It's my last week of my 5th grade school visit tour de force. Phew! These last few days, we'll be talking about the spirituals and "slave songs" that were sung in the cotton fields. Here's the last installment of my Songs of the Civil War Era blog reruns, in which I get very long winded and say "um" quite a bit more than anybody should.
For the last post in my Songs of the Civil War Era series, I thought I'd put up one of my favorite African-American spirituals, "Walk Together Children." I love the energy and joy in this song. And the lyrics are timeless, hopeful, inspirational, and true. If we work together toward that better day, just think what we can do!
Walk together children, don't you get weary
In the concert, the talking that comes before the song goes on a little long (and I apologize in advance for all the "um's") so I separated it out. That way, if you're not in the mood for a lecture, you can head straight for the music.
I've embarked on the first week of my 5th grade school visit tour de force! I'm planning to visit each fifth grade classroom in the district...three times each. Our first session, we'll start off with Songs of the Battlefield. Then we'll move on to songs from the home front and the cotton fields and learn how each of these musical forms fused together during the Civil War Era to form a new "American" style of music. Here's installment 3 of my Songs of the Civil War Era blog rerun:
When I was putting together my recent Songs of the Civil War Era concert, there were some areas I already had pretty well under my belt. I've been singing the spirituals and popular songs of the time (like Oh Susanna and Gum Tree Canoe) for quite a while now.
But I wasn't as familiar with songs that were sung on the battlefield. It was very interesting to research these tunes and find out how they evolved. One fascinating example was "Bonnie Blue Flag," and you can hear the whole story by clicking on the player below (again, if you're in Facebook, you might have to go directly to my blog).
Here's the second installment of my Songs of the Civil War Era blog rerun. "Tenting Tonight" is the first song I'm going to teach the 5th graders next week, and I hope it will set the stage for the history they're learning this year.
I recently received some mp3s of my Songs of the Civil War Era concert/lecture at Bowdoin College, so for those of you who missed it, I'm going to post a song each Wednesday for the next three weeks.
The first is "Tenting Tonight on the Old Campground," and you can listen to it by clicking on the player below (if you're on Facebook or the like, and can't see the player, try accessing it directly from my blog).
The sound guy kindly faded this one out for me, but if you'd truly like to set the scene, picture yourself in a nice crowded auditorium. Everyone's just settled in. You've heard a little intro about what to expect during the program, and this sad, slow song begins. Now as I enter the last chorus (where the fade starts), imagine the piercing bleep bleep of a fire alarm! Just in case you were getting a little *too* comfortable. :)
All turned out fine. We got a little cold outside (in the spirit of things, I suppose) but were able to head back in and finish up. Enjoy...
Thanks to a generous grant from Arts Are Elementary, I am gearing up to visit every 5th grade classroom in our school district. Which translates to: thirty classroom visits in two weeks! I've still got a week and a half to tune up my guitar, print handouts, and hydrate!
The fifth graders here in Maine have been learning about the Civil War and I am planning a curriculum for them based on the Songs of the Civil War Era lecture/concert I gave at Bowdoin College a couple years ago. Since my life is going to get exceedingly busy very soon, I thought I'd post a few reruns of highlights from that lecture over the next few weeks. Here's the first installment, starting with a great MPBN radio piece by Tom Porter.
My lecture/concert "Songs of the Civil War Era" ended up in the news a couple times last week!
First, Daisy Alioto wrote a very nice article in The Bowdoin Orient. She starts with:
"Josephine Cameron '98 sat center stage in Kanbar Auditorium strumming her guitar and letting her melodic voice soar sweetly around the room on Tuesday. She sang "Tenting on the Old Campground," the first piece in a program of Civil War-era songs that offer insight into the popular culture of the era. The song, a song of peace sung by war-weary soldiers, Union and Confederate alike, was truncated mid-verse by the piercing shriek of the fire alarm. The audience, slow to react, could hardly conceal their disappointment as Josie's voice still echoed in the rafters."
