lgmwriting

2 South Pacific

The Broadway show and the movie called South Pacific comes from James Michener’s book, Tales of the South Pacific.

The album cover shows oh so handsome Rasonno Brazzi and Mitzi Gaynor in an almost-embrace. So thrilling and made my curiosity go up a few notches. This was about love.

The love story is the core of this–he is a lot older than she is, he has two children. He is worldly, she’s from the midwestern part of the United States.

The song called “Some Enchanted Evening” is a part of this lovely story. Rasonno Brazzi sings it. Now here comes the silly part. Whenever Michael was going someplace awful, willing to give his life to help others, believe me, there was no singing around this house. But one time he was called to the South Sea Island groups as a United Nations peacekeeper; the population of this group of islands was having its first election and an uprising was expected. This wasn’t a dangerous assignment, or “mission” as Michael called them. No natural disasters and piles of bodies. So, I was in a light-hearted, kind of silly mood. For the few days before Michael left I kept strolling around the house singing “Some Enchanted Evening” in a fake deep male voice. I probably irritated him but he never showed it. He really loves me and maybe he was so grateful to me for not “fussing” about him going halfway around the world that he shrugged my singing off.

Not directly related to this was Michael’s mission to Antarctica. I was on top of the world; no war, no stinging insects, no dead bodies. He was going along with a group of medics who were planning to teach the people at the outpost new medical and first aid information. I’m proud to say that the people at the U.N. scheduled this trip around Michael’s spring break. Yes, he was still a college student when he was called on to lead the mission. Anyway, there’s an old movie with Fred Astaire called Flying Down To Rio. I knew no songs from it but I just kept saying it, over and over….He had to fly to Rio, then make connections at Tierra Del Fuego for a boat going to Antarctica. At Tierra Del Fuego there are a lot of stores selling stuffed animals, especially penguins, the intriguing animal that makes its home at the south pole. Michael managed to get a stuffed penguin for me and kept it with him, then bring it all the way back home. All roads lead to Michael…I can’t get very far away from him, it seems, nor do I want to.

1 Guys and Dolls

Before I get completely swept away and tunnel into more rock and roll music, I must mention two other kinds of music that I really did love: show music and classical.

My mother had albums from several shows: South Pacific, Guys and Dolls, and Three- penny Opera. There were others but I can’t remember them now. She played these albums over and over until I knew every word from South Pacific and Guys and Dolls. Threepenny Opera didn’t excite my interest, for some reason.

I would lay flat on our living room floor and play these albums just like my mother did, over and over, and read the liner notes on the album covers. You can actually learn a lot just by doing that.

I actually did learn a lot about life and living from listing to Guys and Dolls. Don’t forget how young I was–maybe about seven or eight. My mind was like a new sponge, especially when it came to music; I was just starting the piano then. So what did learn? There was a place called “Salvation Army” with people who walked around, preaching about God, and asking for money. This was in NYC. Then there were these sharp, cool, card-playing, heavy drinkers who hung out together and had fun.
The story is about what happens when these two groups clash.

What romantic music, about love and living! Also about sadness and the fear of being alone. On top of that there was plenty of humor. After listening to these songs an infinite number of times, I can still remember the characters, the words to all the songs, and who played who in the Broadway production.

The more I write, the more I love my mother. In those early childhood days it was a happy home on a short but busy street, like a beehive of people doing what they should. I just think it’s nice that my mother let me lay on the living room floor and listen to her records, over and over.

Throughout the day I kept thinking of writing about music. The whole thing kind of came at me at once and I thought: What have I taken on? There was so much fabulous and fantastic music we listened to. How am I going to do this? Oh well. I’m in it now and there’s no turning back.

I haven’t even mentioned Motown and the great, GREAT music from African-American performers. The mind reels. But I thought about Sam Cooke. How could you not like Sam Cooke? His many, many songs meant a lot to me. But Chain Gang is special.

My parents had friends in Ohio and one weekend we all went to see them. Their last name was Sachs. They had a son, Kenny, who was just my age. Kenny’s mother asked him if he would taken me down to what she called the “Rec Room.” The adults were old friends who probably wanted to talk among themselves and so they told the kids to find something to do.

