When I was a child, my mother got very excited about an upcoming children’s television special–something I don’t remember her doing before or since. She told me that I had to see The Hobbit. Catching her enthusiasm, I sat down in front of the TV at the appointed hour and was pulled into an enthralling tale of wizards, elves, dwarves, dragons, and a strange being I’d never heard of: a hobbit. Two hours later (I assume it was two hours with commercials), I had hobbit fever. I pulled The Hobbit and, later, The Lord of the Rings off my parents’ bookshelves and devoured them. Somehow, either as a gift or purchased with my own savings, I obtained the original soundtrack to the special and listened to it again and again. I insisted on seeing Ralph Bakshi’s The Lord of the Rings (and at the time, I liked it). I fervently wished that hobbits were real and that I could meet one.
I was obsessed.
I don’t remember any other cartoon affecting me quite so much. What was it about this one that so enchanted me? First and foremost is Tolkien’s story, neatly condensed into a 90-minute format. Although this Rankin/Bass production is shorter than The Battle of Five Armies, the shortest of the movies in Peter Jackson’s trilogy, it somehow manages to capture most of the book, except for Beorn. (I’ll come back to Jackson’s trilogy in a moment.)
The voice actors are also good, especially the narrator and Gandalf, both voiced by John Huston. The cast includes Orson Bean, Richard Boone, Cyril Ritchard, and Otto Preminger. Paul Frees, whose voice can be heard in many a Rankin/Bass movie, voiced Bombur and “Troll #1,” and voice actor Don Messick was Balin, a goblin, the Lord of the Eagles, and “Troll #3.”
Then there’s the music, some of it sung by Glenn Yarbrough. I’ve read The Hobbit aloud to both my husband and my child, and in each instance, I had a hard time not singing Tolkien’s songs as they were written in this film (they are not exactly the same, so if you do start singing the Rankin/Bass tunes to Tolkien’s words, eventually you’ll have to start improvising).
Put it all together, and you get this:
In just over three and a half minutes, the folks at Rankin/Bass have distilled the essence of the party’s first encounter with the goblins, and they’ve done it well.
I think few, if any, people will dispute that Peter Jackson did an amazing job with his Lord of the Rings trilogy, finally giving fans what we’d been wanting. Understandably, we were all excited when we learned he’d be directing The Hobbit as well. And then, many of us were disappointed.
There was value to Jackson’s Hobbit trilogy. I thought Martin Freeman was a perfect pick for Bilbo, and I was glad Ian McKellan was once again playing Gandalf. I thought the first movie wasn’t bad. I very much enjoyed Bilbo’s encounter with Smaug in the second movie. But the further into the trilogy I got, the more disappointed I was with Jackson’s additions: unbelievable action sequences that weren’t in the book (as if the book wasn’t action-packed enough) and an unnecessary love triangle.
By using three movies to tell the story, Jackson had room to include what Rankin/Bass left out, particularly Beorn. But with three movies to fill, he ended up padding a masterpiece. What the Rankin/Bass production gets right is letting Tolkien’s tale shine through. The Hobbit works better as an abridged work rather than as a story that has been supplemented with additional plotlines.
If you are a Tolkien fan who was disappointed in Jackson’s trilogy and who hasn’t seen the Rankin/Bass version, I encourage you to seek it out. And if you have young children you want to convert into little hobbit fans, by all means show them the cartoon. It’s definitely a ’70s production and not up to today’s cartoon standards, but in the end, it will still do an excellent job of telling Tolkien’s story. Forty-five years after it was released, it’s still the best film version we have, and a pretty good one at that.
I’ve said before that I think music from anime series is well worth listening to, including entire soundtracks, such as the Hunter x Hunter soundtrack.
At the end of my post on shamelessly listening to anime music, I included the end credits song to Kekkai Sensen (or Blood Blockade Battlefront), one of the many songs my child has gotten me hooked on.
And then a year or so ago, she started playing the soundtrack to the second season, Kekkai Sensen & Beyond (Blood Blockade Battlefront & Beyond). Covering different genres and sung in different languages, the soundtrack is excellent.
It opens with “Block Scholars,” a fusion of jazz and hip-hop…
… and moves on to the Brazilian-influenced “Poupees Vadoux,” complete with a cuica, one of my favorite instruments (it may be a silly one to be a favorite, but hearing one always makes me happy).
And that’s just the beginning. Several of the songs are jazzy, but stylistically they’re very different from each other. “Dare to Say” is an up-tempo big band piece, “White Beyond” is a vocal ballad, and “Minor Doll” reminds me of the jazz fusion that bands like Weather Report and Spyro Gyra were coming out with in the 1970s and ’80s.
There’s classical influence, too, including “Rhapsody in Blue,” which uses Gershwin’s original piece, and “Pebble Walts,” which reminds me of Claude Bolling’s Suite for Flute and Jazz Piano.
In a couple of places above, I’ve mentioned how songs remind me of pieces or bands that I know. While the album doesn’t feel derivative to me, there are times when I can’t help but wonder if I’m the only one who hears echoes of music I know while listening to this soundtrack. For instance, doesn’t “A Queen of the Night” sound a bit like something Steely Dan would write?
