Some days (forgive me) I don’t read all of the letters you receive and share but, for some reason, today I read the entire post. I paid special attention to the fact that your responses are always shorter than the comments you receive. As I to have aged, one of the life lessons I’ve failed to fully learn is the pointless waste of time and emotional energy to argue your personal point of view. If I live as long as you I may do better in the next five years.
I have also noticed the your audience, for the most part, are a very intelligent group. That makes me feel a little superior, as I have been a listener and reader since my years spent driving for visits home while working toward an advanced degree. I have also had the great pleasure of attending three of your live shows. I must be one of the intelligent people (insert a smiling emoji).
Prayers for a speedy recovery and many more years spent with the woman you love. I also pray that neither of us will fall victim to Alzheimer’s. You so you can continue to entertain us and me so I can continue enjoying reading your books and posts.
David Martin
P. S. Because of my failing vision when I start reading a letter that begins GK, I always have stop a second before I realize the writer is not beginning their letter with “OK”.
A short note to Leif who is exasperated by the (over)use of the word "like." John McWhorter, a linguist at Columbia University, writes "... the use of “like” that so bothers purists is in reality a useful discursive hedge, along with phrases such as “sort of,” “kind of” and “you know.” In conversation, these expressions can be read as subtle indications that someone knows that there are other ways to view things, and to be too categorical is to imply a certainty that all may not share." I have, like you, found this interjection annoying, but I'm, like, learning to live with it gracefully. The full column can be found here https://www.nytimes.com/2022/08/19/opinion/herd-mentality.html?searchResultPosition=1
I read the article by Mr. McWhorter and agreed with most of it, but I am still annoyed when I hear people say "like", "you know", "right", "sort of" or "kind of" in almost every sentence when they speak. The only thing worse is hearing the "F" word used in all different parts of speech. I was a university professor for 32 years and heard it constantly as students were walking in the hall outside my office.
I believe that the use of "like" inappropriately originated from a TV program on in the late 50s and early 60s, "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis." His "beatnik" friend, Maynard G. Krebs, used the word "like" constantly, and in a similar way that it is misused today.
Well, you don't hear many references to Dobie Gillis anymore. Maynard was my favorite character, though I may have to reassess given the "like" plague he unleashed. But I'll never stop loving Thalia Meninger, no matter what!
Thank you for your reference to Sarah Youngblood's Shakespeare class. She was one of the best teachers I had. (And it is quite likely that I was in the same class as you and Butch Thompson.)
I've read several writers in recent months speak warmly of Alan Simpson. Each time, my jaw clenches and I "do the tighten up," so to speak. Alan Simpson may be funny at times and be a good storyteller at times, but he is a mean-spirited person who calls old people "geezers" even though he is one, and has worked long and hard to get rid of Social Security! He is the farthest thing from "warm" which, of course, is cold.
As to your own plans for the foreseeable future, it seems that there is a wee sub-text in your writings of recent time that is about fear, that you may be fearful, anxious, and who wouldn't be? Regardless of being at a top medical facility in the world with top-notch doctors and readers/listeners who are pulling for your well-being, fear may very well be part of your experience of life these days. Maybe a tune or two can help, like "Whenever I feel afraid, I close my eyes and then, I whistle a happy tune so no one will suspect I'm afraid....." So go ahead, whistle! You know how to whistle, don't you? Lauren Becall taught Humphrey Bogart the way.
Now, to the really important time, post-surgery: when you are back on the road and back on the stages and leading America in sing-alongs - making us all simultaneously joyful and poignant - maybe you can consider adding the singing of rounds to your crowd repertoire. A crowd singing a round is a beautiful thing (and can also bring some hilarity when it goes awry!) and I can imagine you and your crowds singing, "Oh how lovely is the evening (is the evening), when the bells are sweetly singing (sweetly singing), ding-dong, ding dong....." and the harmony is built into the overlapping sung parts and it is beautiful simplicity.
