Posts with tag: people

I spoke with my former band director Jim Swiggart from Hutchinson, KS on the phone today. What a pleasure! He’s 80 years old and still consulting for high school band programs around his state of Arkansas!

Eva did a photo shoot of Marilyn today.

Marilyn with oranges
All the oranges.

A group of Dorothys.
Sky Ryders in Whitewater, WI c.1985

Take Dorothy away from Kansas for too long and eventually this is going to happen.

The nicest gifts

Taper candle with books and pen
Calming light.

…are the simplest ones.

I received a gift of this candle holder made by my friend Leslie. I keep it on the little table next to my reading chair.

The idea of reading by candlelight is appealing and romantic but … the rest “The nicest gifts”


Last night, I dreamed that Hope Sandoval was at the end of the couch reading a book. When I sat down, she put her bare feet under my thigh to warm them up.

It was a really good dream, and … the rest “Graphic”

Currently digesting a wonderful meal dropped off by my friends Will and Leslie. Chicken, Hummus, Baba ganoush, middle eastern pepper and onion relish. How thoughtful are my friends?

An exchange of text messages with someone I hold close makes for a rough night.

Lee Konitz

It’s important to remember.

We lost altoist Lee Konitz this week. Not a superstar by today’s standards, but essential to the jazz story, and one of my favorite players.

Konitz’ playing was spare and intellectual. His sound was so dry, … the rest “Lee Konitz”

Seamus Heaney

Yesterday, April 13th, was the birthday of poet Seamus Heaney. My father’s birthday is also this month and when I pulled this volume of Heaney’s poems off my bookshelf, I remembered that this was yet another gift of verse my dad had given to me a number of years ago.

Here’s a poem about fathers and sons. (My father is alive and well, despite what the sentiment of the verse implies.)


My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.

As expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the header, with a single pluck

Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land.
His eye Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.

I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.

I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.

I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.

—Seamus Heaney, Poems 1965-1975

Brother Dave on the phone from Palm Springs. All is well with them. He is teaching his high school music classes with Zoom.

Your Head is Talking

Stop Making Sense banner.

I assigned Marilyn the task of watching Stop Making Sense and gave her some questions to answer and report back on afterward.

  1. Who is the lead singer and what is he doing now? (Video is from 1984.)
  2. What is the
the rest “Your Head is Talking”

At no point in my life could I have related to this song in any way whatsoever.

So long Adam Schlesinger.

Happy birthday, Robert Frost.

Born March 26, 1874. San Francisco, California.

Title page and dedication, Poetry of Robert Frost
A favorite possesion.

The inscription reads:

With best wishes
For your enjoyment
Some now, some later
Dad, Christmas 1974

Four Things

  1. I really want there to be a cure for cancer.
  2. Thirty years ago Rush Limbaugh was a bloviating, bigoted, jackass.
  3. Last week Rush Limbaugh was a bloviating, bigoted, jackass.
  4. Today, Rush Limbaugh is a bloviating, bigoted, jackass.

Dinner this evening with Marilyn and her boyfriend Julian, who is a nice young man. Hot Mexican food on a cold, cold night.

Here is a short list of men I’ve never met whom I nevertheless allow into my ear-holes. They are buglers of some renown. The list is in order of something.

1. Woody Shaw

2. Pops
3. Freddie Hubbard. The Maiden Voyage solo was a career.
4. Miles, particularly if he was pissing someone off at that very moment.
5. Don Cherry/Lester Bowie/Bill Dixon, because WTF guys?

Also, Clark Terry, we did meet and it was seminal. I love you.

Also, also, whoever decided I should have to stop and look up whether it’s ‘who’ or ‘whom’ every time (and then still get it wrong,) should be wrapped in an old Sousaphone and set adrift. You know what you can do with that ‘m.’