A Little High Strung

Headed to the quiet little kingdom by the sea to de-program a little. Whew whee.

Observations at the boat show...

Boat show was fun as usual. It's always nice to see such a large group of men having such a splendid time. We waited in line awhile to take off our shoes and venture below on a nice boat with a million and a half price tag. There was a video running on the TV below deck demonstrating the fun to be had and a round bed that Hugh Heffner would have approved of. This million and a half boat had a grill on deck. I lifted the lid to find two fake steaks. The next boat we went on was rather ordinary yet still had a $80,000 price tag. It also had a grill, but when I lifted the lid, alas, two fake wieners.



Cabin of the million and a halfer. No TV on the wiener boat.

Muddy and Jerry

We are bombarded with new experiences every day. You forget most of them, you remember a few things for a short while, and even fewer others for a long while. But the experiences you have in your early and mid 20's are just different. The people and things you are exposed to at that time have a way of sticking with you forever. I feel that if you want to look back and wonder why your life took the turns it did, then look no further than your 20's.

I love almost all kinds of music, but I probably would not have become the big blues fan that I am had I not been exposed in my teens and twenties to someone who lived for the blues. I would often tire of listening to the poor quality recordings of Lightning Hopkins and Howling Wolf at that time, yet now this music helps define who I am. It is a part of me because someone I loved brought it to my life, like it or not.

I was remembering today one of the best concerts I ever saw-Muddy Waters in 1975. He was playing at an old auditorium at a small college (Erskine) about an hours drive away. I went with old blues lover and our best friend. There were only a few hundred people there and every single one of them felt it that night. The auditorium seemed ancient, all dark wood with high ceilings, and lining the walls, huge windows that were open. I think it was Spring or Fall.. I remember the breeze was cool that blew through the windows. Muddy was powerful as everyone knew he would be. But what was unexpected, was the harmonica player, Jerry Portnoy. He was small, slick, and straight from Chicago. He came out in a tight black suit and had on white leather loafers. He carried a black briefcase that he opened up and it was full of silver harps. The cool breeze blew through the windows, you could smell the old wood and floor cleaner in the auditorium, and Jerry Portnoy was absolutely unbelievable. The harder they played, the harder the breeze blew and before it was over the room was in a frenzy. I will never forget the way it felt in that old auditorium that night and the power and mystery of it all.

Old blues lover is dead now-- today would have been his 56th birthday. Jerry went on to play with Eric Clapton and I recently downloaded some music of his from itunes. There are some good videos of Muddy and Jerry from a year later, 1976, on You Tube. The best one, that I've watched over and over this evening, is the performance of a song that I remember them doing that night, but had forgotten the name- it was Blow Wind Blow.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eu3CbGyKgiA

Happy Birthday to the "Mad, Bad and Dangerous" Lord Byron

"In solitude, where we are least alone." Lord Byron

Lord Byron, the Romantic Anglo Scottish poet, was born this day in 1788. He was the public "bad boy" of his time. His treatment and his life shows us that celebrities in the early 18th century endured much of the same torture from fame as those of today, even without modern media.

Byron had a deformed foot from birth which caused a limp and lifelong misery. "The Morning Post in particular has found out that I am a sort of Richard the third--deformed in mind and body--the last piece of information is not very new to the man who passed five years at a public school." He also constantly worried about his inclination to plumpness and was a vigorous dieter, feasting for days on soda water and crackers. He was tortured because of who he loved, regardless of who was the rumored object of his affection: hundreds of women, men, boys, or his half-sister. He wrote beautiful poems to the men he loved using deceptive female names in them to avoid attacks. He loved animals, and began collecting exotic pets, including monkeys, a bear cub, badgers, foxes, an eagle, crocodiles and of course, his beloved Newfoundland dog, Boatswain. Boatswain contracted rabies and Byron nursed him for days until his death, without concern for his own safety. "Epitaph to a Dog" was for Boatswain.

Byron would be treated with so much hostility on the streets of England that he would only venture out in disguise. He was experiencing the lonliness of being recognized everywhere you go. Finally, it all got to be too much so he left for Greece in hopes of finding more acceptance of his lifestyle. The Greeks welcomed and worshipped him, and when he died there at age 36, they buried his heart under a tree before embalming his body and sending it back to England. His body was delivered to Westminster Abbey, but he was turned away. Unexpectedly, there was a public outcry for the dead poet and viewing of the body was in such demand that he was publicly displayed for days. Tickets had to be sold for the viewing and a wooden frame built around the coffin to prevent trampling by the crowds of newly devoted fans, mostly hordes of tearful ladies. He was buried next to Ada, his child that he never knew. Later, his body was exhumed and moved to Westminster Abbey to the Poet's Corner.

His contemporary Englishmen were never really able to prevent his provocative lifestyle from overshadowing his beautiful work. Sounds a little familiar.

