Spare me over til another year.

I have about as many unfinished posts as those that have been published.  Of those, it's a shame that the ones that get the highest traffic aren't the thoughtful bits, but the graphic ones.   I've always said that the general population would eat cow pies and swear that they were delicious if you marketed them properly.  My fault for serving cow pies then.

Much sadness has visited my little world in the past twelve months.  The twenty two year old son of a friend died.  The result of his drug use, yes, but that does not relieve the pain for those who loved him.  My friend offered a tearful admonition to me to love my children while I can.  You never know when they might be taken away.

A neighbor passed about six months ago.  Just my age. Went to bed and never woke up.  Her daughter found her the next morning.

This week another neighbor passed.  Just shy of fifty.  Pretty, smart, athletic.  A good man and three little boys without their momma now.

Tough to keep faith on days like these.  Some folks don't believe in the afterlife.  My self included at times. 

O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
Well what is this that I can't see
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me
Well I am death, none can excel
I'll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I'll fix your feet til you cant walk
I'll lock your jaw til you cant talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very air, come and go with me
I'm death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim
O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
My mother came to my bed
Placed a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm my feet are cold
Death is a-movin upon my soul
Oh, death how you're treatin' me
You've close my eyes so I can't see
Well you're hurtin' my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soul
Oh death please consider my age
Please don't take me at this stage
My wealth is all at your command
If you will move your icy hand
Oh the young, the rich or poor
Hunger like me you know
No wealth, no ruin, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul
O, death
O, death
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year

Another too soon gone....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=caX3uvp7CMA&feature=player_embedded

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

RE-POSTED FROM LAST YEAR:

This for all the petite women I know and love.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day, Y'all! 

This from 'The Henpecked Giant' in the book 'Irish Wonders', popular folk tales as told by the people of Ireland:

"But its me own belafe that the most sarious mishtake av Finn's was in marryin' a little woman.  There's thim that says all wimmin is a mishtake be nacherbut there's a big differ bechuxt a little woman an' a big wan, the the little wans have sowls too big for their bodies, so are always lookin' out for a big man to marry, an the bigger he is, the betther they like him , as knowin' they can manage him all the aisier.  So it was wid Finn an' his little wife, for be hook an' crook she rejuiced him in that obejince that if she towld him for to go an' shtand on his head in the corner he'd do it wid the risk av his life, bekase he'd wanted to die an' go to heaven as he heard the priest say there was no marryin' there, an' though he did n't dare to hint it, he belaved in his sowl that the rayzon was the wimmin did n't get that far."

Stay clean, my friends......

Nostalgia from 1985.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7eUMB8FS6C8&feature=player_detailpage

What was he thinking?

This artist, that is, Adolphe William Bouguereau, when he created this piece? The title is: 'Before the bath.'

I mention in a previous post that one day, while Renoir was being fitted for new eyeglasses, he threw them to the floor, crying, 'Good God, I see like Bouguereau!'  I would that I had his vision.

The best one can ever do, in my humble opinion, is to hazard a guess.  Speculate on what it is you believe the artist, speaker. friend or whomever was thinking, or perceiving, at the time. You may be close, maybe even spot on if you can see through their eyes.

Bouguereau's work often featured solitary images of females.  He paid great attention to their form and, in particular, their legs and feet.  A man after my own heart, indeed.

I've had the distinct displeasure of working with a couple of people who had the habit of saying: "I know what you were thinking.  You were thinking......"  They would go on to describe what my thoughts were. Products of their own twisted little imaginations.  Nowhere near what I was thinking.

The subsequent pieces are: 'After the bath' and 'The lost pleiad'

I want to break free!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=f4Mc-NYPHaQ

Just about time for the weekend.  Here's an upbeat tune to get us on the way.  Blue skies, sunshine and warm weather.

A Quick One

'Boris the Spider', written by John Entwistle, recorded in October of 1966 at Pye studios in London and featured on the album titled above.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvFuUaCe8eY&feature=player_detailpage

My brother turned me on to the music of 'The Who'.  He'd put this vinyl recording onto the monaural turntable in our living room for me.  It was an enormous thing.  Four feet tall or so in a beautifully finished maple cabinet.  I was told to sit x number of feet away from it, so as not to damage my hearing.  Left to my own devices, I'd crank the volume up and put my head right up against the speakers to enjoy the full effect of Entwistle's bass.  'Happy Jack' was a favorite tune also.