George Lee Cunningham

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August 13, 2017
Magic Times and Magic Places

SEA DREAMS – Artist Catherine Lee
Thirty-two years ago, Carmela and I spent six weeks in Brazil – four of them in Rio de Janeiro and the other two traveling around that lovely land, visiting jungles and waterfalls, swamps and rivers, cities and countryside. It was more than beautiful. It was magical.
We never went back, I don’t know why exactly. Maybe we feared the second time around it would be a lovely place, but not the magic place it had once been. Magic is elusive. It’s not where you are, it’s what is inside you at the time.  You can go to the same place, see the same things, listen to the same lovely music, but the magic has slipped away.
But the magic of that adventure remains in our memories and in our hearts.
There was that time we almost died in the ocean just a few hundred feet from the shops and high-rise apartments along Avenida Atlantica. We had been warned about the rip tides and currents that stalked the beach that time of year, but we were relying on the magic of the moment to protect us. And it did.
When the first huge breaker drove us under, then the second one swirled us upside down, I reached out, found Carmela’s hand and pushed off from the sandy bottom. We survived, clambered back ashore, went to our rented apartment, took a shower, and then went out to dinner. Another good day in Rio.
The ocean wasn’t the only danger in Rio. We were warned again and again. Watch your back, don’t wear any jewelry that can be snatched from your ears or jerked off your fingers, and don’t think of resisting, especially if there is more than one robber. And yet, we wandered where we chose, and the magic remained. Some of the most beautiful and exciting places on the planet are also the most dangerous. Such concerns can’t defeat the magic of time or place.
Then there were the beggar kids, homeless boys who hustled money shining shoes. When they were young and still cute, they survived on handouts from tourists and even some sympathetic Cariocans, as the residents or Rio are known. But when they grew older, not so cute, and resentful of their lot in life, they often turned to crime.
There was one young boy we became attached to. He would greet us on the street and we would talk in a hodge-podge of broken English and fractured Portuguese. When we left, a few weeks later, he gave us one more shoeshine – refusing to take any money for it. A token of our friendship. A little more magic.
If the world had been fair, we would have taken that kid home and made him part of our family. As it was, we thanked him, gave him a hug, and walked away.
After Rio, we traveled around that big, beautiful, wild country – to the Amazon and the Pantanal swamp wilderness, and to Iguazu Falls on the border of Brazil and Argentina. We flew in and out of single runway airports that had been carved out of the jungle –  loading and unloading passengers at every stop as though the plane were a city bus.
There were snakes and exotic birds. There were capybara, the world’s largest rodent. Scores of caiman, the Brazilian version of alligators, lined the river banks. Indian kids fished from the same bank. And of course, there were the legendary and deadly piranha that lurked beneath the surface.
We still think about going back sometimes, but would Rio and Brazil hold the same enchantment as it did on the trip so long ago. Probably not.
But what if it did?
– George Lee Cunningham
Do you have a dissenting opinion or any opinion at all on the subject? Contact me at george@georgeleecunningham.com and let me know. Meanwhile, you can always subscribe and get an email reminder of blog postings. Your name will not be shared and you may cancel at any time.