You can read the rest of the article here (how's that for suspense?)
And then Tom Porter from Maine Public Radio did a great spot on Maine Things Considered. You can listen to the whole thing here:
I have the good fortune this winter of singing as a guest vocalist for the Richard Nelson Quintet, a jazz quintet based here in Maine. We’re doing a holiday-ish concert in December that Richard is calling “A Concert in the Spirit of Peace and Serenity” (concert details are on my website). One of the first songs Richard asked me to sing for this show is one of my favorite melodies written by Duke Ellington: Come Sunday.
Besides the fact that “Come Sunday” has a gorgeous melody sung by one of my musical heroines, Mahalia Jackson, I’ve always been intrigued by the album it came from, Ellington’s Black, Brown and Beige. It’s interesting to me because we tend to see people in certain ways. When they move outside of that view we’ve created it can be, well, disconcerting to say the least.
Up until the 1940’s Duke Ellington was known pretty specifically for his big band and for popular songs like “Take the A Train” and “It Don’t Mean a Thing if it Ain’t Got that Swing.” Ellington was an extremely talented composer, and he began to experiment with even more complex music. In 1943, he performed an original symphony at Carnegie Hall: “Black, Brown, and Beige” which
"represented the story of African Americans in the United States. Black presented the people at work and at prayer, brown celebrated black soldiers who fought in American wars, and beige depicted African American music of Harlem." (Doris Greer)
The symphony wasn’t exactly jazz music, and it wasn’t exactly classical music. The critics couldn’t fit it into any set category of music, and their reviews and responses were so fiercely negative that Ellington never performed the entire piece in public again.
Luckily, he later recorded some of the music from this concert (though never the entire repertoire) on the album Black, Brown, and Beige, and it is there that we can here the lovely Mahalia Jackson singing Part IV: Come Sunday.
Sometime in the 1920's, Father Christmas began writing letters to J. R. R. Tolkien's children. The letters came with his very own intricate drawings of the North Pole, elves, goblins, and of course Father Christmas's assistant: the North Polar Bear.
The letters tell the Tolkien children about all the yearly highlights and happenings in the North Pole. The North Polar Bear is always getting into scrapes. Like the year that he accidentally turned on two years' worth of Northern Lights:
It was the biggest bang in the world, and the most monstrous firework there ever has been. It turned the North Pole BLACK and shook all the stars out of place...
Father Christmas wrote these letters in his shaky handwriting every year for 20 years. I have a book that has some of the letters reproduced, in actual envelopes. You can pull out the letters and read them, just like the Tolkien children did all those years ago. Each year at Christmastime, I open up the envelopes and smile as I read about the adventures in the frozen North.
Apparently, there is a newer version that contains even more of the letters. I haven't seen it, but I don't think it has the pull-out letters (which are half the fun). It does have the gorgeous color illustrations, vividly intact. For Tolkien lovers like me, one version or another of this book is absolutely worth picking up.
I'm taking a bit of a break from my blog for Thanksgiving break. Here's a rerun featuring a Sam Phillips song that remains one of my favorite songs of the decade.
It's always so interesting to hear how a writer interprets their own work. A poet, for instance, might put completely different emphasis on line breaks when reading their work outloud than I could have ever imagined in my head. Alison Krauss & Robert Plant's version of "Sister Rosetta Goes Before Us" is dreamy, introspective, eerie, polished. Sam Phillips takes a completely different approach to her own work. In comparison, it's messy, rushed, untamed...all in the best of ways. The way Alison Krauss sings the song, Sister Rosetta's music comes to the singer like a strange gift from above, supernatural, beautiful, and detached. In Sam Phillips' version, the music is a down-to-earth personal revelation, a tangible refuge, a place of abandon and release.
Ok, off to listen to the rest of the album. Tune in for more gushing next week...
I'm taking a few days off from my blog to enjoy a little Thanksgiving break with family. In the meantime, here's a blog rerun of Shaun Tan's breathtaking graphic novel. The Arrival was my choice for this month's Songwriting for Kids Book Club, so I thought it would be a good rerun. Hope you enjoy!
