Head-dibs

 

What a fun re-release of this song by the late, great George Harrison. 50 years! Can you believe it? The lesson of the video: don’t miss the wonderful things happening all around you. Enjoy life!

WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail, When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-who; Tu-whit, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. WHEN all aloud the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson’s saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian’s nose looks red and raw, When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-who; Tu-whit, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. (Act 5, Scene 2 of Shakespeare’s “Love’s Labour’s Lost)

 Many blessings on this Thanksgiving Day!

Baby boy got married! Our oldest boy (Jonathan) was his best man and two sisters were bridesmaids. So proud of William and Kayla!

On the way to Indiana to see my youngest boy get married. Drove a portion of I-40 I’ve never been on before and couldn’t help but think that if I just kept going, would end up in God’s country.  Just want to say that Kentucky seems to have a sense of humor. There’s a town called Paint Lick. 

 

Ok, so I had a head start. Was going for Hemingway but looking more like Lazar Wolf (the Butcher in “Fiddler On The Roof”).

  When biting Boreas, fell and doure,   Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r;  When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow'r,           Far south the lift,  Dim-dark'ning thro' the flaky show'r,           Or whirling drift:  Ae night the storm the steeples rocked,  Poor Labour sweet in sleep was locked,  While burns, wi' snawy wreeths upchoked,           Wild-eddying swirl,  Or thro' the mining outlet bocked,           Down headlong hurl.  List'ning, the doors an' winnocks rattle,  I thought me on the ourie cattle,  Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle           O' winter war,  And thro' the drift, deep-lairing, sprattle,           Beneath a scar.  Ilk happing bird, wee, helpless thing!  That, in the merry months o' spring,  Delighted me to hear thee sing,           What comes o' thee?  Whare wilt thou cow'r thy chittering wing           An' close thy e'e?  Ev'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd,  Lone from y

 Rush based the entire album, “Clockwork Angels” on Voltaire’s 1759 work “Candide,” a fantasy in its own right. This is the final song, my favorite song from my favorite album from my favorite band. 

 Trans Siberian Orchestra found inspiration for the character Mephistopheles in Faust for the concept album “Beethoven’s Last Night”. Here is one song from a live concert where the devil tempts the deaf composer to make a deal.

A tongue-in-cheek submission but both book and band are classic!

Another Rush masterpiece based on Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan”

Who would have thought to put Emily Bronte to music? Kate Bush did!

Must this require an introduction? So much packed into such a short song!

Ray Bradbury strikes again with a short story from “The Illustrated Man” in the heavy beats of Deadmau5. Put on your headphones and drop the beat! I’ve run many miles to this piece— which has a touch of irony, if you know the story.

 Blind Guardian makes a timely contribution with their work based on Frank Herbert’s “Dune” (new movie just released—can’t wait to see it)!

I love this entry. Take a line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet and nurture it into a full novel by Ray Bradbury (“Something Wicked This Way Comes”) Then put it to music with a pinch of yet another Bradbury classic (“The Illustrated Man”) … wind it up and let it go! 

This is a true golden nugget in a few ways. One, the song (in my opinion) nods to the many songs contained in Tolkien’s LOTR. Two, there is a lyrical joke in the first stanza. Three, the style fits the literary genre. Four, it’s the only Rush song with Geddy playing guitar! Finally, it’s a tribute to long lasting friendship. Enjoy!

Symphony X knocks John Milton’s “Paradise Lost” out of the park! Turn it up to 11!

Symphony X rocks the Homerian epic masterfully.

Some things you just never forget.  The influence of J.R.R. Tolkien is unmistakable in this Rush classic. 

It was a toss-up between Iron Maiden performing “Murders in the Rue Morgue” or “Mr Raven” by MC Lars. Since the Maiden is obviously well read and we’ll posted, let’s do something different. Either way, Edgar Allen Poe wins yet another post! Enjoy!

 Iron Maiden rocks out William Goldings’ masterpiece.

Most everyone knows of the band “Yes” and their maestro on the keyboard, Rick Wakeman. Enjoy his contribution to the Literature to Music collection. 

Raise your hand if you knew this song was based on “The Lady of Shallot” by Alfred Lord Tennyson! 

When I was a child, I discovered "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes (1906) in a collection of poems. Imagine my joy when I discovered a musical arrangement!

Bruce Springsteen ("I'm On Fire") surprised me with this little tune drawn from John Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" (not to be confused with the first autobiography written by a drunk, "The Wrath of Grapes"). 

Iron Maiden turns out to be a fairly well-read bunch of dudes! This won't be the last we hear from them in this series. 

