Just now hitting his stride (@ 71)

Every music fan with blood burning in their veins has felt the sting of missing live shows since March, but the pain has been particularly acute for Bruce Springsteen, an artist who’s spent the past six decades onstage, yet says he’s just now hitting his stride.

“I’m at a point in my playing life and artistic life where I’ve never felt as vital,” he said on a Zoom call from his New Jersey home. “My band is at its best, and we have so much accumulated knowledge and craft about what we do that this was a time in my life where I said, ‘I want to use that as much as I can.’”

LZ: Like everyone else, this year hasn’t exactly gone how you’d expected. You’re putting out a record that you can’t yet tour.

BS: Oh, yeah. I think there’s going to be a process before people are comfortable rubbing up against one another again. But if somebody told me, “That’s never going to happen again” — that would be a big life change for me. That act of playing has been one of the only consistent things in my life since I was 16 years old. I’ve depended a lot on it not just for my livelihood, but for my emotional well-being. So if somebody said, “Five years from now, maybe” — that’s a long time. Particularly at my age. I’m 71, and I’m thinking, “Well I know one thing. I’m in the mood right now to burn the house down for as long as I can.” …

I think the projects that I’ve done that were summational in a sense — the book was, the Broadway show was, even this film — it’s sort of just stopping for a moment and taking stock of what you’ve done and where you are at a critical point in your life, which I think, once you hit 70, you’re there. But I look at it as, that’s what I’ve done up to this piece of my work. I still see vital work ahead.

~ Lindsay Zoladz in her interview of Bruce Springsteen, from “Bruce Springsteen is Living in the Moment” (NY Times, Oct 18, 2020)

Sunday Afternoon

It felt as if one’s entire world was one, long Sunday afternoon. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.

—  Ralph Gibson


Photo: Eric Kanigan of Sully and me. More on our Sully here and here and here.

Saturday Morning

Guess who came to visit!?!? Sully!


More on our Sully here and here and here. (Thank you Susan for taking photo)

T.G.I.F.: This must be what paradise is like…

Oh this must be what it’s all about
This must be what paradise is like
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here
So quiet in here, so peaceful in here

~ From Van Morrison’s “So Quiet in Here” (Hit link to listen to greatest tune ever…)


Photo: DK, Daybreak. October 14, 2020. 6:48 am. 48° F. Cloud Cover: 2%. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT

Guess.What.Day.It.Is?


Notes:

  • Photo: Krimamr with “Pyramids of Giza” (Thank you Susan)
  • Background on Caleb/Wednesday/Hump Day Posts and Geico’s original commercial: Let’s Hit it Again.

Something about the waves, those that lift us, those that wipe us out.


This morning. Cove Island Park: Empty, but for DK and gulls.  55° F.  Rain. Blustery, with wind gusts up to 32 mph. Cloud Cover: 98%.   Post Title from: The Great Offshore Grounds: A Novel by Vanessa Veselka.

I’ll take the sea with me, deep in my bones, its tides making their way through my soul.


Notes:

Gash in the heavens

The only other source of light is a gash in the heavens, its edges bubbling with clouds, as though the sky has developed an infected wound. The moon’s glow pours through.
 
—  Hisham Matar, The Return: Fathers, Sons and the Land in Between (Random House, July 5, 2016)

Photos: DK, October 9, 2020, 6:10 to 6:40 a.m. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT

Guess.What.Day.It.Is?


Notes:

Sunday Morning

Autumn light is the loveliest light there is. Soft, forgiving, it makes all the world an illuminated dream. Dust motes catch fire, and bright specks drift down from the trees and lift up from the stirred soil, floating over lawns and woodland paths and ordinary roofs and parking lots. It’s an unchoreographed aerial dance, a celebration of what happens when light marries earth and sky. Autumn light always makes me think of fiery motes of chalk dust drifting in the expectant hush of an elementary school classroom during story time, just before the bell rings and sets the children free.

— Margaret Renkl, from “Our Days Have Always Been Running Out.” I greet autumn with a stillness I never felt when I was younger and in such a hurry. (NY Times, Sept 20, 2020)

 


Photo: DK. 10/4/20. 6:17 am. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

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