First: Robert's Snow Auction #2 begins today! Check the sidebar to the right for a list of Auction #2 illustrators and links to their snowflake features.
Now, enough Robert's Snow illustrators mentioned Shaun Tan in their interviews that I finally picked up a copy of his new graphic novel The Arrival. And I have to say, hands down, it is *worth* all the buzz.
The Arrival is a story about immigration, and belonging, and finding a new home. The main character leaves his family, and takes a long journey to a strange land in the hopes of finding a better life for his family. This is a story we all know. In America, at least, there have been countless re-tellings of Ellis Island and other immigration stories in movies, books, plays, songs...the list goes on and on. Immigration is a huge part of our American history and mythology. But I've never seen the story told quite like this.
Shaun Tan grew up in Perth, Australia, and is half-Chinese. His father came to Australia from Malaysia to study architecture. Themes of immigration and belonging and home have been a part of his consciousness as long as he can remember. When he began The Arrival, he intended it to be a short picture book for children. Instead, it became a graphic novel that took five years to create, and it speaks to people of all ages, all nationalities, all walks of life.
The Arrival is completely wordless. The pictures tell the story, in a frame-by-frame style that is more reminiscent of film than of comic books. And because there are no words, we are brought in to the story in a much more personal way. The strange land that he travels to would be strange to anyone...it is a land of Shaun Tan's invention with tadpole-like creatures that emerge from pots and strange birds that unfold and fly vertically in the sky. Modes of transportation, food, even the buildings are all so odd that the reader feels just as disoriented as the traveler.
This is the genius of this book. When you are reading it, you can't help but begin to understand what it might be like to leave everything behind and start new. The excitement, the fear, the hope. It's all there. Here's an excerpt from an article Shaun Tan wrote about the book:
One of the great powers of storytelling is that it invites us to walk in other people’s shoes for a while, but perhaps even more importantly, it invites us to contemplate our own shoes also. We might do well to think of ourselves as possible strangers in our own strange land. What conclusions we draw from this are unlikely to be easily summarised, all the more reason to think further on the connections between people and places, and what we might mean when we talk about ‘belonging’.
Here is a page from Shaun Tan's website (scroll down to see many images from the book, and scroll down even further for Shaun Tan's comments about the book).
Another blog rerun for a busy week. It's true. I heart Candid Camera.
Back in September, I confessed my love for a certain goofy television series and mentioned a Woody Allen bit that I couldn't find on YouTube. Well guess what I found? I *love* this woman's reactions to his dictation. Ah, high comedy.
I'm working furiously on a revision of my novel this week, so here is another blog rerun. I taught the kids in my Songwriting for Kids class this song again this year...they loved singing the bridge, of course!
Ever since I can remember, Bill Withers' Lean on Me has been one of my favorite songs. My brother and sisters and I used to sing it constantly--on car trips, while doing the dishes--getting especial pleasure from the "Call on me brother, if you need a hand" line (which is still the most fun part to sing).
I remember sitting with my brother at the old upright piano in my grandparent's guest cabin trying to figure out the chords while my mother talked about the bear she'd seen through the window. (Yes, my grandparent's guest cabin had one dusty bed, no running water, and an outhouse, but of course there was a piano. My grandmother will always be the a-house-is-not-a-home-without-music type of soul.)
The thing I love about this song is how it captures our innate, human tendency to feel like we are alone in this world. When hard times come (and boy, do they), we often try to shoulder the burdens on our own, either because we think it's heroic to "soldier on," or we don't want to bother anyone, or we just don't think anyone cares.
But the song reminds us of something we need to try very hard not to forget: we are all in this together. We need to swallow our fear and pride and acknowledge that we all need someone to lean on every once in a while. And then, we need to reach out a hand.
