Or has the intelligence of the average person in this country dropped to about the same as dubya or lower? I have NOT had a good day today. First, Ana and I opened up the two pckages supposedly with the kitchen pots I ordered from a company whose name I shall not mention unless they don't straighten out the problems they have involved me in. I had opened up their sale catalog some months ago and noticed some lovely kitchen utensils advertised as being made of 'steel with ceramic coating.' Since the gals who work for me apparently don't believe in using wooden or nylon stirring utensils, all of my old pans are now scraped clean of their black lining meant to make food not stick. So, I figured the lovely looking yellow ceramic coating would be like cooking on glass and just as slippery for food, and ordered two sets -- one of 1, 2 &3 quart pans, the second of a huge hi-sided frying type pan and about a 4 or 5 quart pot. Not so good... they started to crack and peel immediately, in spite of the fact that we used nothing but medium heat and were extra careful with them. That coating was THIN and I sure ate a lot of it... little yellow flecks in the food often... then grey water from the 'steel'... and I finally sent them a long letter about what had happened. I will say they were prompt in sending me a credit (covering only just barely the cost of the pans, no tax, shipping and handling). So I got out the catalog and found two nice little iron pots, and a set of 1, 2, & 3 qt. pans with lids and a frying pan... this time all red, with what looked like black interiors and in aluminum, so I felt they would be safe. But no.... here we go again... they sent the two red iron pots, and a packing slip with the CORRECT things on it, but the package contained a set of blue, yellow interior frying pans (they also are cheaper in the sale catalog than the red pans). So I wrote them a LONG, long note saying 'remember the old adage... three strikes and you're out,' and please send me something I can use as I tossed the junk pans and have NOTHING to cook in. So they got another long, long letter today telling them I figured they would be a bit more careful and I feel that I should have my order here soon... and NO MORE SHIPPING, HANDLING, EXTRAS, TAX, etc. Of course I also told them if they screw up again, I shall use my expert skills in advertising promoting their lack of talent in the mail order business.
That was just the beginning. Ana handed me my mail and I noticed I had something from UC/SF and was amazed that they would come through with my stipend for doing the senior study with them, but pleased to think I was getting a little extra money, since my rent just went up a shockingly high amount. But, again... what on earth? It was a large bill for the weird PET scan I wrote about in my last entry... it said:
Patient: Margaret Cartwright Provider: Franc, Benjamin L. (now who the hell is he???)
Nuclear Medicine - charge amount: 2,995.00 - Patient adjustment: -2,662.96 - Patient Liability - 331.04
I guess they figured... Oh, hell, she has a hole in her head, she'll just pay it. Jeeze... they asked me to be in the study, they told me I would get paid for being in it (not even the $331.04 they are billing me for), and even took my address a second or third time, so they could send me the money... now they bill me. I repeat... have I gone mad? Am I missing something? Or do all the mail order companies and the hospitals simply hire imbeciles to do their work for them?
We are having something of the same kind of problem in our building... we have had three different managers this year... each one seems to know less about managing a building than the one before. The latest is from Sudan and speaks Sudanese French, plus English with such a Sudanese accent that I (who can understand almost anyone who can speak a little English) cannot understand a word he speaks. He called a meeting just after ordering all new furniture for his office (which was fairly new before he came) and a lot of extra junk for another room they lock up... FOR OFFICE USE ONLY... and the bathroom on the first floor is now FOR OFFICE USE ONLY (meaning for 3-4 people only... that's all we have). At the meeting, with no microphone and almost no voice, he informed us that WE had to save money (OH, he can spend?) and that we cannot use the room that used to be open, or the bathroom... and that he will no longer receive packages in the office... we should make our own arrangement with the Post Office or anyone else delivering to us... they are there only to run things, but not for our business... I have no idea what else he said, as I got up, told the gal next to me that if they asked, I simply said, "Go to hell" and left. Luckily, the gal who delivers our mail knows me well (we chat a lot) and knows my apartment number and delivers stuff directly to me. But I have had problems with stuff being just dumped at the door that should be delivered to me. I finally wrote a letter to the girl who is our so-called "Program Director" (I'd love to know what the 'programs' are... so far none), telling her I was a little unhappy to find out that we now have NO RIGHTS in the building, we simply are asked to pay more rent and get NO SERVICE at all from anyone. I will say she came to discuss it with me, dragging along the idiot, who said nothing, but did listen. I think he got the story that the tenants here are not happy with the 'I get everything... you get nothing' attitude. And I am sad to say that Mercy Housing now has a MAN CEO... Sister Lillian is gone and there are no more nuns running things... well, I'm old and I won't be here to put up with all the idiots for long. So from now on I just keep my head down, my mouth shut and go about my business with no help from anyone. Thank god I still have my wits about me... and I am sorry for the rest of the tenants. I also wonder where they find their 'managers,' and if they train them.