This never happened to me before and it didn’t happen again until I was in my mid-twenties and divorced. Kenny brought me downstairs and we looked at each other. We squeezed ourselves into this big arm chair and made out for a long time.

I still can’t believe I did this. I was 13 years old. Here’s a funny detail: on the ride home from Ohio I was sick to my stomach. This thing that happened–I felt so guilty!

What does this have to do with Sam Cooke? Kenny’s father had a really neat car that was a convertible. He took us out in a ride that night and Chain Gang was playing on the radio. It was great. That sneaky making out, then a ride in a convertible–what a weekend.

Also, I liked the Everly Brothers. They had lots of nice songs and my favorite was Dream. It’s sad, a song about somebody who can only dream about being with a another person. I think, on listening to this, that I was afraid I’d end up like that person in the song who “dreams (her) life away.”

I am trying to be organized and begin with early rock music and saving the British Invasion, mid sixties and supergroups for later. Dusty Springfield sort of crept in there.

I looked up the following and–thank goodness for you tube–I listened to:

Rock Around The Clock/Bill Haley and The Comets
Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire/Jerry Lee Lewis
The Bristol Stomp/ The Dovells
Jailhouse Rock/Elvis Presley

Rock Around The Clock came out when we still lived on Shady Ave.Ext. I was barely a teenager but it was the first true rock and roll I’d ever heard; it was really exciting and exhausting as well. Arlene, my neighborhood friend, and I talked about it. So that’s what you do when you got to be a teenager: you rocked around the clock. I asked Arlene if her parents would ever let her do that–stay out all night and dance with boys. Of course both of our answers were NO. We didn’t even know how to dance then; but the music was true rock and it “rocked us” all over and backwards. Here’s a very interesting fact. On you tube, while the music was played, there were different scenes connected with that time. Mostly, though, there were kids dancing. It was amazing. BUT there were black teenagers in at least one scene, not dancing, just standing and watching.

Timewise, Jerry Lee Lewis came later but I don’t associate him with the British Invasion in the early and mid-sixties. I just loved the way he played the piano and almost shrieked when he sang. “You shook my nerves and you rattled my brain…you broke my will, but what a thrill! GOODNESS GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!!!! It came, again, at a time when I was trying to get the idea of what it meant to grow up and be a teenage girl. So that’s what happened?! You break some poor guy’s will and he thinks it’s a thrill?! Yecch! But I loved the music and the energy.

My parents bought me my first record player when we were still living on Shady. I bought one “45” and it was The Bristol Stomp by the Dovells. Arlene and I listened intensely, over and over, to the words. We knew one thing for sure; these guys were not from Pittsburgh. They had to be from New York or Philadelphia, someplace where the kids were “sharp as a pistol.” We were still playing with dolls….

I wrote briefly about Elvis but I made a mistake. He’s as big and all-encompassing than any supergroup. I watched him perform Jailhouse Rock and I could barely sit still. He threw his body around like a panther and his grin, so self-confident and blindingly white, made me think about things I thought were long-forgotten. I think he had some mysterious quality that made girls feel a bit maternal. He had a boyish quality even though he was SO masculine.

Phil Spector’s “wall of sound” was something different and original. At least I thought so. It went straight from my brain to my heart. These young black girls–mostly black, I think–singing their hearts out with this incredible booming in the background! Of course it was about love but it was “girly love.”

The Ronettes were the best, I think. I do like lots of other girl-groups, though.
“Be My Baby”–the words captured me and every time I hear it I sigh a little and remember a certain secret romance I had that nobody knew about. Favorite line in the song? “We’ll make them turn their heads every place we go.” This relationship, if it ever had been a real one and not secret, would have been like that. The two of us looked so good together, we definitely would have “turned their heads.”

“Going To The Chapel and We’re Gonna Get Married” by the Dixie Cups
“These Are a Few of the Things We Love by ?
“And Then He Kissed Me also by ?
“My Boyfriend’s Back”

These songs kind of mapped out what I could expect from being in love. A first kiss, meeting your boyfriend’s parents, thinking of situations that were romantic because you both liked them…all of this is not cerebral and it’s a good thing it’s not. What would life be without this dreamy, contented, foresight of meeting the right boy and being fulfilled by love?

