She Really Did All Of That

You may not know who Carol Kaye is, but it’s very likely that you have heard her:

Carol Kaye  is one of the most prolific recorded bass guitarists in rock and pop music, playing on an estimated 10,000 recordings in a career spanning over 50 years.

Kaye played on hundreds of commercially released recordings and soundtracks. This list represents only a small fraction of her recorded performances but they are the most recognizable.

  • Donna and La Bamba – Ritchie Valens (1958)[29]
  • Deuces, “T’s,” Roadsters & Drums – Hal Blaine (1963)
  • Then He Kissed Me – The Crystals (1964)
  • You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feelin’ – The Righteous Brothers (1964)
  • These Boots Are Made for Walkin’ – Nancy Sinatra (1965)
  • The Very Special World of Lee Hazlewood – Lee Hazlewood (1966)
  • Batman Theme – The Marketts (1966)
  • River Deep, Mountain High – Ike & Tina Turner (1966)
  • Pet Sounds – The Beach Boys (1966)
  • Freak Out! – The Mothers of Invention (1966)
  • The Beat Goes On – Sonny & Cher (1967)
  • The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy) – Harpers Bizarre (1967)
  • Wichita Lineman – Glenn Campbell (1968)
  • The Soul Brotherhood – Charles Kynard (1969)
  • Nancy – Nancy Sinatra (1969)
  • I Don’t Know What’s On Your Mind – Spiders Webb (1976)
  • Shades – J. J. Cale (1981)
  • The Wilsons – The Wilsons (1996)
  • Fast Man Raider Man – Frank Black (2006)

I hope you will check this video out and read a little about Carol too, she has a very amazing story and I think you will find it to be very inspirational.

Carol Kaye Website

The Girl Behind The Beach Boys

Happy Birthday Carol Kaye: A Career Of Hit Making & More Spotify Playlist

Bancroft Manor: Creative First Aid

Erasmus and Jingle Have A Chat

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Erasmus found Jingle exactly where she was everyday at around three o’clock in the afternoon.

She was in front of the window near the kitchens being “inspired.”

Today there was someone on the swing, twirling around and around seemingly oblivious to the man and woman watching them.

” So ,” Erasmus said. ” I suppose you may have heard we are down a Fortune Teller her at the Manor.”

Jingle raised her hand to the figure on the swing.

It continued to twirl.

” No. I hadn’t heard that.” She turned away from the window and Erasmus wasn’t she if that look of impatience and disgust was for him or the uninspiring Twirler outside.

” You wouldn’t have met up with her while you were out there looking for inspiration, did you.”

” Seriously Erasmus, what business would someone like me have with a Fortune Teller?”

” They have a way of getting at the heart of things, and if you have something to hide-”

Jingle turned back to the window and put her forehead against the glass. ” Yeah, well if that’s the case I just fell off your list of people to talk to. ”

Jingle turned to back to Erasmus and pointed to her chest. ” Haven’t had one in ages.”

Erasmus narrowed his eyes, which were very green and bloodshot ” That being the case, I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything unusual or out of place.”

” You’re kidding me, right?” she asked.

” No. I. Am. Not.”

“My first night here I saw a woman dancing on the stairs. She’s bad news Erasmus. She creeps me out, if you want to know the truth.”

Jingle cleared her throat, but to Erasmus it sounded like a growl.

Erasmus left Jingle to her quest for inspiration and he wondered, exactly what it took to scare a woman like Jingle. He wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to find out.

Bancroft Manor: Creative First Aid.

Beware the Dancing Woman

In a candle lit room in a house not to

far away from where we are now,

The Old Woman told her

she could read her future, see her past

in her cards.

 

She told the Old Woman

“I know your future  I can see

it clearly without cards,

if  you  even dare

to try to snoop at mine “

 

The Old Woman did dare and when she was done

her now faceless cards fluttered back to the table one by one

like falling leaves in a  nightmare forest

surrounded by darkness and laughing river and a woman dressed in white dancing along it’s banks.

 

She gathered her cards

she put them in her purse

she blew out the candles

and she left

the room empty

and

it was

as if

no one had ever been there at all.

 

Bancroft Manor: Creative First Aid

 

The Artist

In each of these pictures you can see the artist on her journey- she hasher paint brushes, her canvas bag- she is wearing comfortable clothes.

In these pictures you will see that she is moving around, trying to find a comfortable spot and then in the last picture you can see her change, you can see her enter the zone.

She is standing beautifully, like a dancer, like she is hearing music.

