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The world has moved to a position of extreme danger, far more perilous than its normal state which is often pretty damn dangerous. The inmates have taken over the asylum.

As you can see, I want to rant and rage this morning.

But I won’t. I will try to find something peaceful, something soothing.

Maybe something from Vivaldi? And since I am looking out the window of the studio and there is a light coating of snow on the ground and the sky is a cold and dull gray, how about the Winter section of his concerto, The Four Seasons?

This works for me.

Here’s a performance from renowned violinist Cynthia Miller Freivogel and the Baroque music group, Voices of Music.

Try to find some peace in this piece and have a great day.

 

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All Is Quiet

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All is quiet on New Year’s Day
A world in white gets underway
I want to be with you
Be with you, night and day
Nothing changes on New Year’s Day
On New Year’s Day

U2, New Year’s Day

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Found myself beginning the new year this morning walking to the studio through the woods in the dark before 6 AM.

Like the song says: Nothing changes on New Year’s Day.

I always think of this song on New Year’s morning because there is always a preternatural quiet on these mornings.

Today was no different.

It’s an absolute stillness free of all noise. Even the deer whose eyes glow green in the light of my headlamp as I scan the forest, make no sound. They are motionless and when they finally move there is no snort of alarm, no crunch of leaves, no breaking of branches.

Just a stealthy movement of shadows against an empty void of blackness. It makes me stop for a moment just to listen, trying to absorb as much of that quietude as I can with the hope that I can recall this glorious absence of sound when I need it at some point later.

It makes me think of the old Elvis song If Every Day Was Like Christmas with its lyrics that ask: why can’t every day be like Christmas? I think a more appropriate question would be why can’t every day be like New Year’s Day?

The pressure of the holidays is past. No concerns about gift giving. It’s a fresh start, with the old and worn last year fading into the grainy grayness of the past and the new year stepping in, all shiny bright and full of potential. Even the most pessimistic and jaded of us most likely feels at least small glimmers of hope on this day.

And why not? It’s a clean slate, a tabula rasa, on which anything can written. It is a time, a moment, that assures us that there are no limits on what we can do in the coming year and the coming decade.

Of course, the pragmatic part of me knows that it is just as the song says: Nothing changes on New Year’s Day. 

But this morning, at least for a while, I will try to hang on to the belief that there is change coming in this shiny new year. For the better, I hope.

Here’s the song New Year’s Day from U2 from way back in 1983. Time flies so enjoy this quiet morning.

Happy New Year.

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Awaiting Voice

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For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice.
But, as the passage now presents no hindrance
To the spirit unappeased and peregrine
Between two worlds become much like each other,
So I find words I never thought to speak
In streets I never thought I should revisit
When I left my body on a distant shore.

T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding

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It is hard to believe that we are fast approaching the end of the second decade of what we called the New Millenium. Twenty years have passed in what seems the blink of an eye. So fast that the events of those years blend together more than all the years that came before them, at least for me.

I feel a bit like Rip Van Winkle. I could have closed my eyes twenty years ago and just opened them to find a world that appears the same but is much changed in many ways, with new words and new language.

And yet we stand on the precipice of a new decade that will no doubt shock and surprise us with its own words and language.

What new voice are we awaiting to hear in this new year, this new decade? Is it one we haven’t yet heard? If so, will it have the power to inspire us, to lift us up? Or push us down? Will it change our perceptions of who we are and why we exist?

I have lots of questions.

Not many answers though.

I am just like most other folks, waiting without a clue for that new voice and new language that is most certainly on its way.

I am without certainty, not sure even if I feel optimism or pessimism. It is more like a numbness, like waiting silently in a dark closet for someone to finally open the door to let me out. Don’t know who’s going to open that door or what’s out there, good or bad, but I know it will be opening soon.

Hope we are ready for those new words and language.

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The painting at the top is Light and Wisdom which is currently

at the West End Gallery in Corning.

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Today, being the day of Christmas Eve, is a stressful day for many folks. Factor in a load of general busyness and pressing obligations, last minute shopping among throngs of other stressed out folks and worrying about if you’ve done enough or too little and you’re left with a high stress situation.