My poor, poor country. I wonder what the children are being taught. There was a wonderful story in the latest Atlantic about "The End of Work" --- we had better start training some of these guys on how to sweep the streets or something. If the republicans get in we are done for, as they are just interested in shifting any money to corporations and our infrastructure is rotting. We should be thinking of starting up a new WPA and rebuilding the country, and start thinking about it now... and we should start thinking about a completely different way of teaching... peer group learning, as I have said so many times before, and a lot better training of teachers, along with much better pay for the good teachers. I am a strong believer in unions, but I am also a strong believer in not having old teachers who simply float through their later years not learning new things and not actually teaching. I have seen this happen once too often. I am NOT a believer in 'charter' schools... anything with a corporation behind it shouldn't be teaching little kids. What's the answer?...... god, I wish I knew. But somehow, we had better start realizing that the average person in this country seems to be very, very, very unintelligent. We'd better find out why... and fast!
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Friday, August 7, 2015
Mysteries and Latin Time With the Doctors
Always on a Friday... right? Well, actually it started on Thursday. I got a phone call from Dr. Rosen, who is the chief doctor on the Senior Depression Study at UC that I somehow got myself into.
In the beginning I dealt with a dear young man named who did the original interview over at UC/SF on Parnassas... at Langly Porter. I was there all afternoon and when we were finished, I was told that I had been accepted for the study... and got my original $50 for all the time spent in being interviewed. Next, I was told that they would let me know about the rest, would send an email and let me know when and where... they don't do everything over at Parnassas anymore. Now most things are done down at Mission Bay or the other area down there, whose name I cannot remember.
Of course when I did get the info, I picked up on the wrong name and gave that to the cab driver, as I had forgotten to put the printout in my purse. It was lying on my desk, of course. The people at the other named area didn't have any idea what I was talking about, but i finally found someone who did, and got there in plenty of time, as I am an early person always and had plenty of time to get lost. I found a charming young man named David... and we spent the greater part of the day doing all the things they do with old people to see how well their brains are working... numbers, names, places, objects... pictures of the objects, etc., etc. Anyone who has ever had anything to do with psych people knows what I mean. i had a great old time and was told that the next thing was to have a PET scan of my brain... and again, they would let me know... by phone or by email. Then I met Dr. Rosen and had a nice chat with him and went home.
I had almost forgotten about the study, when a few weeks ago I got a phone call from Sam, another nice young man who was taking over for David... who seems to have moved on (well, it was quite a while ago)... telling me they needed to get my complete address again so they could send my compensation... and they had gotten more funding and were ready to do a PET scan of my head. Then the email, or course, with address, area, number, all the stuff one needs to find anything in that mess that is Mission Bay. Oh... I loved what a young guard told me when I asked why I had to go all the way to the other end of the long, long, long building to walk my walker up the ramp... then walk the mile back down to the end of the building that my cab had passed getting to the address I had to give him. Well, it was because there were only steps at the end where I was expected. He then said, "Yeah, they didn't think very clearly about these buildings... it was as if they just built a very tall building, then laid it down on its side, so all the entrance stuff is only at the one end that's like a ground floor." What an apt description of a building done by an arcitect who must have been thinking of a skyscraper, but was only allowed two stories. One could just see great giants picking up the tall buildings and laying them out flat... well, after all, down at Mission Bay they had lots and lots of nice flat land... not San Francisco-y at all. More like all the space one sees in Chicago.