"El Dorado" by Edgar Allan Poe was one of the first poems I memorized and I still enjoy reciting it from time to time. Enjoy Iron Maiden's arrangement!

Miguel de Cervantes published Don Quixote in two parts, first in 1605 then in 1615. Talk about focus! Then 1972 came along. One of my favorite songs!

 Edgar Allan Poe gave us the story.  The Alan Parsons Project ("Eye In The Sky") gave us the song.

Here is a well known story by a well known artist singing a not-very well known song. Here is Jimmy Buffet, inspired by Mark Twain's "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" 

I'm not an Elton John fan, but this is a wonderful arrangement of the 1929 novel by Erich Maria Remarque. 

Rush (the greatest band of all time ever) gets us started with a month of "Literature to Music" posts. Here is 2112, based on Ayn Rand's short book, "Anthem" (published 1937).  Turn it up!

To --, Ulalume, A Ballad (by Edgar Allan Poe) The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere— The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir— It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul— Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll— As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole— That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— Our memories were treacherous and sere— For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year— (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the

 

To Autumn by John Keats (1795-1821)  Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cider-press, with patien

 In 1804, an Invisible Lady arrived in New York City. She went on to become the most popular attraction in the country. But why? And who was she? In this episode, we chase her through time, finding invisible women everywhere, wondering: What is the relationship between keeping women invisible and the histories of privacy, and of knowledge? Listen to this intriguing Podcast here  https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/the-last-archive/id1506207997?i=1000476045034

 

  Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns Bring autumn's pleasant weather The moorcock springs on whirring wings Among the blooming heather Now waving grain, wild o'er the plain Delights the weary farmer And the moon shines bright as I rove at night To muse upon my charmer The partridge loves the fruitful fells The plover loves the mountain The woodcock haunts the lonely dells The soaring hern the fountain Through lofty groves the cushat roves The path of man to shun it The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush The spreading thorn the linnet Thus every kind their pleasure find The savage and the tender Some social join and leagues combine Some solitary wander Avaunt! Away! the cruel sway, Tyrannic man's dominion The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry The fluttering, gory pinion But Peggy dear the evening's clear Thick flies the skimming swallow The sky is blue, the fields in view  All fading green and yellow Come let us stray our gladsome way And view the charms of na

 “Some people think that it is impossible to rule other people without violence. And so they do to people as other people do with horses, when they blind their eyes so that they will more obediently walk in a circle. For what purpose is a man’s intellect if you are going to influence him only with violence?” (Leo Tolstoy, 1928-1910)

  “Every good or charitable action, every unprofitable assistance which supports other people in need, when we come to its origins and foundations, becomes a mysterious and unexplainable thing, because it comes out of the mysterious understanding of the unity of all living beings, and it can be explained by nothing else.“ (Arthur Schopenhauer, German philosopher 1788-1860)

“ Why country music makes you cry, and rock and roll doesn’t: A musical interpretation of divided America. Revisionist History goes to Nashville to talk with Bobby Braddock, who has written more sad songs than almost anyone else. What is it about music that makes us cry? And what sets country music apart?” If you’re not crying by the end of this podcast. . . there's something wrong with you. Believe me when I say it's worth the listen. And it explains all this: 

 

How about Lake Winnipesaukee next 4th of July?

“When Americans think about their country's Founding Fathers, they tend to think of them as cool and competent figures, who were supremely confident in the superiority and longevity of the republican government they had created. But my guest says that nearly all the founders experienced great internal and external conflict in conjunction with the new government, and came to be greatly pessimistic about the future of the democratic experiment they had helped birth. His name is Dennis C. Rasmussen and he's a professor of political theory and the author of Fears of a Setting Sun: The Disillusionment of America's Founders . Today on the show, Dennis unpacks how four of the founders — George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, John Adams, and Thomas Jefferson — ultimately came to worry that the American republic wouldn't last past their own generation, based on concerns that ranged from the rise of partisanship to a lack of virtue amongst the American citizenry. Dennis also disc

“Whatever anyone does or says, I must be good; just as if the emerald were always saying this: ‘Whatever anyone does or says, I must still be emerald, and keep my color.’” (Marcus Aurelius) The story is told of Abraham Lincoln asking the question, “If you were to count a dog’s tail as another leg, how many legs would a dog have?” The answer, of course, is “five.” However, Lincoln disagreed, pointing out that the dog only has four legs despite what one calls or counts the tail. There are two observances to be made of this. The first relates to duty. When God created all things, He declared all things to be good with one exception. It was not good that man should be alone, so He created a help-meet, woman, and gave her to the man. The first man and woman had one duty: to do good by filling the earth and subduing it as God’s vice-regent. The first man and first woman disobeyed God and all mankind in kind has fallen after them, yet duty remains the same. The edict has never changed. Man’s