Here is a great live version of Bill Withers singing Lean on Me (listen closely to the lyrics, they're so simple, but they're creative genius):
Lean on Me by Bill Withers
Sometimes in our lives we all have pain
We all have sorrow
But if we are wise
We know that there's always tomorrow
Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on
Please swallow your pride
If I have things you need to borrow
For no one can fill those of your needs
That you don't let show
Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on
If there is a load you have to bear
That you can't carry
I'm right up the road
I'll share your load
If you just call me
So just call on me brother, when you need a hand
We all need somebody to lean on
I just might have a problem that you'd understand
We all need somebody to lean on
Lean on me when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
Till I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on
This week, I'm working hard on a revision of my novel, so I'm going to take a break and do a few blog reruns. In honor of Cynthia Lord's new book Touch Blue coming out this month, here is a rerun about her first book.
I know that I'm behind the times. It's been well over a year since Cynthia Lord's book Rules came out, and about six months since it received the American Library Association's prestigious Newbery Honor Award for her "distinguished contribution to American literature for children." My favorite kidlit bloggers published their thoughtful, insightful reviews ages ago. And I just read the book this weekend.
Rules, simply put, is a story of a young girl trying to find her place in family, friendships, and life, while also figuring out how to deal with her younger brother's autism and all the unusual pressure and demand that condition can put on a family. This may not sound like light reading, but Cynthia Lord's humor and honesty and real, three-dimensional characters make the chapters fly by and you hardly want to put the book down. (As evidenced by this Sunday morning when my husband said, "Let's make pancakes!"...which is usually enough to make me drop whatever I'm doing and immediately dash for the kitchen...and instead I mumbled absently, "Mmmm...maybe after I finish this chapter. Or the next.")
I don't want to say much because you really should just read it, but here is one of the details I loved most about this book:
Catherine, the main character, is constantly writing rules for her brother, David, so "at least he'll know how the world works, and I won't have to keep explaining." Some of Catherine's life rules include:
If someone says "hi," you say "hi" back.
Not everything worth keeping has to be useful.
No toys in the fish tank.
Pantless brothers are not my problem.
While some of these rules are written out of adolescent frustration, there are some rules that are incredibly poignant and show a real, deep love. For instance, David often has trouble finding words to express himself, so Catherine writes him these two rules:
If you don't have the words you need, borrow someone else's.
If you need to borrow words, Arnold Lobel wrote some good ones.
So throughout the book, Catherine and David, quote to each other from Andrew Lobel's Frog and Toad books, almost like a secret language between brother and sister.
"Dad's still coming," I say. "Late doesn't mean not coming."
But those words don't help. So I reach over, wipe away his tear with the side of my thumb, and say the only words I know will calm him: "'Frog, you are looking quite green.'"
David sniffles. "'But I always look green,' said Frog. 'I am a frog.'"
This is what makes the book so lovely. The relationships. The very real, honest quality of Catherine's interactions with her brother, her father, the new girl next door, the boy she meets in the waiting room of David's occupational therapy appointments. This is not a drama about how difficult it is to live with autism. This is a book about growing up. About families. And as Cynthia Lord (who lives in Maine!) wrote on her website (totally worth checking out) in answer to a 5th grader's question about why she chose to write about autism:
Life is long and challenges come into every family, even if you don’t start life with them. RULES is about accepting there is value in everything, even in imperfection. Sometimes things can’t be changed, but you can change your feelings about them.
According to Booklist, Rules is geared for grades 4-7, but I think there's something here for all ages. I think a younger child would enjoy having this read out loud, and obviously I enjoyed reading it as an adult. (I did eventually get to those pancakes, too!)
(Fair Warning: Hyperbole will follow.) I was browsing over at Educating Alice, and she posted this clip from the 1955 Danny Kaye movie, The Court Jester. My family and I used to laugh ourselves to tears watching this movie. And I still hold that it is one of the most hysterical comedies of all time. And that Danny Kaye is perhaps the most hilarious comic of all time. That's right. Of all time. :)
Now, some of you who know me may argue that I have a somewhat, oh shall we say, specific sense of humor, but that's a discussion for another day...