So, anyway, I had a lovely time with Sam, leading me around all over this very odd building... it is divided up into little tiny offices, all of which seem to have been designed for 'something else'... anything else. The last room I wound up in with Sam had a HUGE giant chair he sat me in, plus one small one next to me and a sink next to that... and four chairs along the wall across from me... but very tight, we were almost knee to knee. We chatted about the Midwest, the West Coast and families until they finally got the stomic stuff for my arm... and put it in... then Sam left and another guy took me across the hall to the waiting room across from the scanning machines. At last, across I went and was strapped into the PET machine... SO TIGHT... but I lay there daydreaming and finally went to sleep as I am wont to do in these machines. Woke up being slid out of the machine and another aide took me out to the mile long walk to the ramp, and sat on my walker and wrote a poem about the noisy people waiting for buses, until my cab came and brought me home. Both my drivers were fun chatting with, as always with Luxor cabs.
Then... yesterday morning, the call from Sam, and finally that Dr. Rosen wanted to talk to me. He started with some vague chatter about "Now, this is probably nothing... but we just thought you should know and maybe check on it... and with PET scans one really can't tell... so I felt I should call you... well, it's -- then a bunch of Latin --- long Latin words." I must have sort of giggled, as he said... "Well, it's something like a hole in your head"... at which I burst into real laughter, and he said, "I must say, you are taking this well." So I replied, "Well, I am VERY OLD... and that is an old expression from my childhood for someone who is a complete dope... as in 'he has a hole in his head'."
Well... I went through all the stuff about my doctor's name and phone number... and she called me and told me she had talked to Dr. Rosen, and he thought it was maybe... and all the Latin name... and that it was probably nothing... the usual. The upshot is that now I have to call Davies and make an appointment on a Friday morning before I go to the pool for my exercise program... this time for an MRI of the old Brain or head... whatever they have decided and THIS TIME I WANT A CD of my brain. I was promised one in the last study UC did and never got it, so now I want one.
I just can't wait to see the hole in my head... but it is Friday and I got home from my pool exercises late. I may never live it down if this gets out! Not that I have anyone to share it with... all my old friends are dead... bet none of them ever had a hole in his head.
In the beginning I dealt with a dear young man named who did the original interview over at UC/SF on Parnassas... at Langly Porter. I was there all afternoon and when we were finished, I was told that I had been accepted for the study... and got my original $50 for all the time spent in being interviewed. Next, I was told that they would let me know about the rest, would send an email and let me know when and where... they don't do everything over at Parnassas anymore. Now most things are done down at Mission Bay or the other area down there, whose name I cannot remember.
Of course when I did get the info, I picked up on the wrong name and gave that to the cab driver, as I had forgotten to put the printout in my purse. It was lying on my desk, of course. The people at the other named area didn't have any idea what I was talking about, but i finally found someone who did, and got there in plenty of time, as I am an early person always and had plenty of time to get lost. I found a charming young man named David... and we spent the greater part of the day doing all the things they do with old people to see how well their brains are working... numbers, names, places, objects... pictures of the objects, etc., etc. Anyone who has ever had anything to do with psych people knows what I mean. i had a great old time and was told that the next thing was to have a PET scan of my brain... and again, they would let me know... by phone or by email. Then I met Dr. Rosen and had a nice chat with him and went home.
I had almost forgotten about the study, when a few weeks ago I got a phone call from Sam, another nice young man who was taking over for David... who seems to have moved on (well, it was quite a while ago)... telling me they needed to get my complete address again so they could send my compensation... and they had gotten more funding and were ready to do a PET scan of my head. Then the email, or course, with address, area, number, all the stuff one needs to find anything in that mess that is Mission Bay. Oh... I loved what a young guard told me when I asked why I had to go all the way to the other end of the long, long, long building to walk my walker up the ramp... then walk the mile back down to the end of the building that my cab had passed getting to the address I had to give him. Well, it was because there were only steps at the end where I was expected. He then said, "Yeah, they didn't think very clearly about these buildings... it was as if they just built a very tall building, then laid it down on its side, so all the entrance stuff is only at the one end that's like a ground floor." What an apt description of a building done by an arcitect who must have been thinking of a skyscraper, but was only allowed two stories. One could just see great giants picking up the tall buildings and laying them out flat... well, after all, down at Mission Bay they had lots and lots of nice flat land... not San Francisco-y at all. More like all the space one sees in Chicago.
