dearest joyce, no matter that you're doing recon, wherever you go, whenever you go, please take notes, bring your Olivetti, or be near (out-of-view and beyond a tree) a cell tower. i would miss the weekly dose.
Your new friend, Shea, has to revise his story. There is a difference between a "stick" and a "switch." The man beat his wife with a "switch," which was the preferred wife-beating (or child-beating) option in those days. It bends, and whips. Switches are made from willows. Maybe ash trees. Other kinds. Catalpas maybe? The thing about switches is that they are green wood and they take root. A stick will not take root, in my opinion.
Hey, Joyce. Five minutes before I read this article, I learned that Robbie Robertson of The Band passed away yesterday, on my birthday, btw adding onto my list of depressing facts: (a) I'm 78 and trying to get myself to pony up moolah to a Cremation company; (b) Jerry Garcia died on my 50th birthday and (c) likely thousands died in Nagasaki, Japan the day I was born, 8/9/45. As to locale, have you considered Père Lachaise? I visited it that time in Paris when I saw you in a pharmacy. You could be where the greatest writers are buried or, bettter still, near Jim Morrison's grave where you can get a daily whiff of the weed the young kids, long after The Doors were ancient history, crowd around to pay homage with offerings of beer and dope. Just a thought.
I made this visit Wednesday and learned about Robertson's death after I got home. I thought of Jim Morrison's grave when I saw Levon's. But I'm a hometown girl and anyway, Père Lachaise isn't that easy to get into. Although Shi Pei Pu, who spied for China against France and was the fellow who passed for female in the M. Butterfly case, managed to get himself a spot there. Of course, he always was an operator.
I know that cemetery having lived in Woodstock for 20 years. It's lovely. But I've signed up to give my body to science, i.e. some medical student cuttting up my cadaver. It's free. I'm having a hard time affording life, much less death. Your piece brought back memories.
Good to know others are working through this. It’s ashes to ashes for me. The issue outstanding is distribution. My family says, “How about your wildflower meadow?” and I say, “What if you sell the property?” A better bet, it seems, is a party boat on Upper New York Bay. Ashes can be tossed after everyone is pleasantly high. I figure that this way when rising tides turn Long Island, the Lower Bay, the Upper Bay and Manhattan into an inland sea, I’ll be covered. So to speak.
Joyce, Have you thought about the Woodstock Artists' Cemetery? It's across the street from the Woodstock Cemetery but it seems as if that's the one you're talking about. We should meet to discuss; I will be there eventually (hopefully not too soon). Coffee one day? I'm in Bearsville.
I hadn’t been aware of The Artist’s Cemetery until I was fact, checking the spelling of some names today and came across a reference. But I really liked this place and if I can get the spot I liked, I’m there. Just hopefully not too soon. I would love to meet you for coffee.
I actually have a res there, hopefully in the far future. I’m above ground in Bearsville so lmk when for coffee—-sheila.Isenberg@gmail.com. I need a laugh!
Coffee, when?
Sheila, Not for awhile, I'm afraid. I'm back in the city.
dearest joyce, no matter that you're doing recon, wherever you go, whenever you go, please take notes, bring your Olivetti, or be near (out-of-view and beyond a tree) a cell tower. i would miss the weekly dose.
I'm figuring on having a cell in my coffin. And a shovel. But the only place I'm going in Woodstock, in the immediate future, is to lunch.
Your new friend, Shea, has to revise his story. There is a difference between a "stick" and a "switch." The man beat his wife with a "switch," which was the preferred wife-beating (or child-beating) option in those days. It bends, and whips. Switches are made from willows. Maybe ash trees. Other kinds. Catalpas maybe? The thing about switches is that they are green wood and they take root. A stick will not take root, in my opinion.
Linda,
My man Shea used "switch" on the first reference. He knows his stuff. I'll put up his photo if I can figure out how.
-J.
So glad. Yes, "beat her with a stick" sounds more colloquial these days.
Hey, Joyce. Five minutes before I read this article, I learned that Robbie Robertson of The Band passed away yesterday, on my birthday, btw adding onto my list of depressing facts: (a) I'm 78 and trying to get myself to pony up moolah to a Cremation company; (b) Jerry Garcia died on my 50th birthday and (c) likely thousands died in Nagasaki, Japan the day I was born, 8/9/45. As to locale, have you considered Père Lachaise? I visited it that time in Paris when I saw you in a pharmacy. You could be where the greatest writers are buried or, bettter still, near Jim Morrison's grave where you can get a daily whiff of the weed the young kids, long after The Doors were ancient history, crowd around to pay homage with offerings of beer and dope. Just a thought.
Fran,
Is it possible to get a birth date switched?
I made this visit Wednesday and learned about Robertson's death after I got home. I thought of Jim Morrison's grave when I saw Levon's. But I'm a hometown girl and anyway, Père Lachaise isn't that easy to get into. Although Shi Pei Pu, who spied for China against France and was the fellow who passed for female in the M. Butterfly case, managed to get himself a spot there. Of course, he always was an operator.
Happy belated birthday.
-- Joyce
More. So good. I felt like I was standing there in the graveyard.
Thank you, Loosh.
I know that cemetery having lived in Woodstock for 20 years. It's lovely. But I've signed up to give my body to science, i.e. some medical student cuttting up my cadaver. It's free. I'm having a hard time affording life, much less death. Your piece brought back memories.
Erica,
I was surprised by how comfortable I felt there. Possibly because I don't think I'll be using the facilities any time soon.
Good to know others are working through this. It’s ashes to ashes for me. The issue outstanding is distribution. My family says, “How about your wildflower meadow?” and I say, “What if you sell the property?” A better bet, it seems, is a party boat on Upper New York Bay. Ashes can be tossed after everyone is pleasantly high. I figure that this way when rising tides turn Long Island, the Lower Bay, the Upper Bay and Manhattan into an inland sea, I’ll be covered. So to speak.
I'm for anything with the word "Party".
Joyce, Have you thought about the Woodstock Artists' Cemetery? It's across the street from the Woodstock Cemetery but it seems as if that's the one you're talking about. We should meet to discuss; I will be there eventually (hopefully not too soon). Coffee one day? I'm in Bearsville.
Sheila,
I hadn’t been aware of The Artist’s Cemetery until I was fact, checking the spelling of some names today and came across a reference. But I really liked this place and if I can get the spot I liked, I’m there. Just hopefully not too soon. I would love to meet you for coffee.
I actually have a res there, hopefully in the far future. I’m above ground in Bearsville so lmk when for coffee—-sheila.Isenberg@gmail.com. I need a laugh!