January 22, 1944: The Road to Rome

In honor of Staff Sergeant Lawrence J. Peet, a gentle man.


Near Salerno

In the winter of 1943, Allied forces were stalled in their advance by the successful German defense of the Gustav Line in the mountains straddling the Italian peninsula. On January 22, 1944 the VI Corps of the US Fifth Army, fresh from successful campaigns in North Africa, Sicily and initial landings near Salerno, made an amphibious landing near the small seaside resort town of Anzio, a few miles south of Rome.

The initial attack was met with light resistance, and certainly the landing was nothing like the horrors of Normandy Omaha beach landings later the same year. The horrors came later as the Germans swiftly counter-attacked and threw wave after wave at the defenders on the beach. They were pinned into a small pocket on the beach-head for the next four months. German artillery positions in the hills surrounding the town kept up a constant barrage of shelling during the lulls between battles. There were many bloody attacks and counter-attacks.

Like many survivors, my father didn’t talk much about his experiences. My uncle, a survivor of the WWII Pacific Campaign once told me that my father had survived hell on earth. One of the things he did share about the Anzio invasion was his memory of foxhole life. At night he would be playing cards by candle-light with his buddies, and periodically the concussion wave from nearby exploding shells would blow out the candle. Their reaction was mostly one of irritation at having to find some matches in order to re-light the candle.

Finally in May, Allied forces broke out and started to advance. Since the time of the Roman Empire the little town of Cisterna di Littoria, a few miles inland from Anzio, has been an important crossroads. In ancient times it was a stop on the famous Roman road Via Appia (Appian Way) known as the Three Taverns. The Apostle Paul (Acts 28:15) met friends there on his final journey to Rome. There had been an unsuccessful attempt to capture the town in February, but when the breakout occurred the 7th Regiment successfully attacked and took the town.

The Germans were surrendering in large groups and my father (upper left in the following photograph) was captured by a news photographer as he brought in a group of captured prisoners brandishing his unloaded rifle.

One American herds another group of German prisoners to the rear.

As part of the supply group, my father never fired his weapon during the entire war (except on the firing range). On the day in question, he was scouting for supplies as normal and a superior officer, looking around for someone (anyone) to take the prisoners, called my father over and ordered him to take the responsibility. He quickly un-shouldered his rifle, completely unaware that his photo was being taken for posterity.

The campaign continued through the liberation of Rome (June 1944), invasion of Southern France (August 1944) and the capture of Munich (April 1945). My father’s unit was near Salzburg at the end of combat operations in Europe after capturing Hitler’s headquarters in the Alps.

From left to right: Good Conduct Medal, American Defense Service Medal, European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal, Bronze Service Arrowhead and Distinguished Unit Badge.



Ongoing Battle

Eyes ever-present,
Every move noted and indexed.
Tentative feints and maneuvers, subtly disguised—
Just passing by, nothing to see here.

Into the kitchen,
Refilled coffee and back quickly.
She’s there, but quickly moves away—
Just passing by, nothing to see here.

A moment of carelessness,
Quickly up to adjust the fan and too late.
Curled up, unassailably cute and fuzzy—
I sit in the other chair.

No Pulitzer Prize for you

So, I've figured it out. The lack of silverware in my trophy case (Pulitzer Prizes, Tony Awards, Grammy Awards, OBE's, etc.) is not really an indication of mediocrity and lack of achievement, but a testament to my great humanity. I get started on something and a furry critter distracts me or demands my immediate and undivided attention, and the perfect formula for cold fusion (or the theme and exposition of the Great American Novel) is temporarily shelved. I shift my focus and fully commit to fulfilling the pressing needs of the said critter. When I get back to it I can't remember what I was doing, much less the solution to world hunger. I will just have to accept the fact that I will only ever be as wonderful as my critters think I am—and that's pretty wonderful.

Gotta go. There's an affection crisis lurking.

Perspective of age

A friend and I visited Fort St. George in Chennai (Madras) some months back. This was the first English foothold on the Indian continent, established in the early 1600's. I had been once before a few months earlier, but there were some additional photographs I wanted to capture, particularly of St. Mary's Church which is the oldest Anglican Church in Asia, completed around 1680.