So, anyway, I had a lovely time with Sam, leading me around all over this very odd building... it is divided up into little tiny offices, all of which seem to have been designed for 'something else'... anything else. The last room I wound up in with Sam had a HUGE giant chair he sat me in, plus one small one next to me and a sink next to that... and four chairs along the wall across from me... but very tight, we were almost knee to knee. We chatted about the Midwest, the West Coast and families until they finally got the stomic stuff for my arm... and put it in... then Sam left and another guy took me across the hall to the waiting room across from the scanning machines. At last, across I went and was strapped into the PET machine... SO TIGHT... but I lay there daydreaming and finally went to sleep as I am wont to do in these machines. Woke up being slid out of the machine and another aide took me out to the mile long walk to the ramp, and sat on my walker and wrote a poem about the noisy people waiting for buses, until my cab came and brought me home. Both my drivers were fun chatting with, as always with Luxor cabs.
Then... yesterday morning, the call from Sam, and finally that Dr. Rosen wanted to talk to me. He started with some vague chatter about "Now, this is probably nothing... but we just thought you should know and maybe check on it... and with PET scans one really can't tell... so I felt I should call you... well, it's -- then a bunch of Latin --- long Latin words." I must have sort of giggled, as he said... "Well, it's something like a hole in your head"... at which I burst into real laughter, and he said, "I must say, you are taking this well." So I replied, "Well, I am VERY OLD... and that is an old expression from my childhood for someone who is a complete dope... as in 'he has a hole in his head'."
Well... I went through all the stuff about my doctor's name and phone number... and she called me and told me she had talked to Dr. Rosen, and he thought it was maybe... and all the Latin name... and that it was probably nothing... the usual. The upshot is that now I have to call Davies and make an appointment on a Friday morning before I go to the pool for my exercise program... this time for an MRI of the old Brain or head... whatever they have decided and THIS TIME I WANT A CD of my brain. I was promised one in the last study UC did and never got it, so now I want one.
I just can't wait to see the hole in my head... but it is Friday and I got home from my pool exercises late. I may never live it down if this gets out! Not that I have anyone to share it with... all my old friends are dead... bet none of them ever had a hole in his head.
Monday, July 13, 2015
WOW!!
I just spent a bit too much time looking at videos and reading articles about the spacecraft that is up circling Pluto's moon, Charon. Absolutely fascinating... so much so that I know I started when there was sunlight shining in my window... now it is dead dark... ye gods... it is after 9:00pm! 'Wired' magazine has put all its articles online, along with all sorts of videos and scientific notes written so that I and a lot of other non-scientists can understand them. I love it. I'm hooked. I'll be there tomorrow and probably a lot of other days to see everything the experts are finding and trying to explain to us 'others.' How I wish I had a telescope to look at some of the planets... of course, with all the lights we have in San Francisco, it might be hard to look at anything but our own moon. I miss seeing Orion, the one constellation I could always see wen I was a kid, looking up at the stars.
One of my favorite things to do at the cottage was to take a blanket down to the beach and make a little nest by the tree roots of the big trees on either side of the path... and lie there watching for 'shooting stars.' One was supposed to make a wish on one of those... wonder what I wished for... that I have forgotten. I miss those lovely long summers at the lake... I miss my beautiful carved wood Victorian bed that Mama threw out, so Jess took it, along with all the other stuff Mama got tired of, up to the cottage. I think I could do a complete drawing of every room in that cottage... the only place I have ever considered really 'home.' Funny... the apartment I live in now I have been in for about the same number of years I spent summers in the cottage... 18 years. When we all went off to college and various other places, Mama sold the cottage... signing Jessie's name, for it belonged to my mother, not to that mean old witch who was my grandmother, who had always hated the fact that we preferred the cottage to her. Well, the apartment is/was nice and kinda 'home' for about 17 years, but things change and we have new 'management,' all the people I knew here in SF are dead... and it is no longer home... simply a place for me to exist until I die, I suppose... god, I feel like I'm in a Trenet song... and very much alone.