I became especially interested in Byron when I was in my 20's after my friend, Ron, saw where Byron had etched his name in the castle wall of Chateau Chillon while traveling in Switzerland. Byron wrote the epic poem "The Prisoner of Chillon" after visiting the castle with his buddy, Percy Shelley in 1816. Byron was fascinated by the legend of Francois Bonivard, who was allegedly kept prisoner in the castle's dungeon. I'm not sure if he was channeling Byron or Bonivard, but my friend, the voice of strength in suffering, unexpectedly recited a long section of the poem in the backseat of my car once when drunk. It was inspiring. The first line of the sonnet version, "Eternal Spirit of the chainless mind" reinvents "Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind" from Pope's "Eloisa to Abelard."

Byron was also one of the five writers present for that locked-up wet and spooky weekend in June when Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein.

It's done: quit work after 32 years

So many decisions are made based on money....


This helped me make the decision...


"To be truly challenging, a voyage, like a life, must rest on a firm foundation of financial unrest. Otherwise, you are doomed to a routine traverse, the kind known to yachtsmen who play with their boats at sea...cruising it is called. Voyaging belongs to seamen, and to the wanderers of the world who cannot, or will not, fit in.
But we are brainwashed by our economic system until we end up in a tomb beneath a pyramid of time payments, mortgages, preposterous gadgetry, playthings that divert our attention for the sheer idiocy of the charade. The years thunder by, the dreams of youth grow dim where they lie caked in dust on the shelves of patience. Before we know it, the tomb is sealed. Where, then, lies the answer? In choice. Which shall it be: bankruptcy of purse or bankruptcy of life?"

From The Wanderer by Sterling Hayden

Know Your Ocean: Palmetto, the mysterious Northern Right Whale, loves South Carolina.

"The happiness of the dolphin is to exist. For man it is to know that and to wonder at it."
Saint Jacques Yves Cousteau

The distinctive V-blow of the Northern Right Whale.

Palmetto, with her unique Palmetto tree on her head.


I just got back from a visit to Sullivan's Island where I did a little whale searching. The Northern Right whale can often be seen off the South Carolina and Georgia coasts from November through January during breeding and calving season. When you think of South Carolina, you don't really think about whale watching, but they are out there. In fact, we have a mysterious visitor who has been spotted off and on for several years off the South Carolina coast. Her name is Palmetto and she got this name because she has the SC state tree, the Palmetto, on her head. Her palmetto tree is actually formed from her callosities, callouses filled with tiny whale lice, which give each Right whale an identifying fingerprint. A group of elementary students in Sumter, SC noticed the palmetto tree resemblance and had her officially named by the New England Aquarium. Palmetto has fascinated researchers due to her mysterious appearances. She disappeared for 7 years as a young whale, then reappeared in 1996 with her first calf. She disappeared again, then was seen in 2005, just beyond the breakers at Pawley's Island, SC with another new calf. She seems to be visiting us to show off her new babies.

Right whales probably got their name because they were the "right" whale to hunt. They have lots of blubber, swim close to shore, and float easily after being killed. This led to them being the most endangered whale species in the world with only about 400 individuals. This makes the sighting of 39 calves off the SC coast last year especially exciting.

A Palmetto tree at Fort Moultrie...a good spot to look for whales.

These tiny cyamids are relatives to shrimp and crab. They were nicknamed "whale lice" by early whalers who probably were pretty familiar with the human variety with which they share a resemblance. The cyamids give the whale's callosities their white color.

Above is a picture taken of the Yang Ming cargo ship as she passes by Sullivan's Island on the way to Charleston Harbor. Right whales are especially vulnerable to ship strikes because they swim slowly, swim close to the shore, and they lack a dorsal fin, making them harder to spot. A new controversial Federal regulation limits a ship's speed coming into harbor in hopes of preventing whale strikes. Yang Ming seems to be doing a good job of following the speed limit. One of my favorite sounds is to be awakened in the middle of the night at Sullivan's Island from the deep rumbling of a ship's fog horn.

Check out your whale tale: place sides of hands together, palm up, slightly cup hands and tighten grip as if holding water... your own distinctive whale tale will appear. Maybe we are more connected than we thought. Learned this trick from a friendly fisherman.

On the Move

Off on a 3 or 4 day adventure.

Thank-you Mad Men

Frank O'Hara: 1926-1966. A charismatic figure who trusted his emotions, loved his friends and his city, and enhanced a mythological period of self confidence in American art and culture. O'Hara wrote much of his poetry in spare moments: while at lunch, on a ferry ride, or in a bar... all while he was very busy living life.