During the previous visit I had only seen the museum and the church. You're not allowed to enter the Secretariat, since it serves as the main government building for Tamil Nadu State. Actually, the Prime Minister of India (Dr. Manmohan Singh) was in Chennai one weekend to inaugurate the new Secretariat building which is under construction across town, so I'm not sure if the Fort St. George location will be opened to the public at some time.

On this visit, we wandered further afield and explored the complex. The old barracks has been converted into a storage depot for the Indian army, and the balconies were piled high with cases of stuff. We also discovered the old battlements and gun emplacements that protected the fort. The moat on the west side has turned into marsh, and we saw kingfishers, herons and many other birds. I wasn't fast enough with the camera to get a decent picture of a kingfisher who briefly landed on a tree nearby.

Then this elderly Tamil man came by and stopped to talk with us. He spoke very good English, but was still a little difficult to understand since most his teeth were missing. He was thrilled to see us and thanked us profusely for visiting his country. He had been an army officer and spoke of the old days and his fondness for the British. He spoke of Robert Clive and we both had the impression at the time that he was saying that he knew Clive, which is scarcely creditable since later research revealed that Clive died in 1774. It was clear the the man admired the British and was concerned about the condition of self-governed India since independence. There was even a hint of regret that the British had left.

This was astonishing to me at first, but I realized that there was significant turmoil and pain during independence and partition. All of those who lived through those times, and especially those who had success within the British system saw their whole world turned upside down. This man saw Clive (who was largely responsible for establishing British military control over India) as a hero, although I suspect many of his fellow countrymen would have difficulty with that characterization. Personally, I'm thankful that India is free and independent, but history is rarely as clean and neat as we would like to believe.

I was reminded of my trip to China a few years back with a touring choir. We did one exchange concert with the faculty choir for a large university in Hangzhou. They were kind and welcoming and passionate about sharing their music with us. It was a very moving performance. Most of the faculty choir members were elderly and I realized as I watched that most of them were old enough to remember China before the revolution. These were folks who had seen their world completely changed several times over. They had survived (and perhaps even participated) in the Communist revolution. They had survived the Cultural Revolution, where being a professor was a dangerous profession. Now they are living through an upheaval as significant as the others, with the incredible economic and social changes that are occurring in China today.

The perspective of first hand experience somehow doesn't always translate to history once the original witnesses are gone. I'm very grateful for the witnesses to history that I have met, including my parents, and I hope I always take in the stories that describe the personal side of history.

Recycling

Chennai can be a dirty city. Every city produces dirt, grime and garbage, but with an "official" population of 8-10 million and an estimated population of perhaps double that, everything is more intense. One figure I saw had the population density at over 60,000 people per square mile. By contrast, the population density of Seattle is 7,000 per square mile and Bellingham's was under 3,000.

Today, I had lunch with the team from the office, and my mango ice-cream came in this cool container. The inside are leaves that are machine stitched together, and the outside is recycled newspaper. There is a tradition here of using leaves to serve food. If you ever get dhosa and idli with sambar and chutneys, it should be served on a banana leaf.



It's great that there are businesses willing to make a difference, even in this small way.

Significant kitty experiences

I love animals--cats, dogs, otters and even elephants. Since I've been away from my own cats, my encounters with animals takes on even more significance. My recent trip to Thailand introduced me to the following "significant" cats.

First of all there is the Siamese cat (in Siam). He greeted me on my arrival to the Akha village known as Elephant Valley.

Then there is the typical bookstore cat. This was down a side street in Chiang Mai, where there were 4 really good bookstores, although only one cat. In this store, I found a couple of Rumpole books I don't already have.

This cat was my buddy on my visit to a Hmong village on Doi Inthanon (the tallest mountain in Thailand). I stress that his stress is not due to me. One of the village dogs was nearby and the kitten was asserting his authority.

I found this kitty literally outside my hotel. [OK, so it was outside my hotel, a 20 minute taxi ride, a 15 walk through the zoo property and there he was--outside my hotel].

Mentors

Within the space of of a month, we have lost two great mentors of jazz. Hal Malcolm and John "Coach" Moawad were pioneers of vocal jazz education. Beyond that influence, they touched thousands of lives with their passion, humor and loving care. They were more than great musicians and teachers. They were great motivators of people.