Be not (too) afraid. Get well. Be well. Do good work. Sing some rounds. We'll be waiting to hear.
Wandering Sioux Nov 15 22 “I wish that hitchhiking would make a comeback,” Pastor Chuck Swartz comments in replying to the Question of the Week. For me, it depends what state or area you’re in, whether hitchhiking is practiced, or not. When my father took us to California in 1960, we stopped in Yosemite National Park. I sat on a rock, looking out over the rock-strewn mountains and timbered valleys, so different from our home in Upstate New York, and I promised myself: “If I ever live here, I’ll drive on every road in the state!” While I lived in Calfornia, I was lucky enough to have a well-paying job, and, for a time, a “Ten-Forty” two week schedule that allowed employees to have three-days off every other week. While I lived there, I nearly completed that promise my teen-aged self had made back then. [I was missing 12 miles near the California/Oregon border, which my daughter “completed “ for me from her home in Santa Cruz.]
Once on my wide-ranging quest, I saw a man in a mountain pass giving the hitchhiker’s thumb sign. He looked innocuous enough. I had been on the road for a day already, with only the myself for company. I stopped. We had a convivial ride together for several hours. I was hooked!
“A man could make a novel out of that (hitchhiking experiences), “ You write. The fact of the matter is, I have. I worked together with, Courtney B. Jenkens, a professional writer, to write which is largely a hitchhikers’ companion memoir of those who travelled with me on the road. “The Peacock on the Roof,” today, is sitting as an icon on my flash drive, along with a couple of paper printouts that I had run off at a local stationers. But I feel like a runner who hasn’t cleared the last hurdle yet. I had been thinking of self-publishing, but COVID came along. It looks like new books thrown on the market might not find much of an audience these days. That, and, like many wanna-be authors, I really don’t know what The Peacock’s reception might be like.
The “Peacock” squalked at me as I read this Post to the Host about hitchhiking. It reminded me of a young man, James, whom I picked up in northern Nevada. Inn the Army he had been injured in Vietnam and admitted to a Veteran’s hospital in California. When his enlistment was up, they just kicked him out - with no severance pay to travel back to his home in Michigan. I picked him up in the Nevada desert. He was “dying of thirst” and guzzled down the contents of all the spare soda pop cans I had in the car. As we traveled on together, he spoke again and again of his passionate wish to return to Michigan to be with his true love, a young woman who had been waiting for him for years. Near the Nevada border, I stopped at a diner. In my mind, it was a “farewell dinner” because I had to be back to work the next day. I knew I had a long drive ahead of me. For James, though, it must have seemed like having the flying trapeze zipped away from him in midair.
“You can’t leave me like this! I can’t go back to my sweetheart without a dime in my pockets! Take me somewhere where I can get a job. I was a mechanic in the Army. I know I can find work! Please!”
His pleading struck me deeply. We headed off again, north to Hailey, Idaho, the first “city” that was more than an empty dot on the map. When we spotted a motel, I went in to pay for James’ chance to rest and refresh himself before seeking employment. The desk clerk wondered what was going on: “Why was I was paying but not staying?” When I explained James’ situation to her, she beamed. She knew a garage owner who would be happy to hire a skilled mechanic. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. By cat-napping in my car, I managed to drive fourteen hours and get back to my Monday morning job just in time.
With regards to James, sometimes I’ve seen webpages that say “Unanswered questions? Send your note here, and possibly you’ll get an answer”. I tried a time or two to contact James “Did you get back to your sweetheart in Michigan? How’s your life going now?” I probably never will hear the end of his story, but with the determination that drove James, I truly believe that he’s there in Michigan with his sweetie now, with grandchildren at their knees, or at least, pictures on the mantle and phones ringing regularly to keep their happy family connected.
Some days (forgive me) I don’t read all of the letters you receive and share but, for some reason, today I read the entire post. I paid special attention to the fact that your responses are always shorter than the comments you receive. As I to have aged, one of the life lessons I’ve failed to fully learn is the pointless waste of time and emotional energy to argue your personal point of view. If I live as long as you I may do better in the next five years.
