My muse must have taken the last couple of weeks off

... and gone to Florida on vacation or something, because I cannot think of one solitary thing to write about. Well, that is not exactly true, Mabel. I thought of several things to write about and started off with high hopes, only to end in despair. I gave up on each one of them as a bad job, and discarded them all, gave them the old heave-ho. Had I been writing with an actual pen on actual paper instead of pecking away on this keyboard, there would be by now a large and growing pile of crumpled-up paper balls in the corner of the room, my inability to toss anything through the basketball hoop neé wastebasket in my office being legendary. Michael Jordan I am not, or Larry Bird, or Kobe Bryant, or Wilt Chamberlain, or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Heck, Mabel, I'm not even LeBron James.

We are apparently in the midst of creating a new tradition at our house. For the third Sunday in a row we have not turned the television set on. The silence is wonderful, only it is not really so silent. I can hear the clock on the mantel ticking, and the grandfather clock competing with it from across the room, and the refrigerator running in the kitchen. I can hear the dog next door barking, and a little girl walking past our house talking to someone else, and our little dog Abby breathing as she sleeps in my arms. It is absolutely amazing what one can hear when one's television set is turned off. I remember reading several years ago that Larry Hagman -- surely you remember him, Mabel, he was the actor who played J.R. Ewing on Dallas and he was also in real life the son of Mary Martin of South Pacific fame, that Larry Hagman -- did not speak at all on Sundays because he wanted to rest his vocal cords, but he did whistle. Seems counter-productive to me, but what do I know?

When the well runs dry and the muse is away, there's always trivia.

I suppose young people today do not even know who Mary Martin is, or rather was, but she was the original Nellie Forbush in Rodgers and Hammerstein's South Pacific on Broadway in 1949, the original Peter Pan in their Peter Pan in 1954, and the original Maria von Trapp in their The Sound of Music in 1959. She was not Anna in their The King and I, that was Gertrude Lawrence, nor was she in Carousel or Oklahoma!, but there for a while she helped Rodgers and Hammerstein make a lot of money. If people think of those musicals nowadays at all, they probably think of the film versions, not the theatrical productions. Mitzi Gaynor played Nellie Forbush in the film version of South Pacific instead of Mary Martin, and Rossano Brazzi played Emil de Becque instead of Ezio Pinza, although Giorgio Tozzi dubbed all the singing that was supposed to be Rosanno Brazzi.

No one has ever explained to my satisfaction why a French planter named Emil de Becque would be portrayed by an Italian non-acting singer in the theater and an Italian non-singing actor in the film version.

Moving right along on our stroll down memory lane, in the film version of The Sound of Music Julie Andrews famously had the role of Maria von Trapp instead of Mary Martin and many theater people were appalled. What goes around comes around, though. Several years later after Julie Andrews played Eliza Doolittle in Lerner and Loewe's My Fair Lady on Broadway, Audrey Hepburn was chosen to play Eliza in the film version (this time Marni Nixon dubbed the singing) and many theater people were appalled once again.

Why I remember this knd of stuff instead of, say, the last 25 winners of football's Heisman trophy or the last 25 Final Four in basketball's annual March Madness or the last 25 winners of the Kentucky Derby is anybody's guess. By the way, a horse named Medina Spirit won the Kentucky Derby last Saturday afternoon in what amounted to an equine version of the Final Four as you can see right here (0:44).

Speaking of whistling, Mabel, did you know there is a kind of whistling that does not involve the lips? Well, there is and it is called laryngeal whistling. Here, in fact, is an article about it from the late 19th-century, a presentation made by a Dr. J.O. Roe, MD, to the 1881 session of the American Laryngological Association in Rochester, New York.

You must admit, folks, that I go to great lengths to keep you entertained, even when my muse is on vacation.

I love 2 BB side your side B side the C, B side the C side, by the B U T full C, plus bluebirds

Here's a little something to tickle your fancy:

By the C, by the C,
By the B U T full C,
U N I, U N I,
O how hap P we'll B.
I love 2 BB side your side
B side the C,
B side the C side,
By the B U T full C!

That song, or something very similar, was written way back in 1914 by songwriters Harold Atteridge and Harry Carroll for the musical "For Me and My Gal."

Here is a glimpse of what it actually was like to be beside the seaside in 1914 and a few other years as well (3:11)

Okay, so it's not The Alphabet Song but it's the best I could come up with on a chilly day in February.