For me personally they were mentors and friends. They reached out to me and gave me many opportunities and challenges to foster my growth as a musician and as a human being. I am a better person for them having been a part of my life and this is a better world for the great legacy they have left behind.

Rest in Peace.

Christmas in the Tropics

This is not my first Christmas in a place where a "White Christmas" would be impossible (rather than just unlikely), and the whole experience altered by climate and culture. I remember some creative attempts at Christmas trees as a kid, including one year using the branch of a mango tree. The one family tradition that I remember with fondness, but never have seen elsewhere or attempted to replicate as an adult, was the home-made banner decorations using white tissue paper as the banner and cut stars in red and green foil.

This Christmas will be one of the most unusual. Although all my friends have left town and my family is celebrating on the opposite side of the world, I am sharing it with one of my favorite dogs and she always has her own way of adding color to events. For Christmas Eve, I'll be eating an Italian Christmas meal and joining in with hundreds of others in the Christmas Eve Midnight Carol Service at St. George's Cathedral. Then I'll have a Christmas breakfast and probably a seafood brunch on the beach.

I'm looking forward to experiencing a different kind of magical event which Christmas always seems to bring. Merry Christmas to all, and as Tiny Tim would say. "God bless us, everyone!"

Chennai update

Five months in Chennai and I’m finally catching up. I think I would have been better about updating if I was here for a short visit, but I live here and it doesn’t feel extraordinary most of the time. Of course, there are times when I step back and realize that I’m in an exotic country and I can marvel.

It’s an amazing feeling living in a place and actually doing the “tourist thing.” I’ve found that in most places I’ve lived, I’ve only visited the high spots to show visitors from out of town how cool it is. This time around I am striving to be an unabashed tourist.

For instance, I visited this beautiful church on a Saturday morning and realized that they were setting up for a wedding. I just went on snapping pictures left and right, “oblivious” to the fact—American tourist at his best. In fairness, they were at a very early stage of preparations and I wasn’t in the way.

St. Andrews Kirk is a “youngish” church, (about 1821). It’s loosely based on St. Martin-in-the-Fields (Trafalgar Square, London).

I also have the luxury to go back if I miss something. I’ve been to Mammalapuram three times so far, and I have plans to go back. The second time I went, I barely had time to see the sights. We settled into a beachside restaurant for a brunch that lasted for several hours—seafood, great conversation and a great view. I ended up skipping most of the photographs I wanted to take that day and went back another time. There are some other destinations that I will re-visit with friends, as that tends to color your experience.

The 7th Century Shore Temple at Mammalapuram, as viewed from Bob Marley's beachside restaurant.

Perhaps the best plan will be to abandon chronology and share experiences of different places and events in my time here so far.

Happy updating!

Currently reading …

Well, it's not exactly current, since I finished the book a while ago but I haven't shared it with y'all yet so here goes:

So the Dean tried first this and then that and nothing would seem to suit. First of all he wrote:

“It is now forty years since I came among you, a youth full of life and hope and ardent in the work before men–” Then he paused, doubtful of the accuracy and clearness of the expression, read it over again and again in deep thought and then began again:

“It is now forty years since I came among you, a broken and melancholy boy, without life or hope, desiring only to devote to the service of this parish such few years as might remain of an existence blighted before it had truly begun–” And then again the Dean stopped, He read what he had written; he frowned; he crossed it through with his pen. This was no way to write, this thin egotistical strain of complaint. Once more he started:

“It is now forty years since I came among you, a man already tempered and trained, except possibly in mathematics–” And then again the rector paused … And the rector mused so long that when he began again it seemed to him that it was simpler and better to discard the personal note altogether, and he wrote:

“There are times, gentlemen, in the life of a parish, when it comes to an epoch which brings it to a moment when it reaches a point–”

The Dean stuck fast again, but refusing this time to be beaten went resolutely on:

“–reaches a point where the circumstances of the moment make the epoch such as to focus the life of the parish in that time.”

Then the Dean saw that he was beaten, and he knew that he not only couldn’t manage the parish but couldn’t say so in proper English, and of the two the last was the bitterer discovery.

