Cliff Adams' story put me in mind of a story I believe I read in the AARP magazine this month. It was about a musician who happens to be a doctor of psychiatry, I believe, who plays music to group patients afflicted with dementia or alzheimer's disease. She described how these folks would perk up and sing along to 50s and 60s music, some even leaving their wheel chairs to cut a rug, so to speak,
This put me in a somewhat melancholy state of mind as I watched a step father in law sing hymns with his daughter from his hospital bed even though he could no longer speak. You can imagine my frame of mind when later in the article the story went to an article about Tony Bennet who was in a state where he no longer new what a fork was used for nor a TV . When his long-time agent(?) got up and started playing a tune from a show Tony had done he got up, walked to the piano and did the entire show! I pretty much lost it at that point.
I surely hope science finds a way to slow down these horrible diseases if not actually prevent them somehow!!
I never understood A Prairie Home Companion until the winter night I was home from college and locked out of my mom's house. Though I was born into a tribe of craftspeople who listened to NPR and drank coffee from pledge drive mugs the show eluded me until that cold night I was locked out. I luckily found the door to my mom's pottery studio unlocked and thank God the kiln was on and it was gloriously toasty in there! The radio was on softly (this was the late 90s). I accepted my fate and laid down to sleep on a piece of dusty cardboard on the warm studio floor and listened to you as you were just starting a story about a pump handle in winter and how you must never put your tongue on the pump handle. I have been a lot of good places since then but weirdly that evening on floor listening to you on the radio ranks higher than one would imagine. I've liked your work and the show ever since, especially the writers almanac, and your writing generally. I know you don't like compliments so this is in no way a compliment.
Glad you found the studio and I'm pleased that you associate me with rescue. I'm still trying to put the pump handle behind me and I'm sorry you brought it up.
I love the correspondence, and the one about the child in Khartoum, saying goodbye to the horse. I have been reading Dark Star, the book by Paul Theroux about taking a train from Cairo to Capetown down through Africa. I was just reading about Khartoum, and what Gordon did. I am glad the boy was fond of the horse!
Me, too, Carol even tho I had heard it before, I laugh each time My 'Fair Lady' is convinced of my infatuation with flatulation both in a humorous and in an auditory sense. It's like I try to remind her, " There's a lot more room on the outside than there is on the inside!"
I didn't mention her most voiciferous objections because, well, just because.
I must say, though I am not proud of it, she knows me well ! And another thing, she claims she doesn't 'participate.' To which I say "Au contraire. mon cheri amour." But I must say she does 'call her audibles' with extremely less frequency than myself.
Oh, excuse me, for a moment there I was contemplating the nature of the act of apologizing for a farting horse.
Anyway, I can appreciate the value of a more gentle recoil, and besides, if a herd of hostile dear were to charge your friend, she could cope with it. Win/win.
GK - I am only 14 years behind you in age, but have the same issues you describe in putting on underwear in the morning - and I have experienced the same misfire while standing at the toilet. Thanks for sharing so I know I am not alone!
I look forward to reading your next novel - is there a tentative date of release known?
One can always depend on fartulence to make a good day. It's a new word. Thanks for all pithy letters. I missed your anniversary show in Peekskill. I think a PHC event in Morristown, NJ would be sweet. There is a performing arts center in the heart of the town. I attended a rock concert there with Canadian Sarah McLachlan. There was an annoying lady who sang all the lyrics under her breath. I think she was infatuated with her. Ha!
Cliff Adams' story put me in mind of a story I believe I read in the AARP magazine this month. It was about a musician who happens to be a doctor of psychiatry, I believe, who plays music to group patients afflicted with dementia or alzheimer's disease. She described how these folks would perk up and sing along to 50s and 60s music, some even leaving their wheel chairs to cut a rug, so to speak,
This put me in a somewhat melancholy state of mind as I watched a step father in law sing hymns with his daughter from his hospital bed even though he could no longer speak. You can imagine my frame of mind when later in the article the story went to an article about Tony Bennet who was in a state where he no longer new what a fork was used for nor a TV . When his long-time agent(?) got up and started playing a tune from a show Tony had done he got up, walked to the piano and did the entire show! I pretty much lost it at that point.
I surely hope science finds a way to slow down these horrible diseases if not actually prevent them somehow!!
I never understood A Prairie Home Companion until the winter night I was home from college and locked out of my mom's house. Though I was born into a tribe of craftspeople who listened to NPR and drank coffee from pledge drive mugs the show eluded me until that cold night I was locked out. I luckily found the door to my mom's pottery studio unlocked and thank God the kiln was on and it was gloriously toasty in there! The radio was on softly (this was the late 90s). I accepted my fate and laid down to sleep on a piece of dusty cardboard on the warm studio floor and listened to you as you were just starting a story about a pump handle in winter and how you must never put your tongue on the pump handle. I have been a lot of good places since then but weirdly that evening on floor listening to you on the radio ranks higher than one would imagine. I've liked your work and the show ever since, especially the writers almanac, and your writing generally. I know you don't like compliments so this is in no way a compliment.
This is great!
Glad you found the studio and I'm pleased that you associate me with rescue. I'm still trying to put the pump handle behind me and I'm sorry you brought it up.
I love the correspondence, and the one about the child in Khartoum, saying goodbye to the horse. I have been reading Dark Star, the book by Paul Theroux about taking a train from Cairo to Capetown down through Africa. I was just reading about Khartoum, and what Gordon did. I am glad the boy was fond of the horse!
...& I LOL at the Queen & the horse fart! Great stories!
Me, too, Carol even tho I had heard it before, I laugh each time My 'Fair Lady' is convinced of my infatuation with flatulation both in a humorous and in an auditory sense. It's like I try to remind her, " There's a lot more room on the outside than there is on the inside!"
I didn't mention her most voiciferous objections because, well, just because.
I feel that we don't really understand another person until he or she flatulates.
I must say, though I am not proud of it, she knows me well ! And another thing, she claims she doesn't 'participate.' To which I say "Au contraire. mon cheri amour." But I must say she does 'call her audibles' with extremely less frequency than myself.
Oh, excuse me, for a moment there I was contemplating the nature of the act of apologizing for a farting horse.
Anyway, I can appreciate the value of a more gentle recoil, and besides, if a herd of hostile dear were to charge your friend, she could cope with it. Win/win.
I suppose I meant 'deer.' Hope so, at least.
GK - I am only 14 years behind you in age, but have the same issues you describe in putting on underwear in the morning - and I have experienced the same misfire while standing at the toilet. Thanks for sharing so I know I am not alone!
I look forward to reading your next novel - is there a tentative date of release known?
The novel is called LAKE WOBEGON EXPLICIT and it's sort of an apology and self-expose.
You mentioned your grandfather, named Denham. My maiden name was Dunham, and President Obama had a mother whose name was Dunham.
One can always depend on fartulence to make a good day. It's a new word. Thanks for all pithy letters. I missed your anniversary show in Peekskill. I think a PHC event in Morristown, NJ would be sweet. There is a performing arts center in the heart of the town. I attended a rock concert there with Canadian Sarah McLachlan. There was an annoying lady who sang all the lyrics under her breath. I think she was infatuated with her. Ha!
The tomato hitting your sister is a classic.