Related to the girl groups is Dusty Springfield. I don’t know what category she’s in–country or pop rock. Her voice was low and grainy and sounded sexy and female. I always went bonkers when I heard her sing “Son of A Preacher Man.” In this song she sings about a young girl, coming to first awareness of sex and love with the “preacher man’s” son.

“Preacher Man had a son and when he’d come to visit he’d come along
When they all got down to talking, Cousin Billy would take me walking
Through the back yard we’d go walking
Then he’d stop and look into my eyes
Lord knows, to my surprise
The only boy who could ever reach me
Was the son of a preacher man
The only boy who could ever teach me
Was the son of a preacher man
He was, yes he was…

Now that I think of it, Dusty Springfield definitely had a big portion of southern soul in her. The song, I have to admit, reminded me of myself, a little. I really don’t know why…certainly no preacher man ever came to our house!!! (Words are not entirely correct, I’m sure. It’s the spirit that counts.)

Bill Withers is one of those pop singers who do get attention but not the frantic kind that the super-stars receive. However, I’m a fan of his and I have a CD of his greatest hits.

The more you think about music and remember how it made you feel, that effort opens doors and then more doors until your head is full of stuff, i.e., memories of other people you loved, what was happening in the world.

My liking Bill Withers is very romantic. He had a hit song called “Lovely Day.”

“When I wake up in the morning, love
And the sunlight hurts my eyes…
Then I look at you
And the world’s all right with me
Then I look at you
And I know it’s gonna be
A lovely day…

It’s the way I feel about my husband. It’s straight from the gut; when my husband wakes up and smiles at me I feel fantastic.

There’s this other song he recorded called “Use Me.” It’s more like a Rolling Stones song or something like that. Let’s just say it’s on the rough side of human relations.

I also like the song “Everybody Plays The Fool” which I think was recorded by a group called The Main Ingredient. It’s not about love but what it is about is life. That’s just the way things go. It’s kind of comforting in a way…everybody gets a chance to find happiness but you don’t always get it immediately, like Harold and Maxine did. When I think of this song my mind goes into a kind of life line and I go back in time and think of the boyfriends I had, also my ex-husband Mark. Yes, I “played the fool” once in a while but not overwhelmingly. Nothing to be bitter about. When you listen to music you’re part of the whole world.

1

For anybody who knows what I write about, they know I studied classical music at the age of seven. I was always very sensitive to moods, states of mind, and I responded quickly to new experiences. When I learned to play the piano I was given Bach, Beethoven, and Mozart to study but, to be honest, I was also given these composers to worship. The piano and the playing of it became spiritual. As I’ve heard before, once you learn to read music you never forget how to do it. So as an adult I started playing again as if no time had elapsed. I will write about one piece by Bach called Prelude in C Major. There is no piece of music like this one. It was included in a story I wrote. The more you listen, the more you play it, the more you find. It is difficult and easy at the same time; it takes you on a “magic carpet ride”–which will be dealt with later! It’s a magic carpet ride into your self.

Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin, along with the Prelude, is my favorite piece. It’s short, intensive, way too complicated for me to play. It’s written for an orchestra but has within it a piano piece. The New York Philharmonic played it with Leonard Bernstein conducting and playing the piano portion at the same time. I saw this on television when I was ten years old. Woody Allen used it in the first scenes of his movie “Manhattan.” I’m not absolutely sure if it was that movie or another one. But it was a beautiful thing to see.

2

When Elvis Presley reached his peak of his popularity I wasn’t actually a teenager yet. I didn’t respond to him at all; I was aware, though, of his being on the Ed Sullivan show and the goings-on regarding his “suggestive body movements.” I just didn’t respond to what he had to offer. However, as an adult, for some reason I got a CD of all of his #1 hits. As I listened to this I was shocked and amazed in a good way. It’s true that, upon listening, he actually did bring a lot from his southern upbringing to us in the north. A first in music, no mistake about it. In his singing he sometimes sang with a sob or cry in his voice. I think in the past I viewed him as a kind of clown-like figure…all the girls screaming, the adults protesting. A circus act. But I was wrong. What a voice, and what a technique he had for putting the precise mood and feelings into the songs. “In The Ghetto” is one of my favorites of his; also “Kentucky Rain” plus “It’s Now Or Never.” There was nothing sexier than Elvis–on fire, demanding, pleading that “his love won’t wait.” I read a quote from Bob Dylan re: Elvis–“Listening to him was like breakin’ outta jail.”