Stephen Leacock
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town

I’m not quite sure how I reached this stage of my life without hearing of the “Mark Twain of Canada,” but I have, (until now). I found three books of Leacock to bring with me on this trip, and I have thoroughly enjoyed the wit and humor of the man. He is a must read!

Noticing favorite words...

Aashish: “Fantastic!”
Shannon: “Absurd!”

I'm not sure what my characteristic word or phrase would be. I used to say “and stuff” a lot, but I don't think I do that anymore. It's probably easier for someone else to detect.

In the ground in Chennai

After not sleeping for about 40 hours, I made the adjustment to local time. After a couple of days of feeling tired at odd times, I have felt remarkably normal, (in terms of jet lag). For the past 10 days or so, I've felt like I live here. The "in the ground" reference was a misprint from my facebook status. I was never quite that low. I'm glad Mom doesn't read facebook, or she might have drawn the wrong conclusion.

Chennai, my home for the next 7 months, is a city of contrasts. There are trees everywhere, and there are times when I don't feel that I'm in a city of 7 million people. From my balcony, I look out over rooftops with washing hung out to dry, palm trees and a flame of the forest tree in full bloom. I share my balcony with the crows--Indian crows have a grey head--and some pigeons. There are birds that I haven't seen but can hear, including one that sounds like a car alarm.



The neighborhood is very quiet. One of my neighbors, a half block down, is an important government minister named Stalin (no relation to the Russian dictator). There are barricades to close the road, and armed police in front of the building and the ends of the block, but so far I haven't seen much activity. Some friends live in another neighborhood nearby where Stalin's father lives, (the most important government minister in Tamil Nadu--there are giant posters of father and son smiling benevolently at everyone). I went over to my friend's house the other night (to barbecue pizza on the rooftop patio--barbecued pizza with dough and other fixin's from scratch--awesome), and they had barricades everywhere.

One advantage of sharing the neighborhood with the second most important man in Tamil Nadu is that power cuts on my block will be rare. We actually had one the other night for a short time, and although the fans and lights continued on the battery backup, the air conditioners shut down. In arriving at this time of year, I missed the worse of the hot weather so lack of air conditioning is not fatal. With the balcony doors and windows open, we get a nice breeze, although I have been using the air conditioner in my room at night. When the rains come and mosquitoes arise in their trillions, I'll have to keep the balcony doors closed and use the main air conditioning more. The cook-stove is gas, so we can always cook in case of a power cut. I am going to look into getting some kind of screen doors for the balconies--all the windows are already screened.

The apartment is within easy walking distance of a grocery store, an amazing bakery, and several good restaurants. The Thai place is pretty good and the Korean place is heaven descended to earth--I'll be a regular there for sure.

Traffic here is reminiscent of Bangkok. Lanes are optional--horns are obligatory. I have my own car and driver which simplifies things greatly. Rama is a very good driver, and I feel safe. He also knows the city and knows how to get things done.

"Rama. The lock to the small balcony is broken." "Yes sir. I will fix." The same afternoon and 100 rupees poorer (about US$ 2), the lock has been taken care of.

Raju comes in 6 days a week to clean and iron. 3 days he also stays to cook. He cooks enough for 3 to 4 people, and most of the time I've had people here to help eat it, but if not I'll have great leftovers. The drawback is that Raju doesn't speak English and he also doesn't speak Tamil, so I can't even have Rama translate. We've done OK with gestures, and he does have a few English words like "shopping", "iron" and "tomorrow". He actually splits his time between here and Will's apartment in another neighborhood. Will's company has a couple of people who speak Hindi and can communicate with Raju, so if I have something complicated to share with Raju, I e-mail them and they let him know.

Anthony, who I am replacing, has been here for a year and has done all the ground work for me to have an amazing life here. He is introducing me to the area, the best restaurants and to the large network of expats from all over the world living here. I am not the social butterfly that Anthony is, but it's nice to be part of a community and I'll be fairly involved.

The first weekend I was here we went to Ideal Beach south of Chennai near Mammalapuram. It's interesting to get out of the city into the countryside. The beach is your basic tropical paradise. Relaxing on the beach in a hammock--not bad.

I have been really active in my first two weeks here, so much so that I have been dilatory in getting this new phase of the blog underway. I've been to two movies, (I can't remember the last movie I went to in the States), several dinner parties and many great restaurants. I have toured the ruins at Mammalapuram, travelled to Vellore and many other things.