It creates a pressure that sometimes takes away from the desired spirit of good will and cheeriness we normally associate with the season. And that’s a shame. We have enough stress already.

So, today I am taking it easy. Reducing my load. No pedantic lectures on generosity and giving. Just extending a wish that you have a relaxed and happy holiday. Take a breath today and try to just be in the moment.

Here’s Ella’s version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Ella usually makes everything a little better, even these stress-filled days. Give a listen. It’s a great first step towards reducing the tension.

And then have yourself a merry little Christmas.

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I’ve played this song, Must Be Santa from Bob Dylan, a couple of times over the past decade. It’s a great song, a polka with a klezmer feel that takes Dylan back his Jewish roots and in the the entertaining video you get the bonus of seeing Dylan dance. Good fun for the day before Christmas.

The last time I ran this song I included a group of photos of Santa that were less than jovial and maybe a little menacing. Creepy Clauses. While looking for an photo or two to accompany that post, I browsed through masses of images of Santas from the past and was amazed how many of them crossed that line into outright creepiness. It made me believe that Santa is just about on par with clowns in Creep Factor. You might see a rogue clown in the woods but Santa is, simply put, a bearded home intruder and flamboyant dresser who crawls down your chimney in the dark of night.

He knows when you are sleeping, for god’s sake!

When I was kid I had time going to sleep on Christmas Eve because of the excitement and anticipation that Santa was on his way. Now, after looking at those photos of Psycho Santas, I won’t be able sleep for fear that he actually might be on his way!

For that first post with the borderline Santas, I picked a few that were pretty strange but there were plenty more of them out there, some which just made me a little queasy. I have a feeling that many of them are also in sort of police registry somewhere.

I thought I would include a fresh batch of Kreepy Kringles this year. I kept the one from the original, at the top here, because he just weirds me out on multiple levels.

Anyway, enjoy the song and have a good holiday. And don’t worry about the weird old man hovering around your home tomorrow night…

 

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christmas-treeFlipping on the car radio this time of year brings torrents of holiday music. Some of the local stations change to an all Christmas format from Thanksgiving to the end of the year and you are bombarded with holiday tunes from every era and every level of quality– good , bad and ugly. Most are happy, solemn, goofy or stickily sentimental.

Or nostalgically melancholic.

Melancholy and nostalgia plays a big part in many Christmas songs, especially in those songs about being separated from loved ones at Christmas– I’ll Be Home For Christmas and White Christmas for examples.

But there are very few that fall into the category of A Fairy Tale of New York from the Irish band The Pogues. Released in 1987, it is about two Irish immigrants in NYC who look back on their stormy relationship and their dreams they once had that have disappeared due to drugs and drink. I would be optimistic in calling it melancholic or bittersweet especially with a verse like this:

You’re a bum
You’re a punk
You’re an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it’s our last

But it is a beautiful tune and something in it connects on a very human level even through the harshest imagery of the song. And it has connected in a big way through the years. It has been the most played Christmas song in the UK since the turn of this century and is consistently named the most popular holiday song in many polls throughout Britain and Ireland.

Below is the video from the 1980’s for the song. A small bit of trivia: there is no NYPD Choir so the band recruited the NYPD Pipe and Dreams to appear in the video. They were asked to sing “Galway Bay” but since they didn’t know the song they sang the one song they all knew, especially in their reputedly drunken state at the filming– the theme from the Mickey Mouse Club. The film is slowed to better sync their lips to the intended song.

Maybe this song does so well because it makes our own Christmas melancholy seem not all that bad. So, enjoy, I guess…

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I ran this back in 2015 but added the verse from the song this time.

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Interesting history behind the Henry Wadswoth Longfellow poem below that was transformed a few years after it was written in late 1863 into a well holiday song.

The 1860’s were a tragic time for the poet Longfellow. In addition to the beginning of the Civil War in 1861, his wife was killed in a tragic fire at his home. In early 1863, his oldest son enlisted in the Union Army despite his father’s protests. That same year he was severely wounded at the Battle of New Hope Church in Virginia. He survived but the injuries ended his army career.

