Art, History, Music, Radio, Stories

Songs That Make Us Cry

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Today’s post comes to us from Steve.

So many issues ultimately come down to a chicken-or-the-egg controversy. For example, do we cry because sad music causes tears to flow? Or is it more that we get in such a funk that we play music we know will cause the waterworks to kick into high gear?

Some music makes me weep, and sometimes it is the same music that sends other folks into crying jags. But it gets complicated. Some songs that are sure to send many folks running for a box of tissues have no effect on me. I’ve read that Adele has done wonders for the sale of Kleenex, but she doesn’t get a sniffle from me. And I’m an easy weeper.

I just read an article that tries to explain why only some music makes us cry. If you are interested, the article is by NBC News, and here is the link: //https://www.nbcnews.com/better/health/why-do-certain-songs-make-us-cry-ncna784801

What songs—if any—make you cry? I vaguely remember an earlier discussion on Trail Baboon that got into this. One surprising finding was that there is a song about a boat (of all things) that makes Baboons bawl. I’ll admit to being one of them. Here is an interesting You Tube video. It has an unusual intro that is worth listening to:

My strong hunch is that another song that makes me cry is one that also affects other Baboons. I think I’m the person who introduced Dale Connelly and Tom Keith to Eva Cassidy. I sent them a CD and a note to say that her songs make me cry, especially this one:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jzq246LcCU.

Of course, Cassidy died far too young, and I’m sure that is part of her impact on me.

I have long admired the special ability of Bonnie Raitt to sing what I call “heartbreak songs.” She sings many songs that involve a compassionate person talking about heartbreak in terms that seem utterly authentic. For me, heartbreak songs coming from Bonnie Raitt have more credibility than they could have from any other singer. I was touched when Raitt admitted, in a Scott Simon interview, that singing one of those songs in concert has a serious physical and emotional impact on her. As often as she has sung them, when she delivers one of those songs she is left drained and has to turn to other kinds of music in order to recover. Here is one of my favorites:

Some songs are so sad it isn’t a wonder that they make us cry. As a teen I learned to be careful where I was when I heard a song about a dead dog. So it is hardly surprising that a song like this next one would make people cry:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmLQes4tmtM

I mean—Clapton is singing to his dead kid, wondering if they would recognize each other in heaven! That’s pretty emotional stuff! (Pardon me while I blow my nose!)

One of the saddest songs I’ve ever heard was written by a very funny and impish guy. But I have it on good authority that this song also moves many people:

Seeing other people cry can make us cry. Here is an interesting example of that:

And—just to keep this post from being too heavy—here is a song so over the top and manipulative that I can’t imagine a normal person crying after hearing it. There is sentiment . . . and then there is maudlin weepy excess. A song that was designed clumsily to yank our heartstrings was one of Elvis Presley’s early hits. And here he is . . . with a bit of a spin. This is actually the (now dead) comedian Andy Kaufman singing one of Elvis Presley’s sappiest songs:

I need a tissue! No . . . after that one, I need a shower!

What (if any) songs make you cry?

 

Business, History, Media, Stories, Travel

The Omen

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Today’s post comes to us from Linda.

Something in the picture above seems ominous. Or perhaps omenous. But what does it mean?  Wikipedia tells us:

The Romans, unlike the Greeks, considered that signs from the left were usually favorable and positive, while signs from the right were seen as adverse and negative. However, under Greek influence this procedure began to change and eventually lost its universal weight, meaning that each omen case was to be examined separately.

Left or right?  Good or bad?  Discuss.

Art, Baboon Achievers, Family, Stories

Skill Set

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We spent the weekend in Brookings, SD visiting our son and daughter in law. They moved to a new town home a couple of weeks ago, a place they will reside for a couple of years while they financially position themselves to purchase their first home.

Every time they move to a new place, they request my assistance hanging pictures. They insist that I am the only one who can hang the pictures straight, at the correct height, perfectly centered, and do it virtually error free. They say they make too many extraneous nail holes if they do it themselves.  So, I scramble on top of the sofas, chairs, beds, and other furniture, measuring, marking, stretching, reaching, and pounding nails and picture hangers.