Ah well... Great voyage little spacecraft... you are doing a wonderful job at letting us see almost close-up what other planets and moons are like. Thanks to all the scientists who are bringing us this exciting info. At least I lived long enough to see little Charon close up on my computer.
One of my favorite things to do at the cottage was to take a blanket down to the beach and make a little nest by the tree roots of the big trees on either side of the path... and lie there watching for 'shooting stars.' One was supposed to make a wish on one of those... wonder what I wished for... that I have forgotten. I miss those lovely long summers at the lake... I miss my beautiful carved wood Victorian bed that Mama threw out, so Jess took it, along with all the other stuff Mama got tired of, up to the cottage. I think I could do a complete drawing of every room in that cottage... the only place I have ever considered really 'home.' Funny... the apartment I live in now I have been in for about the same number of years I spent summers in the cottage... 18 years. When we all went off to college and various other places, Mama sold the cottage... signing Jessie's name, for it belonged to my mother, not to that mean old witch who was my grandmother, who had always hated the fact that we preferred the cottage to her. Well, the apartment is/was nice and kinda 'home' for about 17 years, but things change and we have new 'management,' all the people I knew here in SF are dead... and it is no longer home... simply a place for me to exist until I die, I suppose... god, I feel like I'm in a Trenet song... and very much alone.
Ah well... Great voyage little spacecraft... you are doing a wonderful job at letting us see almost close-up what other planets and moons are like. Thanks to all the scientists who are bringing us this exciting info. At least I lived long enough to see little Charon close up on my computer.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Ye Gods....
Yeah, it's me being snarky... but I just couldn't resist. Vogue magazine can manage to turn me snarky any time I look at it online... the 'interviews' by one of their editors of people at the Met Gala are among the most hysterical things online... "I LLLOOOVVVEE your outfit!! Who made it?! ADDOOORable!!!" (Barf, barf!!!!!) "Oh is Beyonce here yet?!!!" (Double barf... she's wearing that naked lace thingy... I think they did a special article on what to wear under it........).
And then of course, a photo of Buce Jenner, pardon me, Caitlan Jenner on Vogue.com -- he had better stick to the cute curled up sitting down Vanity Fair style photos. Standing up, surrounded by at least three short men with their arms out to catch him in case he falls off the high heels, he is the joke of the century. The short skirted outfit doesn't help either. he may have had his face and neck resculpted, but he can't hide the HUGE paws clutching the evening bag and the straight legs and big feet... pure man. Even the belt placed up on the chest just looks uncomfortable. Maybe he should start dressing like Lady Gaga to hide all the faults, or at least not try to look so damned 'ladylike'... a few long dresses, sandals might help... but going overboard to look 'dainty' is not the way for him to go. Pardon me... as with Vogue, I should be more polite and say 'the way for her to go.' Dainty ain't it. Well, he does refer to himself as a 'girl' so maybe he is also trying to be terribly young again too, which is hard to do at his advanced age... but dressing a little more age appropriately might help her look also. When you are a grandmother, you should try for a little less 'youth' look. All I can say is, "Grandmother, what big hands you have..."
And then of course, a photo of Buce Jenner, pardon me, Caitlan Jenner on Vogue.com -- he had better stick to the cute curled up sitting down Vanity Fair style photos. Standing up, surrounded by at least three short men with their arms out to catch him in case he falls off the high heels, he is the joke of the century. The short skirted outfit doesn't help either. he may have had his face and neck resculpted, but he can't hide the HUGE paws clutching the evening bag and the straight legs and big feet... pure man. Even the belt placed up on the chest just looks uncomfortable. Maybe he should start dressing like Lady Gaga to hide all the faults, or at least not try to look so damned 'ladylike'... a few long dresses, sandals might help... but going overboard to look 'dainty' is not the way for him to go. Pardon me... as with Vogue, I should be more polite and say 'the way for her to go.' Dainty ain't it. Well, he does refer to himself as a 'girl' so maybe he is also trying to be terribly young again too, which is hard to do at his advanced age... but dressing a little more age appropriately might help her look also. When you are a grandmother, you should try for a little less 'youth' look. All I can say is, "Grandmother, what big hands you have..."