Speaking of a chilly day in February, Eastern bluebirds have been in our yard for the past couple of days, so Mrs. RWP and I went to Home Depot today and bought two new feeders along with a bag of peanut butter suet and a bag of mealworms to fill them up with. (If you want to try to rearrange the preceding sentence so that it doesn't end with two prepositions, be my guest.) Just so you know, mealworms are not really worms but dried beetle larvae, much in the same way that Yorkshire Pudding is not really a Yorkshire pudding. Please don't misunderstand me. I am not saying that Yorkshire Pudding is dried beetle larvae; I'm saying that mealworms are dried beetle larvae. The jury is still out on Yorkshire Pudding.

I did not take that photo. A man named Ken Thomas did in 2007 in Johnston County, North Carolina. He released it into the public domain, though, so anyone can use it without fear of recrimination from any Internet Nazis or deportation across our southern border by the Department of Homeland Security.

I did take these photographs of our two new bird feeders, however.

It was a chilly day. The wind was blowing and I was in shirtsleeves, so I didn't take pains to take time to produce good photographs. As a result, hardly anything in either photo appears to be vertical. In actuality, both of the shepherd's crooks are vertical but the two bird feeders were not. They were swaying in the breeze. Sorry, people, Ansel Adams I am not.



Let's end this somewhat disjointed (but fascinating) post by listening to Julie Andrews and watching Jane Darwell in her last role (3:49) together.

Carry me back to Plano, Texas

...dat’s whar de cotton an’ de corn an’ taters grow.

No, wait, that was Old Virginny.

Speaking of old, my stepbrother and his wife drove into town from Texas one day last week. It was the first time we have seen each other in eight years. They had decided to take an autumn vacation and drive around the southeastern U.S. for a few weeks and we were their first stop. Well, their second, really, because they spent their first night in Meridian, Mississippi.

On Friday, as much of the family as we could get together on short notice went out for dinner at a very nice restaurant in Kennesaw.

On Saturday, we went up to Big Canoe in the mountains to spend some time with my oldest son’s family. We went to a place called Burt’s Pumpkin Patch in Dawsonville where people were pushing around wheelbarrows full of pumpkins and gourds and Indian corn and butternut squash and acorn squash and lots of other things. We also went to Amicalola Falls, the highest waterfall in Georgia at 729 feet (222 m). We had planned a picnic and a trip to some apple orchards in Ellijay as well, but Mother Nature decided to give our area some much-needed rain, so we cut short the gadding about and returned to Big Canoe for the afternoon.

On Sunday, our visitors departed for their next stop, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. They also plan to visit North Carolina’s Outer Banks and Virginia’s Shenandoah National Park/Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway before heading across Kentucky and Tennessee back to good old Big D.

Here is part of Amicalola Falls:

and here is part of Burt’s Pumpkin Patch:

I hope it is not another eight years until we see them again.

Until then, we’ll just have to be satisfied with singing “Big D, Little a, Double L, A, S” along with Carol Burnett and Julie Andrews at Carnegie Hall (5:45)

Why don’t you just move to Austria.

I’m sure nobody has noticed it here on the blog, but some people think I’m a little quirky. Not that anyone has ever come up to me and actually said, “You know what, I think you’re a little quirky,” but I can tell that’s what people are thinking. For example, when I make a perfectly innocent little joke that happens to demonstrate my breadth of experience and my depth of intelligence and my absolutely extraordinary grasp of the English language, some people might laugh, but other people dart little looks at one another that plainly say, “Hey, this guy is a little quirky.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

And then they politely excuse themselves and go elsewhere or they sit there and humor me, not taking me seriously any longer, or they join in the fun themselves.

Because it takes all kinds.

That being the case, I read all sorts of blogs (Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox, None) and I can tell you for a fact that there are people in this world who are quirkier than I ever thought of being, a whole lot quirkier. Believe you me, I couldn’t hold a candle to their quirkiness, especially the ones who are convicted felons.

I’m just kidding. As far as I know, I do not read the blogs of any convicted felons. Please let me know if you are a convicted felon.

Let me get to the point of this post.

I found something called The Julie Andrews Inspired Mark Shea Evilness Diagnostic Generator with which you can generate insults. A guy named James Preece came up with it so that he could direct some insults at a guy named Mark Shea, and then he made it possible for all of us to generate them, five at a time. James Preece and Mark Shea could be cloistered Buddhists moonlighting as streetsweepers for all I know, but if I had to hazard a guess I would guess that they are Irish Catholics, especially since one of them has a blog called Catholic and Enjoying It.