Each time they ask me to do this, I demonstrate, one more time, how to figure out where the center is, how to make sure groups of pictures are evenly spaced and at the same height, and I show them the tools they need. I also demonstrate how to hide extraneous holes with tiny screws of tissue and/or toothpaste. It isn’t rocket science. I learned this from my mother, who was a meticulous picture hanger, measuring side to side, ceiling to floor, to find the perfect spot for the nail.

They were so happy to have the pictures on the walls, and declared that the art and photos made their new place truly home. It could have looked like home much earlier if they did it themselves.

What skill set does your family depend on you for? What is your plan for teaching them to do it without you?

 

 

Art, Family, Media, Music, Words

Baby Talk

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Today’s post comes to us from Bill.

I was driving somewhere the other day and my iPod was playing randomized tunes. Patsy Cline’s “Back in Baby’s Arms” had just finished and was followed by John Pizzarelli singing “Be My Baby Tonight”. That started me thinking about the use of “Baby” as a term of endearment. It’s probably the most common way of addressing one’s significant other in popular music. More popular, I suspect, in songs than in real life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1M_MU7G64o

In the 47 years Robin and I have been together, I’ve never called her an infant. But, as one who can’t let random musings pass unconsidered, I wonder: How and when did infantilizing one’s partner become desirable? Why would that be considered romantic? Is calling someone a baby ever the basis of an equitable adult relationship?

And isn’t it sort of creepy when you think about it?

Baboon Achievers, Family, Stories

Living through Adversity

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Today’s post comes to us from Crystal Bay.

I’m in the process of publishing a book that is a compilation of a year’s worth of journals on Caring Bridge during my battle with cancer. I thought I would share just the introduction with you.

***********

It was a day like any other, getting up to drink coffee, check out the news on digital reading online. Two days earlier, I’d seen my primary care doctor for a complaint about chronic constipation.  As he was exiting the exam room, I thought to mention that, once in a while, my daily medications got stuck in my throat.  He turned around and said, “I want you to have an endoscopy this week. Don’t worry – 99% of the time it’s nothing”.

On January 20th, two days after the endoscopy, the gastroenterologist who’d done the procedure called me. She said, “I’m sorry, but you have esophageal cancer”.  Just like that. No “Come in with a friend or family member because there’s a concern about your test results”. Only, “I’m sorry but you have esophageal cancer”.

Never having heard of this kind of cancer, I immediately googled it. What I read in the first few articles basically informed me that I would be more likely to die than to live with this highly fatal type of cancer. This didn’t scare me; it astonished me.  Reading something which basically says you’ll probably die is surreal.  From this moment on, I never dwelled on this probability.  I still haven’t.

For me, seeing a small white spot on a PET scan was in no way a threat to my life; it was just a white spot. How could a little white spot on a scan kill me???

This whole thing made me intensely curious and I researched endless hours to meet my new, unwelcomed internal guest. Never once did I grasp, much less react to, this as a real threat to my life.  It was simply a white spot on a scan.

What I did realize almost immediately was that this diagnosis was a very big deal and that most people hearing it would trip them into fear, panic, anxiety, and generally into feeling powerless. I recognized that this would be a “normal” reaction to hearing a diagnosis of the big “C”, regardless of which type.  For some unfathomable reason, my gut rejected falling into a victim space.

I’d learned a long time ago that the story we make up about any situation will determine how we deal with it. I decided right then and there that I’d make up a story which would carry me through as best as possible, and it sure as hell wasn’t the version of crumbling into fear or depression. No. Not me. Not my style.

Crafting a story of my choosing, I decided that this would be the journey of my lifetime no matter how it turned out. I decided that my greatest responsibility was to my children, grandchildren, and friends.  I don’t have many friends, but have many dozens of acquaintances from my years of being the local “Dancing Grandma”.  With a vision of everyone who knew me in mind, I crafted this story:

I would soldier through with humor and curiosity. I would remain fiercely independent throughout. I would model how to face adversity. I would, if I died, show my loved ones how to do this with gusto and a semblance of dignity. I would not cave into despair no matter what. If I was going to die, I did not want people’s last vision of me to be one of a person victimized by this odd invader. No, I would not allow this to diminish my spirit even as it diminished my physical being.