I have also noticed the your audience, for the most part, are a very intelligent group. That makes me feel a little superior, as I have been a listener and reader since my years spent driving for visits home while working toward an advanced degree. I have also had the great pleasure of attending three of your live shows. I must be one of the intelligent people (insert a smiling emoji).
Prayers for a speedy recovery and many more years spent with the woman you love. I also pray that neither of us will fall victim to Alzheimer’s. You so you can continue to entertain us and me so I can continue enjoying reading your books and posts.
David Martin
P. S. Because of my failing vision when I start reading a letter that begins GK, I always have stop a second before I realize the writer is not beginning their letter with “OK”.
A short note to Leif who is exasperated by the (over)use of the word "like." John McWhorter, a linguist at Columbia University, writes "... the use of “like” that so bothers purists is in reality a useful discursive hedge, along with phrases such as “sort of,” “kind of” and “you know.” In conversation, these expressions can be read as subtle indications that someone knows that there are other ways to view things, and to be too categorical is to imply a certainty that all may not share." I have, like you, found this interjection annoying, but I'm, like, learning to live with it gracefully. The full column can be found here https://www.nytimes.com/2022/08/19/opinion/herd-mentality.html?searchResultPosition=1
I read the article by Mr. McWhorter and agreed with most of it, but I am still annoyed when I hear people say "like", "you know", "right", "sort of" or "kind of" in almost every sentence when they speak. The only thing worse is hearing the "F" word used in all different parts of speech. I was a university professor for 32 years and heard it constantly as students were walking in the hall outside my office.
I believe that the use of "like" inappropriately originated from a TV program on in the late 50s and early 60s, "The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis." His "beatnik" friend, Maynard G. Krebs, used the word "like" constantly, and in a similar way that it is misused today.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Many_Loves_of_Dobie_Gillis
Well, you don't hear many references to Dobie Gillis anymore. Maynard was my favorite character, though I may have to reassess given the "like" plague he unleashed. But I'll never stop loving Thalia Meninger, no matter what!
Callipygian......
Lou Gottlieb of the Limeliters wrote a song about aspiring actress Vicki Dougan....
I'm going to try to attach the track from their 1962 +- live album./Users/rogerkrenkler/Desktop/06 Vicki Dougan (Live).m4a
Thank you for your reference to Sarah Youngblood's Shakespeare class. She was one of the best teachers I had. (And it is quite likely that I was in the same class as you and Butch Thompson.)
I've read several writers in recent months speak warmly of Alan Simpson. Each time, my jaw clenches and I "do the tighten up," so to speak. Alan Simpson may be funny at times and be a good storyteller at times, but he is a mean-spirited person who calls old people "geezers" even though he is one, and has worked long and hard to get rid of Social Security! He is the farthest thing from "warm" which, of course, is cold.
As to your own plans for the foreseeable future, it seems that there is a wee sub-text in your writings of recent time that is about fear, that you may be fearful, anxious, and who wouldn't be? Regardless of being at a top medical facility in the world with top-notch doctors and readers/listeners who are pulling for your well-being, fear may very well be part of your experience of life these days. Maybe a tune or two can help, like "Whenever I feel afraid, I close my eyes and then, I whistle a happy tune so no one will suspect I'm afraid....." So go ahead, whistle! You know how to whistle, don't you? Lauren Becall taught Humphrey Bogart the way.
Now, to the really important time, post-surgery: when you are back on the road and back on the stages and leading America in sing-alongs - making us all simultaneously joyful and poignant - maybe you can consider adding the singing of rounds to your crowd repertoire. A crowd singing a round is a beautiful thing (and can also bring some hilarity when it goes awry!) and I can imagine you and your crowds singing, "Oh how lovely is the evening (is the evening), when the bells are sweetly singing (sweetly singing), ding-dong, ding dong....." and the harmony is built into the overlapping sung parts and it is beautiful simplicity.