I know most of what I’ve chosen to share with you has had some ties to jazz, so here’s something completely different — the hard-rocking “Determine On.”
I’ve only scratched the surface here. There are several more songs I’d love to include, but the purpose of this blog post is not to recreate the entire album, so I’ll just say: Give it a listen. The Kekkai Sensen & Beyond soundtrack is available on Spotify, or you can purchase it on Amazon. (You’ll have better results if you search using the Japanese name, and I might as well ‘fess up now that one of the Spotify playlists that will come up when you search is mine. I’ve paired every song on the soundtrack with a song that I think complements it, so every other song on the playlist is not from the soundtrack.)
When I recommended Blue Highways, William Least Heat-Moon’s story of his journey around the United States via its backroads, I mentioned that the book was one of the influences behind my dream career as I was finishing high school. Another influence? The Foxfire series, which has more in common with Blue Highways than you might think.
A high school project on steriods
Foxfire began in 1966 with a frustrated high school English teacher at Rabun Gap-Nacoochee School in Georgia. Looking for some way to engage his students, he talked with them about a magazine, which they decided to focus on the stories of local residents, whose folklore and ways of doing things were already fading. The magazine was a success and by 1972, anthologies of articles were coming out in a series of books. Several of those first books sat on my parents’ shelves, and I would poke through them, fascinated with the oral histories, collections of folklore, and instructions on how to do everything from raising a log cabin to making a fiddle.
Oh, how I envied those students who got to interview interesting people and write about them.
And that’s the reason I think of Blue Highways and the Foxfire series as being cut from the same cloth. Just as Blue Highways is, in my mind, more about the people than the places, so Foxfire has its roots in people, even when the focus of the article is on hog dressing.
Immerse yourself in burial customs, moonshining, horse trading, and “more affairs of plain living.”
Drawing on content from the magazines, the books cover a range of topics. Some chapters just focus on an individual–the most well-known being Aunt Arie, a favorite of Foxfire readers. I can’t define what sets her apart from the many other people interviewed throughout the series, but I do remember turning to the chapter on her again and again. She seemed to be someone you’d love to sit down and talk with.
But many of the articles are focused on crafts, lore, or nearly forgotten pastimes. Foxfire 4 includes a chapter on knife making based on interviews with two different men. Filled with step-by-step photos and carefully labeled illustrations, the chapter also includes informal narratives about the knife makers. Author Tom Carlton writes this about Troy Danner:
Several people told us that Mr. Danner used to be the best blacksmith in that part of the country. … He finally had to quit, though, because, as he said, “I just got old and wore out.” He said that at one time, he could stand for a whole day shoeing horses and putting wagon tires on wheels. Once he shod sixteen horses at his little shop in one day, “and boy you could feel the sweat run out of you too!”
“Knife Making” by Tom Carlton, Foxfire 4 (1977), p. 60
Besides that chapter, Foxfire 4 alone includes five chapters featuring interviews with individuals or couples plus chapters on wood carving; fiddle making; wooden sleds; gardening; bird traps, deadfalls, and rabbit boxes; horse trading; making tar; logging; water systems; berry buckets; and cheese making. There’s also a chapter with supplementary information related to stories from the previous three books in the series.
Tell me a ghost story.
As I flipped through my parents’ books, glancing through a story about log cabin building or skipping over a piece about ginseng, one of the chapters I turned over and over again was “Boogers, Witches, and Haints” in Foxfire 2. It was just the right level of scary for me, and I loved reading the stories as they were told by a number of people from Appalachia. My favorite stories were the “ball of fire” stories, especially one of a few told by Hoyt Thomas:
And one night it looked like th’world was afire back in there. Like a big forest fire, y’know. And it come on around, and at twelve o’clock it went right square up in th’middle of th’sky and made a question mark. Just as pretty a question mark as you ever looked at.
“Boogers, Witches, and Haints,” by David Wilson, Foxfire 2 (1973), p. 328
But you, dear reader, are probably thinking, “That’s not a ghost story!” So here’s one with a ghost in it.
When my gran’daddy was a little boy, he had a aunt that died. She run a old-time loom. Worked herself t’death.
She died, and th’old man tore th’loom house down where she worked. Wanted t’get it out a’th’way. And he was going’ a’courtin’ three weeks after she died–courtin’ with another woman. Gran’daddy said he heard th’boards a’rattlin’ just like th’old loom a’runnin’. Heard th’loom a’rattlin’. Said they had a big fire a’goin’–a big blaze–and she walked up t’th’door.
Th’little baby–her baby–they had t’hold him to keep him from goin’ to her. Kept sayin’, “There’s Mommy! There’s Mommy!”
“Boogers, Witches, and Haints,” pp. 332-3
The stories don’t give me chills like they did when I was a kid, but they were deliciously spooky then. And the photos still strike me. Besides portraits of some of the people interviewed in this chapter, there are simple black and white photos of cornstalks in a rainstorm, the sun hanging low over the mountains, a tree with a sign nailed to it: “AT THE END – YOU MEET GOD.” The photography is wonderful and somehow very appropriate.