"When first the fiery-mantled sun His heavenly race begun to run; Round the earth and ocean blue, His children four the Seasons flew. First, in green apparel dancing, The young Spring smiled with angel grace; Rosy summer next advancing, Rushed into her sire's embrace:- Her blue-haired sire, who bade her keep For ever nearest to his smile, On Calpe's olive-shaded steep, On India's citron-covered isles: More remote and buxom-brown, The Queen of vintage bowed before his throne, A rich pomegranate gemmed her gown, A ripe sheaf bound her zone. But howling Winter fled afar, To hills that prop the polar star . . ." (from "Ode To Winter" by Thomas Campbell, 1777-1844)

Have you ever noticed that you feel compelled to do something when you hear or read a good story? You can’t quite put your finger on it but there is this knowledge that you want to take some kind of action, like be a better person. Sure, we like to read or listen to something for entertainment, but what remains when we are finished? Warm fuzzies that ultimately dissipate and get lost in the shuffle of the day. It’s nearly impossible to recall that feeling once it’s gone. But there are some elements we encounter that leave a lasting impression because we are impelled take some kind of action. Remember those tomes of literature we used in high school and college. Did you ever notice how many discussions were had over those stories? If you still have one, crack it open and notice the questions at the end of each contribution. How many imparted some kind of moral lesson or set an example to be followed? Perhaps you did not notice your conscience responding to what you read or heard yet you

Now that the pump’s been primed, I’ve been taking mental notes on what to write again. One individual came drifting out of past memory who might well have been the person who started it all: Mrs. Satterwhite. I hope she’ll forgive the way in which I remember her, for I was in second or third grade when in her care. I remember her foremost as The Great Storyteller and I am confident that if we were to gather any other now grown school children, they too might have the same memory of her storytelling.   I recall her in a nearly cartoonish way (again, I hope she’ll forgive me). While not being quite sure of her age, I remember her grandmotherly silhouette. She was a fairly large woman, maybe in her 50’s or 60’s, who wore flowery dresses and heavy shoes. Her legs were stout and covered by that kind of half-stockings that never seemed to stay up. Her hair was shoulder length and kept in the style of an older woman in the early 1970’s.  During recess, she sat in a chair under the sprawling p

Seneca asked, “How does it help to make misfortune heavier by complaining about it?” Another way to ask this would be, “Did complaining help? Then stop. If not, then stop.” I manage a staff of mostly young adults who are like sponges as they listen to elder employees complain and complain and complain. I confess, there are times when I complain as well, but then I am aware of who is listening. One older fellow always has something to say, dropping his comments like little bombs then walks away thinking all his words are going to change anything. But then he only walks away because I’ve asked him, “did all that help? No? Then you can stop now.” Complaining does nothing but reveal who a person really is, and for the most part, complaints merely mean there has been a disruption to one’s comfort zone, that something is beyond their control or that the person feels entitled and is not getting their way. Ever notice how most complaining at a restaurant is committed before eating? People are

"Good writing," pens best-selling author, thinker, and podcaster Malcolm Gladwell, "does not succeed or fail on the strength of its ability to persuade. It succeeds or fails on the strength of its ability to engage you, to make you think, to give you a glimpse into someone else's head."  Part of my work-daily routine since July 2020 is the nearly 2-hour commute to and from work. I've drifted through hours of music, audiobooks, phone calls, or just spending quiet time drifting through my head. Not much in there anymore, it seems. The head to the soul/spirit is like the stomach to the body--it must be fed. All these months I've wrestled with life as it now is and truthfully, I hate it. For nearly 20 years I worked in my niche and then everything changed. My routine was destroyed and I've struggled to find a way to piece back a semblance of what I had, which included feeding my soul and strengthening my spirit. Anyone who knows me understands how import

 The Classics don’t stand a chance

This grabbed my attention this evening as I was reading. Such beauty.

