From: les@jmdl.com (JMDL Digest) To: joni-digest@smoe.org Subject: JMDL Digest V2005 #43 Reply-To: joni@smoe.org Sender: les@jmdl.com Errors-To: les@jmdl.com Precedence: bulk Unsubscribe: mailto:joni-digest-request@smoe.org?body=unsubscribe Archives: http://www.smoe.org/lists/joni Websites: http://www.jmdl.com http://www.jonimitchell.com JMDL Digest Monday, January 31 2005 Volume 2005 : Number 043 ========== TOPICS and authors in this Digest: -------- Re: Boids (njc) repost ["Mark or Travis" ] Ta ceann bhrata agat, Smurphy! (njc) [Justalittlebreen@aol.com] NJC - Ring Them Bells (Dylan, as covered by Joan Baez) [OzWoman321@aol.co] Mavis Staples, njc ["Lama, Jim L'Hommedieu" ] Registration is accepted ["Wallykai" ] You are made active ["FredNow" ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sun, 30 Jan 2005 20:44:06 -0800 From: "Mark or Travis" Subject: Re: Boids (njc) repost Smurf wrote: > Walt wrote: > >> I went >> out on my back deck and collapsed >> on a chaise longue, weeping. First, a red petal >> from some plant blew in >> from somewhere and danced around over my head before >> it finally zigzagged down >> onto my chest. I looked up at the sky and said, >> "Thanks." Then a >> ruby-throated hummingbird came down (to examine the >> red petal?) and proceded to check me >> out from a foot away, from several angles -- it may >> have only been a few >> seconds, but I was transfixed and it seemed to go on >> forever. Then he flew away. >> I looked back up at the sky and said, "I *said* >> thanks!" >> >> Just thought I'd share that. > > > I'm glad you did, Walt. It's a beautiful story. Your > story has a lot in common -- in a very odd and > synchonistic way -- with one Mark told a few years > ago. Maybe he can forward it to you or repost. I think this is the post that Smurf was referring to in case anyone's interested. Most of you have seen it already. The first time after his death that I went back to the town my late partner Edward grew up in was, needless to say, an emotional experience for me. Eddy's family had accepted me as one of their own almost from the start. His mother once told me that she loved me the first time she saw me. So I knew I would have to go back to this little town in southeastern Montana at some point, painful as I knew it would be. There is a state park about 10 miles south of this town called Medicine Rocks. It is an ancient river bed that from a distance looks like it might be a Flintstone's theme park or maybe the ruins of an ancient stone city. There are large outcroppings of soft sandstone jutting up all over a large section of land. Some of these are fairly small. Others tower up to two or three stories above the ground. Most of them are dotted with holes, some that go all the way through the rock forming arches and tunnels. This makes many of the rocks look like gigantic chunks of brownish Swiss cheese. There are pine trees and grass growing amongst the rocks giving the impression of gardens between ancient buildings. The stone is soft enough that it can easily be cut in to. There is graffiti in many places carved into the rocks. The name Medicine Rocks implies a place of healing and the locals say the place was sacred to the Native Americans that lived in this part of the country. It was one of Edward's favorite places and we always went there whenever we were visiting his family. On this first visit to Baker Montana without Edward, I had to go to Medicine Rocks. It was just one of those things that I knew I had to do and do alone. So one hot afternoon I took off by myself down the highway leading south out of Baker. Except for one curve just as you leave the town, this road runs straight as an arrow for about 20 miles to the next town. The land is not mountainous, like in western Montana, but it is not flat either and has a peculiar beauty that is all its own. The road runs up & down rolling hills and the terrain is often broken by the buttes that rear themselves up out of the ground. The bands of varying color in these buttes, exposed by untold ages of erosive wind & water, show the various types of rock that eons of time have laid down to form this land. They are almost all invariably topped by a reddish rock called skorio that is used as gravel on many back roads in this part of the world. Rainfall is unpredictable here so the grass that covers most of the land is usually brown. This particular summer had been preceded by a fairly wet spring, however, and the grass was green, even on the tops of the buttes. There was yellow sweet clover blooming in many fields, turning the green to a yellow haze. When I got to Medicine Rocks, I drove towards the back of the park, looking for a certain place that I was afraid I might not be able to find. I parked and got out, wandering between the rocks and not finding what I was looking for. I went back to the car and something told me to climb the hill I was parked next to and explore the other side. Once over the hill, I got my bearings and seemed to know instinctively where I needed to go. I found the place where the rock arches over head forming a sheltered hollow & looked up, wondering if what I was looking for would still be there. Sure enough, among many other names & dates carved in the rock I say 'Mark -n- Eddy '85' about 10 feet up on the wall. Edward had climbed part of the way up and made these marks the first time he had brought me to Medicine Rocks. I stayed in this natural alcove for some time, looking at our names & thinking about Eddy. At some point it started to rain. The place was sheltered enough that I didn't get wet at all and the squall was very brief. It didn't seem like a random occurrence. I could sense that I was not really alone. I knew all along that I hadn't been. After awhile I left this spot and began to wander, climbing the rocks and making my way to places in the park that I hadn't been before. At some point as I stood looking into the distance from the top of one of the rocks I saw a large bird circling over the fields to