Foxfire magazine’s still around.
While the last numbered Foxfire book, Foxfire 12, came out in 2004, the magazine is still around. When I started thinking about writing about Foxfire a year ago, I ordered the Spring/Summer 2020 issue. As times have changed, and many of the people who shared their stories 50 years ago are long gone, the magazine’s topics have changed. This combined issue included three articles on drug addiction and a history of Clayton First United Methodist Church in Clayton, Georgia. There were stories of craftspeople–just like the blacksmiths and weavers who were interviewed decades ago–only these were a photographer and a prop maker. Closest to what I grew up with were the interviews. Vivian Carver, born in 1939, reminisced about when she was dating her late husband:
Me and Olin knew each other growing up. Our first date, we were painting and fixing up the church. After we finished, we had a hotdog supper. …
“Remembrance: Interview With Vivian Carver” by Willow Fisher and Jacqueline Love, Foxfire, Spring/Summer 2020, p. 51
Sharon Stiles, about the same age as Vivian Carver, said this about growing up with her grandmother:
We helped her in the garden, we helped her bring in wood, we helped wherever, whatever she needed. We carried water, because we didn’t have water at the house; we got our water from the branch. [Without refrigeration,] we took our milk or our butter and kept it in the stream. Later, one of my uncles, who had a store in Hiawassee, [Georgia], bought my grandmother a refrigerator, so we didn’t have to go to the branch however many times a day you needed to take the food or needed water. And after my grandmother had worked for a while, she was able to make enough money to get us water at the house. That was a big deal. You didn’t have to go carry the water, you could go to the back porch and there was your water. You didn’t have hot water, you only had cold water, but at least you had water.
“Making the Mountains Home: Interview With Sharon Stiles” by Kami Ahrens, Foxfire, Spring/Summer 2020, p. 73
Times change. I know that. And I don’t expect people in Appalachia to live as if they belonged to an era long gone. But Foxfire, at least the glimpse I got through one issue of the magazine, has lost some of its enchantment for me. As a child, I was visiting with people who were very different from me every time I opened one of the books. Now I can read about a prop maker who uses a 3-D printer… just like one of my family members. It is, I suppose, a little too close to home, like seeing a McDonald’s in Rome.
Despite my melancholy over the changes that have been brought about by time, there’s a lot I still cherish about the book series. I may never have the opportunity to speak to someone who’s been to a “barn raisin,'” but I can hear their stories secondhand in the Foxfire series.
Religion is a touchy matter, and it can become even more touchy when a person changes their beliefs, possibly estranging themselves from family and friends. Even so, if you’re willing to journey with me into this territory, I highly recommend two recently published books — one fiction, one nonfiction — about people who questioned and changed their beliefs but retained respect for the faith they were raised in.
Transcendent Kingdom by Yaa Gyasi
Transcendent Kingdom, Yaa Gyasi’s second novel, is about more than questioning one’s beliefs, but that questioning plays a major role in the book.
Gifty is a Ph.D. student in neuroscience at Stanford University. She is haunted by her background: her broken family; the racism and xenophobia they faced; and her Pentecostal upbringing, which weighed heavily on her as a child. In Gifty’s words: “Back then, I approached my piety the same way I approached my studies: fastidiously. … I wanted, above all else, to be good. And I wanted the path to that goodness to be clear.”
By the time she was 11, her father had left the United States for Ghana, never to return; her brother had died from a heroin overdose; her mother was no longer able to care for her; and she was on the way to losing her faith. But while she resents how her strict religious upbringing affected her–“It wasn’t until my freshman year in college, in biology class, that I learned what and where a vagina truly was”–she also refuses to hate it. As an undergraduate student, she got into a discussion about religion, specifically Christianity, with some of her classmates. When one described religion as dangerous, saying “Religion has been used to justify everything from war to anti-LGBT legislation,” Gifty countered, “Belief can be powerful and intimate and transformative.”
Reflecting on the disagreement, Gifty tells us, “… though I hadn’t worked out how I felt about the Christianity of my childhood, I did know how I felt about my mother. Her devotion, her faith, they moved me.”
Meanwhile, Gifty has exchanged her religious faith for a faith in science. With an almost religious fervor, she hopes that her hard work will save her from the fates of her brother and mother.
I think when people heard about my brother they assumed that I had gone into neuroscience out of a sense of duty to him, but the truth is I’d started this work not because I wanted to help people but because it seemed like the hardest thing you could do, and I wanted to do the hardest thing. I wanted to flay any mental weakness off my body like fascia from muscle. Throughout high school, I never touched a drop of alcohol because I lived in fear that addiction was like a man in a dark trench coat, stalking me, waiting for me to get off the well-lit sidewalk and step into an alley. I had seen the alley. I had watched [my brother] walk into the alley and I had watched my mother go in after him, and I was so angry at them for not being strong enough to stay in the light. And so I did the hard thing.
Transcendent Kingdom, pp. 36-37
But as she pursues her Ph.D. research, Gifty realizes that science is failing her just like her childhood faith did, and so her quest for answers, for meaning, continues.