As much as I love to write about the beautiful place where I live, I was beginning to bore myself. There’s just so much green stuff you can exclaim about. I was going to write about some of the people I’ve met here but I stopped. I’ve grown to love many of my neighbors but you can’t argue with your stomach. Enough is enough.

I’ve been sitting here and listening to the Dave Mason version of “Will You Love Me Tomorrow?” By Carol King and Geoffrey Geffen. Hope I spelled that right.

Anyway, that version of the song is so hypnotic; it makes me lean back and close my eyes and dream. What child of the sixties doesn’t love all that fantastic stuff we were free to listen to? So this series, I think, will be long. There’s so much I remember, so many thoughts connected to those songs. I could go on forever.

Before I begin on describing the music of my teenage years (and later) and how it made me feel, because I’m a patriot and I love my country–I want to mention our national anthem and other patriotic songs. I love playing them on the piano and singing while I play. And relating to that, there’s the dynamic scene in “Casablanca” at Rick’s where the Nazis are singing and playing their song; then Paul Henreid, the super-hero/super-underground spy who survived Nazi cruelty tells the orchestra to play the French national anthem. Their music finally overcomes the Nazi’s music and all the French dedicate themselves to their own country. I read someplace that everybody cries during that scene, even when they’ve seen this movie ten times. I know I cry then but I used to be embarrassed about it.

So what am I saying? Music can stand for anything and everything, can make people cry, long for a lost love, give comfort. There’s a song by Elton John–“Mona Lisas and Madhatters”–that is sad and sweet and honest. I had to spend a lot of money to get the CD but it was worth it. (I’m a CD person.) It’s pretty obvious that the song describes some kind of trip to New York City and the people there were mean to Elton in some way. So he turned his pain or disillusion into a lovely song. I never get tired of listening to it. There’s a mandolin played in it, also. But just one artist could extend itself for pages. Also–I’ve never told anybody this but I also get emotional listening to “Crocodile Rock.” Why? One line: “I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will.” Unfortunately the reason for my liking this line has to stay private. But there’s so much more…

Signs From The Other World 2

As everybody who talks to me these days knows–the word “indigenous” is my favorite word. The concept sits in my heart, soul, and mind; it came to be there while watching the Nazi-bulldozers downstate. I watched everything that grew naturally torn and the earth–yes, raped. All that concrete, all those bricks, the stuff they use to make driveways and little roads–covering up what nature put there and–what came to haunt me–IT WOULD NEVER COME BACK!!! People wouldn’t be able to meet as a group and say: “We want the tiger lilies and the violets and the milkweed to come back. We want to bulldoze all the bright new houses down and go back to the way it was.” It was real death; and all done for money. I still cry and get choked up, thinking about it. I’m just grateful that we exited when we did so we could see what the earth really looks like. Of course there are towns and people and grocery stores; there’s even a college right in the middle of Bloomsburg. However, those places are quite tiny compared to the wide, wide stretches of meadows, mountains, and fields and sky.

The interesting part of this is that I was never what people call a “tree-hugger.” I’ve always gone my own way kind of quietly, not protesting the status quo. But what was actually happening was this–I know that if there was a way to effectively protest what was going on around me, I’d be first in line. But it wasn’t like that. I saw literally waves of evil overlapping where I was standing!! Like the Nazis who burned people and books. The word “holocaust” means “a burning.” Was I being actually burned? Of course not. But what made up the best part of me was in deep distress and lost in the cloud of evil.

Too dramatic? Slightly crazy? Nope. Just a 66 year old woman telling the truth.

Whenever I go anywhere I see signs of the other life, which isn’t actually true anymore; that life isn’t “other” anymore. It’s in me and I’m in it. What are these signs? Nobody, and I mean nobody, cares about their lawns being thick, velvety, and deep green. There aren’t any “lawn care” companies here, nor is there a business that will install a private swimming pool at your home. There’s a garden center where plants are sold and of course, not “indigenous” ones. But it’s a small company and only runs on a part time basis.