Here are some of the things you can generate with The Julie Andrews Inspired Mark Shea Evilness Diagnostic Generator:

You are really a deer, a female deer.
You hate girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes.
You love when I’m feeling sad.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a name I call myself.
You hate doorbells and sleigh bells.
You love when the dog bites.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a deer, a female deer.
You hate whiskers on kittens.
You love when I’m feeling sad.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a long, long way to run.
You hate silver white winters that melt into springs.
You love when the dog bites.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a name I call myself.
You hate raindrops on roses.
You love when I’m feeling sad.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a long, long way to run.
You hate snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes.
You love when the bee stings.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a needle pulling thread.
You hate wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings.
You love when I’m feeling sad.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a note to follow sew.
You hate schnitzel with noodles.
You love when I’m feeling sad.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a drink with jam and bread.
You hate whiskers on kittens.
You love when the dog bites.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a drink with jam and bread.
You hate crisp apple streudels.
You love when the bee stings.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a long, long way to run.
You hate raindrops on roses.
You love when I’m feeling sad.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a long, long way to run.
You hate warm woolen mittens.
You love when the dog bites.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

You are really a long, long way to run.
You hate whiskers on kittens.
You love when I’m feeling sad.
You hate America and want to destroy it.
Why don’t you just move to Austria.

It turns out that The Julie Andrews Inspired Mark Shea Evilness Diagnostic Generator has been around since 2009, but if you’d like to try your hand at it and are easily entertained, here it is.

P.S. - My commitment to truth in blogging compels me to admit that parts of this post were written by Oscar Hammerstein II.

Janus the two-faced god

...was always looking backward and forward at the same time. The month of January is named after him.

I’m not very good at looking into the future, nor am I too eager to do so, what with Mr. Obama in the White House and all, but I do enjoy reminiscing about the past. I mean, what else are you going to reminisce about?

Accordingly, it being January once again, I find that I missed the Festival of Auld Lang Syne Performances that we enjoyed a couple of times in years gone by. So let’s do it again, since New Year’s Eve was not all that long ago and the year 2013 is still in its infancy.

The first performance in our Festival will be on the musical saw with accordion accompaniment, plus there is a bit of the human voice. Experiencing this particular performance is eerily reminiscent of listening to Darlene Edwards, whom you may recall from this recent post. When the voice enters (which I believe is female, but I may be wrong), you may actually be able to forget Darlene for a little while by concentrating instead on what seems to be a very poor imitation of the young Bob Dylan from back in the day when Bob’s lyrics were still actually comprehensible. Here, then, from 2006, is the androgynous Nicki Jaine on both the saw and the vocal, accompanied by Roy Ashley on accordion, performing Auld Lang Syne #1 (2:41).

Next, class, we travel through both time and space to Detroit in the year 1987 to hear the young Aretha Franklin and Billy Preston sing a Motown version of our festival theme, Auld Lang Syne #2 (2:07). Inexplicably, there is a brief appearance by comedian David Brenner at the end of the performance.

As we continue to mellow and chill and let 2012 fade into history, who better than saxophonist Kenny G to put us in the proper mood? Here is the third rung on our festival ladder, Auld Lang Syne #3 (4:52). You may skip this step only if you majored in jazz saxophone in college and feel that Kenny G sold out for commercial success.

I have searched for a fitting rendition of Auld Lang Syne with which to close the festival. I have decided against subjecting you to Barbra Streisand’s turn-of-the-millenium Las Vegas concert version and have chosen instead one of the purest voices ever to come down the pike, the young Julie Andrews, for our Auld Lang Syne #4 (2:02).

In her role as silent-film star Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard, Gloria Swanson had one of the great movie lines of all time: “They didn’t need dialogue. They had faces then!” When I listen to Julie Andrews, I feel like saying, “They had voices then!” I shudder to think what fans of today’s popular music will consider “golden oldies” thirty or forty years from now.

Some of us may not see many more Januarys Januaries years roll around. For us it is always December now, which brings with it some special challenges. Our Festival now closes with a special encore, Ed Ames singing “Try To Remember” from The Fantasticks (4:48). Although his voice is still quite good, he babbles incoherently at the end, much as your correspondent often appears to be doing.

Our Festival has now come to an end. As you return to your humdrum, everyday lives, you are free to choose any kind of music that helps you get through your day.

It happened in Antwerp at the train station...

...and although it has absolutely nothing to do with Easter, to me it conveys the joy that all Christian believers should experience on commemorating the Resurrection. Not a hint of solemnity in sight. Just joy. Pure joy.

Therefore, I HOPE YOUR EASTER IS THIS HAPPY!

(A big "thank you" to Katherine in New Zealand for bringing this to my attention by including it in her blog, The Last Visible Dog.)