Here's my family's beloved "Brew that is True" scene and some fun trivia about The Court Jester from IMDB:
Unimpressed with him in tights, producers of the film made Danny Kaye wear 'leg falsies' to improve the shape of his legs. This adds a touch of irony when Hubert Hawkins offers the princess all of him, including his legs and calves.
Danny Kaye's daughter, Dena Kaye, said for the rest of his life, when people recognized Danny in a restaurant, they would walk up and spout the entire "brew that is true" speech.
Basil Rathbone was a world-class fencer and it was due to his efforts that the hilarious fencing scene was filmed without injury. He later admitted that several times he was almost skewered by Danny Kaye's sword.
I thought for the last day of Black History Month, I'd talk about something purely fun. I get a lot of requests from parents looking for children's music that won't drive them batty. These parents have ususally spent insane amounts of time listening to the typical, vacant, sing-songy variety of kids music that permeates the genre (you know the kind I'm talking about). It's usually when they catch themselves humming it on the way to work that they realize they would rather scrape melted gummy worms off the sofa than listen to another minute of this stuff.
Stevie Wonder (Cue angel choir and light streaming down from heaven)
First of all, Stevie Wonder was signed to Motown Records when he was just 11 years old. That is supercool by anybody's standards.
Second of all, go to iTunes and listen to/download Uptight. What kid wouldn't love to dance around to this song? What parent wouldn't love to dance around to this song? See? Problem solved!
A special treat:
This is from the 1973 season of Sesame Street. Now this is music! Pure energy. The video quality isn't the best, but YouTube has confiscated all the versions that were clear due to the recent lawsuits. Hm. A topic for another day. Enjoy this one while it lasts:
My husband and sister are both attending a week-long workshop with Abigail Thomas this week and I get to go to hear her read on Friday! So I thought this blog rerun would be appropriate for today...
My sister recently recommended Abigail Thomas' Safekeeping: Some True Stories from a Life as good airplane reading. When I first glanced through it, I admit, I groaned. The chapters are extremely short, the story jumps around with no chronological order, the viewpoint changes from third person to first person to second person with no warning. I thought, oh great, another too-cool-for-school, experimental memoir that's trying to be deep. Thanks, Anna.
Then I started reading.
Safekeeping is actually a very lovely, well-crafted book about marriage, love, life, and mostly, memory. It is the story of a middle-aged woman who is trying to piece together her memories, trying to sort through and reconcile her life after the loss of a close friend who was "once upon a time" her husband.
The short, out-of-order chapters work because that is how memories come to us. In short, uncontrollable bursts. A displaced memory of a smashed dish, a loose fragment of a conversation, the cramped feeling of an old apartment.
The switch in viewpoint works surprisingly well. Instead of coming off as unbearably post-modern or uber-artistic, it serves as a simple, concrete tool. A woman trying to get a 360 degree view of her life. We see her as a young woman as *she* remembers herself. Then we see her as she imagines an objective observer might see her. Then her sister comes in and says, no that's not how it went at all...don't you remember?
And that's the thing. We don't remember. Not exactly. Abigail Thomas writes on her website:
I’ve written nothing but non-fiction for years now in spite of my poor memory. I can remember moments, and scenes, but not what happened when or what came after...But if I could remember everything in its proper sequence, there’s a lot of life that’s interesting to live but not so interesting to write about, let alone read. And frankly, I’m bored by chronology. I don’t even believe in chronology. Time is too weird. It contracts, then it shoots forward (or back), it dawdles, stops still, and then suddenly we’re twenty years down the road. Whole decades evaporate. For me connecting the dots is not as absorbing as the dots themselves. I’m more interested in why certain memories stand out. Why these and not others?
It's a great question, and one that I've been thinking about ever since I read Safekeeping. Writer Anne Lamott said this about the book, and I don't think I could sum it up better:
[Safekeeping is] not so much memoir as a stained-glass window of scenes garnered from a life. This is an unforgettable portrait of a grown-up woman who has learned to rejoice in being herself. Reading it, we feel the crazy beauty of life.