Be not (too) afraid. Get well. Be well. Do good work. Sing some rounds. We'll be waiting to hear.
Annie Cross
My contribution to the limerick pike:
I hope I’m never that guy
Who uses the word “Octopi”.
But “Octopuses”
Is clearly for wusses.
And “Octopdes”? …I’d rather die.
Wandering Sioux Nov 15 22 “I wish that hitchhiking would make a comeback,” Pastor Chuck Swartz comments in replying to the Question of the Week. For me, it depends what state or area you’re in, whether hitchhiking is practiced, or not. When my father took us to California in 1960, we stopped in Yosemite National Park. I sat on a rock, looking out over the rock-strewn mountains and timbered valleys, so different from our home in Upstate New York, and I promised myself: “If I ever live here, I’ll drive on every road in the state!” While I lived in Calfornia, I was lucky enough to have a well-paying job, and, for a time, a “Ten-Forty” two week schedule that allowed employees to have three-days off every other week. While I lived there, I nearly completed that promise my teen-aged self had made back then. [I was missing 12 miles near the California/Oregon border, which my daughter “completed “ for me from her home in Santa Cruz.]
Once on my wide-ranging quest, I saw a man in a mountain pass giving the hitchhiker’s thumb sign. He looked innocuous enough. I had been on the road for a day already, with only the myself for company. I stopped. We had a convivial ride together for several hours. I was hooked!
“A man could make a novel out of that (hitchhiking experiences), “ You write. The fact of the matter is, I have. I worked together with, Courtney B. Jenkens, a professional writer, to write which is largely a hitchhikers’ companion memoir of those who travelled with me on the road. “The Peacock on the Roof,” today, is sitting as an icon on my flash drive, along with a couple of paper printouts that I had run off at a local stationers. But I feel like a runner who hasn’t cleared the last hurdle yet. I had been thinking of self-publishing, but COVID came along. It looks like new books thrown on the market might not find much of an audience these days. That, and, like many wanna-be authors, I really don’t know what The Peacock’s reception might be like.
The “Peacock” squalked at me as I read this Post to the Host about hitchhiking. It reminded me of a young man, James, whom I picked up in northern Nevada. Inn the Army he had been injured in Vietnam and admitted to a Veteran’s hospital in California. When his enlistment was up, they just kicked him out - with no severance pay to travel back to his home in Michigan. I picked him up in the Nevada desert. He was “dying of thirst” and guzzled down the contents of all the spare soda pop cans I had in the car. As we traveled on together, he spoke again and again of his passionate wish to return to Michigan to be with his true love, a young woman who had been waiting for him for years. Near the Nevada border, I stopped at a diner. In my mind, it was a “farewell dinner” because I had to be back to work the next day. I knew I had a long drive ahead of me. For James, though, it must have seemed like having the flying trapeze zipped away from him in midair.
“You can’t leave me like this! I can’t go back to my sweetheart without a dime in my pockets! Take me somewhere where I can get a job. I was a mechanic in the Army. I know I can find work! Please!”
His pleading struck me deeply. We headed off again, north to Hailey, Idaho, the first “city” that was more than an empty dot on the map. When we spotted a motel, I went in to pay for James’ chance to rest and refresh himself before seeking employment. The desk clerk wondered what was going on: “Why was I was paying but not staying?” When I explained James’ situation to her, she beamed. She knew a garage owner who would be happy to hire a skilled mechanic. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. By cat-napping in my car, I managed to drive fourteen hours and get back to my Monday morning job just in time.
With regards to James, sometimes I’ve seen webpages that say “Unanswered questions? Send your note here, and possibly you’ll get an answer”. I tried a time or two to contact James “Did you get back to your sweetheart in Michigan? How’s your life going now?” I probably never will hear the end of his story, but with the determination that drove James, I truly believe that he’s there in Michigan with his sweetie now, with grandchildren at their knees, or at least, pictures on the mantle and phones ringing regularly to keep their happy family connected.