Among the more inane things I do upon seeing certain roses, is to utter particular words or phrases -- some of which happen to be song lyrics. There are three of the roses linked below planted next to my compost bin. Every single time I visit that distant part of the garden and see her ever-present and always cheerful blooms, I spontaneously greet her by saying, "Well, coo coo ca-choo to you!" A somewhat wacky lyric fragment from a really terrific song . . . The gardener's compulsive utterances, however, probably qualify as being stupid. Here is a link that might be useful: Apologies to Simon & Garfunkel

Update: everyone gone, party a huge success, music fabulous, birthday boy received enough wine to stock a package store. Exhausted, even with two helpers who served and cleaned up after, as I spent most of the day working in the back yard grooming flowers, refilling hummingbird feeder, weeding, etc.-----and then it RAINED! But we had drinks and hors d'oeuvres in our new lower level before dinner and I loved the way we could go in and out between the inside and the covered patio despite the rain. Final head count of 14, two went out of town unexpectedly so it was a nice manageable number. Everyone had a wonderful time and honoree was in his element. Plans made for a repeat get together with this group plus a few absent friends at in December, for our Choral Society's Christmas concert and supper afterwards here. These people travel more than an hour to visit us, so we do our best to make it a festive occasion when they do.

often on my way to work i'll play talking heads and i'll laugh myself all the way there w/ this... i'm on the road to nowhere (LOL) WELL WE KNOW WHERE WE'RE GOIN' BUT WE DON'T KNOW WHERE WE'VE BEEN AND WE KNOW WHAT WE'RE KNOWIN' BUT WE CAN'T SAY WHAT WE'VE SEEN AND WE'RE NOT LITTLE CHILDREN AND WE KNOW WHAT WE WANT AND THE FUTURE IS CERTAIN GIVE US TIME TO WORK IT OUT We're on a road to nowhere Come on inside Takin' that ride to nowhere We'll take that ride I'm feelin' okay this mornin' And you know, We're on the road to paradise Here we go, here we go CHORUS Maybe you wonder where you are I don't care Here is where time is on our side Take you there...take you there We're on a road to nowhere We're on a road to nowhere We're on a road to nowhere There's a city in my mind Come along and take that ride and it's all right, baby, it's all right And it's very far away But it's growing day by day And it's all right, baby, it's all right They can tell you what to do But they'll make a fool of you And it's all right, baby, it's all right We're on a road to nowhere i'm an 80's child, extremely well educated, working in a job where i'm well paid but utilize very little of my knowledge and feel like i'm going nowhere fast...lol but atleast well paid lol. it's part of a bigger plan for my life... another fav is sinatra's the best is yet to come. it was the last song at both of our wedding receptions. it represents to me that even thou i've have a fabulous life so far there is even more fabulous thigs still ahead. i absolutely worship music and have tons of songs that have meaning for something in my past or life now that i relate to all the time :-) ~ liz

My favorite is Waters of March (Ãguas de Março) by Antonio Carlos Jobim. Even though his native language was Portugese, he was fascinated by English, and all the words in the song are derived from Old English--nothing Latinate. He wrtoe both versions. A stick, a stone it's the end of the road, it's the rest of the stump it's a little alone it's a sliver of glass, it is life,it's the sun, it is night ,it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun. the oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush, the knot in the wood, the song of the thrush. the wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall, a scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all. it's the wind blowing free. it's the end of a slope. it's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope. and the riverbank talks. of the water of march it's the end of the strain, it's the joy in your heart. the foot, the ground, the flesh, the bone, the beat of the road, a slingshot stone. a fish, a flash, a silvery glow, a fight, a bet, the range of the bow. the bed of the well, the end of the line, the dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find. a spear, a spike, a point, a nail, a drip, a drop, the end of the tale. a truckload of bricks, in the soft morning light, the shot of a gun, in the dead of the night. a mile, a must, a thrust, a bump. it's a girl, it's a rhyme. it's the cold, it's the mumps. the plan of the house, the body in bed, the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud. a float, a drift, a flight, a wing, ahawk, a quail, the promise of spring. and the riverbanks talks. of the waters of march. it's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart, a snake, a stick, it is john, it is joe, it's a thorn in your hand, and a cut on your toe. a point, a grain, a bee, a bite, a blink, a buzzard, the sudden stroke of night. a pin, a needle, a sting, a pain, a snail, a riddle, a weep, a stain. a pass in the mountains. a horse, a mule, in the distance the shelves. rode three shadows of blue. and the riverbank talks of the promise of life in your heart, in your heart a stick, a stone, the end of the load, the rest of the stump, a lonesome road. a sliver of glass, a life, the sun, a night, a death, the end of the run and the riverbank talks of the waters of march it's the end of all strain it's the joy in your heart