Duration.

I have been thinking about how things last.

Sometimes, things just stick around for a long time. The Romans, for instance, evidently knew how to build, since so many of their inventions and constructions persist through the centuries and millennia.

 

 

But I'm interested by the fact that some of the old places we've visited--medieval castles, Roman ruins and remnants--get picked up piece by piece, stones carried off, used for other things.

 

 

I remember being struck by this, that artists were recyclers, both metaphorically in terms of aesthetic ideas, and literally, in their materials. I saw a painting by Toulouse-Lautrec, I think, that had a whole other painting underneath it. These pieces by Andy Goldsworthy, installed in the National Museum of Scotland, use scrap wood salvaged from the construction of the museum, and slates rescued from demolished buildings in Edinburgh.

 

 

 

Old.

Does everyone like old stuff? I know I do. Today, we saw yet another amazing ruin, a castle down by Stonehaven, Dunnottar Castle. Its oldest structures date from the 13th century, and it's possible that there was a church at that site as early as the 4th century.

I have a pile of pictures of that site, which somehow failed to upload, and hey, it's bedtime here in Scotland. So I'll post them tomorrow, or on Instagram or something. But after a long hike down to the sea and then up to the fortress castle, a leisurely stroll around the grounds, and then a long hike back up--seriously, kind of long, lots of stairs, whoa--we came home, made some crafts, made some dinner, then hightailed it out of there, lickety split, to the Loanhead of Daviot Stone Circle (Loanhead? anyone?):

It's another recumbent stone circle just down the road in the village of Daviot. This village has about a couple hundred homes and a village church and a village school. And a recumbent stone circle, dating from about 5000 years ago.

 

 

 

 

What would it be like to have grown up in a landscape littered with these things? I can barely imagine.

Like a heartbeat baby, trying to wake up.

Singing son said recently, when I asked him if he'd listened yet to the new Beck, "I don't like new music, I only like old music."

Of course, even the oldest old music was new music once, but still, he has a point. It's especially great to find out how great an old song is, a song you haven't heard for a long time, or maybe, more to the point, that you never really listened to in the first place.

For instance, "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite." It's on a great album, maybe even a perfect album, Automatic for the People, and the lyrics, which I never really heard until recently, when singing son chose the song for a game of "choose the song" on our way home from Idaho, are awesome. This is a fun game, by the way, with a limited group of people with a bunch of fully loaded iPods between them.

A couple of days later, when my son was helping me pick up my bike and bring it home, he busted out this verse, as he is wont to do, wherever and whenever:

Baby, instant soup doesnt really grab me.
Today I need something more sub-sub-sub-substantial.
A can of beans or blackeyed peas, some nescafe and ice,
A candy bar, a falling star, or a reading of doctor seuss

Singing son has a little bit of an uncanny ability to mimic the voices of other singers, so his reaching up for the "candy bar" was so Michael Stipe, I could have sworn we were back in the 90s eating at The Grit in Athens, GA. I haven't been able to stop singing this bit of this song to myself now for a couple of weeks. Sometimes, this little bit of the song keeps me awake at night, because I myself need something more sub sub sub substantial.

Anyway, you can check the song out for yourself on the "Pretty Music" feature of this page (upper right hand corner), if you've never heard it, or if, like me, you never really heard it until someone pointed it out to you, while you were driving through the georgian vistas of eastern Idaho, or while waiting for someone to adjust your brakes in a bike shop.

Clarification: In my previous post, I inadvertently implied that I personally threw the baby shower for singing son and his lovely wife. This isn't so--I was just an assistant. The hostess was my daughter the make-up artist, who is a perfect hostess and the impresaria of enjoyment.
It was a swell party, thanks to her.

Right back at ya: Thanks to renaissance girl for her kind words about my blog. Most of the time when I try to say "I love your blog," it comes out more like "when are you going to blog again, already?" Which doesn't have the same gracious ring, come to think of it. I appreciate the words you put out in the world, all of you. Thanks for your messages.