LYRICS, POETRY AND PROSE 170814
A place to share some words of beauty, inspiration, and fun. Today we visit the music of one of our favorite countries, Brazil. There’s a certain sensual energy in Brazil, a mix of love, hate, sex, and danger all set against the backdrop of a Brazilian beat.
Our first song is Aguas de Marco, which translates to the Waters of March. March marks the end of summer in Brazil and it is the rainiest month of the year. The rain washes down from the hilltops, through the streets of Rio de Janiero and into the ocean. The song is simply a collage of images – life, love, nature, and the everyday beauty and ugliness of the world around us. Carmela and I walked down the aisle to this song when we married. We offer the English language translation, written by songwriter Antonio “Tom” Jobim, in its entirety.
The second song is Brazil, an English language version offered by Pink Flamingo. The third, Rio De Janeiro Blue is also in English, sung by jazz singer Randy Crawford. Click on the name of the piece to get a video or more information.
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 of the wood
The song of the thrush
The wood of the wind
The 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 waters of March
It´s the end of the stain
It´s the joy in your heart
The foot, the ground
The flesh and the bone
The beat of the road
A slingshot stone
A truckload of bricks
In the soft morning light
The shot of the 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 a cold, it’s the mumps
The plan of the house
The body in bed
And the car that got stuck
It´s the mud, it´s the mud
A float, a drift
A flight, a wing
A cock, a quail
Oh, the promise of spring
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It´s the promise of life
It´s the joy in your heart
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It´s the promise of life
It´s the joy in your heart
A point, a grain
A bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard
A sudden stroke of night
A pin, a needle
A sting, a pain
A snail, a riddle
A wasp, a stain
A snake, a stick
It is John, it is Joe
A fish, a flash
A silvery glow
The bed of the well
The end of the line
The dismay on 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 day
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It´s the promise of life
In your heart, in your heart
The end of the road
A little alone
A sliver of glass
A life, the sun
A night, a death
The end of the road
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It´s the promise of joy
In your heart
Of the waters of March
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It´s the promise of joy
In your heart
Of the waters of March
– Aguas de Marco Singers: Antonio Jobim and Elis Regina; Writer Antonio Jobim
Brazil, when stars were entertaining June
We stood beneath an amber moon
And softly murmured someday soon
We kissed and clung together
Then tomorrow was another day
The morning found us miles away
With still a million things to say
And now when twilight dims the skies above
Recalling thrills of our love
There’s one thing I am certain of
Return, I will, to old Brazil
– Brazil Singer: Storm Large; Group: Pink Martini; Writer: Ary Barroso
The salty air, your wind-blown hair, reflection on a dream
thoughts of you with who knows who, flowin’ through me like a stream
Brazilian serenades, linger on
help me lose my soul, in your song
and I get a feelin’, that I’ve seen that last of you, Rio De Janeiro Blue,
Rio De Janeiro Blue
Months go by, I wonder why, I’m left here on my own
could it be my destiny, is to live this life alone
these dark and rainy days have turned me cold
long and sleepless nights, gettin’ old
and I get a feelin’ that I’ve seen the last of you, Rio De Janeiro Blue,
Rio De Janeiro Blue
– Rio De Janeiro Blue Artists: Randy Crawford and Joe Sample; Songwriters: John Haeny and Richard Torrance

August 7, 2017
MEAN GIRLS WILL BREAK YOUR HEART

OLD LOVERS, NEW LIVES
Women are not only the strongest sex, they are the meanest.
A woman can break your heart, run it through a wringer, chop it into hamburger, and feed it to the dog. And when you crawl out the door, with your stomach twisted into a tight knot, her last words will be: “We can still be friends.”
The answer, of course, is no, damn it, we cannot. The wound that she has inflected will never completely heal. It may scab over and stop bleeding, but it will always be there – a reminder to never let a woman ever get that close again.
And sometimes, years later maybe, she calls and you come running, and you get together, and maybe she’s married now, but it doesn’t matter because all you want to do is bask in her presence and try to hopefully recapture just a little of that warmth and chemistry that used to exist between you.
Or maybe it’s not like that at all. Maybe after long years have passed and you’re both senior citizens, she is right. You truly can be friends. I am not sure I believe that, but maybe I am wrong.
What brings all this to mind is the love affair from 1966 to 1968 between musicians and singers Stephen Stills and Judy Collins. He didn’t want to let her go, she was ready to move on. So he did the most powerful thing he could think of to capture her heart. He wrote her a love song – a Suite, actually, with four distinct movements – called Suite Judy Blue Eyes.
He rushed to her hotel room to share his new creation with her, and she loved it. Then she went to be with her new boyfriend Stacy Keach, who was her co-star in a New York musical version of Peer Gynt.
Judy Collins was 29 at the time; Stephen Stills was 23.
Now the young lovers are on tour again. This time, she is 78 and he is 72. She has been married twice. Her only child Clark Taylor committed suicide in 1992 at age 33. She and her present husband, Louis Nelson have been married 21 years. Stills has been married to his current wife, producer Kristen Stills, for 21 years. He has two ex-wives, and five children.
So maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you finally reach a point in life where all the silly drama and angst of the past finally melt away. Maybe after enough time has passed, you really can be friends again.
Either way, we’re planning to buy tickets to see the old lovers when they come to Southern California later this year. Here are their tour dates.
– George Lee Cunningham
Do you have a dissenting opinion or any opinion at all on the subject? Contact me at george@georgeleecunningham.com and let me know. Meanwhile, you can always subscribe and get an email reminder of blog postings. Your name will not be shared and you may cancel at any time.