Lastly, this one is Improv Everywhere's latest mission. I just love how quickly a simple thing like a high five can put smiles on people's faces. When these people get on the escalator, they're dour, lost in their own little worlds (like we all are half the time). When they get off, more than half of them are grinning, interacting, enjoying the moment. Think about that. It's brillant. What can you do to brighten somebody's day today?
In order to focus on my songwriting, fiction, & poetry workshops this week, I'm posting some summer blog reruns in lieu of live posts. I feel like a little Clash this morning...
Last week, on Music Wednesday, I posted a couple sweet classic songs from the '40s. As Monty Python would say...And now, for something completely different...
Recently, I've been working on a novel in which one of the characters is a little obsessed with Joe Strummer from The Clash. So I've been perusing YouTube a bit for classic punk rock, and here are a couple treats.
Here's a live version of Should I Stay or Should I Go, one of the most popular "mainstream" songs by The Clash. I love the goofy dancing, I have to say:
"I don't know why I like them. That's why I like them. You don't have to know everything."
Brilliant. I might have to steal that for my book. :) [UPDATE: Sadly, the fun lifetimes documentary has been removed from YouTube. Instead, follow this link to a 1979 interview where Joe Strummer waxes on about piracy, Northern Ireland, and giving it all you've got. Boo to the YouTube police.]
In order to focus on my songwriting, fiction, and poetry workshops this week, I'll be posting some summer blog reruns. This one is hands-down my favorite children's book of all time...
This is a bold statement, but I think Barbara Helen Berger's When the Sun Rose is my favorite picture book of all time.
It is a very simple, short, sweet story about two friends spending the day together, but the images and words are so striking and beautiful, you immediately get completely swept up. I've used this book in a number of my Songwriting for Kids classes, and each time I turn the page, there is a quiet intake of breath from the whole group. Ms. Berger is a master at creating a sense of wonder.
It seems that when I walk into the kids section in a bookstore, I am just bombarded by books that are trying to grab my attention with as many bright colors, images, action, and glitz as they possibly can (check out Fuse #8's great September review of Not a Box for more on this topic). So I love it when I come across a book that leaves me with a sense of calm and wonder. When the Sun Rose is a rare and breathtaking example of this. Take your time with each page, absorbing each one...I guarantee you will close the book feeling refreshed and renewed. It is a great gift.
Now here's the bad news: this book is out of print. You can still find a few used copies on Amazon or at AbeBooks.com. But check your library, and if they don't have it, get it on interlibrary loan. Do what you have to do, but find this book. And if you happen to run into dead ends all around, check out Barbara Helen Berger's Grandfather Twilight instead (a perfect bedtime book which deserves a blog post all its own...so stay tuned).
For more about Barbara Helen Berger and her beautiful work, visit her official website.
Over the summer, I'll be posting some blog reruns to save a few extra minutes of summertime. Since Kevin and I will be celebrating our TEN YEAR anniversary in a month or so, I thought this one was appropriate...
Ten years ago when my husband and I first met, before we were even dating, he made me a birthday card with a Marianne Moore poem handwritten on the back. With my birthday coming around this week, I've been thinking about this poem again.
Moore asserts that courage lies in accepting our mortality, and within those confines, managing to find (if not satisfaction) joy. At the time, I thought Kevin's card was sweet and thoughtful (he knew how much I admired Moore's poetry). But now, ten years later--I woke up this morning, we went through the confines of our daily routine (teeth, face, hair, coffee, work), and laughed about some little thing or another. On our drive to work, I watched the sun glancing off the last surviving leaves dangling from the trees and thought: How pure a thing is joy.