If you are looking for a clear sense of closure, you will be disappointed. Gyasi will give you hope, but she will also give you ambiguity. It is Gyasi’s willingness to sit with that ambiguity that makes Transcendent Kingdom such a beautiful book.
Sealed: An Unexpected Journey Into the Heart of Grace by Katie Langston
Sealed is a memoir chronicling Katie Langston’s journey from the Mormon faith to Christianity. While Gifty and Langston are lightyears apart in terms of their basic biographies, there are striking similarities between them. Like Gifty, Langston grew up in a profoundly religious home, and like Gifty, she was fastidious in her piety. From an early age she was haunted by the idea that “you can do something horribly wrong without knowing it.” Because worthiness through purity was central to her faith, Langston relentlessly pursued purity, even confessing to minor sins she hadn’t committed. “I was thinking of words that rhymed with lamb and I accidentally thought ‘damn,'” she told her mother. “I’m not sure, but I’m worried that I whispered it out loud.”
As she entered her teen years, she began to be troubled by what she had been taught. Faced with a God who requires you to earn your way to the Celestial Kingdom, Langston learned to hate him. “I hated his rules and requirements, his worthiness, tests, his severity,” she writes. “Most of all, I hated him for the fact that I was beginning to suspect that he had never loved me–and never would.”
Langston continued to be troubled by her faith into early adulthood. She checked all the boxes (and more) expected of her as a Mormon woman, serving as a missionary, getting married, and starting a family, but her endless fears of unworthiness fed her resentment toward God. When she first heard Mormon speakers arguing for a different view of God–a God whose favor does not need to be earned but who loves us as we are–it was a breath of fresh air leading her on a journey that eventually caused her to leave Mormonism to pursue ministry in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.
Despite rejecting the faith of her family and the community she was raised in, she ultimately writes about that faith sympathetically. She cannot belong to it, but she loves her family members who embrace it, and she still cherishes some of its deepest values. “My [Christian] baptism was the final uncoupling with Mormonism,” she writes, “the last, definitive break. … Simultaneously, my baptism was the culmination of everything Mormonism taught me to value. Connection, togetherness, hope for a future unity: these are what God desires, and as creatures made in God’s image, we desire them, too.”
Like Gifty, Langston may have left her childhood faith, but she refuses to condemn her loved ones who still hold to Mormonism or to proclaim that faith as evil, even though she no longer agrees with it. Both books are honest, loving approaches to the story of someone questioning their faith, well worth reading if you are interested tackling this sensitive subject.
Full disclosure: I know Katie Langston, though not well, and we are both employed by the same organization, sometimes collaborating on projects. I read Sealed because I learned of it through my work and, as someone who lived in Utah for a couple of years, was interested in the topic. Katie did not ask me to review her book (she probably doesn’t know about my blog), and I did not do it as a favor for her; I am reviewing it here because it moved me and felt like a good companion to Transcendent Kingdom.
When I was in elementary school we would have occasional assembly days — often toward the end of the school year — when we would just watch a movie. I’m sure it was to give the teachers a break. The two movies I remember seeing over and over again, year after year, were Old Yeller and Free to Be… You and Me.
The first, of course, was that classic, heartbreaking Disney film about two boys and their dog. The second was a show (originally a television special) made up of different spoken and musical segments, starring Marlo Thomas “and friends.”
Free to Be… You and Me was originally a record album and a book, something I didn’t know until I was well into adulthood. The television special, which was based on the album, came out in 1974. According to the album’s liner notes, the project was conceived when Thomas was searching for a bedtime story for her niece Dionne “and found, with few exceptions, shelf after shelf of books and records, for boys and girls, which charmingly dictated who and what they must be. … I wanted something… to celebrate who she was and who she could be, all the possibilities and all the possible Dionnes.”
Free From Gender Stereotypes
The value of Free to Be… You and Me is the way it defies gender stereotypes. If you’re inclined to roll your eyes and think, “Oh, great — feminist brainwashing,” hear me out. The unfortunate stereotype of feminism is “male-bashing,” but that’s not at all what this (or what true feminism is). Free to Be… You and Me is just as much about liberating males from stereotypes as it is about liberating females. Is there anything more freeing than not having to suppress your emotions simply because you’re male? And possibly no one could deliver that message more powerfully than retired football player Rosey Grier.
Those who are suspicious of feminism might also rejoice in the message of the “Ladies First” segment — being a “lady” doesn’t entitle you to special treatment.
But while Free to Be… taught girls not to abuse their gender, it also taught them that their gender didn’t need to confine them. In the early to mid-1970s, girls still were surrounded by messages that their ultimate goal should be marriage. We read fairy tales that ended in marriage and “happily ever after,” played with bride paper dolls, and married Barbie off to Ken. The message from the “Atalanta” segment was refreshing: There’s nothing wrong with marriage, but you don’t need to be married to live “happily ever after.”