I am a little behind everyone else. I just finished watching the 1st and 2nd season of Mad Men on DVD. I am always excited and surprised when a TV show incorporates literature- especially when they do it well. Another bonus comes when the feature exposes you to an artist or works that may have previously slipped by you. I had heard of Frank O'Hara, but had not read his work until watching the Mad Men episode where Don Draper receives the "challenge" from the Boheme in the bar. The Boheme is reading a copy of O'Hara's book, Meditations In An Emergency, and when Don asks if it is good, the reader replies "I don't think you would like it." We don't expect Don would like it either, or have a real interest, but herein lies the magic of this character- the next thing we know, he is reading it... and beautifully reciting a portion from "Mayakovsky"... and mailing the book to an unknown person with the inscription.. "this made me think of you." The day after this episode aired on TV, Amazon sales of Meditations went from a ranking of 15,657 to 161. This reinforces my belief that people like poetry and want to read it, but often need permission from our pop culture to do so. Since I don't have the book, yet, I am posting the portion of the poem so I can have easy access. The best way to experience it is to watch Don Draper read it in the show. Thank-you, Mad Men.

From "Mayakovsky"

Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.

The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.

It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? and if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.

Frank O'Hara

Cat in the Hat and Truths

I have a cat, Bob, who is 16 years old. He hates cold weather because it seems to hurt his ears. He avoids going outside when it is this cold and folds his ears down while running out the door. I had a silly thought that I might be able to purchase or make a fur hat for him. For ideas, I entered an online search "fur hat for a cat" and this is what came up:

I am in middle of watching the Madmen series on DVD... why can't all writing on TV be as good?
"Draper? Who knows anything about that guy? No one's ever lifted that rock. He could be batman for all we know." Harry Crane

Jon Hamm: aka Don Draper, Batman: where the truth lies...I need a moment alone, thank-you.

Goats Discover Coffee

There is a legend that an Ethiopian goat herder named Kaldi noticed his goats were in an unusually frisky and spirited mood after they grazed on a bush of coffee berries (each coffee berry contains two beans). Kaldi, in his boredom, decided to try the magic berries himself and then danced the afternoon away with his goats. He became a fan, of course, and spread the word about the energizing effect of the red berry. The first coffee clutch began.
Notice the nosey voyeur in the picture who can't resist joining the fun. A nice coffee bar in Atlanta (Decatur-W. Ponce de Leon), named in honor of this legend, Dancing Goats. Great coffee, great bakery, and lots of nice art. Give it a try if you are ever near as it is a good one.

This coffee cup with the handsome goat is from Zazzle.com. You can drink and pay homage to the one who made it all possible.

Altar to St. Caffeine

This is a altar I made from recycled items in honor of St. Caffeine. This one sold, but I am working on a few more due to requests. Also in the works, altar to the honorable goat.

Start me up.

Blocked Caller ID

Blessings

The Three Magi, Balthasar, Melchior and Gaspar--I'm liking Gaspar's red shoes.


Today, Jan. 6, is a busy day...the Feast of the Epiphany, Day of the Three Kings and day for the Blessing of the Waters. There is a tradition on this day for the Priest to use chalk to write the initials of the Three Magi- Balthasar, Melchior, and Gasper(Casper), over the door of community churches and homes to grant a blessing to the building and its occupants. In many countries, this day is their Christmas gift day. Children would leave their shoes on the doorstep the night before and receive a gift from the Three Kings in their shoes the next morning. In ancient custom, the Priest would also use this date to announce the date of Easter since calendars were not easily available and it was time to plan the celebrations of the liturgical year.

This painting by Polish painter, Teodor Axentowicz, 1893, captures a chilly version of the Blessing of the Waters. A hole is cut in the ice, and the Priest dips a cross three times into the water. In warmer weather, especially in Greek tradition, a cross is thrown into the water and gathered believers jump in to recover the cross. Whoever retrieves it and returns it to the Priest receives a special blessing for themselves and their household. There is a huge celebration of Blessing of the Waters in Tarpon Springs, Florida. Many of the early settlers came there from Greece because of the local proliferation of sponges and the sponge trade.

It's colder right now in the places that are usually warm and therefore have a large homeless population. If you see a homeless person with a pet, chances are that person won't receive protection from the cold weather because homeless shelters are rarely able to accept pets. (last I heard, there were only two in the country willing to do so). If you should encounter this situation, it might be a good time to offer some help. Provide the person and pet with an extra blanket, some food, or better yet, if you live where they have homeless shelters, call your local shelter and volunteer to house the pet for a night so it can be safe and warm and its owner can rest comfortably in a shelter. If I were alone and homeless, I can't think of anything that would bring me more comfort than a pet. Homeless people love their pets just as you and I do. By the way, if you ever want an easy way to glimpse the true character of someone you know, observe how they react to a homeless person. This picture is from the website, Feeding Pets of the Homeless. It pretty much sums it up.

A Mind of Winter

Wallace Stevens, the Insurance Executive and Poet. 1879-1955.

