The Postman's Song

I was young, I was emotional and I was stupid and I found myself stranded on the Greek island of Hydra the summer of 63.
That was the second year of the wildly popular Song of the Postman, everybody in Greece singing or humming it.
I heard it over and over and it became part of that painful summer.
Here I am, 46 years later trying to find the song, and I think I succeeded.
The internet is wondrous thing; I can now listen and recall that summer, I can hear that song sung by no less than Agnes Baltsa
and I remember
and I am glad that I am not that young or that stupid anymore.
Still emotional, though.

Sweet Memories

I remember as a student of the Kunsthaandvaerkerskolen in Copenhagen, I and some of my fellow students would, after school, go to a cafeteria, where we would share an order of Pommes Frites
and a bowl of Sauce Bernaise to dip them in.
I wonder what they are serving to starving students now, what with the leveling of taste and borders
deep fried potatoes and tomato ketchup ?

And speaking of muses;
there are nine of them, all named and with specific areas of expertise and knowledge
and then there's a tenth, unnamed and up for grabs.
But why stop at ten, says I.
Why not have a stock of muses to be delivered, free of charge, to anyone who might wish for one.
Someone like me.
A muse that would fit your personality and life style which in my case would be a muse prone to sloth, half blind and tone deaf ( a security measure should I ever decide to sing aloud ) and with just one leg ( another security against me dancing ) but most important
it would be my muse and mine only.
Why Not ?
Surely I am not the only one in need of unconditional love other than of the canine variety.
So I say, bring on the muses and let us all have at it.

My Dance

I don't dance.
For one, I was born with two left feet
and two, all my adult life I have been surrounded by superbly trained and talented professional dancers
so, no , I don't dance
except
this evening, as I was finishing my meal and a bottle of cheap wine
the radio played a particularly enchanting version of Greensleeves, counter tenor and guitar
and I got up
and I danced
and the dogs went into hiding and the birds stopped chirping
but this was a moment between me and my half blind, tone deaf and one legged muse
and we danced.
It may never happen again.
We had our dance.
Everybody should have their dance.
And this was our moment.

What a trip.
It started with a video on Youtube of a-until recently unknown to me - young singer.
I was mailed the link and that led to a clip of the same singer singing Handel's Messiah
which led to my all time favorite counter tenor singing the same aria
which led to him singing in a production of Handel's Julius Cesar
which led to a damn fine production of that opera and to a wonderful Danish soprano
and a superb number of the opera done at Glyndebourne to
at the end of the line
a zany television production of the Handel arias by the ever luminescent Kiri Te Kanawa
and I thought
WOW
I never had to get up and change the record/tape/CD, all is done with a click of the mouse.
Allright, so the sound quality is not the greatest, but good enough to make you sit and weep at the beauty of the music and the artistry of the singers.
What a trip.

There's an old saying - and I paraphrase - if you seek wisdom, go to the ants.
Well I for one don't think the ants are all that smart; devious, yes.
They will do their dastardly deeds at night when regular folks are asleep so they wake up to yet another defoliated plant, but my point is this.
If they were so smart, they would leave some leaves so the plant could recuperate faster.
Not so with these ants. They strip the poor plants to stalks leaving nary a leaf, and many times killing the plant in the process.
Is that so smart ?
My advice is not to go to the ants for wisdom and it makes you think that-maybe- the former administration should have heeded that suggestion.
And don't get attached to your plants if you live near leaf-eating ants.

It makes you wonder.
I don't entertain but should I wish to, I have enough stuff to set a table for twelve.
So why did I feel compelled to buy a bunch of glasses ?
For sure they were cheap
and for sure I thought they were nice looking
but why ?
A secret desire to one day have dinner parties with scintillating conversations and superbly prepared dishes and lots and lots of water glasses ?
I sure don't know,
but what I do know is that now, right now, I have a set of twelve water glasses stored in a cabinet, not likely to be used for a long, long time.
It makes you wonder, though.