This is what writing is like for me.

amm

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M Moscoso

Creative First Aid: Bancroft Manor

Curious Ideas

Sometimes I find the most curious things when I turn a corner

climb a set of stairs

or when I look up.

Other times

the curious

find

me.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

When you

ride the same train to work

every single day

and

you see the same half awake faces

sitting around you

every single day

and

you see the same cars flying past you to get to the big box store down the street

where the people in those cars

are in a hurry to buy the same crud they bought last week

It’s time, not probably the time, but it is most definitely

time

to either

pick up a book or a pen or throw a ball for your dog to catch

because I have heard

from many ghost stories

that

even dead people dream.

Have you?

The Determined Passenger

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I ride the same train to and from work five days a week.

I  take the same seat next to the window near the middle of the car  so I  can charge my phone, God knows why I hardly ever get calls or texts.

I suppose I do that because it’s what one does and when one is in public- one makes the effort to belong.

 

One day a new passenger got on the train and of all the seats she could have taken, she took the one in front of me.

She smiled.

I did not because it didn’t matter what I said or did. I doubt if she even really saw me.

The new person, phone in hand gave it a little swipe with her finger and then she disappeared, as most people do, into the small screen.

I was relived.

New people chat or shift around in their seats and end up being a distraction.

I don’t like to be distracted and I like my quiet-I wasn’t always such a solitary creature. I suppose I evolved into one.

 

I  take my book out of my backpack and found my place. You see I read real books with paper pages becauseI like the feel of them in my hand. They are solid, they smell good and most of all they ground me here and hold me here like an anchor would hold a boat or ship in place  in a stormy sea.

At exactly 4:12 just before the doors close the usual passengers pile in and claim their seats and as if they were performing some sort of dance together, they all sit and take out their phones and swipe the screens at the exact same moment and like the woman in front of me they disappear into their phones, into their own little worlds.

I am alone now, in the car I ride every single day to and from work- sometimes I wonder where they all go when they jump through those little screens but I’ve never been curious enough to follow them.

I have my book with paper pages and I carry my phone so that I will blend in-at least that’s the idea.

But I guess I don’t really  fit in  and I suppose- as I hold my book to my chest, with my finger holding it open to the page I am going to start reading- by the look of those seats empty of people but each holding a small chattering, blinking phone, that might not be such a bad thing.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Created from the Character Sketch created in “ My Portrait In Words

Portraiture Part 2

Jingle Takes A Stroll

She was standing next to the shed where he kept his gardening tools with her hands behind her back. She had a shifty look about her and Erasmus looked from her face- which was not exactly unpleasant to look at- to the door of the shed which was still locked with giant new padlock.

” You must be one of the new residents up at the Manor” he said pushing his wheelbarrow full of tools in front of him.

” My name is Jingle, Jingle Gravesend. I’m here to learn how to write. Maybe sculpt too, I like sculpting. I mean, I was pretty good at..”

Erasmus motioned her away from the door before Jingle could finish.

” Well I’m Erasmus, and I’m the groundskeeper. I don’t like people hanging around locked doors that they don’t have any business being around.”

Jingle made sure she had Erasmus’ full attention and then she pointedly looked down the path which was a tangle of weeds and herbs and flowers, wildflowers she guessed. ” Are you new here too? Because, wow…”

” I’m guessing you’re out here sketching or taking notes or communing with nature-” Erasmus said with just the coolest, lightest touch of sarcasm running through his voice like venom from a spider bite to a wound. ” So shouldn’t you be doing that?”

Jingle ignored him.

” Are those flowers or weeds? I’d commune with them and ask but it looks like they’re being strangled by those vines and I don’t think they could talk even if they wanted to.”

” I’ve got work to do and lots of it Ms Gravesend, so if you don’t mind.”

” No. I’m good. I think you’re inspiring , me right now. I don’t want to leave. You know, I don’t want to lose the vibe”

Erasmus pulled a shovel from out of the wheelbarrow  jammed it into the ground in front of himself and leaned against it. ” Inspiring how? ”

” Jingle put her hand on the shovel and pushed her face towards Erasmus until they were almost touching noses. ” I’m no child Mr. Erasmus, I’m much older and loads more vicious then I look. Don’t try to play the scary old Groundskeeper routine with me.”

” Well Miss Gravesend. I am exactly as old and mean as I look. Don’t play the Dev-”

They both heard a truck engine roar to life.

” My stuff is here, is it here? Why didn’t you say so?”

” They were dropping off three crates- no luggage. That’s coming in later.”