And all along the smaller roads, the roads that extend from Bloomsburg in every direction, there’s a feast of green, growing things, what people I think would call weeds except they’re not “weeds.” They have a right to be here. There’s a certain plant that I had never seen before, and it grows all around here. It’s so strange-looking that it fascinated me and I looked it up in one of our field guides. This plant is called “mullein.” There’s a base of leaves and a large, thick stalk rises from that base. This stalk is covered with buds which bloom into bright yellow flowers. I read that ancient women used this plant for many medical needs. It can be dried, roasted, and used to treat infections, colds, headaches, and more. It has never seriously occurred to me to try doing this; however, the thought crosses my mind. Also, I think in terms of stories and I have this idea to write a story about women, living in primitive times, and fantasizing in terms of what their lives were like–and how they had this mullein plant as the center of their culture. We now have five or six of them growing here now.

What else is growing here? I have a friend who comes here and loves to take rides along the back roads while identifying masses of plants. I can’t keep up with her so I just sit and listen and look.

You don’t move here for the economy–even before the recession there were few jobs here; you don’t move here to have a glamorous social life; this really makes me laugh. You don’t move here for the food, and here’s another family joke. I like to say that our leftovers are better than any food served around here in diners, etc. But we still go out to eat and relax, as long as we accept that all bread here is terrible.

Signs From The Other World 3

A final anecdote. Right before my mother became ill and couldn’t travel on her own, she took the train from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg and we met the train and brought her here. It’s a long ride to Harrisburg except that it isn’t very far once you’ve been here for a while. Always a nature lover, she really got the essence of the place, why we love it, and what it is doing for us. No explanations were necessary. I took her on long drives so she could see what I love and she “grokked” it.

A funny thing happened. I was driving along the road that divides our neighbors’ farm in half. That’s where the cows and the bulls are kept. My mother went into raptures: “Oh, just look, cows and animals are living right here, right by your house…” So I pulled up to the fence and a bull came right up to us as my mother was bubbling over with joy. The bull, keeping eye contact with us, began to paw the ground. I knew two things: 1) the wire fences really were not put there to keep the bulls forcefully in, they were just flimsy wires and these fences convinced the animals that they were not welcome to leave; 2) a bull pawing the ground and standing inches from us meant trouble. So I drove away quickly.

My mother wrote me a letter after returning to Pittsburgh. She was full of enthusiasm for our home, the breath-taking views, lack of “civilization.” She thanked me over and over for having her as our guest. However, here’s the important part. Decades went by when my mother and I were totally at war or on uneasy terms. Didn’t get much praise but I went my own way and I have no complaints. But in this letter my mother apologized for not seeing my strengths and denigrating me. This was partly due to the fact that I showed her the house where I lived by myself with my poor cat, working and creating a situation that allowed us to get the mortgage. How many people get letters like that from their parents?

You see?? This place is full of–whatever you want to say…good vibes, finding a source of strength? It is everything.

Signs From The Other World

When I made that suggestion to move here, of course I didn’t know anything about what I was getting us into.

If I had known, we would have been here years earlier.

I’m going to make a list of some of the signs, shown to me, of what I call The Other World:

Our neighbors, who raise cows mostly, had a newborn donkey arrive just when we arrived also. His name is Sparky and he was just so perfectly made and had such a high, free spirit. He was put into a big circular pen with plenty of room for him to canter and play. His mother always watched him from the door to the barn; every time we went anywhere we stopped and watched him. We pulled our van up closely to the pen and Sparky, recognizing us, came to say hi. Immediately his mother made her presence known and pushed him away from us!!! But we always still stopped, just not so close. Our neighbors had lots of fun, laughing at this but not in a mean way. Michael took a picture of Sparky and several people bought copies.

