This won’t take long. In this blog I share two videos. One is a professional production. The other is what happens during pandemisolockatine.
First is a song, Build a House by Rhiannon Giddens featuring Yo-Yo Ma. Here is the introduction from Yo-Yo Ma’s Facebook Page:
There are so many stories made invisible: too-often-violent histories hidden beneath the surfaces of our cities, our institutions, our music. It’s our job to keep looking, to make them visible, to take action. Today is always a good day to learn. I’m honored to mark this 155th Juneteenth with a new song by the incomparable Rhiannon Giddens. #blacklivesmatter #juneteenth #songsofchange
Lyrics to “Build a House” – Rhiannon Giddens featuring Yo-Yo Ma
You brought me here to build your house, build your house, build your house You brought me here to build your house and grow your garden fine
I laid the brick and built your house, built your house, built your house I laid the brick and built your house, raised the plants so high
And when you had the house and land, the house and land, the house and land And when you had the house and land, then you told me “go.”
I found a place to build my house, build my house, build my house I found a place to build my house since I couldn’t go back home
You said I couldn’t build a house, build a house, build a house You said I couldn’t build a house, so you burned it down
So then I traveled far and wide, far and wide, far and wide And then I traveled far and wide until I found a home
I learned your words and wrote a song, wrote a song, wrote a song I learned your words and wrote a song to put my story down
But then you came and took my song, took my song, took my song But then you came and took my song, playing it for your own
I took my bucket, lowered it down, lowered it down, lowered it down I took my bucket, lowered it down, the well will never run dry.
You brought me here to build a house, build a house, build a house You brought me here to build a house. I will not be moved.
No, I will not be moved. No, I will not be, I will not be, I will not be moved.
I am also reading a book that I think is important and that you might want to check out. It is titled, The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson.
In a recent coffee klatsch with my new very best friend, Voltaire, he reminded me, “Sally-Jane…
In light of this very wise and prescient statement, I am all too aware of how little we know of American History. Of course, it didn’t help that history books until a recent time had a very one-sided version of what happened before, during and after the founding of these United States of America.
I am old enough to remember that my history books taught that many American Indian tribes were our enemies, but not how the enmity originated.
I don’t remember reading about President Andrew Jackson forcing them off their ancestral lands in the East onto the infamous march West… The Trail of Tears.
I don’t remember reading about President Andrew Johnson shredding Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation promises, aided and abetted by Confederate officers and soldiers into proclaiming Jim Crow as the law of the South and founding the KKK.
I could go on but I think I would rather present you with a cornucopia of gifted artists and writers who will, through document and performance, enlighten your way .
It has been spoken. It has been written. You cannot grow… You cannot know…
Where do I come from…?
How did I get here…?
Read on MacEveryone….
Don’t ask me why I chose this book, She Would Be King: A Novel by Wayétu Moore. I knew nothing about it. Maybe because I was celebrating my bookstore having finally come out of its pandemic hibernation. And the title was definitely quirky. I chose a winner. The author is black and beautiful and she writes like a dream. In fact dreams have a lot to do with this magically and very realistic story. I never understood what it meant to read a book of magic realism. I’m not sure I do now but I am beginning to understand this category mixes the reality of the founding of Liberia in the 19th Century and the fantastical but oh, so real journey of the three main characters towards their destiny. Their imprint is indelible in my psyche, my soul, but most of all, my spirit.
In the PBS program, Twilight: Los Angeles, award-winning director Marc Levin weaves, Anna Deavere Smith’s powerful one-woman theater piece of the same name with news footage and interviews to create a portrait of rage, sorrow, loss, and battered hope surrounding the 1991 Rodney King beating, the violent aftermath of the 1992 verdict, and the lasting impact of the L.A. riots on America’s conscience.
I have a confession to make. I am usually not a podcast listener. But I have an investigative reporter feeding me with brilliant podcasts. She also happens to be my daughter.
Historically, logically even, enlightenment followed the Dark Ages. First the Dark Ages after which follows the Age of Enlightenment… dark and then light… get it?!
I’m not talking about those kind of ages… eras… I am talking chronological ages. Like I’m 86. Really???? Reallly!!!! That kind of age.
I am at the age/stage when occasionally I actually peek out of my navel long enough to think – as the song of the same name goes, what’s going to happen, AFTER I’M GONE. Listen my friends, since 2016, I don’t hold too much hope for the last and coming years.
How many times have we heard these phrases?
The children are the hope of the future.
We will create a better world for our children.
The Children shall lead us out of the dark into the light.
How is that possible?
Leading the future towards a better world is out of the question. The children sit, walk, ride, bounce with their faces glued to their electronic instruments.
I think we would call that the blind leading the blind. So am I just another olden person intolerant of the youngen person.