the west. At first this bird was too far away to tell what kind of bird it might be. But as I watched, it began to move closer & closer and I could see that it was a very large bird. It had to be an eagle. It continued making circles in the sky but came closer & closer. Finally it was right overhead and was flying round and round directly over me. I stood looking up with a sense of profound awe and a voice from somewhere seemed to be whispering words of comfort and reassurance to me. After circling directly over me for a minute or so, the bird moved on and I was left with the overwhelming certainty that a message had been sent specifically to me. Mark E in Seattle > > > __________________________________ > Do you Yahoo!? > All your favorites on one personal page  Try My Yahoo! > http://my.yahoo.com ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2005 00:53:52 EST From: Justalittlebreen@aol.com Subject: Ta ceann bhrata agat, Smurphy! (njc) Smurph, who ended a posting with: <<--Smurf, who once was told by an Irish guy that 'Murphy' means 'spud' in the Irish Gaelic. (Is that true? Am I, like, named after the original Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head? Or am I just a Potato Head for believing this guy?)>> Hey, buddy, My Irish isn't exactly fluent, and I may have messed up the genitive of potato, but the header above means "Is [a] head of-potato atcha", i.e., "You gotta potato head," amigo. "Brata" (pronounced something like "BRAW-tuh" is potato, which partially explains why many Irish pronounce potato with a "b". (The genitive, bhrata, which means of-a-potato, is pronounced "VRAW-tuh." So next time you want to get beat up by a Mick, just walk up to him and say, "Hey, taw kyehn vrawtuh uhguht." Or just call him Murphy, which is too awful to translate, and prepare to meet St. Padraeig. Begorrah, Walt ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2005 00:56:58 EST From: OzWoman321@aol.com Subject: NJC - Ring Them Bells (Dylan, as covered by Joan Baez) Hello, All - SC Bob wrote: > And she is anything BUT humorless; she just exudes warmth from every pore. > She told a joke about Southern Belles that got a good laugh, it was evident > that she's an experienced storyteller. Like Joni, she can be intense but can > let her hair down as well. I'd definitely go see her again in a heartbeat. That's for sure! - I saw her here in South Florida a few years ago, accompanied by Richard Shindell and Dave Carter/Tracy Grammer (only a few months before Dave Carter passed away) and she was a hoot! Her between-song chatter was sharp, warm and full of quips... and she told us the same joke - I attempt to recreate below: Two Southern belles were having lunch on the country club verandah. The first one says, "See my new diamond ring? My husband bought it for me." The second one says, "Oh, that's nice!" The first one says, "And see that shiny new Jaguar parked over there? My husband bought it for me." The second one says, "Oh, that's nice!" The first one says, "And you know that big white house at the top of the hill? The one that looks like Tara? My husband is gonna buy that for me." The second one says, "Oh, that's nice!" The first one says, "Oh my stars, here I am, going on and on about myself! Tell me, what does your husband do for you?" The second one says, "Well, my husband sent me to charm school." The first one says, "Charm school? Why on earth would he send a lady to charm school?" The second one says, "Because charm school taught me to say, 'Oh, that's nice!'... instead of 'F*ck you!' " :-) Susan http://www.heartsdesireconcerts.com http://www.horseofadifferentcolorbooking.com "If your life is true You don't have to go far To find heaven and earth On the rim of your doorway To have ocean and sky Everywhere that you are..." ~ Michael Smith ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2005 01:06:36 -0500 From: "Lama, Jim L'Hommedieu" Subject: Mavis Staples, njc At the end of 2004, the local paper ran a collection of the year's best editorial cartoons of the year, here in Cincinnati. One of them commemorated the opening of the Freedom Center (which reminds us not to repeat the slavery of our forefathers) with a ribbon cutting and Dr. King's words "I have a dream." I've been writing about Mavis Staples lately so I finally got around to pick up her disc this weekend, "Have A Little Faith". I love this disc. She wrote some and some not. I love her voice, especially when she gets that end-of-the-line, under-breath, half-spoken, growling aside thing happening. Every songwriter brings a message of some kind and hers is probably the most uplifting CD I've ever bought. Who knew? Her website says the Staple Singers are going to receive the Lifetime Achievment Award at the Grammy Awards next month. As God is my witness, it happens 2/13 in the city of Angels. She'll be in Lynchberg, VA on 2/19, then Berne, Switzerland on 3/5. I hope to hear her in person while we're both in this world. She's the real deal. Maybe I'll do a road trip to the Beale St. Music Festival in Memphis on April 29. I've never seen Memphis or Nashville. How's this for a tagline? "This is the joy that I have; the world didn't give it to me. - Mavis" Lama ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2005 08:29:42 +0100 From: "Wallykai" Subject: Registration is accepted Before use read the help [demime 0.97c-p1 removed an attachment of type application/octet-stream which had a name of guupd02.cpl] ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2005 08:29:43 +0100 From: "FredNow" Subject: You are made active Thanks for use of our software. [demime 0.97c-p1 removed an attachment of type application/octet-stream which had a name of upd02.cpl] ------------------------------ End of JMDL Digest V2005 #43 **************************** ------- Post messages to the list by clicking here: mailto:joni@smoe.org Unsubscribe by clicking here: mailto:joni-digest-request@smoe.org?body=unsubscribe ------- Siquomb, isn't she? (http://www.siquomb.com/siquomb.cfm)