What Are Years?
by Marianne Moore
What is our innocence,
what is our guilt? All are
naked, none is safe. And whence
is courage: the unanswered question,
the resolute doubt, --
dumbly calling, deafly listening--that
in misfortune, even death,
encourages others
and in its defeat, stirs
the soul to be strong? He
sees deep and is glad, who
accedes to mortality
and in his imprisonment rises
upon himself as
the sea in a chasm, struggling to be
free and unable to be,
in its surrendering
finds its continuing.
So he who strongly feels,
behaves. The very bird,
grown taller as he sings, steels
his form straight up. Though he is captive,
his mighty singing
says, satisfaction is a lowly
thing, how pure a thing is joy.
This is mortality,
this is eternity.
This summer, I plan to spend a bit more time offline, so I'll be posting a few summer blog reruns. This post about one of my favorite lullabies continues to get the most hits out of any music-related post I've written over the years (with the exception of one other popular song, which I'll put up sometime later this summer)...
Photo by Jamelah.
On Monday night, driving home from the studio, the skies were completely clear, and there was the most beautiful, just-past-full moon. It got me humming one of my favorite lullabies, "I See the Moon."
This old song has gone through many variations, and transformations (including the well-known rhyme I see the moon and the moon sees me/God bless the moon and God bless me) but according to Mudcat, one of my favorite sources of information about traditional music, the closest to "original" goes like this:
I see the moon and the moon sees me
Down through the leaves of the old oak tree
Please let the light that shines on me
Shine on the one I love
I love this song, not only because of the melody (which is on one hand very pretty and sing-songy, and on the other hand, very melancholy), but also because of these lyrics. They're so simple and true. When we're far away from someone we love, we try to look for the little things that connect us. It's somehow comforting to remember that the same moon that's shining on me as I go to sleep will be shining on you when you go to sleep, even if you are hundreds of miles away.
Kids, especially, get this. I've used this song in some of my workshops for kids, and they immediately have a list of distant friends and relatives they want to sing this song to. It's relevant to their lives.
And that, of course, is the coolest thing about a song like this. It was written in a completely different century, and it is still immediate and relevant to our lives.
You can also click here to listen to the Stargazers hit musi-comedy version from the 1950's. This is the first version I ever heard of "I See the Moon," and it is certainly an experience. I came across this impassioned post from the blog Popular on FreakyTrigger.co.uk where Tom Ewing reviews every #1 single ever to hit the UK pop charts (he's currently up to 1972). His word for the Stargazers version: excruciating. Well, let's see what you think...
It's summertime! Hurrah! To eke out just a little more time for gardening, writing, and other sunny day activities, I plan to post a blog "rerun" or two each week. Here's one from the wayback machine...February 2007...according to my blog statistics, this has been the #1 all-time most popular Please Come Flying post in the Books category to date:
Most of us know the story of Ruby Bridges. The little girl in the Norman Rockwell painting who was the first black student in the all white elementary school in New Orleans. What you may not know is that in 1999, the grown-up Ruby Bridges wrote a stunning children's book about her experiences during the now-famous integration of that school.
I picked up Through My Eyes a few years ago and was completely swept up in the story told by the child who walked through so much hatred every day at 6 years old. Ruby Bridges takes you right back in history and in simple, eloquent text, lets you know what it felt like to be her. Not as an adult looking back, but as a child, right there in the middle of things, bewildered, hopeful, and sometimes scared. It's an absolutely fascinating book that will give any child or adult a fresh and very real perspective on an old story we've probably become too familiar and comfortable with.
To read more on Ruby Bridges and her efforts to promote diversity in her adult life, please visit the Ruby Bridges Foundation website. Ms. Bridges now works with elementary schools to fight intolorance and injustice in the schools. There are some great quotes from kids on the site, like this one from a 4th grade student in Los Angeles:
I used to be rude to people before being in the program. Now, I can start being nice to new people I meet. I also had some racist feelings toward a Latina who had hurt my feelings. When I was angry, the first thought I had was that I didn’t like her because she was Latina, not that she was just mean. Now, I think about not being racist, even when I’m angry.
coming out this month, here is a rerun about her first book.
