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glasshourse blues ...

New music time.  Ed has brought home a harmonica (or harp as we both make a point of calling it.  I have no idea who are impressing).  I like the idea of the harmonica.  It is soulful and portable.  The sound conjures up images of loneliness in a sad but not awful way.  Riding the rods, late nights in the hoosegow. Simpler times. Hey, sidebar.  How come the old slang terms for jail -- hoosegow, calaboose, stoney lonesome, cooler -- seem so much nicer than the modern ones?  Was it a happier place, or were people in general kinder? My own ability on the harmonica is limited.  I can sound like a train -- whuffa chugga whuffa chugga or something (you know, it is difficult to convey musical quality through text) -- and that's all.  Ed got farther than I ever did after only an hour on the internet, and he has spent the last few days getting better and better.  Now he can sound like Neil Young for most of one song.  Not bad, except that I have had to listen to that song more often than I really want to.  (It was on my iPod -- it isn't any more.  As I said, I like the idea of the harmonica.)    That's another connection between harps and trains:  in the distance, at night, softened by nostalgia and a glass of wine, they produce warm feelings.  Ed leaning in the doorway with his hands up to his mouth and his eyes half shut and his heart of gold ... makes me smile.  Maybe it's the wine.


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