Somewhat Dated But Still Necessary
There’s no doubt that Free to Be… You and Me can appear a bit out-of-date in a culture that has, in some ways, changed dramatically since the album and film came out. In 2012, one millennial writer wrote, “I also laughed out loud during my first listen to ‘Parents Are People,’ where Harry Belafonte and Marlo Thomas list of all the things that mommies and daddies can be, but point out that mothers ‘can’t be grandfathers. Or daddies.’ Tell that to Thomas Beatie, the transgendered Oregon man who gave birth to a girl in 2008.”
But despite the writer’s assertion that she grew up believing that she could be anything, “a doctor, a lawyer, a musician, whatever,” there are still occupations, such as construction and nursing, that are dominated by people of a particular gender. And there’s a more subtle message in the song that’s right there in the title: parents are people. I’m afraid that didn’t really sink in for me until I was an adolescent, but it’s good for children to hear. Child, you are an important part of your parents’ lives, but they are more than just your parents.
What strikes me about Free to Be… is how so much of it is still relevant today. When I read the comments on the “It’s Alright to Cry” video on YouTube, it’s clear that the message is still one that people, particularly boys, need to hear. And in the Instagram age, girls still need to hear Roberta Flack (or, on the album, Diana Ross) sing, “I like what I look like” in “When We Grow Up.” If only we women would absorb that message instead of “you aren’t pretty enough.”
The clip below, from the television special, features Flack and Michael Jackson.
Perhaps someday the entire album or show will be updated and remade. In the meantime, the theme song was redone by musician Sara Bareilles. It may be old and somewhat obscure these days, but Free to Be… still has a lot to say.
I’m going to sound old here, but bear with me. Once upon a time, we had less control over what we could watch on television. If you wanted to watch a holiday special, you had to wait until it aired in the days leading up to the holiday. And while there was always a danger you’d miss your favorite special (What if you couldn’t be at home to watch it? What if NBC and CBS ran two specials you liked at the same time? The horror!), this was one of the things that made seasons special to me. I loved opening our newspaper’s weekly TV insert, flipping straight to the “specials” section, and circling all of the shows I wanted to see that week.
Now the specials aren’t so special. I can watch How The Grinch Stole Christmas! any time I want.
Granted, that was the only way I was forced to confine my holiday celebrations to certain seasons. Recordings of Christmas music have been available since at least the mid-1930s, and if you had musical training and access to an instrument, you could play Christmas music any time you wanted long before that. For centuries, you could read the story of the Nativity in your family’s Bible in June as easily as December. So the demise of the holiday television special isn’t that big a deal; it was here for only a few decades anyway.
Despite my fond memories of seasonal specials, for many people in the world, it’s been possible to celebrate your favorite holidays or seasons whenever you wanted if you were willing to defy cultural norms. Thanks to refrigerators, freezers, and worldwide shipping, you can even eat seasonal foods out of season, and many of us do so without thinking about it. Is seasonality really that big deal?
I’d argue that it is, because part of what makes your favorite season or holiday special is its fleeting nature.
That doesn’t mean it’s wrong if you want to listen to your favorite Christmas music in May.
Let me make it clear that this post isn’t meant to be judgmental. If you love to Christmas music year-round, who am I to say “don’t play it; it’ll be more special that way”? I understand the sadness of saying goodbye to a favorite season for another year (especially summer, which is far too short where I live). And I’ve certainly done things out of season. As far as I’m concerned, sometimes on a really bitter January day, there’s nothing wrong with spending a day in the Como Conservatory, pretending it’s actually summer.
Also, seasonality can vary from one person to another. I admit to feeling a bit sad when everyone turns off their Christmas lights on January 2, as if they were tired of Christmas. As a big fan of celebrating all twelve days of Christmas (December 25-January 5) and someone who really hates January, I can do with a little holiday cheer in the first days of the new year. But my definition of the Christmas season may vary from yours, and you may, perhaps, wonder why I continue to turn on my tree lights for several days after you’ve taken your tree down.
I do draw the lines at stores and restaurants. I understand the desire to push the next holiday as soon as one is over, so that the Valentine’s Day stuff gets put out on January 2, but it really distresses me to see Christmas stuff before Halloween and Valentine’s Day stuff before Christmas.
However, since stores don’t seem to care about seasonal cranks like me, I guess I’ll have to stick to focusing on seasonal celebrations in my own home.
How might we stay in season?
I love seasons and holidays, but I also like keeping things (relatively) simple; the way I celebrate a season might appear dull to you or too involved to someone else. Nevertheless, here are some of the things I’ve done to make seasons special:
I try to focus on seasonal eating. Of course, we all do that to some extent. We have picnics in the summer and eat soups and stews in the winter. We also all — except for the really dedicated folks, whom I admire — have been known to eat out of season. I don’t screen my recipes carefully to make sure all of the fresh fruits and vegetables in it are in season. But I do try to eat lots of seasonal food. There is absolutely nothing like a fresh strawberry from a local farm in June. This year I bought a ton of strawberries and took some to a party and used some in strawberry shortcake. It’s every bit as exciting as it was to be a kid hunting for holiday specials in the TV guide.
