On the ninth day .... came the guide

Stairway to Heaven

There's a lady who's sure
All that glitters is gold
And she's buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and she's buying a stairway to heaven.

There's a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
Cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook
There's a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.

There's a feeling I get
When I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who standing looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.

And it's whispered that soon
If we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn
For those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.

If there's a bustle in your hedgerow
Don't be alarmed now,
It's just a spring clean for the may queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
There's still time to change the road you're on.
And it makes me wonder.

Your head is humming and it won't go
In case you don't know,
The pipers calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow,
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.

And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.

And she's buying a stairway to heaven.

On the eighth day .... came the guitar

Starship Trooper

I. Life seeker

Sister Bluebird flying high above,
Shine your wings forward to the sun.
Hide the myst'ries of life on your way.
Though you've seen them, please don't say a word.
What you don't know, I have never heard.

Starship Trooper, go sailing on by,
Catch my soul, catch the very light.
Hide the moment from my eager eye.
Though you've seen them, please don't tell a soul.
What you can't see, can't be very whole.

Speak to me of summer, long winters
longer than time can remember,
The setting up of other roads, to travel on
in old accustomed ways.
I still remember the talks by the water,
the proud sons and daughter that,
Knew the knowledge of the land,
that spoke to me in sweet accustomed ways.

Mother life, hold firmly on to me.
Catch my knowledge higher than the day.
Lose as much as only you can show.
Though you've seen me, please don't say a word.
What I don't know, I have never shared.

II. Disillusion

Loneliness is a pow'r that we possess
to give or take away forever.
All I know can be shown by your acceptance
of the facts there shown before you.
Take what I say in a diff'rent way and it's easy to say
that this is all confusion.
As I see a new day in me, I can also show it you
and you may follow.

Speak to me of summer, long winters
longer than time can remember,
The setting up of other roads, to travel on
in old accustomed ways.
I still remember the talks by the water,
the proud sons and daughter that,
Knew the knowledge of the land, spoke to me
in sweet accustomed ways.

III. Wurm

(Instrumental)

Sara

Wait a minute baby ....
Stay with me a while
Said you'd give me light
But you never told me about the fire

Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown
And now it's gone
It doesn't matter any more
When you build your house
Call me home

And he was just like a great dark wing
Within the wings of a storm
I think I had met my match -- he was singing
And undoing the laces
Undoing the laces

Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown
And now it's gone
It doesn't matter anymore
When you build your house
Call me home

Hold on
The night is coming and the starling flew for days
I'd stay home at night all the time
I'd go anywhere, anywhere
Ask me and I'm there because I care

Sara, you' re the poet in my heart
Never change, never stop
And now it's gone
It doesn't matter what for
When you build your house
I'll come by

Drowning in the sea of love
Where everyone would love to drown
And now it's gone
It doesn't matter anymore
When you build your house
Call me home

All I ever wanted
Was to know that you were dreaming
(There's a heartbeat
And it never really died)

Let me see you write a better one

Michener 1,515 / Hemingway 308

My reading dry spell ended abruptly a week or ten days ago when I picked up one of my copies of "Centennial" by James Michener and began reading it for the sixth time. I frequently write inside books I own, even some old, first editions. Book values? Who cares? Inside a paperback copy I have this written:

"Re-read this book December 21-26, 1978. First read it two or three years ago. Been re-reading a lot this fall." Other re-read dates are 1980, 1984 and 1998. In addition, I have read my favorite chapters, three through seven, three additional times. Some books become a part of you.

This book is not a minor project. The paperback version is 1,086 pages. The hardback is 909 pages. I began this time by making myself read for a mere thirty minutes a day. Sort of like an exercise routine and, just like exercise, putting in an extra half-hour here and there is not a sin.

I am not certain when I first began reading Michener. Probably in high school. I had read an even dozen of his books (at least once) before he finally wore me out. He could write more than I could read, and published about forty books altogether, including both fiction and non-fiction.

My favorite genre is the historical novel, and by that I do not mean books where the emphasis is on wizards or knights wearing tights or fairy tales. Michener is an excellent example of a legitimate historical novelist. His success as an author gave him the ability to hire dozens of historical researchers and to visit the geographic locales (actually to live in them for a few months) he wished to write about and to interview people whose ancestors had been history incarnate.

Once the bait is tasted, the hook is swallowed. I had a very explicable urge to re-read Ernest Hemingway's "Across the River and Into the Trees." This came after, I might add, someone told me she was reading some of Hemingway's first forty-nine short stories. I joined in long enough to grab my copy and to fall under the spell of "The Snows of Kilimanjaro."

My selection of "Across the River, etc." was the result of wanting to tour Venice through the eyes of Hemingway -- to hunt ducks, to pursue young ladies, to eat and to drink and to soak in the Venetian atmosphere as it existed in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Many consider this to be Hemingway's weakest novel. To which I say, let me see you write a better one.

