Showing posts with label Parachute. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parachute. Show all posts

Friday, February 8, 2013

Welcome To The Jungle (One Shot)






All cities are the same, and all cities are different.  They all have colors. Some are gray.  This one was brown.  Reacher guessed the brick was made from local clay and carried the color of old farmland into the facades. Even the stone was flecked with tan, like it carried deposits of iron. There were accents of red here and there, like old barns.  It was a warm place, not busy, but it was surviving. It would rebound after the tragedy.  There was progress and optimism and dynamism.





Text:  Lee Child, One Shot.  New York, Delacorte Press, 2005.

Paintings:  Algernon Newton.  Upper:  The Surrey Canal, Camberwell, 1935.  Lower:  Birmingham with the Hall of Memory, 1929.


Thursday, December 29, 2011

Blue Christmas; New Moon

       
 
      

        Christmas cards we received this year contained many downbeat, almost despairing, notes and messages.

                 This caught us by surprise. 

                 Not because we don’t read the polls -- we both have a pretty good idea of the national "measured” mood. 

                But at Christmas greeting time we've always found that the mask, when there is one, usually remains firmly in place, miming, maintaining, mirth.

               Queer and and dispiriting stuff, especially for a depressive like me.

        However, at the moment chez nous, Jane is diligently practicing on her new alto saxophone, which is a much pleasanter “in-house” experience than we used to have with her trumpet.  (In fact, it’s great.)  

              She's taking gorgeous, excellent photos with her new camera and the study she’s putting into learning about using it, reflecting her enthusiasm and positive energy, is uplifting.
  
             Last night, while we were walking Andy, who is recovering well from a slight (but scary) relapse last week, Caroline said to him:

             “We made it to another moon.”  




Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The Letter (Pretty Things)










Elle m'a écrit une lettre,
Venue de la verte campagne.
Elle m'a écrit une lettre,
Pour essayer d'expliquer.
L'existence était facile à présent,
Dans les vallées veloutées du soleil,
Elle m'a écrit une lettre...

Elle m'a écrit une lettre,
M'a posé tant de questions,
Elle savait que je ne pouvais vraiment pas répondre
Car toutes provenaient du passé,
La vie urbaine était trop pesante
Alors elle avait fui vers les collines,
Elle m'a écrit une lettre, sous la pluie.







The Letter (May-Waller):  From Parachute (1970)

Video Link:  The Letter  (Pretty Things live performance, The Olympia, Paris, January 13, 1971)

Photographs:  Somerset, England -- Two Views