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I always said that the reason I joined the show choir in my community college was to do this number. That wasn’t quite true, as we also did summer tours of Eastern Europe and Scandinavia in the year and a half I was in the group — but I think that "Favorite Son" from "The Will Rogers Follies" was the pop number I looked forward to most. (Our poor choreographer must have watched this clip from the Broadway production a thousand times, but it was worth every second, as we did exactly the same choreography, with tambourine hats. I was on the end, stage right.) Very difficult, but worth it — so much sheer fun!
Thought this was appropriate for the present election season — but oh, if only Will was still around!
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Good heavens, I’d almost forgotten how to log in to TypePad!
So what have I been doing, you ask, these long months? Very little knitting, I’m afraid — two pairs of socks finished, one of which was actually started in January. Now I am plugging away at half-finished projects, a row at a time, apparently — Vintage Velvet (wh. for some reason leaves me quite indifferent lately), a Muriwai Bathmat, a Harry Potter scarf in the Ravenclaw colors, not counting the projects that I found under the sofa cushions and stuffed back with a shudder. I am, however, chain-reading fiction, racing through Joanna Trollope (loved The Men and the Girls), Anita Brookner (until I froze from the chilliness), Kristin Lavransdatter in the Tiina Nunnally translation (miles better than the old one, remind me to expound on this some time), and so many others that suited my fervid fancy at the time that my mind begins to boggle. I suppose I don’t need to explain that I now have two children in school all day.
The Father-in-Law socks, finished at last, during the Summer Olympics. I was so excited by Michael Phelps‘ races that despite working exactly the same number of rows on the second sock, it came out noticeably smaller than the first.
This is Jitterbug in "Blue Parrot" — a quite apt name, I think. Vivid isn’t in it. The socks are presently residing in Laura’s sock drawer until cooler weather. And still unmodelled.
We went camping at Lake Tahoe at the end of August with a passle of cousins. They had just taken the kids down to the beach when we had our first visitor. This was the baby bear — mama came back in the middle of the night to rattle the Dumpster. I actually did not know that a Dumpster could be so very loud.
Am also deep into choir rehearsals, what with our first concert of the season at the end of October. We are doing, among other things, Benjamin Britten’s "Hymn to St. Cecilia" with the small choir, and Monteverdi’s "Beatus Vir" and Charles Ives’ "Psalm 90" with the big group. The Britten is lovely and strange, set to a poem by W.H. Auden, and the Monteverdi is just as wonderful as the first time I sang it years ago, and doubtless as wonderful as it was in 1630. The Ives is seriously weird — if you don’t believe me, look at this —
Why the sopranos got off so easily, I don’t know. Man, that’s a lot of notes. And no help from the orchestra, either.
Tone clusters, Blue Parrots — I’m seeing an unexpected connection, here, all of a sudden ….
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Cut to the icehut at Framheim, circa 1911. All the occupants are Norwegian polar explorers – Wisting, Bjaaland, Johansen, Prestrud, Stubberud, Hassel. Amundsen and Helmer Hanssen enter – downwards (on wires).
Amundsen Morning.
Lindstrøm (the cook) Morning.
Amundsen What have you got, then?
Lindstrøm Well there’s egg and penguin; egg, skua and penguin; egg and seal; egg, penguin and seal; egg, penguin, skua and seal; seal, penguin, skua and seal; seal, egg, seal, seal, penguin and seal; seal, seal, seal, egg and seal; seal, seal, seal, seal, seal, seal, baked beans, seal, seal, seal and seal; or lutefisk aux crevettes with a gjetost sauce garnished with truffle pâté, aquavit and a fried egg on top and seal.
Helmer Hanssen Have you got anything without seal in it?
Lindstrøm Well, there’s seal, egg, skua and seal. That’s not got much seal in it.
Helmer Hanssen I don’t want any seal.
Amundsen Why can’t he have egg, penguin, seal and skua?
Helmer Hanssen That’s got seal in it!
Amundsen Not as much as seal, egg, skua and seal.
Helmer Hanssen Look, could I have egg, penguin, seal and skua without the seal?
Lindstrøm Uuuuuuggggh!
Helmer Hanssen What d’you mean uuugggh! I don’t like seal.
Norwegians (singing) Seal, seal, seal, seal, seal … seal, seal, seal, seal, seal … lovely seal, wonderful seal …
Brief stock shot of the Fram.