Once upon a time, I had a copy of "Across the River, etc." It has now vanished, disappeared, been swallowed up by time -- whatever. So, I turned to our ever-present ally to find anything and everything, the Internet, and in four-days received a first edition copy in fine condition (other than a very tattered dust cover). Let the reading begin.

The tale opens with duck hunting, which I no long do or even like, but I am able to identify with Hemingway's protagonist, Colonel Cantwell, and with the sights and sounds of being in a marsh covered with thin ice as the sun rises. His (Hemingway's / Cantwell's) marsh is a salt marsh just outside of Venice. Mine, for the most part, were in Minnesota. Other than location, everything is the same -- the sights and the sounds. These are the things that are most remembered from the experience of a hunt.

Most events which are near-identical in nature, such as hunting ducks in a marsh, are little different no matter where they occur, I think. Only the geographic location is different; all else is the same. I am not certain how much changing the location affects the event itself. Anyway, back on subject: I am enjoying the book, which at 308 pages is tiny compared to the works of Michener.

Finally, if this were not enough, I decided I need more and more and more, so I returned to the Internet and ordered a copy of "Poland" -- another book from the wandering Michener which doubles as a paper weight. This one is sort of brief for him, only 616 pages in the hardback edition.

Curiosity might be my downfall some day. I latch onto events or people or places because I want to know them and to experience them first-hand. Michener was hired to do a documentary of any country in the world of his own choice. He chose Poland. Why? Why Poland? I know inside myself that I have to read this book if I ever hope to discover his reason.

What evolved from this project were years of research, several trips to Poland and four years spent writing the novel. Why? Why? Why? "The devil drives," as some character in some novel once said.

In the instance of Fram Actual, Nicolai Gogol might have discovered a more logical explanation and described it in his short novel (or long short story -- take your pick), "Taras Bulba." If I seem to speak in riddles and your curiosity matches mine, read our ascetic, Ukrainian friend's book and, possibly, discover the answer to the riddle while enjoying a story our narcissistic, Michigan buddy, Hemingway, once proclaimed to be among the ten best books in the history of literature.

Life is a non sequitur.

Go Your Own Way

Ever see a Fleetwood Mac concert way back when? Here is a sample of the band's sound once upon a time, and on this occasion playing undoubtedly its greatest song, "Go Your Own Way." This is from a 1982 performance in Los Angeles. Most definitely chair dancing music.

Back then, drummer Mick Fleetwood and bass guitar player John McVie appeared to have just arrived from an audition to act the role of Grigori Rasputin in a horror film, but look like kindly, old grandfathers today. Lindsey Buckingham was and still is a fine song writer and singer, and a virtuoso on the guitar. Stevie Nicks was a great singer and, in my mind, the most beautiful woman on the earth. Now that she is about 60, I think it would be only fair to move her down to the No. 3 or No. 4 position among the most radiant women in the world. Ah, yes, the allure of mature women. Other band members have come and gone.

You might note that an occasional stuffed animal is tossed upon the stage or handed to Stevie. This was a tradition, and probably still is, for her and for many Fleetwood Mac concert-goers. She took these stuffed toys, as well as others she purchased herself, and personally distributed them to kids who were undergoing medical treatment in children's hospitals.

Two thoughts:

(1) Anyone can quietly make a positive difference in the world without disrupting the lives of others or shouting, "Look at me." Someone should advise politicians of this fact.

(2) And, the type of music an individual prefers -- whether it be classical, jazz, country, rock and roll, gospel, Broadway and show tunes, pop, Christian, blues or whatever -- tells you absolutely nothing about the inner nature of that individual.

Life can be fascinating when it is read between the lines.



Go Your Own Way

Loving you
Isn't the right thing to do
How can I ever change things
That I feel

If I could
Maybe I’d give you my world
How can I
When you won't take it from me

You can go your own way
Go your own way
You can call it
Another lonely day
You can go your own way
Go your own way

Tell me why
Everything turned around
Packing up
Shacking up is all you wanna' do

If I could
Baby I'd give you my world
Open up
Everything’s waiting for you

You can go your own way
Go your own way
You can call it
Another lonely day
You can go your own way
Go your own way

What Is and What Should Never Be

And if I say to you tomorrow.
Take my hand, child, come with me.
It's to a castle I will take you,
where what's to be, they say, will be.

Catch the wind, see us spin, sail away,
leave today, way up high in the sky.
But the wind won't blow,
you really shouldn't go, it only goes to show
That you will be mine, by takin' our time.

And if you say to me tomorrow,
oh what fun it all would be.
Then what's to stop us, pretty baby.
But What Is And What Should Never Be.

So if you wake up with the sunrise,
and all your dreams are still as new,
And happiness is what you need so bad, girl,
the answer lies with you.

Oh the wind won’t blow
and we really shouldn't go and it only goes to show.
Catch the wind, we're gonna see it spin,
we're gonna .... sail, little girl ....
Do do do, bop bop a do-oh,
my my my my my my yeah.
Everybody I know seems to know me well
But they're never gonna know that I move like hell.