  This is why classical philosophy is preferred over present-day so-called philosophy. (Holiday & Hanselman, “Lives of the Stoics” p. 69)

 From Shakespeare’s “Love’s Labor Lost”

 

 The rifle is affixed with a bayonet and inverted, signifying that the Soldier went down fighting. The boots signify the Soldier’s last march onto the battlefield. Dog tags are imprinted with the Soldier’s name and hung from the rifle so their identity will never be forgotten. The helmet is placed atop the rifle representing what the Soldier stood for and signifying that their battle is now over.  The Battlefield Cross is a sacred symbol amongst military members. Since a funeral is typically not possible during wartime, these symbols serve as a rallying point where surviving members of a unit can mourn and remember their fallen comrades. Remember, with gratitude 

 

 Another year older. Another chapter in the book. 

Missing from my life . . . 

 

 

I have my own journal but this pile is my mainstay.  Still interviewing for University positions. My current job is killing my spirit, but I am looking for a change still! These books are of great help as I wait and work!

From “Atalanta in Calydon” (1865), by Algernon Charles Swinburne

  Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 7.47

 Marcus Aurelius, “Meditations”, 6.20

One wonders if Cicero’s grandson ever trampled his library . . . 

 

 

  It’s been a busy couple of weeks of long working hours and short nights. Have not had much time or energy, for that matter, to sit long enough to write anything well.   Recently a co-worker innocently asked, “what’s your favorite thing?” Would you believe it when I say I could not answer? I can’t have my favorite thing right now. So my heart broke a little more. Again. Everything has changed for me. I don’t like where I am right now or what I’m doing. But it’s all I have to do. I just feel sorry every day.  What I’d like to do seems impossible. My favorite things are unattainable right now. But one day, hopefully soon, it may change. And I’ll run to it when it comes. But I’m the meantime, I can only be where I am. 

 

 Not sure if I’ve ever posted what a completed month looks like from my journal, but here is March. Each day records the theme on which I try to meditate on each day. Most days I got to write a journal entry but many just record the quote on which I dwelt. I hate that I’ve been too busy to write as before. My heart hurt what is missed. And here is April, ready to go  May April bring better days

 Happy "Breakfast Club" Day! Things to do today: 1) ponder the error of your ways; 2) take a moment to dance a little; 3) have a snack; 4) enjoy a makeover (if applicable); 5) be specific when describing the ruckus. 6) Don’t forget about me

There's this restaurant up the road sitting between a nursery (enter through the rear parking lot) and a gas station. From the parking lot, there's nothing particularly attractive about the place, and seeing it connected to the gas station does nothing to elevate the confidence, assuming one has any particular experience with gas station eateries. Many such places are fast food, but this particularly greasy spoon has a few choice words on the sign that might draw attention, one of which is "catering." The other set of words is "kids eat free, Wednesdays." One other feature might make one curious enough to stop in: the number of cars in the parking lot who are not patrons of the gas station next door. I'm talking about Scottie's Cafe and Grill .  Looking the menu, one understands right away why this place is so popular. They have everything.  Feel like a hamburger? Try the Monster Burger Feel like Italian? Get the Lasangia or the Pizza Feeling Greek?

During the long commute to and from work, I've started listening to podcasts. Yes, that's right. I've joined the human race as it is nowadays, technologically speaking. While I'm not much of a talk radio person and enjoy turning the music up to "11", I've come to appreciate a handful of podcasters. One such personality is Ryan Holiday and his podcast "The Daily Stoic." What grabbed me by the proverbial lapels was his breathless and energetic interview with actor Matthew McConaughey. I already own a few of Mr. Holiday's books and have seen references to his podcasts, but for some reason, I felt like listening. Also, passing Mr. McConaughey's book "Green Lights" in the store a few weeks ago, I was intrigued so I flipped through it and now it has a temporary home in my Amazon wish list.  Fast forward a few podcasts to today, where I fell to listening to Ryan interview author Steven Pressfield. As I listened to these two authors tal

 May the luck o’the Irish be with you!

 

 Some days all you can do is stand there while the world goes . . . 

 

 

 

 “Stars” by  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) THE NIGHT is come, but not too soon;  And sinking silently,  All silently, the little moon  Drops down behind the sky.  There is no light in earth or heaven  But the cold light of stars;  And the first watch of night is given  To the red planet Mars.  Is it the tender star of love?  The star of love and dreams?  Oh no! from that blue tent above  A hero’s armor gleams.  And earnest thoughts within me rise,  When I behold afar,  Suspended in the evening skies,  The shield of that red star.  O star of strength! I see thee stand  And smile upon my pain;  Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand,  And I am strong again.  Within my breast there is no light  But the cold light of stars;  I give the first watch of the night  To the red planet Mars.  The star of the unconquered will,  He rises in my breast,  Serene, and resolute, and still,  And calm, and self-possessed.  And thou, too, whosoe’er thou art,  That readest this brief psalm,  As one by