My granddaughter Ellie Maza is 18 and a budding artist. She is bothered by the direction the world seems to be taking her and her “bother” takes the form of collages, photographs, recycled furniture and clothing depicting a world gone mad in its excesses.
I shall stop here and simply exhibit her photographs for your perusal.
I am inspired by her depiction of the world going mad. She is young. She is witness to the excess. She notes it to help others to see it. If enough people see it, might it curb our appetites and slow the disintegration.
If you find yourself whirling in the what feels like an endless cycle of your existentialness (don’t look it up it’s my word).
If your aging process is moving too fast, giving you physical grief so much so that you have lost count on the doctor visits.
If your HIGH ANXIETY wakes you in the middle of the night so your only recourse is to pop a pill or call a friend that you haven’t called before to senior-sit with you as you try to calm down.
And if you avoid any questions about what you are working on or if you baldly lie about your latest project, you need this movie.
My whole olden being is engaged in finding that which will engage my creative juices. You know what I mean… something that will make use of my still active and engaged mental equipment however saddled with a more rapidly aging body.
Of late, I have been exposed to what I would call coincidental “bashert” (the wonderful Yiddish word for destiny). The most recent examples being Almodovar’s new movie, wherein a famous director of past great movies is hobbled by aging health issues and loss of his muse. Welcome to The Club!
At this luncheon, a very brash and slightly callow youth of a writer (McPhee) dares to ask Wilder who is 66 at the time (an age that McPhee thought geriatric) what he is presently working on. Politely, Wilder tells him he is cataloguing the plays of Lope de Vega. McPhee thought and then asked Wilder, “Why would anyone want to do that?” The silence at the table was deafening. In fury, Wilder exclaimed. “Young man, do not ever question the purpose of scholarship.” My translation: Do not ever ask an artist what he is working on .
McPhee who is 88 now knows that those plays were serving to extend Thornton Wilder’s life. It was a project meant not to end.
I was led to that article and to the Almodovar movie because it is exactly what I needed to read and see.
I need my own Lope de Vega and my own muse restored. I think I’ll stop with the excuses and all the other blocks I put in my path towards my next creative move. The major hurdle I face is finding like minded younger and older artists who know what I am talking about and finding a way to support each other in our quests. I think when you are younger by the nature of your youthful strength you go it alone. I believe the artists journey is singular and lonely.
I do not think my discovering that older artists and their quest for relevancy (because really isn’t that what it’s all about…I’M STILL HERE!) is accidental.
Like I said before, I am experiencing coincidental beshart (love that word)…
If any of this makes any sense to you, I’d love to hear from you… if not, have another cup of tea and a fabulous day.
Is what I said to my friend when I arrived back in the
United States after 3 weeks of European travel.
His response: That’s it! That’s the t-shirt!
My response to his response: What are you talking about?
You say the same thing every time you return from a big trip. Maybe if you wear a t-shirt with those words on it, just maybe, you will plan your trip differently.
But my friends, will I?
Last year from France to London to Ireland, I was able to do my version of travel hop from country to county. The fatigue didn’t hit until after I arrived back in the States. To be expected, right? Hopping can take a lot out of you.
This year, I added Barcelona to the mix. This year I hit both France and London during their heat wave. This year I am a year older.
I really do not want to admit that last sentence has any bearing on my life. A song immediately comes to mind, WHAT KIND OF FOOL AM I?
After hitting my mid-80’s, everything has a bearing on my life. I wrote about it before. I preached to friends and relatives. I anointed myself the High Priestess of Accepting Limitations. I announced I wasn’t able to dance the night away, or do my one woman shows as I used to. Oh, I was the paragon of accepting ones limitations. Really??? Who was I kidding?
When I look in the mirror, I still see me as I was 20 years ago. I do not recognize the face staring back at me.
No, my eyes are not failing me. This is how powerful my need is for me to slow the clock; to not acknowledge the ongoing diminution of my energies. Also, I would be less than honest with myself if I didn’t share with you my Angel of Death obsession.And this is where I give you a little peek into Mel Brooks and Carl Reiner’s Two Thousand Year Old Man creation. Carl Reiner is interviewing Mel Brooks who is the Two Thousand Year Old Man.
Carl: “So tell us what is your secret. How did you live for two thousand years?”
Two Thousand Year Old Man: “Vell, I’ll tell you. Every night I go to sleep I wear a lot of garlic.”
Two Thousand Year Old Man: “For sure a lot of garlic. So when the Angel from Death flies into my room he flies over my bed, smells the garlic…”phew, it stinks”, and he flies right out of the window. That’s my secret. Never go to sleep without a lot of garlic. Woiks every time.”
Well, my friends, that’s my secret… a lot of garlic. Just kidding!