I make seasonal playlists. If you are a regular reader, you probably know I have an autumn playlist and a playlist for Independence Day. I also have playlists for spring, summer, winter (non-Christmas music), Advent, Christmas (actually two playlists — one classical, one everything else that I own), St. Patrick’s Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and rainy days — not to mention a BeauSoleil album I bought to listen to on Shrove Tuesday (or Fat Tuesday). Of course not every song on every playlist is reserved for that season, but gray November days are a bit better when I can pull up my Thanksgiving playlist.
I sometimes indulge in seasonal reading. I read a lot, and most of my reading isn’t related to a particular season, but it can be a lot of fun to read a book of Christmas mysteries in December or something by Neil Gaiman in October.
And, of course, there’s seasonal viewing. I’m not really into Hallmark holiday movies, but ask me if I want to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in December, and my answer is “yes.” This past year, due to the pandemic, I emphasized seasons and holidays even more than I usually do and so, while many people I know skipped their annual viewing of Groundhog Day (in the words of two different people I know, “This year every day feels like Groundhog Day”), on February 2 I watched that movie for the first time in years.
To a lesser extent I decorate the house for some holidays. Honestly, I don’t want to deal with the expense and effort that goes into a lot of decorating, but I do like to a little nod to the seasons with things like autumnal potpourri in the fall. And at Christmas I go all out (for me) with a Christmas tree, a nativity scene, an advent wreath, and sometimes a few other touches.
Likewise, I don’t put a great deal of effort into seasonal clothing (I had to borrow an ugly Christmas sweater from my kid for a Zoom party last year), but there is something special about cozy wool socks in the winter and wearing a sundress on a hot summer day.
And, of course, I try to take advantage of seasonal activities. Being a summer person, I try to make a point of taking a break from deskwork and housework to go outside and enjoy the warmth and sunshine. In my least favorite season, winter, I bake more, make valentines (albeit not particularly good ones, since I’m craft-challenged), and generally try to find ways to enjoy my time indoors. If I were a really good seasonal person, I suppose I’d get outdoors into the crisp, cold (really cold) weather and indulge in winter sports, but… nah.
So, to steal and misuse a line from Ram Das, choose to “be here now.” There’s a lot to be said for enjoying whatever season we are in to its fullest.
This post wasn’t planned. It just sort of happened when I fell down a research rabbit hole.
Every year as the U.S. Independence Day approaches, I consider purchasing some seasonally appropriate music. While I love many music genres, for some reason I gravitate toward classical music for July 4. I already have a collection of marches by John Philip Sousa, a recording of Aaron Copland’s Rodeo and Billy the Kid, and Ferde Grofé’s Grand Canyon Suite, along with a few individual pieces, such as “Chester” from William Schuman’s New England Triptych: Three Pieces for Orchestra After William Billings.
This year, as I contemplated buying some Duke Ellington (yes, he wrote classical music, too), I wondered: What else could I add to my collection to diversify it? I began poking around, discovered some gems, and this playlist was born. All of these pieces are by U.S. composers, and all of them sound, in my mind, distinctly “American,” because they draw on influences such as jazz, spirituals, and even high school marching bands. Most of these were new to me, and I’m willing to bet that many will be new to you, too.
Note: You may have to be content to sample some of these on YouTube. For instance, I found one Naxos recording that included a single piece by Viet Cuong (not the one on this list). I found a few more of his pieces on Spotify, but only one movement from Re(new)al. Unfortunately, it isn’t the one that really made me think, “Re(new)al belongs on this list!”
Re(new)al – Viet Cuong
I was introduced to Cuong’s music just over a week ago at a St. Paul Chamber Orchestra concert, and I liked what I heard. When I decided I wanted to diversify my Independence Day music collection, I thought of him and wondered, “Do any of his pieces sound distinctly American?” As a matter of fact, the answer is “yes.” Cuong was a member of a high school’s marching band. You can hear the influence in Re(new)al. As far as I’m concerned, anything that is evocative of the half-time show during a football game qualifies as “distinctly American.” (Be patient. The marching band section starts around 4:45.)
From Atlanta to the Sea – Frank Duarte
Frank Duarte wrote this march in celebration of the 150th anniversary of the song “Marching Through Georgia.” Popular with the Union Army, the song celebrates General Sherman’s March to the Sea. Duarte drew inspiration not only from that song but from Sousa’s marches and songs such as “The Yellow Rose of Texas” and the U.S. “Army Song.”
Suite From The River – Duke Ellington
If your knowledge of Ellington’s music is confined to his excellent jazz standards like “Satin Doll” and “Take the ‘A’ Train,” you absolutely must check out his Suite from The River. While you’re at it, listen to Black, Brown, and Beige, another appropriate pick for an Independence Day playlist.
Bethena Waltz – Scott Joplin
Pretty much anything by Scott Joplin would fit comfortably on this list. I chose “Bethena Waltz” simply because I think it is a gorgeous piece.
Einstein on 6th Street – Daniel Montoya
Daniel Montoya’s “Einstein on 6th Street” was inspired by American composer Philip Glass’ opera Einstein on the Beach. He also draws inspiration from the numerous live music performances that can be found in venues on 6th Street in Austin, Texas.