More later. Cheerio, Alan

Thai Coconut Milk Curry (stew style)

Several have asked for the basic recipe, so here it is. I don't follow this precisely any more, but if you do you should have good results. The key is the slow adding of coconut milk, and the gradual richening (if that is a word) of the flavors.

Stew Style Thai Curry

(Serves 6)

Ingredients:

• (Optional) Fresh or dried Kaffir lime leaves: 2 or 3 [Finely minced]
  
• Yellow, Matsaman, or Panang curry paste (Mah Ploy brand preferred): 1 TBS.
  
• Nam Blah (Thai fish sauce): 2 to 4 TBS.
  
• Sugar: 1 TBS.
  
• Water: ¼ to ½ cup
  
• Peanut butter: ⅛ to ¼ cup
  
• Coconut cream: 2 cans (Approx. 3 cups)
  
• Chicken or beef: 1 lb. [Cubed]
  
• Potatoes: 2 or 3 medium size [Cubed]
  
• Unsalted roasted peanuts: Garnish to taste

Preparation:

1. (With dried Kaffir lime leaves, reconstitute in warm water until soft, approx. 1 hour).
   Remove stems from Kaffir lime leaves and finely mince.
   
2. Dissolve curry paste in Nam Blah. Add minced lime leaves, sugar, water and peanut butter, and mix until smooth. Add additional water as needed to thin the mixture. Set aside.
   
3. Pre-heat ½ cup of coconut cream in saucepan. Add meat and boil until the meat is cooked through. If the mixture becomes too dry, add water. Set aside.
   
4. In large saucepan of water, boil cubed potatoes until fully cooked, drain water and set aside.
   
5. Heat 2½ cups of coconut cream in a saucepan until it reaches boiling point and set aside.
   
6. Heat a large wok or stockpot, add ½ cup pre-heatened coconut cream. Stir constantly over moderate high heat until it thickens, forms large bubbles, and begins to spatter.
   
7. Add liquid curry paste mixture and heat until mixture is fragrant and thick. Add pre-heatened coconut cream ¼ cup at a time, waiting each time until the mixture thickens and begins to bubble. Take your time on this step.
   
8. When all the coconut cream has been added, add meat and potatoes, combine thoroughly and simmer for 5 minutes.
9. Serve with Thai Jasmine rice, and garnish with peanuts to taste.
   

Updated: 9-23-00

Fortinbras

‘Fortinbras, where are my golf clubs?’

‘Respectfully, Sir, you don't play golf.’

‘That is irreverent…er…irrelevant to the case. The question remains as to the whereabouts of my golf clubs.’

‘The precise location may be somewhat difficult to define, but I would conjecture that they are somewhere in the vicinity of the fourth fairway, approximately between the sand-trap and the water hazard.’

‘Confound it! What are you saying?’

‘The vicar stopped by to see you this morning while you were slee…er…studying in the library. I took the liberty of acceding to his request for donations to the annual parish jumble sale.’

‘You gave away my golf clubs!’

‘As you have so cunningly deduced, I have donated your golf clubs to charity, to benefit the poor in our community.’

‘I don't see what good my set of clubs will do for some starving family. For one thing, the committee would never allow them membership in the golf club.’

‘Yes, Sir, that is true, but sometimes Good follows a more circuitous route.’

**********

‘Goodness me! What on earth was that?’

‘The Hand of Divine Providence, Sir.’

‘The hand of divine providence, my foot! Some blathering idiot has foozled their drive off the fifth tee.’

‘Yes, Sir. That would appear to be the case. Would you like me to ring up MacDonald to repair the damage?’

‘MacDonald?…MacDonald?…Hmm…I don't remember a MacDonald.’

‘No, Sir. He is new in the village. He has been unable to find work, and his wife is expecting their third child. I thought that he might be available.’

‘Yes, yes…I suppose that would be all right. Well, I am going upstairs to write some letters. On no account am I to be disturbed.’

‘Yes, Sir. Very good, Sir.’

**********

‘MacDonald? This is Fortinbras, up at the manor. I have a job for you…Yes, right away. Good day!’