This poem was a response to the times from Longfellow. The next to the last stanza points out his despair and his waning faith in the face of a divided nation:

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

But in the last stanza, upon hearing the loud pealing of the Christmas bells, he regains his belief that good will overcome evil:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.

The poem became popular at the time and was first set to music as a song in 1872 by British organist John Baptiste Calkin and then again in 1956, by American songwriter Johnny Marks, whose version, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day, was first recorded that year by Bing Crosby. The Marks song has been recorded by over 60 artists and has sold over 5 million copies.

It’s a poem and song of hope for dark times. We can certainly use that these days.

 

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Christmas Bells

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1863

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Two Asterisks?

I am going to try to not say too much about yesterday’s impeachment of the president*. I will point out that the asterisk that I have always attached to his title is now fully earned. In fact, I may have to change it to president**.

And based on all that is still hanging out there in the forms of scandal, corruption and foreign entanglements, I wouldn’t be surprised if there aren’t even more asterisks added by the time this whole fiasco of an administration is done.

I don’t think there is a limit on the number of impeachments one president can have.

Though I am gratified that this process has taken place and he** has been impeached, it gives me no pleasure. This is only the first salvo and, as I have pointed out before, this man** is a looter who will burn down the whole shooting match before he** will allow himself** to be made responsible.

There are going to be many ugly days ahead.

He** has yet to show  any interest in uniting this country and governs through personal retribution and vengeance. He** feels no responsibility for anything that negative that happens and views this whole process as being somehow unprovoked. He** is going to make everyone pay.

For a man** with so little shame, he** has remarkably thin skin. His** ability to whine and feel persecuted is beyond anything I have ever witnessed outside of a 6 year old throwing a tantrum in a grocery store because he has been told he can’t have the candy bar at the checkout line.

I have seen that kid. Sadly, I have been that kid.

I believe I grew out of that phase. I am afraid I can’t say the same for the man** with the 6 year old’s mentality who is fuming this morning in the white house** or for his** glassy eyed cult members who cheer on every misdeed and bloviation of this child**.

As I said, ugly days ahead. But that is the price that must be paid to avoid even uglier days that would come if he** is not held accountable for his** actions. To not do so could set us on a course that would make us look a lot more like an autocracy than a democracy. And as flawed as our democracy might be, I prefer it to suffering the whims of a 6 year old autocrat.

This had to be done. He** has earned every asterisk he receives.

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I was going to write something about gullibility this morning and while I was searching for something to kick off the post, a quote or an image, I came across this little bit of mirth from the late Shel Silverstein. It pretty much summed up everything you need to know about our willingness to often accept things that make no sense or are demonstrably false.

Of course, none of us will admit to wearing the plunger. We convince ourselves it’s a damn fine hat because Teddy or someone else, maybe someone named Donnie, says it is just that. If he says it looks good then it must, because he always tells us just what we want to hear and believe. We’re too smart and wary to fall for something other than the truth.

But in fact, we are actually like the character in All the King’s Men that Robert Penn Warren described: “I suppose that Willie had his natural quota of ordinary suspicion and caginess, but those things tend to evaporate when what people tell you is what you want to hear.”

And when someone is telling you that the toilet plunger on your head looks great, you really want to believe him. Because otherwise you’re just an idiot with a damn toilet plunger stuck on your head.

You know, whenever I see one of those godawful red hats on someone from now on, all I am going to see is that person with a toilet plunger on their head.

There’s a brain somewhere inside that bony box sitting between your shoulders, people. Take off the plunger and use it.

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Darling remember, when you come to me
I’m the pretender; I’m not what I’m supposed to be
But who could know if I’m a traitor?
Time’s the revelator

–Gillian Welch, The Revelator

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I came across an image of the painting at the top, a piece from 2006 called What Is True that holds a lot of meaning for me, and it set me thinking.

Truth is patient. It waits for the light of a sun that sometimes travels through the vastness of space and time, millions and millions of light years, to shine on it.

Time always finds truth at some point and when it shine its light upon it, there is revelation.

Every day is filled with revelation, so it seems.

Time and truth are coming together.

Here’s a favorite song of mine from Gillian Welch, The Revelator.

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