Making up this story freed me from all of the emotions most cancer victims would feel. This story was so much bigger than me, and I knew it. It was about the people who loved or liked me witnessing a way to make this cancer journey without angst or helplessness. It was bigger than me, and this realization was exactly how I faced cancer with acceptance.

There’s a belief out there that we must view cancer as the “enemy” and envision it as a marauder to be conquered. A very wise friend told me, years after my encounter with esophageal cancer, that I probably survived because I didn’t make cancer an enemy.  For me, it was simply a white spot on a scan, nothing more, nothing less.  It wasn’t a friend or an enemy; it just was.  Its discovery would embark me on a journey that would enlighten me and bring gifts no other journey ever could have.  I learned how resilient I was.  I learned how to accept – even ask for – help.  I’d never before been in such a physically compromised condition that I couldn’t take care of myself. I learned that others instinctively and whole-heartedly respond when they see another human in dire need. I came to understand something I’d taught many clients but never applied to myself: helping someone in need is a gift to the giver.  I hope that I can hold onto this part of my enlightenment.

 

Has adversity brought unexpected gifts to your life?

 

 

Art, Family, gardening, Nature, Science, Stories, Weather

The Arboretum

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On Nonny’s last full day in Minneapolis, we went out to The Arboretum. I have always thought I absorbed my love of gardening from her. She never asked me to participate, but I remember the work she put into her roses, her flowering trees and her vegetable plot.

It was a perfect day for it – not too hot and not too sunny. We took some advice from Lou and did the tram tour before we did anything else. We took the tour driver’s advice and sat in the very back row for the best view and the best sound quality. Nonny loved all the different trees, especially ones with “character” and I marveled at how much of the arboretum there really is!

One of the special exhibits this summer is Gardens of Kaleidoscopes – 15 fabulous sculptures that combine lovely floral arrangements in movable containers within structures that also hold kaleidoscopes. You look through the kaleidoscopes and then slowly spin the flowers (well, you don’t have to do it slowly a little boy of seven showed us). It was amazing and as always when confronted by art, I wonder how the artist thought of the idea in the first place.

View Through Kaleidoscope

What would YOU like to see through a kaleidoscope?

Media, News, Stories

The Expression With No Name

30 Comments

Today’s post is from Bill.

I’ve been bothered lately by the appearance of a new facial expression, at least it’s new to me. I don’t recall ever seeing it on a human face until the last few years and never on a normal person in real life. In this expression, the lips are pressed tightly together and the mouth is bent down sharply at the corners. But I wouldn’t call it a frown– there’s no participation in the expression by the eyes or the eyebrows or any other part of the physiognomy.

You will have guessed by now that I’m describing Senator Mitch McConnell and he is certainly the primary practitioner of that facial gesture, although I’ve also seen it on various other politicians who have been caught embarrassing themselves. I’ve tried to make the expression myself and it isn’t that easy to maintain. It seems to be Senator McConnell’s default expression, so maybe we don’t need a specific name for that look when it happens on his face, but when it is adopted by other public figures, how should we describe it to someone? I suppose we could say, “He (or She) McConnelled”, but that’s too much McConnell for me.

Still, without an apt descriptive word for it, our ability to communicate is hobbled. I don’t think that expression is going away anytime soon.

So what should we call it?

Baboon Achievers, Food, Stories

Complaint Department

44 Comments

I spent part of Friday looking up the online recipes for a new diet I’ve been trying, and printed out a few of the recipes for my collection. I finally gave up on one recipe, however, when I read that I should “In a small saucepan, whack honey with liquid and simmer till sauce thickens slightly.” I realized after reading the next sentence “Take off heat and whisk in mustard” that the author meant for us to “whisk honey with liquid”, not whack it. (!)

In the next paragraph I was told to “mix sugar with nest and chile powder”, but I’m on to them now, and after consulting the ingredient list, I understand that oddly enough, instead of nest, they meant lime zest.

I want to write to them with my rant – “What is wrong with you people? Have you no editor? Since I’m doing it anyway, how about if you pay me to be your editor?” but there is nowhere to write that would bring satisfaction.

When have you lodged a complaint with the appropriate party, and did you get satisfaction?