Jingle turn and ran back towards the house and as she ran Erasmus saw she was limping and he was pretty sure by the stiffness in her gait it pained her to run at all. But she did it anyway.

He looked concerned.

” That’s not right. That’s not right at all.”

He tossed the shovel against the shed and decided it was time to have a talk to Georgina. He wondered where she was at, because Untalented Groundskeeper or not, Erasmus knew better then anyone that a wounded beast was a dangerous beast.

My Portrait In Words

A Non-Tradition Ice Breaking Exercise From My Writing Group 

at Bancroft Manor

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Every day after work

I look forward to walking  my dog because he makes me smile and when he’s done something well, like the time he found a bag of french fries in the bushes his eyes twinkle and his tail spins around in circles.

In the evening I write and I play with words and I write poems even though I’m not technically any good at it because I’m NOT any good at it and nobody can stop me from trying- it’s about as rebellious as I get now days. I used to be a musician and I wore a leather jacket and I wore black eyeshadow before it was cool.

As I was thinking about what it like to get home after work, what it’s like to reach my door ( at last!) and put the key in the lock and turn it and push my door open and what it’s like to see my  dog and my gargoyle collection on the mantelpiece and my cats on the couch and I just realized how I always exhale – I wonder was I holding my breath all day? What is THAT all about?

Anyway, what I popped into my head was I can walk in and out of doors all days long- the ones at work, the ones on the train, and yes I guess I take a deep breath and I hold it what for?

Weird right?

But there are other times, and there are other doors, like when I go to the symphony, or to the movies or to a museum or when I get on an airplane or a boat- the air just flows all around me and  I  think I know what it feels like to be a -kite one of those cool ones that look like a butterfly- and when I walk through that door I’m positive I’m  going to fly.

Photo by Don Milo on Pexels.com

Portraiture Part 1

Wickedness

Bancroft Manor Prompt1 Part3

Wickedness isn’t born like me or you or a kitten, it doesn’t sprout from the ground like a flower or a tree.

Wickedness is created, like a painting,  stroke by stroke upon an unyielding piece of canvas

like a mural on a wall with nothing to stop it  from becoming something else other then a sturdy, weather worn brick wall.

Wickedness is like Frankenstein’s Monster stitched together in secret from stolen corpses taken from the ground in the dead of night against their will  with rough hands and rusty shovels.

Wickedness in a tribute, a memorial to the remains of good things

that should have been.

Jingle Gravesend’s Treasures Arrived Today

Bancroft Manor  Prompt 1 Part  2

The crates arrived

at Bancroft Manor

not at night

but during the day- just after breakfast in fact.

Not that anyone was in the Manor House that day to eat breakfast, or even lunch.

The Manor was, as it had been cemetery quiet for a very long time.

 

They were stacked neatly in the foyer, three  crates bound shut with leather straps,

in front of two movers who wear wearing tombstone gray overalls.

The boxes were side marked

” Jingle Gravesend-top floor ”

 

Earlier one of the movers said to the other mover as they brought the crates inside-whose name I think was Frank-Frank said ” That’ a weird name.”

Frank’s co -worker Lem agreed.

 

” Wonder what kind of things someone named Jingle Gravesend would be sending to herself to a Manor House where nobody has lived for 60 years. ”

They looked around, almost furtively- what they could see of the furniture and the woodwork was old and faded but not neglected. The paintings though, the paint looked oddly wet and almost a little too vibrant.

” This place used to be a hospital.” Frank said and he stepped back a little when his voice echoed back at him. ” Heard it’s going to be a private residence now. ”

Lem looked down at his shoes and then he wiped his hands against his chest. ” What kind of hospital.”

” The kind you got sent to, you know,  for a rest.”

The men looked sadly up the stairs that led to the attic. ” I suppose it’s haunted or something. ” Lem said. ”  Old Manor House out in the woods that used to be a hospital for the, what do you call it- the infirm.  How could it not have, issues.”

They  agreed, without speaking a word that they were getting those crates with the weird named stenciled on the sides up to the top floor and then they were going to hot foot it out of there.

Eyes forward and hop to it gentleman- that was the name of the game.

Frank took two of the crates and Lem  loaded one onto a hand truck and then they made their way up  the slightly dusty stairs.

Their footsteps sounded muffled as they slowly climbed the marble staircase, very much in the same way a hand reaches over your shoulder and clamps over your mouth to stifle your scream when you are walking down a corridor or maybe up a long dark staircase in a house that is not only watching you but listening to you too.

Lem and Frank did not notice.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Photo A.M. Moscoso