Fantasie Negre no. 1 – Florence Price
Florence Price was a Black composer active during the first half of the 20th century. Inspired by a spiritual, “Fantasie Negre no. 1” easily belongs on this list of American music. Listen, and I think you’ll agree with me that it’s stunning. Then read James Bennett’s essay and ponder the fact that the world of classical music isn’t all that different from pop music. You hear a relatively small number of songs over and over, while other songs are sadly neglected.
Symphony #1 – William Grant Still
Other than Ellington, William Grant Still was the only other composer on this list I knew before I started researching diverse American composers… and, sadly, I know relatively little about him. His Afro-American Symphony draws on the blues and spirituals.
Chokfi (Rabbit): Sarcasm for String Orchestra and Percussion – Jerod Tate
Jerod Tate’s “Chokfi” is, in his words, a “character sketch” of the trickster rabbit that appears in Southeast American Indian cultures. He also incorporated a Muscogee Creek church hymn in the music.
Fanfare for the Uncommon Woman #1 – Joan Tower
In 1986, Joan Tower wrote her first “Fanfare of the Uncommon Woman.” She’s followed it up with five more fanfares, the latest of which was written in 2016. If you’re well-acquainted with classical music, you’ll know from the title alone that Tower was inspired by Copland’s “Fanfare for the Common Man,” a staple of many Independence Day playlists.
Where to Look for Additional Inspiration
It wasn’t difficult for me to find information on Florence Price and Joan Tower through simple Google searches for Black composers and American female composers. Beyond that, one of my best resources for researching diverse composers was the Composer Diversity Database. There’s lots of good information there; I’ve only scratched the surface so far. In addition, I appreciated the opportunity to learn more about American Indian composers in the NPR article “American Indian Composers Go Classical.”
Saint Catherine Receives the Stigmata by Plautilla Nelli
Plautilla Nelli is the first known female artist to have worked in Florence.
I only recently learned about Plautilla Nelli, a nun and painter who lived in Florence during the 16th century. Although she did not receive formal training as an artist, she taught other nuns to paint and led a workshop in her convent. I ran across her name when reading a public radio story about Advancing Women Artists, a nonprofit dedicated to uncovering and restoring the forgotten works of Florence’s female painters. Intrigued by this groundbreaking artist I’d never heard of, I starting reading about her and looking at pictures of her known works. Only 17 of her paintings and sketches have been identified, although one of her contemporaries claimed that “there were so many of her paintings in the houses of gentlemen in Florence, it would be tedious to mention them all” (source: the AWA article on Nelli).
The work we do have is remarkable, particularly considering her lack of formal training and the fact that she was not allowed to study anatomy.
Nelli’s Last Supper is impressive.
The Last Supper by Plautilla Nelli
Nelli’s Last Supper is the only known painting on the subject by a woman during the Italian Renaissance (see “Renaissance woman Plautilla Nelli’s Last Supper unveiled after restoration in Florence”). The painting is approximately 21 feet wide and six-and-a-half feet tall. Her attention to detail in this large-scale work is evident everywhere, from the elaborate table setting to the emotions expressed by Jesus’ disciples. The painting compares favorably with many other Last Supper paintings from the Italian Renaissance. (For some reason, the article I’ve linked to with examples of these paintings gives the wrong dates for Nelli’s painting.) If I ever have the good fortune to be in Florence, I definitely want to visit the Santa Maria Novella Museum to see this painting in person.
The women in Nelli’s Lamentation With Saints really look like they’ve been crying.
Lamentation With Saints (detail) by Plautilla Nelli
Take a look at the women surrounding Jesus after he has been removed from the cross. Their eyes and noses are red, as if they actually have been crying. Just like the Last Supper painting, this Lamentation demonstrates Nelli’s attention to detail and concern with portraying emotion in her painting.
Nelli wasn’t shy about including women in her Pentecost painting.
Pentecost (detail) by Plautilla Nelli
Many paintings of the Pentecost from Nelli’s time feature Mary, the mother of Jesus, at the center of the artwork. In Moretto da Brescia’s painting, Mary is the only woman present. Titian places Mary and two other women at the center of his painting. Girolamo Muziano also includes only three women in his painting. But Nelli puts five women at the center of Jesus’ followers as they receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. In my eyes, this seems like a radical statement. How I wish I could meet Nelli and talk with her about her decision to give women such a prominent place in the birth of the Christian church.
There is so little we know about this talented and apparently prolific painter. Perhaps we will never learn much or recover many of her works. But from the little we have, it’s clear that Nelli is another female artist worth knowing about.
Not too long ago, someone said to me, “I can’t wait for spring to arrive. I’ve never had such a boring winter in my life.”
On the one hand, I can relate. The pandemic has us stuck at home far more than we’re used to.
On the other hand, I think the last time I was bored was when I was on bedrest when I was pregnant. That’s when I discovered that having unlimited time to watch movies and read books is actually not much fun.
I’m aware that as an introvert, it’s been easier for me than for many extraverts to deal with the limitations imposed by the pandemic. But even I wish I could hang out with friends the way I used to. I also keenly miss some of the activities I enjoyed in the past, such as going to a local conservatory during the winter to soak in some warmth and greenery.
