Showing posts with label John Denver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Denver. Show all posts

Friday, June 26, 2020

Take Me to Tomorrow (John Denver)

Another "interesting" week.  Trump's approval rating continues to go down although, sadly, Florida's confirmed cases of coronavirus are on the rise, substantially.  We've edged up the last few weeks from 3,000 to 4,000 to 5,000 (daily!), and today registered almost 9,000.  Yikes.  Masks, people.  It's not that hard.  As Leonard Pitts said in his 6/25/20 column, "...listen to the experts. After all, they don't know who you voted for.  And the virus doesn't care."

Two Zoom calls this past Tuesday, in the morning with Nancy and Judi, and the evening with Brian, Robby, Reba, Dave, Nancy, and myself.  A patio visit with Reba Wednesday afternoon, followed by our regular Parlour Vegan trip (at this rate, I am working my way, happily, through their menu...  :-)  Another visit with Nancy to SusanP's place at the beach.  thankyoujesus, the water was calmer, but there was lots of seaweed plus a heat advisory (felt like 105!), which motivated me to order some watershoes for the next time (thanks for the idea, Nance!).  Heavily immersed in the novel American Dirt, which has had its share of controversy but is stunningly written and deeply engrossing.  Leftovers for dinner tonight.  Same old, same old.  So close to finishing the clearing/organization of the guest room closet.  Entertaining or having company would provide the impetus to just get it done, but no guests on the horizon, obviously.  Just the two of us since March 13.  As long as we can get Instacart groceries, a weekly meal (Chinese or Italian), and the occasional Amazon need-du-jour delivered, I'm okay with the limited face-to-face company.

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 


~ Padma Lakshmi Finds a New Voice, Amplifying the Voices of Others:  “Taste the Nation” is her new series on Hulu, with 10 episodes that collectively expand and redefine the meaning of American food.


~ Rhinestone masks and $9 hand sanitizer: A COVID-19 store just opened at Aventura Mall:  Welcome to the COVID-19 pop-up store. May we take your temperature?


~ Who’s in the Running to Be Joe Biden’s Vice President?:  Here are 13 women who have been under consideration by Mr. Biden, and why each might be chosen — and might not be.


~ Although James Corden, Reggie Watts and The Muppets can't be together in a studio, the group comes together on video chat to sing The Beatles classic "With a Little Help from My Friends." Sing along with Kermit, Fozzie, Miss Piggy, Swedish Chef, Animal, Gonzo and so many more.


~ Virtual benefit concert to assist Academy of Music Theatre:  Some of the Pioneer Valley’s most notable musicians will virtually gather to perform songs that celebrate summer and raise funds for Northampton’s oldest performing arts venue.  “Summer Songs: A Virtual Benefit Concert for Northampton’s Academy of Music Theatre” will take place on July 1 at 8 p.m. and be live-streamed through the theater’s Facebook and YouTube pages.  The concert will feature performances from Valley favorites such as Dar Williams, Martin Sexton, Mark Mulcahy, Heather Maloney, Winterpills, and more.


P.S.  Confession Time.  Yes, I consider myself a folkie, not quite going as far back as The Kingston Trio and The Limeliters, but definitely a fan of Peter, Paul, and Mary... then on to Joni, Joan, Crosby Stills and Nash, etc. (speaking of, I highly recommend Laurel Canyon, the two-part documentary on the Epix channel).  Weirdly, I never felt drawn to John Denver, who I considered too pop/syrupy for my taste.  Only just discovered today's post-titled song when I watched Banding Together:  A Concert for the Colorado Music Relief Fund, when Dave Matthews covered it.  Apologies to John Denver for underestimating his songwriting abilities.  Mind blown.


