended to sound before I sang it in public, so I only listened to the mp3s after yesterday's service.

It turns out, I can't rock like Bro. Claude, nor can I be mellow like Bro. Greg. Sort of in the middle, I guess. My pastor said I made him think of Bill Staines. Perhaps what he was thinking was that I had a gray beard and glasses. I don't play guitar upside down and backwards, nor particularly well, for that matter.

For your listening pleasure, here are Bros. Claude and Greg. Think of me as being sort of in the middle, but with somewhat less talent. It's the spirit in which the gift is offered that counts, right?
 ------------------------------------ update -------------------------------

After choir last Thursday, I realized I should have said that you should imagine the songs as Willy Nelson might have done them.  My friends Brian, the crazy tenor in the choir, Norma, the woman who sits in the last pew on the right, and John, the late machinist where I worked, all told me that I was a dead ringer for Willy Nelson.  Again, I think it's the grey beard, with a hint of the red from former times.  But, who knows?  I've always liked Ol' Willy; I could do worse than remind folks of him.

 

  
(download)

Send Down that Rain by Bro. Claude Ely

Wash Me In Your Water by Greg Scheer  
(download)

Maybe The Rain by Greg Scheer  
(download)

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Parker Pond, Casco, Maine, August, 2008

We had our annual two weeks at Parker Pond again. Normally, I sit down by the water and read. Occasionally, I'll swim a bit. Mostly, however, it's Brewster who does the swimming. In the evenings, I'll have a couple of beers and strum my guitar, trying to figure out what I'm going to do for music in church on the last Sunday of the summer. We have volunteer "musicians" to make up for the lack of choir. So I get "volunteered" for Labor Day weekend on the theory that no one much will be around for me to irritate.

This year was a bit different. I still read a lot and strummed a bit. But it rained and rained and then, rained some more. The state of Maine was getting into the Olympic spirit by trying to set a record of its own: the rainiest August on record. By the 10th we were halfway there. No surprise then, that the music I've selected for August 31 all has a "water" theme.

Most years, I take lots of pictures of plants and reflections on the lake and, of course, myriad pictures of Brewster playing in the water. This year, it's pictures of fog and clouds and water coursing down to our cottage and mushrooms, lots of mushrooms. The one thing that likes cold and damp seem to be mushrooms. This year's pictures of Brewster mostly show him feeling confused by the cold and lack of sun.

But, we did have one nice day; we had some interesting cloud formations; Justin and Kim came up for a couple of days and Brewster got to swim with a human; and I made eight mini-strings of cranes. I call them car cranes because they're just the right size to replace the stupid fuzzy dice and St. Christopher medals people hang from their rear view mirrors.

So now we're back and the weather is nice again. But I'll spend the next 11½ months dreaming of Parker Pond. Even a bad week up there beats all hell out of anything else.

                                                   
Click here to download:
ParkerPond2008.zip (1442 KB)

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Some Origami Crane Pictures

                 

Click here to download:
Some_Origami_Crane_Pictures.zip (2678 KB)

After my son took me to visit Hiroshima in 2003, I began folding origami cranes.  Eventually, I wanted to see how small I could make them, so started making them from graph paper.  The graph-paper cranes eventually became dubbed, "nerd cranes".  Nerd cranes of different sizes make a nerd-crane family.  If I use different kinds of graph paper, it becomes a mixed-race, nerd-crane family.  As you can see, I have piles of them on my desk, computer and monitor.

At home we have flocks of them on most available horizontal surfaces, file cabinets, book cases, the piano, etc.  My wife is not thrilled with this, but she takes it with good grace most of the time.

The small strings of colored cranes are just right for hanging from a car's rear view mirror, in lieu of fuzzy dice or St. Christopher medals.  I talk to my car cranes as I drive.

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I Had Been Hoping for a Crane

My son forced me to go canoing on the Ipswich River a few weeks ago.  He does this every summer.  Anyway, we saw a bird that I thought might be a crane. I'm a bit of a crane nut, having folded thousands of paper cranes in the past five years. However, the guy who supplied us the canoe, Foote Brothers, said it was a white ibis snowy egret [thanks, Zach].  That's cool, but not a crane.

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A One-size Fits All World

So, according to their postings, Posterous is working on becoming a hub for all my social networking thingies. Allegedly, if I post on Posterous, they'll automagically send my posts on to Xanga and Tumblr and send a notification of such postings to my Twitter account. Presumably, one day they'll add things like Plurk, Facebook, etc. To save time, they could just do ping.fm, which will then do the extra work for them. That was easy.

In case you're wondering, I really don't have anything to say, I'm just trying the early stages out. Will this post show up on Tumblr and Xanga and will a notification go out on Twitter? We'll soon see. Sorry there's nothing more exciting.

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The Greatest Doo Wop of All Time



My friend Steve, complained that I'd posted a doo wop song. I only did it to honor my niece, 'Becca, who is über cool. Anyway, it started me thinking about doo wop, and clearly the greatest doo wop of all time is the Five Satins' In the Still of the Night. I've never understood why there seem only to be four members of the Five Satins. Perhaps the fifth is the sax player whom we don't get to see. Or perhaps, even in the olden days, folks liked messing with our minds. Anyway, for those of you who are not Steve, enjoy!

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