Lindstrøm (to the Norwegians) Shut up. Shut up! Shut up! (to Hanssen) You can’t have egg, penguin, seal and skua without the seal.
Helmer Hanssen Why not?
Lindstrøm No, it wouldn’t be egg, penguin, seal and skua, would it.
Helmer Hanssen I don’t like seal!
Amundsen Don’t make a fuss, Helmer. I’ll have your seal. I love it. I’m having seal, seal, seal, seal, seal …
Norwegians (singing) Seal, seal, seal, seal, seal …
Amundsen … baked beans and seal.
Lindstrøm Baked beans are off.
Amundsen Well, can I have seal instead?
Lindstrøm You mean seal, seal, seal, seal, seal, seal, seal, seal, seal and seal?
Amundsen Yes.
Lindstrøm Arrggh!
Norwegians … lovely seal, wonderful seal
Lindstrøm Shut up! Shut up! (but it is too late and the Norwegians drown his words)
Norwegians (exuberantly) Seal seal seal seal. Lovely seal! Wonderful seal! Seal se-e-e-e-e-e-al seal se-e-e-e-e-al seal. Lovely seal! Lovely seal! Lovely seal! Lovely seal! Lovely seal! Seal seal seal seal!
Exeunt.
(The moral of this post is, of course, never watch Monty Python videos after a late night of reading about Norwegians at the South Pole. Unless you like that sort of thing.)
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Finished, thanks to a couple of extra rehearsals of the Bach "St. John Passion". The wool is one of the limited runs of Lang Jawoll Aktion — this one is last August’s, apparently, color 132.0195.
I worked them rather longer than usual, and still had quite a lot of wool left over. They softened up nicely in the wash, too.
I love the little spool of reinforcing thread that came tucked inside the ball. I didn’t use it, though, not sure why, maybe I just forgot.
I had to start the second sock three times, to get the colors to match with the first one — but by golly, it worked!
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Well, this is my sorry output since Christmas. Not very impressive, is it! but at least it does sound better in French. So this is part of the leg of the first father-in-law sock, and even less of one for myself when I found some Jawoll Aktion at the local craft store — who frequently surprise me, because, to be honest, most of what they have is eyelash yarn.
Sigh.
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Edvard Munch, "Spring" (1889), National Gallery, Oslo.
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In honor of the day, here is what must be one of the most romantic letters in fiction, Captain Wentworth’s to Anne Elliott near the end of Jane Austen’s Persuasion —
"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone I think and plan. — Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? — I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others. — Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in
F. W.
I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father’s house this evening, or never."
Sigh!
"You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago –"
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Some knee socks for Julia, Jitterbug in "Fruit Coulis", with a K3, P1, K1, P1 rib, offset by three at the cuff, as in the Yarrow Ribbed Socks from Knitting Vintage Socks, but with a standard slip stitch heel and wedge toe.
The color is even more vivid in real life, I assure you.
I have been listening to a new album of mine, "Le Jour du Poisson" by Thomas Fersen. He has a song each on two of the French Putomayo albums, "French Playground" and "Paris", both of which albums we listen to quite a lot — this is how I heard of him. I find his music fascinating — melodic and quirky, intelligently crafted, with each song having a character completely its own and yet still recognizably "Fersen". One song has a klezmer-y feel, another salsa, one a rather thrilling tango, one a lovely lilting piano and orchestra accompaniment that makes it almost a lullaby, another has a rather formal brass band intro and then sweeps in with an unexpectedly charming lounge-singer feel. Fersen’s voice is rough and smoky — very Gauloise. I suspect that Fersen’s music might bear comparisons to Tim Finn’s, also quirky, melodic, and highly intelligent. Alas, that I do not speak French! for I am somewhat dismayed that I understand very little of Fersen’s lyrics — one of the things I appreciate deeply about Tim Finn is that his lyrics are so interesting (and they rhyme, always for me a sign that the writer has given a lot of thought to what he wants to say) — but this is certainly my own limitation, and not Fersen’s!
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"The groundhog is down in the ground, sleeping."
"He is going to come up here. He might see his shadow!"
"He’s coming up, and if he sees his shadow, he’s going to go ‘Aaauugh!’ and …"
"go back down!"
"He’s back down! Winter is going to last six more weeks!"
A Bluestocking Knits 