LYRICS, POETRY AND PROSE 170807
A place to share some words of beauty, inspiration, and fun. Life and love, hurts and loss, sadness and pain. And sometimes what remains is music and art. Then the years go by and the hurts fade but the memories remain. This week we revisit three songs by two old lovers – Steven Stills and Judy Collins. Click on the name of the piece to get a video or more information.
It’s getting to the point where I’m no fun anymore
I am sorry
Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud
I am lonely
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are
You make it hard
Remember what we’ve said and done and felt about each other
Oh, babe have mercy
Don’t let the past remind us of what we are not now
I am not dreaming
I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are
You make it hard
– Suite Judy Blue Eyes Group: Crosby Stills and Nash; Writer: Stephen Stills
Helplessly hoping her harlequin hovers nearby
Awaiting a word
Gasping at glimpses of gentle true spirit he runs
Wishing he could fly
Only to trip at the sound of goodbye
Wordlessly watching he waits by the window and wonders
At the empty place inside
Heartlessly helping himself to her bad dreams he worries
Did he hear a good-bye?
Or even hello?
– Helplessly Hoping Singer Judy Collins, Writer Stephen Stills
There’s a young man that I know, his age is twenty one
Comes from down in Southern Colorado
Just out of the service and he’s lookin’ for his fun
Someday soon goin’ with him someday soon
My parents cannot stand him ’cause he rides the rodeo
My father says that he will leave me cryin’
I would follow him right down the toughest road I know
Someday soon goin’ with him someday soon
– Someday Soon Singer Judy Collins, Writer Ian Tyson
 

July 31, 2017
SHOPAHOLIC, SHOPAPHOBIC OR WHAT?

SHOPPING FUN AT HOME DEPOT    /photo by Carmela Cunningham
I hate to shop.
Going to the mall is my idea of Hell on Earth. All the men are condemned to the rock-hard, little benches in the center of the promenade, glassy-eyed and bored, waiting for their women to finish looking at, and picking out, and trying on, and spending money on, all kinds of silly stuff.
There’s the kiosks manned by young women selling earrings, and sunglasses, and custom cases for mobile phones. There are giggling gaggles of young girls with bags of goodies from Forever 21 and Claire’s, and the young and foolish men who are trying to impress them or make them laugh or do whatever is needed to get their attention. And there’s the food court, with overpriced, bad fast food – the Chinese place, the pizza place, the taco place, the lemonade place. Cinnabon and Mrs. Fields, Sbarro and Hot Dog on a Stick, Subway and Orange Julius.
It’s the temple of conspicuous consumption, where people cash in the proceeds of long hours spent at jobs they mostly hate for overpriced clothes and senseless junk. I know as I write this that I am being a grumpy old man. But I don’t like to shop. And I have no interest in spending money on stuff I don’t want and don’t need.
On the other hand, there are some exceptions to my shopaphobia. I may hate the mall, but I love to shop for groceries. When my wife goes to the grocery store, she makes a list, she picks up the items on the list, puts them in her basket, goes to the cashier and pays for the items she bought. How boring.
I, on the other hand, go up and down every single aisle, looking for stuff that may not be on the list, BUT that may be a wonderful new discovery. Like the Spicy Maple Bourbon pickle chips or the frozen barbecue chicken personal pizza, or the Wickles Wicked Jalapeno Relish, the spicy pad thai sauce, organic butter from grass-fed Irish cows, beer mixed with Clamato juice, and chocolate vodka.
These are not the kind of things you find rushing up and down the aisles with a list of necessities. It may take me a lot longer, but it’s time well spent.
There are some places, however, where both husband and wife can enjoy the shopping experience. Those are stores such as Home Depot, Lowes, and True Value Hardware. One goes to the garden center to buy flowers, the other to the tools and the fixtures, and the hardware.
The truth is, I’m not all that handy, but I like to pretend that I am, and Home Depot is a perfect place to do it. There’s tile to be laid, switches to install, shovels and picks to dig with, and bricks to stack into garden walls.
It’s a manly place to hang out, a place that makes you want to spackle a wall, install a new faucet, or just browse around and get inspired for possible new projects.
There’s no food courts at Home Depot or Lowes, no sissy kiosks or frilly dresses. You may be a tax accountant or an insurance adjuster by day, but when you hit Home Depot of the weekend, you come in your work clothes and steel-toed boots.
Now that’s the way shopping is supposed to be.
– George Lee Cunningham
Do you have a dissenting opinion or any opinion at all on the subject? Contact me at george@georgeleecunningham.com and let me know. Meanwhile, you can always subscribe and get an email reminder of blog postings. Your name will not be shared and you may cancel at any time.