One day I was driving down Austin Trail and, by the side of the road, I saw a mother bear with three cubs. And here I am, a city/suburb person, not getting any closer to bears–until then–than in a movie!!! I stopped and instinctively closed the car windows. The mother was reared up on her hind legs–we had a stand off. While keeping an eye on her, I watched the cubs. Teddy bear cubs are unbelievably CUTE–round, black, rolling around and playing with each other. I wanted to explode with happiness; this is what I came here for. Finally the mother gave up the stand-off and withdrew with her cubs. When I told Peter about this, he said that he doubted there were three cubs; this was rare for one litter. I stuck to my story and whenever someone tells me that they’ve seen our bear it’s always with three cubs. She lives in a cave not too far off; lots of times I see bear footprints in the ground during “mud season.”

One day, driving home from work–a part of my drive home was through a heavily wooded forest area–a line of five young male turkeys ran out in front of me. I stopped in time, thank God. They were hysterical! Walking in a line, their red combs small and thin, they appeared to be on an important mission of some kind.

Anybody who loves to watch birds would find this place a paradise. The bird population is thick and various; I can’t even begin to name all of them. We do have red tail hawks here–they live on “our” mountain and they cruise around in circles, looking for prey. They cry out in a piercingly sharp scream; I almost had a car accident once, driving along and seeing them, way up high. I could go on and on but I will say this–at dusk, during the cold months, an owl residing on the mountain really does say “Whooo.” Very primitive–an old sound.

There’s a creek that crosses our property and it’s been the subject of jokes, sadness, joy, and pain. Wow, that’s saying a lot but it’s all true. When we first got here I saw a rainbow trout swimming under the bridge that crosses the creek. I was literally struck dumb by the sight and could not get any words out. Just realizing that I live in a place where rainbow trouts come and go as part of nature–it’s not “helped” by people who “stock” fishing areas–I still become emotional, remembering this. Also, the creek makes noises at night, wonderful to hear after living near a super-highway, especially after a big storm. Then there’s the saga of the falling trees. Over the last 15 years, soil has been eroded and huge trees fell across the creek, creating a dam which in turn produced a pool under the bridge. I was miserable about this, and I kept nagging Peter to hire several of our wondrous Amish neighbor men to come and chop up the wood and cart it away. Peter kept quiet about it; and Michael, known for his even temper (sometimes) was infuriated. So strange. He told me that if somebody gave him a chainsaw he’d come here and saw the wood himself! In the end, in a quietly charming way, the problem was solved. We were sitting on the porch when a Great Blue Heron flew by, quietly landed on the pool that the fallen trees created, and began to eat!! Obviously, small water creatures had found homes down there. After that, Peter made an unusual decision; he said that the situation would stay exactly as it was. This was unusual because he is always doing things for Michael and me. So we respected this. He’s more than earned his right to watch the Great Blue Heron from time to time.

One night, Michael was home from school and we were all sitting and watching television when we heard a bumping on the cellar steps. Our cat, Callie, had some kind of wobbly creature by its neck and she was dragging it up the steps. Neither Michael nor I had ever seen this kind of animal; it was pear-shaped and looked soft and had these weird, whisker-like things sticking out of its nose. Michael and I started to yell–we couldn’t get any words out nor could we laugh or cry. But Peter–a former nature counselor–calmly assessed the situation. (Between the three of us, we have a standing family joke about that night. When we saw Callie, who was still a kitten, dragging this thing that was bigger than she was, Michael and I looked at each other, mouths open. Struck dumb with total surprise. It was really funny.)

This creature was a “star-nosed mole.” It has a cousin which is a vole. Peter who never kills spiders found a box, got the thing away from Callie which was no mean feat, and took it down to the creek. And the never-to-be-forgotten time I woke up and saw that I had a snake in the bedroom. Believe it or not, I wasn’t scared. I’ve learned a little about nature so I could see that it was harmless. I just calmly told Peter about the snake and he took it outside.

Finally, we really do have “bats in our belfry.” At the very top of the barn, there are rows of bats that hang upside down during the day and leave the barn at night. I sympathize with those who fear them–they aren’t pretty. But I came to love our bats. They communicate with each other better than with iPhones and, believe me, there are no stray insects plaguing us at night. They are efficient and organized. One time, in the Salvation Army store in Bloomsburg, I found a T shirt that had a picture of a bat on it with funny facts like: “they communicate better than with cell phones…they like hanging out with their friends…”