“It’s Not For Me To Say” was written in 1957 by Robert Allen and Al Stillman for the movie Lizzie. It was originally performed, and is mostly associated with Johnny Mathis. He had the most successful version of the song, but Bing Crosby’s version is by far my most beloved. Oh, the response this invokes in me! It’s such a beautiful song, with lyrics such as:
As far as I can see, this is heaven
And speaking just for me, it’s ours to share
Perhaps the glow of love will grow
With every passing day
Or we may never meet again
But then it’s not for me to say
I had a different post scheduled for today, but. . . We won! Finally, 30 years later and we are World Series Champions once again! My post last week talked about sticking with this team through all the years, of the last championship to the consistent losing to last year’s wild run. This one will probably be a jumbled mess, but humor me.
With Halloween approaching, I figured writing about horror movies would be appropriate. I could write about horror movies any time of the year, so it’s not completely limited to just now. I’ve talked about some movies to creep you out before, specifically a couple of my favorite silent movies. This time I chose four, each from a different decade. There were so many I could have chosen, but as I said this time there are four, the numerous other options will have to wait until future posts. And while my intention is not to reveal any spoilers below, something may come out that I don’t even think of as a spoiler. I’ve seen all the movies so many times, I may not even realize I’m revealing something groundbreaking to someone who hasn’t seen it. I apologize ahead of time if I do so.
House on Haunted Hill (1959), starring Vincent Price, isn’t necessarily the most chilling movie, but it sure is fun. By today’s standards it’s quite campy, but that’s precisely one of the reasons I love it. I think I remember reading somewhere that when the movie was originally in theatres, a skeleton would fly out over the audience. How fun is that? I can only imagine audiences of the time, not jaded by CGI or heaps of blood in their movies, being startled and screaming at the sight of the skeleton suddenly appearing. What a grand time!
Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?
Someone call the Flintstones’ real estate agent.
I have always loved sports. I grew up playing them, in the backyard and officially organized. I grew up watching them, in a seat at games or glued to the TV, screaming and cheering in both instances. I am forever loyal to my teams, even when they’re at the bottom. I have lived in San Diego over 10 years, and you can ask any San Diego sports fans I’ve encountered how deep my loyalty runs. A season where the Chiefs finished 2-14, I was at Qualcomm in my red shirt rooting my team on, even though they seriously had no chance. Boy, did they stink that year, sort of like this year. I may get frustrated when my teams don’t do well, and I may be a little morose over losses, but I still love them. I get very into games and am very passionate, to the point I may alarm the people who are watching games with me. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just over here having a heart attack and needing an IV drip!”
I decided to do a series of posts about certain songs that . . . just do something to my insides. I don’t know if I can adequately put into words the feeling I’m given by these songs, but I’m going to do my best. Music is an important part of my life, and can generate such an array of emotions and there are so many musicians and songs that I love. These songs, though, are the ones that make my soul flourish. They cause an internal and beyond reaction, a sensation that makes my heart well-up and about burst. It’s an agreeable feeling, mixed with an ache, but one that I know will be soothed. . .some day. If you reference back to my post, Please Step On My Toes, you’ll get a bit of an understanding of the context of these songs for me. I have a play list of these songs, and I’ll go through them one by one, in no particular order.
First up, “I Can’t Give You Anything But Love,” written by Dorothy Fields and Jimmy McHugh in 1928. Like most older songs, there are quite a few covers and versions. The one that gets me right in the essence of my being is from 1947 from Django Reinhardt with Freddie Taylor on vocals. For anyone who may not know Django Reinhardt, he was a French guitarist most prominent in the 1930s and 1940s.
Cocktail hour is made more festive with the right set of glasses, and infinitely more when it’s a set of mid-century bar glasses. Case in point, the set of blue and gold glasses I happened upon at the antique mall four blocks from my house. My delight was beyond words. They were beautiful, they were a fun shape, and best of all, they were of the same color way of the vintage ice bucket I had found just weeks before at another antique mall almost an hour away. I couldn’t believe my fortune!
If anyone is still out there to read this, *cricket chirps* I apologize for my lengthy absence. For various reasons, technical and others we’ll just chalk up to “life,” I have not posted in a very long time. So, to those still there and reading, thank you, and anyone who may be new, hopefully you won’t be hesitant to stick around. Perhaps check out why I started the blog in the first place. Now on to the task at hand . . .
The entire time I’ve lived in my house I’ve been using small bookcases as “end tables.” Which was all fine and dandy, and functional as well, keeping my books from spilling all about the room and house in general. It was a beautiful thing. Until I got the hankering for a legitimate end table, a mid-century one to be exact.
I haven’t always loved dresses, in fact, for most of my life I loathed them and refused to wear them. Occasionally I was forced into one, and the disdain could easily be seen on my face. Not until the end of my college years did I have an interest in dresses. Specifically, I was enamored of the 1950s full skirted dresses I would see in some of the old movies I loved. It started me on a search for dresses and I haven’t looked back. That was almost ten years ago, and along the way when I’ve seen other people, movies, tv shows, and such that use “my style” of dresses, I rejoice!
Back in 2008, I saw a commercial for a new fall tv show. That commercial appeased my eyes with a barrage of all sorts of heavenliness and aesthetic pleasantness. That commercial was for Pushing Daisies. Although the show has now been canceled for three years, the heartbreak still burns and the ache of losing such an intelligent, creative, unique, quirky, and original gem can still overwhelm me. There were many factors that made me swoon from that first sight, the colors, the music, the vintage-like settings, a pie-crusted roof, Lee Pace, the odd-ball story line. . .and Chuck’s wardrobe. I thought, “Those are like my dresses!” (Albeit, substantially better.) I knew I had to watch. I keep meaning to write a post about the show as a whole, but I will stick to Chuck’s clothes for now.
Before I ever started school, I would accompany my Mom and my Gramma to the grocery store to stock up on food and essentials. My Mom would throw me in the backseat (not literally) and we would drive up the road to pick my Gramma up. She would climb into the front seat, dig through her purse, and hand me a half a piece of Trident gum. There may be some debate on when to give a child gum, but that was a highlight for me. We would then drive to town to go to the only grocery store.
but completely worth it and more fun than you can imagine. Of course, I’m speaking of summer camp. If you’ve ever spent time at one in any aspect, you know what I’m talking about. I was never a camper, I probably would have never been able to make it through a night away, let alone a whole two weeks. When I was younger, I would go to a sleepover and part way through the night my parents would have to come pick me up or a friend’s parent would have to drive me to my house because I missed home. Yeah, I was that kid. However, I did have two glorious summers working at two different camps as a counselor during my college years.
2001 Staff orientation, cabin 9. That’s me laying down there in the blue sweatshirt.