Art, Business, Family, History, Media, Nature, Stories, The Future

You Can Retire….

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This weekend’s post comes to us from Jacque.

Recently I received the content below as an email from a friend who lives in Florida:

You can retire to Phoenix, Arizona where …

      • You are willing to park three blocks away from your house because you found shade.
      • You’ve experienced condensation on your rear-end from the hot water in the toilet bowl.
      • You can drive for four hours in one direction and never leave town.
      • You have over 100 recipes for Mexican food.
      • You know that “dry heat” is comparable to what hits you in the face when you open your oven door at 500 degrees.
      • The four seasons are: tolerable, hot, really hot, and ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

OR

You can retire to California where …

      • You make over $450,000 a year and you still can’t afford to buy a house.
      • The fastest part of your commute is going down your driveway.
      • You know how to eat an artichoke.
      • When someone asks you how far something is, you tell them how long it will take to get there rather than how many miles away it is.
      • The four seasons are: Fire, Flood, Mud and Drought.

OR

You can retire to New York City where …

      • You say “the city” and expect everyone to know you mean Manhattan.
      • You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
      • You think Central Park is “nature.”
      • You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multilingual.
      • You’ve worn out a car horn. (IF you have a car.)
      • You think eye contact is an act of aggression.

OR

You can retire to Minnesota where …

      • You only have three spices: salt, pepper and ketchup.
      • Halloween costumes have to fit over parkas.
      • You have seventeen recipes for casserole.
      • Sexy lingerie is anything flannel with less than eight buttons.
      • The four seasons are: almost winter, winter, still winter, and road repair.
      • The highest level of criticism is “He is different,” “She is different,” or “It was different!”

OR

You can retire to The Deep South where …

      • You can rent a movie and buy bait in the same store.
      • “Y’all” is singular and “all y’all” is plural.
      • “He needed killin” is a valid defense.
      • Everyone has two first names: Billy Bob, Jimmy Bob, Joe Bob, Betty Jean, Mary Beth, etc.
      • Everything is either: “in yonder,” “over yonder” or “out yonder.”
      • You can say anything about anyone, as long as you say “Bless his heart” at the end!

OR

You can retire to Nebraska or Iowa where…

      • You’ve never met any celebrities, but the mayor knows your name.
      • Your idea of a traffic jam is three cars waiting to pass a tractor
      • You have had to switch from “heat” to “A/C” on the same day.
      • You end sentences with a preposition; “Where’s my coat at?”

OR

FINALLY you can retire to Florida where …

      • You eat dinner at 3:15 in the afternoon.
      • All purchases include a coupon of some kind – even houses and cars
      • Everyone can recommend an excellent cardiologist, dermatologist, proctologist, podiatrist, or orthopedist.
      • Road construction never ends anywhere in the state.
      • Cars in front of you often appear to be driven by headless people.

What area would add to this list?

Family, Food, Stories, The Baboon Congress

Take My Watermelon…. please

23 Comments

As anyone who entertains these days will tell you, the RSVP is a hit-or-miss art. I lucked out on my party last night – everybody who showed up had RSVP’d.  There were a few folks that I didn’t hear from at all, but for planning purposes, I assumed they were not coming.  But even so, trying to figure out how much food to prepare for a large group can be a little like trying to figure out how many jelly beans are in the jar. Advanced degrees might help, but just a little.

Last night I did pretty well. There is a little potato salad left, a few helpings of the ramen salad and enough of the 7-layer dip for a lunch or two. There are still quite a few goodies left, but to be fair, we started with A LOT (the peanut butter cup cheesecake bites that YA wanted were extremely rich so I cut them into small pieces – a lot of small pieces)!

The one place I didn’t estimate well was the fruit salad. I made a watermelon bowl, which means on top of the fruit salad, I have all the watermelon that I had to remove to make said  bowl. And I made a huge amount of fruit salad as well.  Even if you freeze the leftovers for smoothies, it’s still quite a bit.

Normally when folks leave one of my gatherings there is the usual exhortation to take a small plate of food home; last night it was watermelon. I sent home at least six containers of watermelon – but I wonder what people think when the last words they hear from their hostess as a begging “take some watermelon… please take some watermelon”!

What’s your favorite leftover?