**********

‘Good afternoon Vicar. What can I do for you?’

‘I'm terribly sorry. An unexpected gust of wind appears to have caught my ball and precipitated it through the roof of your greenhouse. I hope that no-one was hurt.’

‘Happily, Sir, we are uninjured. I see that you are golfing again. If I may be so bold as to ask…Where did you eventually locate your golf clubs?’

‘I haven't found them yet. I have searched everywhere, but my wife is a cleverer woman than I. She seems to have this fixation in her head that the inexplicable accidents, which occur from time to time on the golf course, are a result of incompetence on my part. Extraordinary idea, but there you have it.’

‘Yes, Sir. Terribly vexing for you, I'm sure.’

‘Actually, these are the Colonel's clubs, which he so generously donated to the parish jumble sale. I just thought that I would take them through their paces, before offering them for sale on the auction block. I should deeply regret if anyone purchased them, in good faith, and found them lacking somehow in quality.’

‘An admirable idea, and one which reinforces the high regard that the English people have for their clergy.’

‘Yes…well, I thought that I would look in. I hope that it will be all right…about the roof, I mean.’

‘Don't let it cause you any concern. The situation is well in hand. Have a good day Sir, and God bless you.’

Perspective

In the recent snows, which were unusually persistent for our normally moderate climate, I had an interesting reaction, especially compared to those around me. I found myself walking home in the winter wonderland and breaking out into uncontrollable laughter at intervals all the way home. Most of the comments I have heard from others have been more Grinch-like.

Now I am not typically the one expressing delight in the face of gloom. On the continuum from Eeyore to Pollyanna, I lean moderately towards the Eeyore side. I am not a pessimist, but I'm usually aware of the footsteps of impending doom. In any case, as someone eloquently expressed it, a pessimist is what an optimist calls a realist. This made my reaction puzzling until I factored in perspective.

I used to live out in the county with the coyotes and other furry woodland creatures. I lived in a house—I want to make that clear. I didn't want to imply that I was Grizzly Adams, eating squirrels and such-like, although I did have to contend with a woodpecker who kept on trying to eat the house, (immediately outside my bedroom window in the wee hours). With a 45 minute commute (in good weather) and some formidable hills, snow was considered with much trepidation. There were times that I couldn’t make it down off the hill and there was one time that I had to crash at a friend’s house in town when freezing rain made the roads impossibly impassable. I crashed to avoid a crash—cue ironic music.

Not having to drive made all the difference. I currently live within easy walking distance of work, and even though exercise is bad for you I can walk in a pinch. While driving, I can actually negotiate snowy roads with some confidence, as long as I didn’t have to share the road with people who don’t believe in the laws of physics. I remember a particularly harrowing journey from Portland to Seattle when severe winter weather converted the journey into an epic 12 hour trek. There was a stretch of road near Olympia where freezing rain had turned the roadway into a skating rink. As I crept cautiously along at 10 miles an hour, I was constantly passed by brain dead S.U.V. drivers doing 50, apparently blissfully unaware of the vehicles (one every few hundred yards) who had ended in the ditch. At a rough guess, some 90 to 95% of the wrecks were S.U.V.s.

I’m not even that stressed when someone else is doing the driving. When I was young, living in a country where traffic is always an adventure, I always wanted to sit in the front seat of the bus. I never understood why my Mom wanted to sit further back. I think her philosophy was that if we were going to die, she would just as soon not have that much warning. When our driver was racing alongside another bus, on a narrow two-lane road (over hills and around blind corners), sending motorcycles and bicycles into the ditch in desperate fits of self-preservation, all I felt was mild interest and surprise. I’m not saying I would have the same indifference today, older and hopefully wiser, but I would still be less concerned then if I was doing the driving myself. Perspective is everything.

Random thought

I was watching the DVD of Prince Caspian and wondering how my friend (who doesn't deal well with mice) handled Reepicheep, or for that matter Stuart Little, or even Ratty in The Wind in the Willows. Kinda makes you go "hmmm."

… thinking of Nat King Cole

I realized that some of my favorite musicians are singer/piano players; players like Jamie Cullum, Louis Rose and Diana Krall (to name just a few). There are even singers who typically didn't perform in that format, but they were competent players. Carmen McRae was no slouch as a piano player and I love the part of the set when she would sit down at the keyboard and accompany herself.

