Music To Your Ears


Still not sure what to get that special percussionist or pianist in your life for Christmas?? Check out this beautiful solo piece written by my son 🙂
Peter Naughton composed Two Rivers through his tenure at the Birch Creek Music Performance Center in Door County, Wisconsin. The pastoral sounds of this charming marimba solo were inspired by the rich farmlands and rustic architecture of that stretch of land.

For those of us who may not understand the intricacies of performing music, we can still immerse ourselves in the “feel” of its hymnlike texture and flowing melody, which evoke the sounds of Early American folk music. 

And for you music prodigies out there…the piece features a main, song-like melody which is embellished throughout. As the piece progresses, the harmonies supporting this melody become more and more dissonant, with the original melody restated at the end, in its original unadorned form. 

Two Rivers ships in a printed, professionally bound folio with a full-color cover.

https://www.tapspace.com/marimba-xylophone/two-rivers

Well done, Petey 😌

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Thanksgiving – A Day To Savor


As the hours of another Thanksgiving Day wind down, I’m reminded of all the things I am thankful for in my life. I know, I know, everyone can recite the usual litany in their sleep, but, indulge me as I wear my heart on my sleeve.  
I am thankful for…the gift of my parents, the greatest people I’ve ever known…who taught me to always search for the glimmer of light, even in the darkest of nights…the fact that they lived long enough to know me as an adult…the mercifully quick and painless death of my father, even though its unexpected nature felt like a sucker-punch…the profound journey I was blessed to take with my mother as she showed me how to live life to the very end with humor, while suffering from the scourge of cancer…my sister-in-law, who has humbled us all by her amazing recovery from a debilitating stroke and her powerful testament to the human spirit and for never giving up hope…my Catholic faith…my husband, who insisted on Catholic education for our kids, even as it squashed any hope of retirement…my kids, the best thing I ever did…my husband’s parents, who have been the model of generosity to me and my family throughout the years…my sister-in-law and brother-in -law, whose hospitality today was endless…”The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” cartoon…and, finally, the fact that I didn’t have to cook a turkey or clean the house today.
I’m sure there are scores of other things for which I am thankful that I neglected to include in my list, but these thoughts were just off the top of my head as we returned home with full bellies and immediately changed into our comfy sweats. Oh, one more thing: I’m really thankful for these sweats.
So, have I become a “softie”? Maybe a little today, but, don’t worry, it won’t last long. I’m already getting completely grossed out by the disgusting bodily noises, followed by howls of laughter coming from the next room. Reality has returned with a vengeance.

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News or Ruse…? What Do YOU Think?


So we’ve been on a little break, but the show must go on! Today Marilyn and Mary Kate discuss some of the strangest news stories you’ve ever heard. Give this episode a listen and let us know what you think. Is there any way these are real stories? As always, don’t forget to rate, review, and subscribe on iTunes! Just click on the link below for a listen and let us know what you think…News? Or Ruse? 🤷‍♀️

http://www.wherearemyglassespodcast.com/?p=508

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Forgive Me Hair Salon, For I Have Sinned…It’s Been A Loooong Time Since My Last Professional Haircut

funny-hair-cut-it-yourself

Okay people, here goes. I’m about to open up with a very personal and, yes embarrassing, confession. If you’re the squeamish type, now would be a good time to bow out. No one will judge you. Nay, I am the one in the judgment seat and I ask those of you still remaining, to please be kind. Continue reading

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Savannah, Spanish Moss and Ghosts…Oh My! 


Sooo…do YOU believe in ghosts…?? Have a listen to my ghost story while vacationing in beautiful (and spooky) Savannah, GA 😮

It’s easy – just click on the link below and let your imagination get the best of you! 😉 😏
http://www.wherearemyglassespodcast.com/?p=460

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Help. Me.


This is how my husband cuts a pizza.  And I haven’t murdered him. Yet… 

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It Was The Best Of Times, It Was The…No, It Was Just The Best


Growing up with a Chicago Police Sergeant for a dad was the most normal thing in the world for me. In my South Side neighborhood, it seemed everyone’s dad was either Police, Fire, or Streets and San. As kids, we all understood the need to keep quiet in the house because Dad was sleeping, whether it was our own dad or our friend’s down the block. Oh sure, there were kids I knew whose fathers had other jobs. Business kind of jobs. Insurance or something. I never really knew what they did, but they wore dressy kind of clothes. Not uniforms.

But no one’s dad had a better detail with the CPD than mine. He was in the Task Force, later named Special Operations. And for my siblings and me, it was our way of life. My dad worked all the ball games and special events in Chicago – the White Sox (yeah, that’s right – I listed the Sox first because we were South Siders through and through and in MY blog, they get listed before the Cubs), Bulls, Blackhawks, Fire (that was soccer, for anyone who cares) and, yes, the Cubs, along with the Barnum & Bailey Circus, Ice Capades, and all manner of concerts, theater and parades.

Oh, and riots too. The scary kind. He was injured working the 1968 Democratic Convention. I remember seeing my mom crying as she watched the news coverage that night. I was just a little kid back then, but I still remember that.

Without question, the best part of my dad’s job was going to all the ball games he worked, often when my mom was at work so he was kind of babysitting. And he was a great babysitter. He’d bring my brother Paul and me into the stadium and sit us down in random seats. As people arrived with tickets for said seats, we’d just bop around the park and find somewhere else to sit. We knew if we needed our dad for anything, we could just approach any police officer and ask for him. But that rarely, if ever happened, mainly because most of my older siblings also worked at the games. My brothers John, Dan, and Tom were vendors at the games and my sister, Mary Beth, worked at Cubs Park (Cubs Park, never Wrigley Field. Sorry, Purists) in the disgusting bowels of the park known as the Coke room (which had about a 2 inch layer of sticky Coke on the floor) and the Beef room (which was about a billion degrees). As far as I know, my oldest brother, Kevin, managed to escape those coveted jobs. But I could be wrong… I just know that Paul and I were the beneficiaries of everyone else’s hard work.

One of the coolest things, though, was after the games, my dad would bring us to the door where the players would exit the park so we could get autographs and pictures with them. And they were always happy to do that. Well except for one time when my sister called out “Hey Peppy” to Joe Pepitone and he did not like that. We’ll just leave it at that. Maybe he’d had a bad game… It was a different era, that’s for sure. Professional athletes back then were approachable and happy to put a smile on a kid’s face.

I can also remember cold winter nights my poor mom would get a call to bring the kids to the Chicago Ampitheater so we could see the circus. She’d have instructions to meet him at such and such intersection to make the drop. On one occasion, we were parked at the predetermined corner only to find my dad involved in a “scuffle” with some thugs. My mom was like, “Are you kidding me?” but we thought it was pretty cool.

My parents are no longer with us but, man I’ve got great memories. What sparked this post was the announcement of the passing of Chicago Blackhawks great, Stan Mikita. Pictured at the top is my brother, Paul, circa mid-late 1970’s with the legend at an annual Blackhawk dinner that my dad treated the boys to. Yeah, life was pretty sweet for the kids of a Chicago Copper. Never a cop. Always a copper.

 

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