SONG:  Take Me to Tomorrow by John Denver (cover by Dave Matthews Band)

BOOK:  Tomorrow: Adventures in an Uncertain World by Bradley Trevor Greive

POEM:  
Weather by Claudia Rankine

On a scrap of paper in the archive is written
I have forgotten my umbrella. Turns out
in a pandemic everyone, not just the philosopher,
is without. We scramble in the drought of information
held back by inside traders. Drop by drop. Face
covering? No, yes. Social distancing? Six feet
under for underlying conditions. Black.
Just us and the blues kneeling on a neck
with the full weight of a man in blue.
Eight minutes and forty-six seconds.
In extremis, I can’t breathe gives way
to asphyxiation, to giving up this world,
and then mama, called to, a call
to protest, fire, glass, say their names, say
their names, white silence equals violence,
the violence of again, a militarized police
force teargassing, bullets ricochet, and civil
unrest taking it, burning it down. Whatever
contracts keep us social compel us now
to disorder the disorder. Peace. We’re out
to repair the future. There’s an umbrella
by the door, not for yesterday but for the weather
that’s here. I say weather but I mean
a form of governing that deals out death
and names it living. I say weather but I mean
a November that won’t be held off. This time
nothing, no one forgotten. We are here for the storm
that’s storming because what’s taken matters.

QUOTE:  
“That is the whole thing with the future. You don’t know. At some point you have to accept that you don’t know. You have to stop flicking ahead and just concentrate on the page you are on.” ~ Matt Haig

Monday, November 5, 2007

Leaving on a Jet Plane (John Denver)

I've been a fan of Ellen Bass since I discovered her poem, Pray for Peace, in The Sun Magazine in June 2003 - something about her straight-to-the-heart approach still resonates with me. The poem below, which I've been meaning to use in a blog post, appeared in today's Writer's Almanac - as Doris Lessing said, "coincidence is god's way of remaining anonymous"...


The first time I read Gate C22, I instantly flashed back to Fall 1971 - I was a senior in high school, and I was dating Dave Bovie, a freshman in college (Georgia Tech). Every month or so, we'd drive to the Atlanta Airport, go inside... and one of us would pretend to be disembarking from a plane and the other would be waiting, presumably after a long and heartbreaking absence - we would run into each other's arms, hugging and kissing and smiling... and delight in the reactions of the passersby ("oh, how sweet"... "young love"... "I remember when my partner and I used to greet each other that way"). It's easy to have someone look at you with adoration when you're 17 but it's magical indeed when the same feelings are evoked in middle age - I can luckily say I have been, and continue to be( even now at the age of 53) the recipient of such a gaze from my long-patient and ever-blinder-wearing husband.

The postscript to the story is that, following the reunion re-enactment, we'd get back in the car and drive as close to the runway as we could, before we encountered gates, at which point we'd stretch out on the ground and watch the planes landing or taking off almost directly overhead - as we used to say... what a rush! I can't help but wonder whatever happened to DB - he sure knew how to show a girl a good time... :-)


At gate C22 in the Portland airport
a man in a broad-band leather hat kissed
a woman arriving from Orange County.
They kissed and kissed and kissed. Long after
the other passengers clicked the handles of their carry-ons
and wheeled briskly toward short-term parking,
the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other
like he'd just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island,
like she'd been released at last from ICU, snapped
out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down
from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing.

Neither of them was young. His beard was gray.
She carried a few extra pounds you could imagine
her saying she had to lose. But they kissed lavish
kisses like the ocean in the early morning,
the way it gathers and swells, sucking
each rock under, swallowing it
again and again. We were all watching —
passengers waiting for the delayed flight
to San Jose, the stewardesses, the pilots,
the aproned woman icing Cinnabons, the man selling
sunglasses. We couldn't look away. We could
taste the kisses crushed in our mouths.

But the best part was his face. When he drew back
and looked at her, his smile soft with wonder, almost
as though he were a mother still open from giving birth,
as your mother must have looked at you, no matter
what happened after — if she beat you or left you or
you're lonely now — you once lay there, the vernix
not yet wiped off, and someone gazed at you
as if you were the first sunrise seen from the Earth.
The whole wing of the airport hushed,
all of us trying to slip into that woman's middle-aged body,
her plaid Bermuda shorts, sleeveless blouse, glasses,
little gold hoop earrings, tilting our heads up.

QUOTE: "To look backward for a while is to refresh the eye, to restore it, and to render it the more fit for its prime function of looking forward." ~ Margaret Fairless Barber