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Finally... Something to Write About
I just watched the US Soccer Team win the FIFA title in a GREAT game against Japan. They lost in a terrible game last time, so this was an even better evening game, as they played so well... making THREE goals FAST... then another, making it 4-nil... then missing one to Japan in the first half. They made another goal in the second half, but so did Japan, but what a game!!! 5-2 the final score. Carli Lloyd made those first two... then a third goal and a new record for a championship game getting a hat trick. They all... both sides... played so well, it was a joy to watch. Those first two goals were so fast... fastest ever in a championship game... both of them. Carli must be overjoyed.
I am fond of watching male soccer, and watched the FIFA games this year, but I will say that this game was more exciting than any of them in the men's championship. I will never understand how those kids can stay on their feet running so fast and turning so fast... and kicking so hard. Just amazing... and it is THE BEAUTIFUL GAME! I loved every minute of it... and was exhausted when it was finished... just from watching all the great work they did. God... I have to get my strength back. If I keep having to go down to the Apple Store for lessons, I just may... it's a long walk down to where a cab can pull in on Market.
Oops... "60 Minutes" is on... must go watch that now. Guess cheese and crackers will be my 'dinner' tonight, as there is a lot of stuff on KQED right after 60.
I am fond of watching male soccer, and watched the FIFA games this year, but I will say that this game was more exciting than any of them in the men's championship. I will never understand how those kids can stay on their feet running so fast and turning so fast... and kicking so hard. Just amazing... and it is THE BEAUTIFUL GAME! I loved every minute of it... and was exhausted when it was finished... just from watching all the great work they did. God... I have to get my strength back. If I keep having to go down to the Apple Store for lessons, I just may... it's a long walk down to where a cab can pull in on Market.
Oops... "60 Minutes" is on... must go watch that now. Guess cheese and crackers will be my 'dinner' tonight, as there is a lot of stuff on KQED right after 60.
Still Wondering
I just had an email from my son. I have been very, very, VERY lonely of late, kinda particularly during about the last couple of months and since I rarely hear anything from any of my family anymore, I wrote him a sad little letter about my feelings. Mistake. He simply said I had lots of friends... and even a blog, so I must have lotsa friends because of that. What a laugh... this is my little letter to myself... no one else ever sees it or reads it. I have like two or three comments... all from my oldest nephew, who apparently does read it once in awhile. He's the ONLY one. I guess I only write it because I don't have any Kirkie to write to anymore... he won't answer, so why write. So I write to myself about little things like the fact that my kids are strangers now... my own fault, as they both remind me interminably... you wanted to go to CA, where we will never go, as we hate it and it is a long way away. So, just sit back, Peggy and enjoy the nice cool weather, with a couple of warm days every now and then... in a beautiful, breezy place where you can breathe without an inhaler, never have another attack of asthma... wear the same kind of clothes all year long... never have a coat, unless maybe a rain coat if it ever starts raining again... and go out and sit and have lunch in the garden with Gloria once in awhile. I miss Bud and Al... and Al Bear and Jane and all the other Fromm people... and reading to each other... and the poets and all the people who have disappeared to die on me. Even the dear little girl who handled all the business at the 3-Day Novel writing contest has moved on to another job.... Melissa. Amazing, I can still remember some names... although that was always my worst problem... I wonder if it was because my mother could remember everyone's name... was I just reacting against that? Some names are engraved on my brain... I will never forget Leo Burnett, as I loved him so much... or Ned Travis, the same... but about half the people I worked with/for have disappeared from my memory... except in little snatches when something reminds me of them. A bell ring, a taste of pizza, a whiff of perfume... and back they all come... good lord, I have known so many people... and until the last couple of years, I could remember about half of them... but they are all fading out without the reminders. What was the name of that secretary who worked for that dreadful man who thought up 'great books' who used to douse herself in perfume before she went home? Marshall hated that as much as I did and wanted me to tell her... I told him to do it himself and he was furious about that. I do wish I could remember all of them... but what does it matter now, except that if I get back to my writing about them, it would help if I could remember their names.