I suppose part of my interest is that I aspire (in my own way) to be one of those rare entities. The other cool thing is that you can have a musical conversation with yourself. The only closer musical collaboration would be with a sibling. The brother/sister groups out there succeed partly on that level.

It's technically a tricky thing. When I play piano or drums and sing, (or sing and play piano or drums), the multi-tasking gets pretty intense and part of what I do must be semi-automatic. The mechanics have to be really solid or something goes out the door. When I'm doing that in a group, there is another level of awareness that needs to be there so I communicate with the other players as well. At the highest level though, when things are really locking together, I forget about the mechanics of playing and singing and reach deep into the emotion and heart of what I'm doing.

Nat King Cole is really the model. His popularity as a singer has overshadowed the fact that he was a fantastic piano player! I have a very limited sampling of his recordings. I need to make some investments in that area—just doing my part to enhance the economic stimulus.

Currently listening to ...

Ray Sings, Basie Swings
Ray Charles with the Count Basie Orchestra

Oh what a Beautiful morning indeed. Since we moved into the current office (with carpeting underfoot) I have rarely annoyed my neighbors by grooving too hard to the music. A couple of office moves ago with wood floors, I'd frequently get instant messages from Eric, "You're doing it again!" With headphones on, I hadn't been aware of how much I was getting into the music. A great album when everything else is falling about your ears, (and every other time). If you object to joyful, swinging music then by all means avoid this album!

Sheba

I wanted to introduce you to my buddy, Sheba. She is a gentle soul and is a recent addition to the household of some dear friends, who because they live in a city at some distance are not graced with my presence as often as either of us would like. I want to visit them as well! Honest. She's still a puppy—well more like a teenager, full of energy and mis-placed enthusiasm. This is one her quieter moments.

Currently reading…

' "Kindness," said Erica, to her father's head groom, "have you anything laid by?"

Kindness paused in his checking the corn account, shot her a pale glance from a wrinkled old eye, and went on with his adding. "Tuppence!" he said at length, in the tone one uses instead of a spit. This referred to the account, and Erica waited. Kindness hated accounts. "Enough to bury me decent," he said, having reached the top of the column again.

"You don't want to be buried yet a while. Could you lend me ten pounds, do you think?"

The old man paused in licking the stub of his pencil, so that the lead made a purple stain on the exposed tip of his tongue. "So that's the way it is!" he said. "What have you been doing now?"

"I haven't been doing anything. But there are some things I might want to do. And petrol is a dreadful price." The mention of petrol was a bad break.

"Oh, the car is it?" he said jealously. Kindness hated Tinny. "If it's the car you want it for, why don't you ask Hart?"

"Oh, I couldn't." Erica was almost shocked. "Hart is quite new." Hart being a newcomer with only eleven year's service. Kindness looked mollified. "It isn't anything shady," she assured him. "I would have got it from Father at dinner tonight; the money, I mean; but he has gone to Uncle William's for the night. And women are so inquisitive," she added after a pause. This, which could only refer to Nannie, made up the ground she had lost over the petrol. Kindness hated Nannie.

"Ten pounds is a big bit out of my coffin," he said with a sideways jerk of his head.

"You won't need it before Saturday.…"

"And what made you come to Kindness?"

There was complacence in the tone, and anyone but Erica would have said: Because you are my oldest friend, because you have always helped me out of difficulties since I was three years old and first put my legs astride a pony, because you can keep my counsel, and because in spite of your cantankerousness you are an old darling. But Erica said, "I just thought how much handier tea-caddies were than banks."

"What's that!"

"Oh, perhaps I shouldn't have said that. Your wife told me about that, one day when I was having tea with her. It wasn't her fault really. I saw the notes peering through the tea. A bit germy, I thought. For the tea, I mean. But an awfully good idea." As Kindness was still speechless. "Boiling water kills most things, anyhow. Besides," she said, bringing up for support what she should have used for attack, "who else could I go to?" '

Josephine Tey
A Shilling for Candles

The book is another of Tey's non-typical mysteries and Erica is one of my favorite characters in all of literature. She's so richly drawn that I almost feel that I know her from somewhere. Great stuff.