Happy Almost Thanksgiving Eve, Dearest Ones!
In a time where gratitude can be hard to come by I am enormously grateful for you, for random acts of kindness, and for glorious music! More specifically for this song. I did not write it, John Bucchino did that, but I love to sing it. It is a perfect song in an imperfect world.
Wishing you a day filled with love, loved ones and the perfect slice of pumpkin pie.
With love & Music,
Amanda
AUGUST!!!!!
Hello dear hearts! Welcome to the dog days of summer…humidity in the East, crunchy dryness in the West, fireflies for some, fiery flames for others.
(And why are they called dog days, I wonder?)
At the moment, I am longing to be on a beach by a lake in Maine or perhaps lying in an Irish meadow…anything that reeks of green!
This is my natal month. At some point SOON I will flip the rolodex on another number to add to my book of personal history. I am astounded that I have lived this long! And truly grateful that my feet still touch the floor and I don’t moan and creak too loudly as I rise.
(To quote my wise pal, Wendy Lane Bailey, I am becoming my own rhythm section.)
So many things to be grateful for!
I just gifted myself with a new book, THE BOOK OF JOY, by the Dalai Lama and Desmond Tutu, about how to maintain and promote joy in this troubled world. The end of the first page quotes His Holiness saying everyday is your birthday…a new day to celebrate. I am resolving to apply that to my new mornings, pursuing coffee and joy rather than the front page of the paper.
In that light I have chosen a buried treasure from a long while back, co-written with the ever-talented and delightful David Friedman. This is a demo from a while back, sung by a truly WONDERFUL multi-talented genius woman …Ann Marie Milazzo. I hope you enjoy it.
It’s title… I CHOOSE LOVE
Here’s my August poem
FLAMES
There are flames
Of anger
Simmering
In the white dead grass
Of hunger.
There are flames
Of righteousness
Marching
Through the grey splintered wood
Of injustice.
There are flames
Of hatred
Racing
Across the drought-dry plains
Of ignorance.
There are flames
Of passion
Writhing
Along the new soft bones
Of imagination.
There are flames
Of compassion
Welding
The red hot hearts
Of humanity.
There are flames
Of love
Illuminating
The darkness of a fear-weary world
In the voice
Of a woman in pain,
In hope,
Standing alone
In a spot of light
Singing.
Well, here it is. July! The fireworks are over, at least those made of gunpowder. (My shivering little dog is truly grateful.)
I find I am over fireworks. Nowadays I feel that fireworks are just bombs in fancy costumes…a celebration of weaponry… and I’ve seen enough to last me a life time.
I wondered, as I listened to the explosions from the High School football field down the hill, if this would be the last celebratory Independence Day, our country being in such emotional disarray these days. Then I received an e-mail from one of my high school chums, truly the smartest person I know (we’re talking Mensa here) that brought me cheer. She is an avid reader of everything!
This is what she sent my way…
Just finished reading Fears of a Setting Sun: The Disillusionment of America’s Founders, by Dennis Rasmussen (professor of political science at Syracuse University). Most interesting. Relies largely on letters and diaries revealing how pessimistic Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, and Adams were about the future of the U.S. Only Monroe avoided complete loss of faith in the Constitutional system they had created.
Somehow I took great comfort in knowing that this country has been here before and still survives. May it be ever thus.
As for this month’s song, it is one of the less buried. I recorded long, long ago. But it just sounded like right now is a good time for its revival. It is called HERE AND NOW and I wrote it with a fabulous songwriter named Tom Snow.
I hope it makes you smile.
As for the 4th itself in our little town, the parade was back…the kazoo marching band in all its glory, which made me very happy. I always enjoy the bunting and chairs that line the streets in preparation for THE DAY. And I am always sorry to see the chairs disappear.
Here’s the poem I wrote for them.
THE CHAIRS OF SUMMER *
It starts with just one chair
Alone…aloof…
Astride a busy corner
By a bus stop
Under a dusty oak
From Costco or Target,
Viet Nam or Taiwan
Worn white plastic
Ragged rainbow webbed
A solitary chair appears
Suddenly, surprisingly
Like the face of Mary
In a taco
A miracle of
The mundane
Tomorrow it will multiply
Magically into four…
Fourteen…forty-five
By week’s end
Four hundred plus
Bound together by bungee cords
Of anticipation
Waiting for the large pink people
Waving small bright flags
Who will plant themselves
Like sunburned petunias
Listening for that first squeal
Of high school clarinet
That rat-a-tat of
Snare drum
The buzz of fifty
Kindergarten kazoos
Flinging John Phillip Sousa
To the summer skies.
The fire truck will pass by
The flatbed filled
With princesses
Representing various
Vegetables
Pious folk on hay bales
With banjos
A float or two of bunting
And bed sheets
All will wave and cheer
Rise and go
Leaving the chairs
To sit in silence
As the sun dips
Behind the crisping hill
The sky explodes above
The football field
Then one by four by forty
They will disappear
Back to garages, closets
Invisibility
The annual migration
Complete
Until next July
Calls them out once more
To unveil their
True selves,
Their sacred
Purpose
To be
The chairs
Of summer
Stay cool! Stay positive! Stay kind!
LOVE,
Amanda
For concert bookings please contact garrygeorge@pacbell.net.