Enough, enough, Peg... you have nattered along enough for tonight... take your damned pills, go to the john and go to bed. I do hope I have enough kitty food for Sunday... Ana can run over on Monday and get more... she felt she should get some... she knows better how much Sylvia can eat... and Sylvia has been eating like a horse again... both kinds of food. Wow... I have a weird cramping of my left hand... it pulls my fingers apart into a Vulcan salute... so strange, as it is now hard to do that with my right hand. God, why must I get old.... why can't I just die like everyone else?
Enough, enough, Peg... you have nattered along enough for tonight... take your damned pills, go to the john and go to bed. I do hope I have enough kitty food for Sunday... Ana can run over on Monday and get more... she felt she should get some... she knows better how much Sylvia can eat... and Sylvia has been eating like a horse again... both kinds of food. Wow... I have a weird cramping of my left hand... it pulls my fingers apart into a Vulcan salute... so strange, as it is now hard to do that with my right hand. God, why must I get old.... why can't I just die like everyone else?
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Goodbye Again.... John Hartford
I just spent almost the entire day saying goodbye again to a dear friend I lost exactly 14 years ago, John Hartford. Started yesterday morning when I was packing up the last of some old posters and I found John's picture... complete with his careful signature in the elegant writing style he so loved doing. Looked very like the John Hancock signature. John didn't write his poetry on a computer or a typewriter, but on those cards he carried around in his pocket. The house in Tennessee his children have kept up in his honor is full of John's lovely poetry, not as elegantly written as that signature, but in his very readable handwriting. I have managed to rid myself of some of my beloved books, but I shall die owning the little volume of John's poetry... and hope that someone else loves it enough to read it and keep it forever.
His wonderful song "Gentle On My Mind" is his poem only John Hartford could have set to music and sung so beautifully that many others, even Sinatra, tried to sing it. No one sang it like John... I weep through it every time I hear him do it... it has an added meaning to me, for those feelings I gave to K, though I doubt that he understands that. I am so glad of one thing... someone, I suppose his children, got John to record himself playing and singing a great many of his songs, so that he will be well remembered by those of us who loved him... and the next generation and more will be able to see and hear one of the most versatile writers and musicians of my generation... a man who could not only write great 'folk songs' for us all, but could also sing them with gusto. Who could clog dance while doing so and playing them on any stringed instrument made. Who could play the fiddle with such ability to make you weep, then turn it down to strum it like his guitar, bow still in his hand. What a joy you were, John Hartford. I loved you and I miss you, a real 'only in America' gentleman, who loved his land. One of the greatest real folk singer/songwriters of our time, a true friend, an artist of so many talents and an under-appreciated musical genius.
His wonderful song "Gentle On My Mind" is his poem only John Hartford could have set to music and sung so beautifully that many others, even Sinatra, tried to sing it. No one sang it like John... I weep through it every time I hear him do it... it has an added meaning to me, for those feelings I gave to K, though I doubt that he understands that. I am so glad of one thing... someone, I suppose his children, got John to record himself playing and singing a great many of his songs, so that he will be well remembered by those of us who loved him... and the next generation and more will be able to see and hear one of the most versatile writers and musicians of my generation... a man who could not only write great 'folk songs' for us all, but could also sing them with gusto. Who could clog dance while doing so and playing them on any stringed instrument made. Who could play the fiddle with such ability to make you weep, then turn it down to strum it like his guitar, bow still in his hand. What a joy you were, John Hartford. I loved you and I miss you, a real 'only in America' gentleman, who loved his land. One of the greatest real folk singer/songwriters of our time, a true friend, an artist of so many talents and an under-appreciated musical genius.
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