Like so many of us, I want my “normal” life back. But the pandemic has stretched me as I’ve worked to find new ways to relax and have fun. Here’s what I’ve learned about finding enjoyment when my options are limited.
It’s hard to overestimate the value of nature.
I think a lot of us have gained a little more appreciation for the outdoors. I walked with my mom–6 feet behind her–often last summer. My husband went kayaking with friends. Being outdoors allowed us to see people we love safely and helped us escape from being stuck within the same walls day in and down out. Although any outdoor space was fair game (a friend and I would set out chairs on grassy medians in parking lots so that we could eat ice cream and chat together), there was something particularly comforting about natural surroundings.
Even before 2020, I’d found that a walk in a local park was restoring at the end of a hard day, but now more than ever the pandemic has made it clear that parks and other green spaces are worth their weight in gold. Once we are able to gather safely indoors with friends and family, I hope that we also continue to find joy in being outdoors–together or alone.
Finding fun may require creativity.
Last summer I wrote about my “semication,” during which I worked half-days and then took imaginary vacations to other places through foods and activities. It didn’t substitute for really being at any of those places, but it made for a fun, refreshing week. I can’t claim that I don’t miss going to a movie with a friend, visiting the Minnesota State Fair with my mom, or attending local science fiction conventions, but at least I can find creative ways to imitate those experiences at home.
It can be a blessing to have a sizeable bucket list.
I cannot possibly get through my long “to read” and “to watch” lists before I die. On top of those lists, I have more lists of things I want to do and try. And while some of those things–like watching a curling match in person–cannot or should not be pursued during a pandemic, others, such as trying new recipes, are doable. Make long lists of things you want to read, watch, and do, and it will be very difficult to be bored.
There’s a lot to be said for “snail mail.”
I don’t think I’ve been this interested in the mail since I was waiting for college acceptance letters when I was a high school senior. As I mentioned in my last post, my days have been brightened by cards from friends. Assuming others might feel the same, I sent more cards in the past year than I have in a long time. I also purchased an issue of The Letter Exchange and sent letters off in response to several listings. Now I eagerly await any responses I get. Every day with something fun in the mail–a card, a real letter, a paycheck, the occasional package–is a day to celebrate.
Making the conscious effort to schedule small daily fun pays off.
In February, I was feeling particularly gloomy, as the pace of vaccinations at the time made it look like most of 2021 would not be that different from 2020. So I looked at my calendar for March and scheduled small, fun activities for every single day. I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with Irish music and food. I tried a new dessert recipe. I created a playlist. I dressed up one day, even though I had nowhere to go. I used whatshouldireadnext.com to generate book suggestions based on something I enjoyed. I went from feeling bleak about the future to feeling excited about March, because I had something, however small, to look forward to every single day.
What has the pandemic taught you about how to relax and have fun, even when your options are limited?
When I first read about A Stray in 2016, I was intrigued. But as so often happens, I didn’t get around to seeing it while it was in theaters. Thankfully, it is now available on both Amazon and YouTube. I finally watched it a few weeks ago and was glad I did. The film has a 100% fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes for a good reason: it is a beautiful drama that is unlike any film you’ve seen before.
Adan is a young Somali immigrant living in Minneapolis. When we first meet him, he upsets the other men he is living with and ends up homeless. He tries to be a good Muslim, but he has a hard time doing the right thing. Just when it appears that things are looking up for him, he hits a dog with his car. Urged by a passerby to take her to the vet, he suddenly finds himself looking after an animal that is viewed as ritually impure by many Muslims.
Adan has an ambivalent relationship with the dog, whom he names Laila. On the one hand, he clearly cares for her; on the other hand, he does everything he can to avoid touching her and keeps trying, at least half-heartedly, to find a new home for her.
The film wanders with Adan as he travels through Minneapolis and St. Paul, trying to find money and spots where he can catch a little sleep. I was frequently surprised by Adan’s choices. He is astray, trying to find his way. The end of the movie itself is ambiguous. Adan is poised to take a certain act, but will he do it? That’s left to our imaginations. If you’re like me, you’ll find yourself pondering what you think he’ll do and whether or not that’s the right choice.
I’m not always a passive consumer of entertainment: I will laugh out loud as I read passages in books or cringe when I can tell something bad is about to happen in a film. This movie had me deeply engaged, as I gave Adan advice and laughed at his interactions with Laila.
This film is short, under 90 minutes long. The script and cinematography are exquisite (take a look at the trailer below to get a taste). Adan is played by Barkhad Abdirahman, who you may have seen in Captain Phillips or the TV series Fargo. I hope to see more of him.
Notes: There have been a lot of films about dogs with the word “stray” in them recently, including The Stray (2017) and Stray (2020). Maybe if you accidentally watch one of those, you’ll stray across something good (sorry, couldn’t resist), but if you want to watch this one, you’re looking for A Stray (2016).
Also, while the film is not rated by the MPAA, I don’t think of it as a family film. You’d have to read subtitles to a young child whenever someone was speaking in Somali, and you’d have to explain a lot as you went along. I’d recommend it for ages 11 and up, though of course, every child is different.
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