The Snowman

by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and boughs

Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time

To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think

Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land

Full of the same wind

That is blowing in same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds

Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Wallace Stevens was a philosophical poet who said "reality is an activity, not a static object." A law school graduate, he spent 40 years as an insurance executive, writing unbelievable prose in his spare time. He became a noted poet later in his life, winning the Pulitizer Prize in 1955, the year of his death. A man of the North, who fell in love with Key West, where he broke his hand in a brawl with Ernest Hemingway. I have a vision of Stevens in his pin-striped suit and Hemingway in rolled up kakis, wrestling on Duval.

This is one of my favorite poems. There is no connotation of cold or misery for me in its verses. I never walk in the snow without hearing it... and I never hear it without taking a walk in the snow. Then I become the snowman and behold the nothing that is and is not there. I definitely have a mind of winter. I am hoping for snow on Thursday.

Nifty Fifty and he feels fine...

Hai Michael Stipe, you goblin. I look for you everytime I go to Athens.
I also never tire of the innocence of this photograph.

The big winner: Keurig

Now Christmas is officially over and everyone is deeply involved in a steamy love affair with their Keurigs. It is the best new product since panty hose...well almost-nothing will ever beat that one officially. No waste, no coffee pot to clean, precise control of brewing, consistent quality, and LOTS of choices. Not to mention the fun and satisfaction in digging through a basket of those little pods and choosing the one that will be yours. In case you are a newcomer to this little miracle, the mini version does happen to have a carrying case option. I am beginning to hear tales of "where I Keuriged." A few: In my bathroom while I took a shower, in a hotel room, in my Suburban, on the screened porch, at a rest stop, at a movie theatre restroom, in my favorite bar, by the pool in Las Vegas, at a Starbucks, watching the sun rise on a fishing pier, in a Yurt in the snow. Oh yeah.

Swimming with Bears: New Year's Day 2010

Friday (New Year's Day) was the 16th annual Polar Bear Swim at Sulllivan's Island, SC. Don't let the "Island" word fool you...it was around 45 degrees, overcast and there was a whipping wind. The gathering of decorated swimmers and liquid preparation for the event began downtown early Friday morning, creating a festive, "something big is gonna happen" atmosphere. The lead in to the swim was a bagpipe ensemble on the beach, escorting the Dunleavy family who are the owners of Dunleavy's Pub and the hosts of the swim. Proceeds from the event go to sponsor the Special Olympics. The most amazing part of the whole gathering is the costumes. To mention just a few of the celebrities in attendance: Wonder Woman, Davy Crockett, Paul Revere, Mullet Man, Southern Gentleman, a complete band of Zombies drinking from a bucket of "blood juice", two vampires, and my very, very, favorite-a male "I dream of Jeanie" driving a golf cart toward the beach full of somber participants- complete with cigar, Ray-bans, long blond ponytail, two-piece jeweled outfit, and hairy legs.

The anticipation builds as the mob of over 2000 gathers at the starting ribbon. There is an official countdown, and the air fills with whoops and hollers as everyone runs down the beach
and into the water. (It was reported that an overly excited Zombie broke through the ribbon early, creating a chaotic "I'm breaking the rules" scene and a little crowd mayhem.) Then it's all over, except for a few hardcore stragglers, and everyone leaves the beach to walk together to downtown Sullivan's for more partying. There is this weird and wonderful sense of brotherly love in the air that you get when a mob of people survive something a little traumatic together. Everyone is refreshed, washed of their 2009 sins and hangovers, and ready to start the New Year. I've never been to a greater New Year's day event. Will definitely return next year for number 17.

(Note: the picture at the top is from last year's event, taken by the Berkeley Post--Elton!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-mQ7txjolQg

Thanks for the Christmas cheer, Sullivan's Island Fire Department!

On several trips to Sullivan's Island since October, I noticed that the hunky firemen there were always gathered in the yard of the fire station, working with great consolidation of effort around the building. Now we know what those bad boys were doing... the picture does not even begin to do it justice. It is a work of art. Every time you ride by during Christmas, it serves as a great reminder of all these guys do for the community.

Happy Birthday J.D.

J. D. Salinger is 91 today. Most people don't realize he is still alive. That fact probably brings him some pleasure. He got famous and he didn't like it, so he became a recluse, and now we don't like him. As you looked at the Blue Moon last night you were also looking at a Crater named in honor of Mr. Salinger's character from Catcher In The Rye, Holden Caulfield. According to a NASA spokesperson, the honor was bestowed because "Holden forces us to look introspectively at ourselves and to therefore better understand those around us." Hoorah for a nice meeting of Art and Science. Over 60 million copies of this book have been sold. I re-read Catcher when I was 45 and it spoke to me then as loud as it did at 16. For all of us who are over 35, we may want to consider adding this book to our New Year's resolution list....so we won't become part of the problem. Blessings for a Happy New Year.