WA2K Radio is now on the air

Okay.Compromise.

One biog a page.

Well, listeners. It's that time of night, I guess. McTag blowing kisses; Letty singing memories; Bob dumping tea in the harbor.

Don't you love it, folks?

I think it is karaoke night tonight, so what shall we all sing together?

How about the aria from Rigoletto.

La donna è mobile, qual piùma al vento,
Woman is fickle (movable), like a feather in the wind,
muta d'accento, e di pensiero.
she changes the tone of her voice (i.e., her accents), and her thoughts
Sempre un amabile, leggiadro viso,
Always a sweet, pretty face,
in pianto o in riso, è menzognero.
in tears or in laughter, (she) is (always) lying
La donna è mobile, qual piùma al vento,
Woman is fickle, like a feather in the wind,
muta d'accento, e di pensier
she changes her accents, and her thoughts
e di pensier, e di pensier
and her thoughts, and her thoughts

È sempre misero, chi a lei s'affida,
It is always miserable, he that trusts in her
(He is always miserable who trusts in her)
chi le confida, mal cauto il core!
who to her confides, his unwary heart!
Pur mai non sentesi felice appieno
Yet nobody feels happy fully
chi su quel seno non liba amore!
who on that bosom doesn't drink love,
La donna è mobil, qual piùma al vento,
Woman is fickle, like a feather in the wind,
muta d'accento e di pensier,
she changes the tone of her voice and her thoughts
e di pensier, e e di pensier!
and her thoughts, and her thoughts!

Like Henry Miller said-

When I think what she's thinking I .........!

This is a request for Letty, because it's fits me tonight:

I am lost in meditation
And my reverie
Brings you back to me
For, in my imagination
Love has lingered on
As though you'd never gone

This is just a dream that can not last
When the magic of this mood has passed
So, I sit in meditation
Trying to pretend, this mood will never end

Lost in meditation
And my reverie
Brings you back to me

"I'M MY OWN GRANDPA"



Pedigree Bonus

(5 points)



Read, listen, or print the following lyrics to the song.



Attempt to draw a pedigree of this man's family.



There is no need to identify any traits.



Do the work on your own; no help from any other student.



Hand in the pedigree only "on or before" the announced due date.









Many, many years ago when I was just twenty-three,

I was married to a widow, she was pretty as could be.

This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red

And my father fell in Love with her. Soon they too were wed.



This made my dad my son-in-law--changed my very life!

My daughter was my mother because she was my father's wife!

To complicate the matter even though it brought me joy,

I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.



My little baby he then became a brother-in-law to Dad.

Well, that made him my uncle--made me very sad!

Because if he was my uncle then he also was a brother

To the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my stepmother.



CHORUS



My father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.

And, of course, he became my grandchild because he was my daughter's son.

My wife is now my mother's mother and this makes me blue

Because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother too!



CHORUS



Now if my wife is my grandmother, well, then I am her grandchild,

And every time that I think about this, it nearly drives me wild!

Because now I have become the strangest case that you ever saw

As husband of my grandmother, I'm my own grandpa!







CHORUS:



I'm my own grandpa! I'm my own grandpa!

It sounds funny, I know, but it really is so!

Oh, I'm my own grandpa!

Keep it rollin' Bob

Hi Dys. That's funny. You look like my grandpa. Actually my grandpa (on my mother's side) emigrated here from England. My grandfather from my father's side was the one who was half Mohawk, one of the tribes of the Six Nations (Iroquois).

Off to karaoke. Singing in the rain.

<smile> I never knew my own grandpa, Bob, and dys, I will not be swayed from my mood so easily:

Still thinking of beautiful things, listeners:


The Spirit of Air


Coral and clear emerald,
And amber from the sea,
Lilac-coloured amethyst,
Chalcedony;
The lovely Spirit of Air
Floats on a cloud and doth ride,
Clad in the beauties of earth
Like a bride.

So doth he haunt me; and words
Tell but a tithe of the tale.
Sings all the sweetness of Spring
Even in the nightengale?
Nay, but with echoes he cries
Of the valley of love;
Dews on the thorns of his feet,
And darkness above.

Goodnight, sweet Letty. Here is a lullaby to help you off to dreamland:



Written By: Sir Harold Boulton (1884)
Copyright Unknown
(Old Welsh Air)

Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,
All through the night;
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night;
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
I my loving vigil keeping,
All through the night.

While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night;
While the weary world is sleeping,
All through the night;
O'er thy spirit gently stealing,
Visions of delight revealing,
Breathes a pure and holy feeling,
All through the night.

Hark, a solemn bell is ringing,
Clear through the night;
You, my love, are heav'nward winging,
Home through the night.
Earthly dust from off thee shaken,
By good angels art though taken;
Soul immortal shalt though waken,
Home through the night.

Spendy, why is it that sometimes the very brightest (speaking of you here--don't let it go to your head) really don't have a clue about everyday things. The scroll is for skipping over that which you don't wish to read. It can even scroll over several paragraphs which don't interest you.

Our sweet Letty can't stand bickering and I think we all should respect that. A little scrolling here, a little scrolling there, what's the harm?

BTW, Bob, I love your bios. If I come across one that doesn't especially appeal to me, I scroll. :wink:

I vote to keep this station just as it is - smooth and beautiful.


SUNBIRD - my offering for tonight.

One day I was walking
My darling under a cloud, under a cloud
And I heard
A little mum-mumbling in the cloud, in the cloud
She's a sunbird, a sunbird
That sings along with the sky
Let her sing, let her sing
Let her sing until the morning, 'til it comes
Sing her song
Her song of farewell
Sunbird
Let her fly, let her fly
Let her fly into tomorrow all alone
She must go, she must go
She must go and find herself another song
A song of new hope, new hope, new hope, new hope
For the tune of the night is almost gone
Sunbird

Ditto, Diane and Edgar. I love those bios, Bob - and the station just the way it is.

Goodnight, dear listeners and friends.

The sweetness of being is the thing we should see.

Thank you, Diane. A lovely lullaby.

and, edgar, the sunbird is perfect as well.


The magic way to weave a spell,
Is to undo it, like a bell
That's muted in the rising dawn,
And rewoven in a song.

From Letty with love

I saw that concert on PBS some time back. It was a good one!

Hi Letty! Thanks for the song.

I am tired tonight. These long walk routes don't get done quite as quickly as they used to. Fortunately, we only had a bit of rain in the morning. The rest of the day was blustery, but dry.

This is very true Raggedy. I can certainly confirm that. It was the same with the 2 concerts that my wife and I saw. The MB attract a nice, well-behaved crowd of folks. They seem to appeal to a very wide age range.

Just keep doing what you're doing, Bob. I find it interesting.

bob, your bio's are fine by me.

Late Breaking News: There is a new word on BALDERDASH for you to bluff.