However, I now recognize that my travel arrangements this year were planned in one of my favorite states, the state of DENIAL.
What was I thinking? I’ll tell you what. I thought I had enough days in each country to recover my energy. I forgot about packing and unpacking and all the travel in between from one place to another; by air, train, car. Each place, going through security and every country in the world, except maybe deep in the desert or the jungle or maybe an ice floe in the Arctic, is difficult. I thank goodness for the wheelchair except when they forget you. By the time I arrived at my last stop, London, I was done, fried, finito! Not to forget that London was in the middle of its own heat wave. And make no mistake, one’s age is very telling in the heat.
I gave up the Underground (their subway) years ago…too many stairs. Taxiing was my choice. However, London has the same traffic problem that all major cities have, and the heavy toll that cars have to pay to come into the city makes no difference. They pay the toll. I sat in enough taxis that didn’t move before I was forced to walk.
I had to limit my excursions to places I could walk to and
also to walking with people who didn’t mind walking slowly. And I mean slowly. I discovered if I started out the day before
I had to be somewhere, I could walk to my destinations of the theatre, the
restaurants, the galleries.
And that is when I had my epiphany. STOP COMPLAINING! Getting older is definitely better than the alternative (ask the Two Thousand Year Old Man… I love garlic)
If I could I would get down on my knees in gratitude that I
was able to see my family (in Barcelona), my family in Ireland, and my friends
in France and London. As in the song of
the same name, I’M STILL HERE!
Adapt! Isn’t that
what the species is supposed to do.
I remember looking at the Tar Pits in Los Angeles and thinking, oh, those poor dinosaurs. If only they could have adapted to the changes that were happening around them, we wouldn’t need a Jurassic Park movie. We would have our very own zoo of prehistorics.
I do feel like the neanderthal of my clan, but that is all right. I may be shrinking, but I am adapting as I go.
Once upon a time 5,000 years ago in a spot called New Grange in Ireland about 2 hours north of Dublin a bunch of cavemen and women met atop this very hill. They joined hands and other parts and decided to develop a place where they could hold events. They don’t know for sure but mainly it was for various rites and rituals. You know a wedding one day, next day a funeral . A Celtic rental hall.
There were caves with drawings on the stone walls. Very primitive but very beautiful. We went there today. Kind of like Ireland’s Stonehenge.
As I squeezed myself into this narrow low ceilinged cave and the guide turned the lights off to show the path of sunlight… where and how the sun of the various solstices shone. A baby held by one of the tourists erupted into hysterical 😭 crying. Inwardly, I joined her and wondered why someone wasn’t holding me and assuring me that I would make it out of this cave alive.
I did make it out, by the way and I am sooo glad I went. Let’s put it this way…
It gave me no ease to hear I was under 5 tons of dirt and rock and nothing had ever moved…. YET!!!!
Where’s the local Pub when you need one? Can you tell I’ve been touched with a bit of the blarney? It’s catching and it’s wonderful.
So sayeth Frank Loesser, master songwriter and very early prognosticator of climate change…
In response to the fact of those words, those in the
Northeastern part of the country in downturned grimace, would reply, “Duh!! You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to
know that. I’m still wearing my long
johns. My boots haven’t left my feet. My rain hat hasn’t left my head.”
We are all looking somewhere over the rainbow for a warm,
dry, light at the end of the tunnel.
I am hopefully going to supply that for you.
Yesterday, as the rains continued to come, and the cold
continued to chill my bones, I
forced myself to walk around the
garden. Pretending the rain had stopped,
I sat down on a nearby bench. The bench
was in front of a large cedar bush. As I
sat down, I was attacked by a robin… well, not exactly attacked, but rather
aggressively buzzed around. Scared me
silly. Why was this bird attacking me?
This photo will explain the why….
With or without my will and my way, this photo of new life
hiding in the bushes, if I do not get in its way, this beauty of Spring birth
and life itself goes on. It happened in the cold and the rain. It happened with climate changers, yay and
Mrs. Robin didn’t ask to inhabit the bush in my garden. She didn’t sign a lease. She just moved in.
So, in truth, I had absolutely nothing to do with this event.
For being a platinum card control freak this was a great relief. I don’t have to feed them. I don’t have to babysit.
I can sit in my garden, away from the cedar bush of course, in the rain or shine, cold or warm, and know in some immutable way, life goes on… and it happened when I wasn’t even looking!
In profound surprise, humility, and love…. Sally-Jane
My recent blog post has provoked responses that mean so much to me. Who’da thought….
I have been having stimulating dialogue with friends and family that hopefully will move us to rethink who we think we are. For me doing that might lead to some deepening of my sub and conscious awareness.
The two pieces below are particularly thought-provoking.